Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Techno is my favorite."

People always assumed it was Wilbur. Wilbur was the type of older brother who made his presence known. He’d burst into Tommy’s room with a mischievous grin, ruffle his hair until it was a mess, or tease him relentlessly until Tommy was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. To anyone looking in, it seemed obvious that Wilbur was the one Tommy admired most.

But he wasn’t. Wilbur didn’t understand. Not like Techno.

Techno was the silent caretaker. He never made a big deal about things, but Tommy could feel it in the small, quiet ways Techno showed he cared. On days when everything felt too heavy, when Tommy’s chest ached with sadness he didn’t understand or words he couldn’t say, Techno would notice. He wouldn’t ask questions or push Tommy to talk. Instead, he’d slip into the kitchen and cook.

Spaghetti with extra meatballs, pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, or grilled cheese with a perfect golden crust. They weren’t grand gestures, but they felt like a lifeline. Tommy remembered one night, not long after Kristin had died, when he sat at the table staring at a plate of food he couldn’t bring himself to eat. The world felt gray and empty. He didn’t even realize Techno was there until a plate slid in front of him, piled high with buttery mashed potatoes and crispy chicken nuggets, his favorite meal.

“Eat,” Techno said simply, his voice soft but firm. And somehow, that one word made it a little easier to pick up his fork.

Tommy had no idea why or what was going on, but slowly, everything began to change. His family started leaving the house, disappearing for hours, sometimes entire days. It wasn’t just the absences that unsettled him; it was the secrecy. Nobody told him where they were going or what they were doing. The explanations, when they came at all, were vague and hollow, spoken in clipped tones that shut down any chance for questions.

The dining room table, once the center of their chaotic family life, became a ghost of what it used to be. Gone were the nights of arguing over who got the last roll or whose turn it was to clear the dishes. Meals weren’t shared anymore. Instead, they were eaten in shifts, everyone drifting in and out at odd hours. It was as if they were avoiding each other, or worse, avoiding him.

Philza, his dad, had black, beautiful wings that once seemed like the strongest and most protective thing in the world. Now, those wings felt like walls, shutting him out. Phil retreated into his office and locked the door behind him. Tommy would hear muffled voices late at night, snippets of conversations that sounded urgent, tense. He’d press his ear to the door, catching fragments like “It’s not safe” or “We’ll need more time,” but they meant nothing to him. When he knocked, hoping for answers, all he got was a distracted, “Not now, mate,” before the conversation resumed, even quieter than before. Whatever Phil was caught up in, it seemed more important than his family, or at least more important than Tommy.

Wilbur, who had always been his partner in crime, started slipping out more and more. “Band practice,” he’d say casually, slinging his guitar over his shoulder as he headed for the door. But Tommy wasn’t stupid. He’d caught Wilbur leaving without the guitar a few times, his face tense and unreadable in a way that made Tommy’s chest ache. His carefree, easygoing brother was gone, replaced by someone who seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Techno was different from the rest of them. He always had been. His hair was pure white, standing out against the rest of the family’s darker shades, and his eyes, red like embers, always seemed sharper, more knowing. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, like he was carved from marble. Albino syndrome, Phil had once called it. Tommy didn’t care what it was called. It was just Techno.

Tommy tried to sit with Techno once, desperate for even a shred of the closeness they used to have. He’d pulled a chair up beside him, fidgeting awkwardly as Techno flipped through a thick, leather-bound book. “What’re you reading?” Tommy had asked, his voice too bright, too hopeful.

Techno glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Just something for... research,” he mumbled, his words clipped.

“Research for what?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Techno’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned his attention back to the book. After a few minutes of strained silence, Tommy gave up and left the room, feeling more alone than ever.

The house, once filled with life and noise, felt like it was crumbling around him. The warmth of family dinners, the banter, the sense of belonging, it was all gone, replaced by an oppressive, unspoken tension. And the worst part? Nobody seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to fix it.

Tommy would lie awake at night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering what had changed. What had he done wrong? Why did it feel like he was the only one left in a family that had already moved on?

Through it all, the only constant was his mom, Kristin. She held everything together like glue, patching the cracks that threatened to break them apart. When Phil disappeared into his office, Kristin stayed in the kitchen, humming as she cooked meals that nobody seemed to eat together anymore. When Wilbur left without a word, Kristin would sit on the couch with Tommy, pulling him into a warm hug as if to make up for the absence. She was the one thing that still felt steady, like an anchor keeping Tommy from drifting too far into the growing emptiness of their home.

Kristin had a way of making the house feel warm, even when everything else felt cold. She had this laugh that could fill a room, and when she hugged Tommy, it felt like the world couldn’t touch him. No matter how busy she was, she always made time for him. She’d sit beside him on the couch, stroking his hair as he rambled about school, or tuck him in at night with a kiss on his forehead and a whispered, “I love you, sweet boy.”

But when Tommy turned seven, Kristin was gone. Nobody ever told him why. One night, she kissed him goodnight, her smile as warm as always, and the next morning, she was just... gone.

He’d waited for her to come back, even though the house had already started to feel emptier. For days, he stared out the window, watching every passing car, hoping one of them would stop and she’d come rushing through the door. She never did.

After that, the house turned unbearably silent. Philza withdrew into himself, leaving sticky notes on the fridge instead of saying goodnight. Wilbur tried to fill the gaps, but it felt forced, like he didn’t know how to handle Tommy’s grief when he could barely handle his own. Techno... Techno just stayed the same. Quiet, steady, a constant in the chaos.

Tommy adjusted, or at least he tried to. Waking up to an empty house and going to bed in one became his new normal. The only thing that didn’t change was his friendship with Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled.

The four of them had been inseparable since Pre-K. Tubbo had a way of making the world feel brighter, like a firework exploding in a sky that was too gray. He was always laughing, always full of energy. But there was more to him than that. Tubbo could make things explode with just a touch. The first time Tommy saw it, he’d stared, wide-eyed, as a toy car Tubbo had been fiddling with suddenly erupted in a burst of sparks.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Tubbo had whispered, his voice serious in a way Tommy had never heard before.

“Are you kidding? That was awesome!” Tommy had grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me, mate.”

Ranboo was quieter, more reserved, but no less loyal. He had this incredible ability to teleport, though he was just as secretive about it as Tubbo was about his explosions. “People wouldn’t understand,” Ranboo had explained once, his hands twisting nervously in his lap.

“People don’t understand us anyway,” Tommy had replied with a shrug. “Might as well lean into it.”

Then there was Purpled, or Grayson, as his teachers insisted on calling him. He was the most competitive of the group, the kind of kid who turned even casual games into life-or-death battles. But his skill wasn’t just confidence, he had perfect aim. Whether it was a crumpled-up paper into a trash can across the room, a rock skipping perfectly across the lake, or a dodgeball zeroing in on an unlucky target, he never missed. Ever.

One time in second grade, a group of fifth graders had stolen Ranboo’s lunchbox and tossed it up onto the school roof. Before anyone could even react, Purpled had grabbed a football, calculated the angle in a split second, and launched it. The ball smacked the lunchbox so perfectly it tumbled right back down into Ranboo’s hands.

The fifth graders had just stared. One of them muttered, “What the hell?” before walking away.

Tommy had thrown an arm around Purpled’s shoulders, grinning. “Mate, you’re a bloody legend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Purpled had said, brushing him off, but Tommy didn’t miss the small smirk tugging at his lips.

The four of them spent most of their time at Tubbo’s house. It was the complete opposite of Tommy’s, loud, chaotic, and full of life. Tubbo’s dad, Mr. Schlatt, was rough around the edges, but he loved his son fiercely. He’d clap Tubbo on the back, ruffle his hair, and call him “kiddo” with genuine affection. Schlatt wasn’t perfect, but he was present.

He was also a menace.

One evening, as Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled played cards at the kitchen table, Schlatt leaned against the counter, watching them with a smirk. “Hey, Big Man, you staying for dinner?” he asked Tommy.

Tommy glanced up, hesitating. “Uh… if it’s okay.”

“‘Course it’s okay. You’re practically family.” Schlatt grinned before hollering, “Tubbo! Get the good plates! We’re celebrating!”

“What are we celebrating?” Tubbo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing! Now get the plates!”

Purpled snorted. “Classic.”

Ranboo, who had been quietly shuffling the cards, muttered, “At least he’s enthusiastic.”

As soon as Schlatt declared it a “celebration,” the four kids immediately abandoned their card game and sprinted toward the living room, where the game consoles were set up. If dinner was gonna take a while, that meant there was time for at least one round, maybe ten.

“MARIO KART!” Tubbo shrieked, practically tackling the TV stand in his rush to grab a controller.

“No, Minecraft!” Tommy argued, lunging for another controller before Tubbo could snatch it. “We gotta finish that dirt house!”

“Dirt house?” Purpled scoffed, climbing onto the couch and crossing his arms. “We could at least use cobblestone. Have some taste.”

“Shut up, Purpled,” Ranboo groaned, flopping onto the couch beside him. “You only wanna play so you can show off your stupid perfect bow shots again.”

Purpled smirked. “Not my fault I never miss.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to the creeper that blew up our front door last time.”

In the end, they compromised, one round of Mario Kart, then Minecraft. The character selection was absolute chaos. Tommy kept trying to steal Tubbo’s pick, Tubbo insisted on choosing the loudest kart possible, Ranboo somehow got stuck playing as Baby Peach, and Purpled, of course, picked the statistically best racer like a tryhard.

Schlatt, who had been watching from the kitchen with mild amusement, called over, “Better hurry it up, boys, food’s almost ready!”

“Gimme one second!” Tommy yelled, steering wildly as his kart barely dodged a blue shell.

“You’ve had four seconds,” Schlatt shot back.

Tommy ignored him. Winning was more important.

By the time dinner was actually ready, they’d nearly broken the couch from how much they were jumping around, and Tubbo had somehow managed to get stuck under the coffee table (nobody was sure how).

“All right, monsters, eat up,” Schlatt said, setting down a massive pot of spaghetti on the table. He clapped his hands together. “This is my world-famous spaghetti.”

“You say that every time,” Tubbo pointed out.

“And I’m right every time.”

“Why’s it world-famous?” Ranboo asked, already twirling noodles onto his fork.

“Because I made it,” Schlatt replied, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world.

Dinner was loud, messy, and perfect. Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much while eating. Tubbo got sauce everywhere (mostly on his own face), Ranboo nearly knocked his plate over when Purpled “accidentally” elbowed him, and Tommy swore Schlatt gave him extra meatballs just because he looked too skinny.

And then, when they were stuffed full of spaghetti, Tubbo had the genius idea:

“Let’s make cookies!”

Schlatt groaned. “Aw, hell. Fine. But if you make a mess, you’re cleanin’ it up.”

The second he turned his back, flour exploded.

“WHO DID THAT?!” Schlatt whirled around, coughing through the white cloud.

“NOT ME!” Tommy shouted, despite being covered in flour.

That was the beginning of the end. What started as an innocent cookie-baking attempt quickly spiraled into war. Tubbo dumped an entire bag of chocolate chips on Purpled’s head. Ranboo accidentally (definitely accidentally) splattered Tommy with batter. Tommy retaliated by yeeting a handful of flour at Tubbo, and then Purpled, with the accuracy of a sniper, nailed Ranboo right in the face with a perfect doughball.

Schlatt just stood there, watching the madness unfold, shaking his head. “Y’know what? I knew this would happen.”

Ten minutes later, the kitchen looked like a battlefield. The floor was covered in flour, the counters were sticky with batter, and Tubbo was somehow wearing an eggshell like a hat.

Schlatt sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright. Which one of you is cleanin’ this up?”

All four of them, still giggling like maniacs, pointed at each other.

“Figures.”

Later that night, long after the mess had been mostly cleaned up, the cookies were somewhat edible, and the sugar rush was starting to wear off, Tommy sat curled up on the couch with his best friends, watching some random cartoon on TV.

Schlatt had let them stay up later than they were probably supposed to, but Tommy didn’t care. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

Because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. 

Chapter Text

It was his eighth birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No answer.

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

Tommy’s eyes fluttered open, his body stiff and cold. His chest rose and fell with shaky breaths as he blinked against the harsh, sterile light above him, the stark white of his surroundings making his head throb. Everything felt wrong, the cold air biting his skin, the faint chemical smell lingering in his nose, the silence pressing against his ears like a heavy weight.

“What the fuck…” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and cracking as if it hadn’t been used in days. He winced at the sound, his small hands trembling as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to banish the blinding haze from his vision. It didn’t help. The room stayed uncomfortably bright and unnervingly blank.

He glanced down at himself. A thin, white long-sleeve shirt clung to his shivering body, accompanied by equally flimsy white shorts that ended just above his bony knees. His bare feet pressed against the icy, polished floor, sending sharp chills up his legs. His skin was pale, almost ghostly under the artificial light, and his arms bore faint bruises he didn’t remember getting.

“Where the hell am I?” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling as his chest tightened. He tried to force his racing thoughts into some kind of order, but nothing made sense. The last thing he remembered, what was it? He couldn’t remember. His mind was a foggy blur, filled with fragmented images and fleeting sensations that slipped through his grasp like sand.

Carefully, he pushed himself off the cold, hard surface he’d been lying on. It was supposed to be a bed, he assumed, but it felt more like a slab, unforgiving and uncomfortable. His knees wobbled as he stood, his eight-year-old frame too small to fill the vast emptiness of the room. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fend off the bone-deep cold that seeped into his skin.

Taking tentative steps, Tommy moved toward the wall-length mirror, his bare feet making faint squeaks against the polished floor. The glass stretched from floor to ceiling, perfectly clean and reflecting the room with unnerving clarity. He stopped a foot away, staring at his own reflection.

Messy blonde hair stuck out at odd angles, framing his round, pale face. Wide blue eyes, red-rimmed with fear, stared back at him, and his lips quivered as he took in the faint bruises scattered across his arms. He didn’t look like himself. He looked smaller, more vulnerable. Scared.

“What is this?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper before it climbed to a shaky yell. “What the hell is this?!”

Tommy slammed his fists against the mirror, the force jarring his arms, but he didn’t care. “Oi! Who’s out there?!” he shouted, his voice echoing faintly in the sterile room. “Where am I? Let me out, you dickheads! This isn’t funny!”

Nothing. The mirror remained silent, an unmoving witness to his panic.

Tommy whirled around, his breathing ragged as he scanned the room. The padded walls offered no answers, their seamless surface mocking his growing fear. Then his gaze landed on something he hadn’t noticed before, a door, almost invisible against the padded wall. His heart jumped in a mix of hope and dread.

“Techno? Wilbur? Dad?!” His screams were raw now, desperation clawing at his throat. He rushed to the door, his small fists pounding against it. “Someone answer me! Please! Techno! Wilbur! Dad!”

He choked on a sob, the tears spilling over before he could stop them. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold floor, curling into himself. “Please,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “This isn’t funny… I-I wanna go home…”

The silence pressed in, suffocating and absolute, save for the sound of his quiet, hiccuping sobs. He buried his face in his arms, his fragile frame shaking as fear and confusion swallowed him whole. For the first time in his life, Tommy felt completely and utterly helpless.

~~~~~~

Hours passed, at least, it felt like hours. Time had become meaningless in the stark white void that surrounded him. Tommy sat curled up in the corner of the room, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. His arms wrapped around his legs, holding himself together as if he might shatter otherwise. He was exhausted from crying, his throat raw and his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. His body trembled, a mix of cold and fear making him feel smaller than ever.

The silence was oppressive. It pressed against his ears, broken only by the occasional hiccup or sniffle as he fought to keep himself from spiraling further. The padded walls offered no comfort, their sterile softness a mockery of safety. He wanted to scream again, to rage, but he couldn’t summon the energy. His head drooped, messy blonde hair sticking to his damp cheeks.

Suddenly, a soft hiss broke the quiet. The disguised door slid open with a mechanical hum, the sound startling in the stillness. Tommy’s head shot up, his heart pounding. He scrambled to his feet, his bare soles skidding slightly against the cold, polished floor.

A man entered, his presence as clinical as the room. He was tall, with a white lab coat that looked pristine and stiff. His face was calm, unnervingly so, his expression a mask of neutrality. A clipboard rested in one hand, the other holding a pen poised to take notes. The bright lights reflected off his glasses, obscuring his eyes and making him seem almost inhuman.

Tommy took an instinctive step back, but his fear quickly turned to anger. He clenched his fists, his small frame trembling. “You!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Oi! Where the fuck am I? Who are you? What’s happening?!”

The man raised a hand, palm outward, silencing him with a single, authoritative gesture. “Subject T-015, cease yelling.” His voice was cold, measured, and entirely devoid of empathy.

Tommy froze for a moment, his chest heaving. “Subject-? What the fuck does that mean?!” His fear seeped into his voice, making it rise in pitch.

The man sighed, adjusting his glasses with an air of annoyance. “There will be no crying. No yelling. No arguing. No attempting to escape. Any disobedience will result in immediate disciplinary action. Is that clear?”

Tommy blinked at him, his mind racing. The words didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. His fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms. “What- what are you on about? You can’t just-”

“Silence.” The man’s sharp tone cut through Tommy’s protest like a knife. Tommy flinched, his shoulders hunching as fear prickled along his spine.

The man continued, unbothered by the boy’s visible distress. “Follow the rules, and you will be rewarded with food and reading material. Disobey, and you will face consequences. Your cooperation is mandatory.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, anger flickering through his fear. “You’re full of shit! I’m not listening to you, you bald wanker!” he spat, his voice trembling with defiance.

The man didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he stepped toward the door, pulling a piece of paper from the clipboard and taping it to the smooth surface. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a soft, final click.

For a moment, Tommy stood frozen, his breathing ragged. The silence returned, heavier than before. Slowly, he approached the door, his fingers shaking as he peeled the paper off. His eyes skimmed the words, each sentence making his stomach twist tighter and tighter:

~~~~~~

Rules

• Behavior Monitoring: Non-compliance is met with immediate disciplinary measures, such as isolation or physical restraint.
• No Unsupervised Movement: Subject must be escorted by staff at all times.
• No Personal Items: Subject is not allowed to have personal belongings or entertainment devices.
• Health Surveillance: Cameras and sensors continuously track subject’s vitals and actions.
• Isolation: Subject is kept isolated from other test subjects unless interactions are part of an experiment.
• No Speaking Without Permission: Subject is forbidden from initiating conversation or speaking unless directly addressed by staff.

~~~~~~

Tommy didn’t understand half of it, but he understood enough. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he crumpled the paper in his hands. “Fuck this!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Fuck all of you!”

He hurled the crumpled paper across the room and kicked the wall with all his strength. “You bastards! I’m not staying here! Let me out!” His voice cracked, his fury spilling out in a string of curses that echoed off the padded walls.

Before he could scream again, the door opened once more. This time, a tall woman stepped in. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe bun, and she wore the same spotless white coat as the man. A clipboard rested in her hands, and her eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Tommy with chilling precision.

“Subject T-015,” she said coldly, stepping inside with measured precision. Her voice was sharp, devoid of any warmth or humanity. “You’ve already broken the rules.”

Tommy’s heart jumped into his throat. He stumbled back, his eyes darting toward the padded walls as though they might somehow offer an escape. “Piss off, lady!” he spat, his voice cracking with panic. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

The woman’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her icy gaze bore into him, making his stomach twist. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her tone low and dangerous.

She stepped forward before Tommy could react, her cold hand locking around his arm.

“Get off me!” he shrieked, thrashing wildly. “Don’t touch me, you cow!” His voice broke on the last word, the terror bubbling up uncontrollably.

The woman didn’t flinch. Her grip was unyielding, her nails digging into his skin like iron claws. Despite his struggles, she dragged him toward the door, her movements mechanical and unbothered by his resistance.

Tommy kicked at her legs and pulled with all his might, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Let me go!” he yelled, his voice raw. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

She didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. Her silence was worse than any words, more unnerving than any threat. She shoved open the door with her free hand and yanked him into the hallway.

Tommy’s breath hitched as his bare feet slapped against the cold, sterile floor. The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, illuminated by harsh white lights. Rows of identical padded doors lined the walls, each one closed and unyielding. He craned his neck as they passed, catching glimpses of empty rooms through the small windows.

“Where are you taking me?!” he demanded, twisting and pulling against her grip. His voice was high-pitched, trembling with fear. “Answer me!”

She ignored him, her heels clicking against the floor with unrelenting precision.

“Please,” Tommy tried again, his voice cracking. “Just- just tell me where we’re going! I’ll be good, I swear!” His words spilled out in a rush, desperation lacing every syllable.

The woman said nothing. She stopped abruptly in front of another door, her hand moving swiftly to the keypad beside it. The soft beep of the lock disengaging filled the silence.

“Wait- no! Don’t!” Tommy begged, panic clawing at his chest. He dug his heels into the floor, but the woman’s grip was too strong.

She opened the door and shoved him inside. Tommy stumbled forward, nearly falling as his hands hit something cold and metallic. He turned around, his wide eyes taking in the room.

It was clinical and horrifyingly stark, the walls a chilling shade of white. In the center was a metal table with restraints dangling ominously from its edges. The sight made his stomach lurch. He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall.

“No, no, no,” he stammered, his voice a whisper of terror. “What the fuck is this?!”

The door clicked shut behind him, and he turned to see several figures entering the room. They were dressed identically in white coats, their faces obscured by goggles and masks. They looked more like shadows than people, their movements deliberate and detached.

“Get away from me!” Tommy screamed, pressing himself harder against the wall. His entire body trembled, his hands shaking violently. “Stay the fuck away!”

One of the figures, a tall man with broad shoulders, stepped forward. Without a word, he grabbed Tommy’s arm.

Tommy thrashed, kicking and flailing with all his strength. “No! Let me go! Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouted, his voice breaking as tears spilled down his cheeks.

The man didn’t flinch. Tommy’s fists pounded against him, but it was like hitting a brick wall. The man dragged him toward the metal table, his grip unyielding.

Tommy screamed, the sound raw and primal. “Stop! Please, stop! I’ll do anything! I’ll be good! Please!”

The man slammed him onto the table, the cold surface biting into Tommy’s back. He fought harder, his small frame writhing desperately, but it was no use. The leather straps were secured around his wrists and ankles with brutal efficiency.

“Let me go! Please! You don’t have to do this!” he sobbed, his voice hoarse and cracking. His chest heaved as he struggled against the restraints, the leather digging painfully into his skin.

The man ignored him, tightening the final strap around his head. Tommy’s neck strained as he tried to turn away, his breathing coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

“You should’ve behaved,” the man said, his voice muffled through the mask.

Tommy’s eyes darted around the room, his vision blurred by tears. A woman stepped forward, holding a syringe filled with a glowing red liquid. The sight of it made his stomach churn violently.

“No! Don’t! Please!” he screamed, his voice shrill with terror. “I’ll do anything! Please! I don’t want to die! I don’t-”

His words dissolved into a wail as the needle pierced his arm.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then, a searing, white-hot pain tore through his body, spreading like wildfire. Tommy arched against the restraints, his screams echoing off the sterile walls.

“Stop! Please stop!” he sobbed, his voice breaking into a hoarse whisper. “It hurts! It hurts-”

The pain consumed him, drowning out his words. His vision blurred further, dark spots creeping in from the edges. He could barely make out the faces above him, their expressions obscured by masks and goggles.

“Prepare the next phase,” the woman said calmly, her voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.

Tommy’s world faded to black, his last conscious thought a desperate plea: Don’t let me die.

Chapter Text

Year 1

The sound of the door clicking open was the first thing Tommy heard as he woke up. He had been lying on the cold floor, not on a bed, just the hard concrete of the sterile room. His small hands trembled as he slowly pushed himself up, trying to ignore the aching in his body from the previous day’s testing. His back, still sore from the metal straps they used, burned. His limbs were weak, too frail for what they’d been putting him through. The wings on his back felt like weights, too heavy for his frame.

“Time to wake up,” a voice echoed from the ceiling, but Tommy barely understood it. It was a voice like the others, calm, cold, emotionless.

He stumbled to his feet, his small body uncoordinated. He had not yet learned how to adapt, how to survive in this place.

The mirror in the restroom reflected a child, frail, thin, blue eyes wide with fear and confusion. His blonde hair was a mess, unkempt. He didn’t understand why they had to do this to him. Where was he? Why did he feel so different? And why did the pain never stop?

His hands reached up to touch his face, finding it puffy, tired. The blood-red liquid they made him drink every day had left a bitter taste in his mouth. It burned him from the inside out. He didn’t know what the liquid did. He only knew that the more he drank it, the more the pain subsided. It was a strange, twisted comfort.

~~~~~~

Year 2

By the second year, Tommy had learned to obey. His body, more accustomed to the constant experimentation, had grown stronger, more conditioned. His wings, which once felt alien, had become extensions of him, his body learning how to control their movements. They didn’t feel as heavy now, and he could almost glide across the room with ease, landing gracefully, even jumping from high platforms. He was no longer the weak, fragile child he had been when they first brought him here.

The mirror in the bathroom had changed. He didn’t recognize the face staring back at him. His jawline had sharpened, his eyes, still blue, still the only thing left that reminded him of who he had been, had hardened, lost that innocence they once held. His freckles, once faint, were now more prominent across his nose and cheeks, an unintended mark of time passing.

But the worst part wasn’t the physical changes. It was the emptiness that settled deep within him. He no longer remembered his name. No longer remembered the face of his mother or father. Blurred memories danced in his dreams: a man with black wings who had once been his father, a woman with pink hair who had said his name like it meant something, a voice like an angel singing softly in his ear. But none of it felt real anymore. Those faces were gone. They belonged to another life, another person, someone he used to be.

“Drink, T-015,” the woman’s voice cut through his thoughts, but he barely reacted. She handed him the liquid, but this time, the taste barely mattered. He swallowed it as if it were nothing, as if he were nothing.

The training had intensified. The tests were more rigorous now. They made him run longer, push harder, train his body as if it were a machine. But even with the newfound strength, Tommy, or rather, it, had learned not to care. The pain, the exhaustion, the tests, the needles, the strange chemicals, they didn’t matter. They didn’t affect him anymore.

“It’s just a body,” he muttered to himself, pushing through the obstacle course, his wings folding tightly against his back to avoid hitting the walls. “It’s just a body.”

By the end of the year, he had stopped reacting to the pain. His body had been reshaped, trained, tortured. But more importantly, his mind had been reshaped too. It didn’t feel like it used to. There were no emotions left to express, no memories worth keeping. Just the name they gave him, T-015.

~~~~~~

Year 3

By the third year, Tommy had fully transformed into it. The name Tommy was long gone, replaced with the cold, sterile designation of T-015. Every test, every experiment, every procedure had chipped away at his identity until there was nothing left but a machine, a machine that ran on commands and pain.

The mirror no longer mattered to him. It was a reminder of the face that used to belong to someone else. He barely remembered what he had looked like when he was still… human. The freckled face that stared back at him was still his, but it felt wrong. His hair had darkened, losing some of the blonde brightness it once had, becoming more of a dull gold. His sharp jawline and pointed features only made him look colder. He hardly recognized himself anymore. And that was fine.

His wings, once a strange, unexpected thing, were now just another part of his body. He could control them, move them with the same ease as his limbs. He could fly now. But why bother? There was no place to go. Nowhere to escape. All the tests had served one purpose: to make it faster, stronger, smarter. But not to make it human again.

He no longer cared about his past, his family, his name. It didn’t need those things.

In the quiet of his room, as the lights flickered off at the end of the day, T-015 sat against the wall. The sterile bed remained untouched. There was nothing left to comfort it. Just the sound of the automated system’s hum, the cold air circulating through the room, and the silence.

There was nothing in its mind except the data it’d been forced to memorize, the instructions it’d been given. Nothing except the routines.

It was easier this way, after all. Being T-015. There was no Tommy left.

Just it.

~~~~~~

Present

The soft mechanical whir of the alarm filled the sterile room, followed by the harsh click of the lights flicking on. He, no, it, jerked awake. A flash of cold steel against skin, a thousand other mornings repeating themselves over and over. The room was small, too small. Its bare walls surrounded him like a cage, the light from above making his eyes ache.

It didn’t matter anymore. He was no longer Tommy. The name didn’t belong to it.

T-015.

It was a name that erased everything, like a blade scraping away a life.

The automated voice over the intercom was next, a mechanical whisper that could never be questioned. “Wake up. 10 minutes for personal care.”

It didn’t move at first. The bed was the only thing that knew it, the only thing that had ever known it. With effort, it sat up. Its body was stiff, aching from the endless tests. The wings that had once been a strange, unexpected gift now felt like lead on its back, heavy and cumbersome. When it moved, the black feathers brushed the walls, dragging over the floor, leaving trails of darkness behind.

“Ten minutes,” the voice said again, a little sharper this time.

It stood up slowly, bones creaking, joints groaning under the weight of a decade’s worth of pain. It moved to the restroom, a sterile room with a large mirror on the wall. It had learned to avoid looking at it, but today, something tugged at it, a strange urge to see. To confront what it had become.

It stood in front of the mirror and stared. The face reflected back was not the one it remembered. Time, and the red liquid they had injected it with for the past three years, had done their work. The skin, once pale and almost sickly, now had a healthier tone, a slight flush to it, with light freckles scattered across the nose and cheeks, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated figure it had become.

The hair had darkened slightly. Still blonde, but no longer the pale shade it used to be. Now, it was more of a muted, sandy blonde, a subtle shift, but enough to make it feel foreign. But the eyes, those eyes, they were the only part that hadn't changed. Still blue. Not as bright as before, but they were blue, the only semblance of something familiar in this new form.

Its jawline had sharpened, more defined now, with a hint of masculinity it had never had before. The sharp angles seemed to carve into its face like they had always belonged there, like they had been made to fit this body. Its eyes scanned the reflection, the only thing still rooted in its past life.

But the name didn’t belong to it anymore. Tommy was gone. T-015 was all that was left.

It felt a blur when it tried to remember. Faces, voices, fleeting images. A figure with wings as black as its own, the shadow of someone it used to call dad, but the memories slipped away like smoke in the air. Another, a person with pink hair, so soft and bright, yet there was only the memory of their presence. The feeling of safety. The comforting embrace of their voice. And then there was a voice, so beautiful it could melt the heavens. Someone who had once made it feel at peace. But their face, their name, was lost in the haze of time.

And then there was the woman, her hands, so gentle and soft, playing with its hair. The touch of someone who cared. But her face too was a distant echo, one that faded more with every passing day. Her hands had been the softest thing it had ever felt. It longed to remember her name, to feel that comfort again.

But there was no one here now. No comforting voices, no safety. No love.

Only the cold, sterile reality of this place.

T-015 turned away from the mirror. The reflection was nothing but a hollow shell now. The past, the family, the names, it all meant nothing anymore. It couldn’t even remember the face of the person it had once called dad.

“Move along,” the automated voice called, snapping it from its thoughts. T-015 turned toward the door, leaving the reflection and the memories of Tommy in the sterile room behind. It had no time to linger on what was lost. What was gone. The routine was waiting.

The routine didn’t change. It had been the same for three years. Every second, every breath was controlled. Monitored. Watched.

The door clicked open, and the woman in the white coat stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Move along,” she said, her tone dismissive but professional. It did, because it had no choice. There was nothing else but the routine.

“Morning Nutritional Intake,” she said, her voice detached as she handed it a plastic cup filled with the liquid formula. It didn’t hesitate to drink. If it refused, the consequences were worse than the taste.

“It” didn’t care about the taste. It cared about survival.

The liquid slid down its throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. The woman watched. It met her eyes, empty, hollow eyes. She flinched. She didn’t want to look at it for too long. They never did anymore. They feared it, just like the others. Its eyes weren’t what they had been before, no joy, no hope, just a dull, broken void.

After the nutrients, the day began its cruel rhythm. The treadmill. The bike. The obstacles. The pain. Always the pain. Always the stress. Every test, every trial, its body had been pushed to the edge. They recorded the data like it was nothing more than numbers. It wasn’t a person anymore. It was just T-015.

“Start,” the technician said, clicking a button. The treadmill sped up, the ground beneath it vibrating. It ran, its legs aching, muscles on fire. They monitored the heart rate, the breath, the sweat that pooled along its forehead.

But it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

The mechanical hum of the treadmill, a familiar sound by now, echoed in the small, clinical room. He, no, T-015, ran on, pushing himself harder with every stride. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his body refused to slow. He knew better than to falter. He knew better than to show weakness. They watched, every technician, every doctor, every camera trained on his every move. He had no choice but to obey.

Its wings, black and wide, fluttered as it moved, the weight of them still a heavy burden, yet somehow an extension of its body now. Every beat of the wings, every flex, was calculated, controlled. T-015 could feel them, the muscles in its back responding to the subtle shifts of gravity as it moved. The black feathers, so much like the dark sky, brushed the edges of the treadmill, dragging ever so slightly against the smooth floor. They were a part of it, but they didn’t belong. Not here. Not anymore.

“Push it harder,” came the voice from the speaker, the cold command slicing through the air. The technician’s voice held an edge of something close to fear.

It pushed. The treadmill’s speed increased again, faster this time, pushing T-015’s body into overdrive. Each movement was a test, each muscle burned with the effort, but it did not stop. It couldn’t stop. The pain was constant now. It had long since stopped feeling it fully, not because it didn’t hurt, but because it had learned to shut the pain away, to compartmentalize it. It was nothing more than the inevitable, an expected part of the process.

The treadmill shuddered under its pounding steps. T-015’s legs, built for endurance and strength now, barely gave a sign of struggle. A different life might have called this survival. Here, it was nothing more than obedience. No more breaks, no more rest.

The timer flicked over in the corner of the room, ten minutes had passed. Not enough time. Not enough to break the rhythm of its body. Not enough to feel the slightest tinge of mercy. T-015 surged forward again, faster, harder, as if trying to outrun its own mind, as if trying to outrun the fact that it had nothing else left to give but compliance.

The pain didn’t matter. It had long since learned to drown it out.

The next part of the training began. The obstacle course.

The technician's voice crackled again through the speaker. “Get ready for the second stage. You’ve completed the warm-up, T-015.”

It didn’t respond. It didn’t need to. The voice had no power over it anymore.

The obstacle course was a labyrinth of barriers, high walls to scale, bars to swing across, tightropes to walk, hurdles to clear. T-015 moved through it all without hesitation. The obstacles were set higher now, higher than any human could jump, climb, or scale. But it wasn’t human anymore. It was made to do this.

Its muscles moved fluidly, effortlessly, as it leaped over walls and scaled metal structures. It had learned how to land without a sound, how to control every movement as if the very air around it bent to its will. The black wings folded in as it propelled itself upward, tucking neatly behind it before bursting out again, a sharp, silent motion that allowed it to clear even the highest barriers. The air seemed to grow heavier as it moved, gravity no longer a force that could slow it down. It was learning to control it, every ounce of force around it bending to its command.

A sharp intake of breath escaped the technician watching from the observation booth. “It’s… it’s faster than we expected.”

The whispers didn’t faze it. Nothing fazed it anymore.

T-015 leaped from one high bar to another, each swing fluid and calculated, the strength in its arms pulling it forward, its wings tucked against its back as it soared across the gap. There was no pause, no hesitation, only the next move, the next jump, the next trial. It had grown used to the smooth, almost mechanical motions of its own body. The adrenaline, the fear, the thoughts, it was all secondary now. The objective was singular: survival through obedience.

It landed soundlessly, one foot finding purchase, the other swinging forward to steady itself. The next obstacle awaited, this one more complicated, more dangerous. A vertical wall, slick with oils and coated in sharp barbs, ready to tear through flesh at the wrong touch.

T-015 didn’t hesitate. It extended its wings, allowing them to catch the air just enough to propel itself up, and, with a grace that defied the danger, it scaled the wall as if it had done it a thousand times before. The fear of injury didn’t exist anymore, if it had ever been there at all.

When its feet hit the top, the technician flinched. “Incredible…”

It didn’t stop. It didn’t even acknowledge the praise, if it could be called that. The wall was behind it now, a fleeting thought in its mind. It had already moved on to the next challenge.

A final jump, a dangerous drop, and then the last sprint to the end. It powered through, each footstep a calculated motion, each breath regulated, the control it had over its body far beyond any normal human. Gravity was no longer its opponent. It controlled it now, just as it controlled every movement, every muscle, every thought.

Finally, the course was complete. T-015 slowed to a walk, its chest rising and falling in controlled rhythm, a body that had been pushed to its limits and beyond. It was more than a subject now, it was the culmination of everything they had done to it, every test, every modification, every experiment. And still, it didn’t care.

T-015 turned, its black wings trailing behind it as it faced the camera that watched, the sterile silence that filled the room. It didn’t acknowledge the technicians watching from behind the glass. It didn’t need to. It had no need for their approval. It had no need for anything except what was programmed into it.

The automated voice came again, cold and without empathy. “Physical training complete. Proceed to recovery chamber.”

T-015 obeyed without hesitation.

And then came the pain. The experimentations. The drugs, the needles, the genetic alterations. All of it. Every test, every push, every wound they inflicted, it grew colder, more detached. Each new experiment was a small fracture in its humanity. They had broken it long ago.

The doctors had tried everything to break it, to bend it. And they had succeeded. It had no emotions now. No ties to anything. Just T-015.

It was strapped to a table, as it had been so many times before, the straps biting into its wrists and ankles. A syringe, this time, filled with something that shimmered darkly in the light, was pressed against its skin. The woman’s voice, muffled by the mask, spoke in flat tones. “Another trial. Another upgrade.”

There was nothing in its eyes as the needle pressed into its flesh, nothing but the same emptiness that had followed it for so long. The burning sensation was instant, and for a moment, it thought it might scream. But no. It had learned long ago that screaming, crying, fighting, they didn’t change anything.

The pain ripped through it, faster this time. The chemicals were stronger. Its body trembled, but it didn’t move. Didn’t fight back. It didn’t care. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

A new procedure had started. Something to test its control over the gravity manipulation it had been subjected to. The wings twitched as its body buckled under the new strain. It could feel the pull of gravity, like invisible hands pressing down on its chest, making it feel as if the weight of the world was pushing it into the table.

“Hold it steady,” the technician barked, and suddenly, it felt the pressure ease. A whisper in its mind, a command. It could control it. It could make the gravity shift. It pushed back, and the sensation ebbed, the world around it lightened, the gravity shifting, easing, until it was floating.

Floating in a void of its own making.

“Impressive,” the technician remarked. It didn’t care. It didn’t even respond.

The black wings spread out, unbidden. The feathers shimmered under the cold fluorescent light, stretching to their full length. They felt like chains more than anything else, but at least they served a purpose. They were a tool, an experiment, an object. Nothing more.

At 11 years old, T-015 had seen and endured more than any child should have. Its body had been twisted, bent, and reshaped. It had gone through hours of tests, every single one a step further into oblivion. The doctors had long given up trying to break its spirit. They had succeeded. And they had lost.

Every day was the same. Every test. Every pain. The only thing that changed was the strength of the drugs in its veins, the level of strain in its limbs. Every minute, every hour, was documented, recorded. It was a statistic, a subject. Not a person.

At least the books had stayed. They were its only solace now. When it had been compliant, it had earned a bookshelf, a gift for obedience. Each book was another reminder of what it had lost. But reading, however empty it felt, was still something that allowed it to pretend for a moment that it was not just a thing.

The doctor came in. A new one this time. The look in his eyes was hesitant, wary, like the others. The fear was growing. They feared it now. They saw the hollow eyes, the emotionless stares, and they feared the creature they had created.

“T-015,” the new doctor said softly. “How are you feeling today?”

There was no answer, only the blank stare. The doctor swallowed, the sound heavy in the silence.

“It,” it thought, but didn’t speak aloud. It is not a person. It is nothing.

The doctor flinched, stepping back. “Right,” he murmured, scribbling something on the clipboard. “Well, we’ll begin the next procedure shortly.”

It nodded once, mechanically. Another experiment. Another trial. Another day in this place.

Another step further from humanity.

Chapter Text

The cold metal of the operating chair pressed against T-015’s back as he was strapped in. The familiar fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, their sterile glow reflecting off the gleaming tools on the table beside him. T-015 stared blankly at the ceiling. It had long since learned to block out the muffled voices of the scientists bustling around him, speaking in clipped tones and cryptic terminology.

“It’s just another experiment,” T-015 thought. “Just another step.”

A sharp prick broke through its numb haze as a needle pierced its arm, injecting the thick, crimson liquid. Almost instantly, a fiery pain erupted in its skull, so intense it felt like its head was being split apart.

“Ghh-!” A strangled sound escaped its throat as it thrashed weakly against the restraints.

“Subject is responding to the serum,” one of the scientists noted calmly.

“Keep it steady,” said another, gripping its arm to prevent further movement.

T-015’s head pounded, the pain radiating behind its eyes like a relentless drumbeat. Its vision swam, and it barely registered the bandages being wrapped tightly around its face.

“That’s enough for today,” one of the scientists announced.

“We’ll let it rest and observe any side effects. Escort it back to its room.”

T-015 said nothing as it was unshackled and hauled to its feet by two guards. It didn’t resist. It never did.

The familiar click of the door locking behind it echoed in the small, stark room. T-015 sat on the edge of the cot, its bandaged eyes making the already suffocating room feel even smaller. The throbbing in its head hadn’t eased.

It sat in silence for hours, unmoving, waiting for the pain to subside. Time had little meaning here, and solitude was its only companion. Slowly, the sharp pounding dulled to a faint ache.

T-015 raised a hand to the bandages, fingertips brushing against the coarse fabric.

“They said rest,” it murmured to itself, voice flat. But it was tired of resting. Tired of waiting.

Carefully, it began to unwind the bandages, wincing as light hit its still-sensitive eyes. Once the last layer fell away, T-015 blinked rapidly and turned to the small mirror bolted to the wall.

The reflection staring back wasn’t its own.

The eyes that had once been a vivid, oceanic blue were now a glowing, unnatural red. The color was sharp, almost luminous, like embers burning in a dark void.

T-015 stumbled back from the mirror, its breath hitching.

“No… no…” The words came out in a shaky whisper.

It sank to the floor, its hands clutching at its head. The memories it tried so hard to suppress flooded back all at once, flashes of laughter, sunlight, and freedom. Blue eyes that once held joy and life.

Now replaced with the cold, inhuman red of a creature it no longer recognized.

“They took it,” T-015 choked out. “They took it away!”

Its scream echoed through the room as it slammed its fists against the floor.

“Why?! Why won’t they leave me alone?!”

T-015 sobbed uncontrollably, the raw pain of loss tearing through its chest. For the first time in months, it let the emotion consume it, breaking through the carefully constructed walls it had built around its humanity.

Minutes stretched into hours before the sobs quieted. Exhaustion took hold, leaving it slumped against the wall, its face blank and tear-streaked.

T-015 stood slowly and turned back to the mirror. The reflection was still there, unchanged. The eyes it once cherished were gone, replaced by the cruel reminder of what it had become.

“This is who I am now,” it whispered, voice hollow.

It traced a finger over the glass, the cold surface a stark contrast to the warmth of the tears that had fallen moments before.

“No more screaming. No more crying,” it said firmly. “They can’t take anything else from me if there’s nothing left to take.”

T-015 turned away from the mirror and sat back on the cot, staring blankly at the wall. It was ready for the next experiment, whatever it might be. Because now, there was nothing left to lose.

T-015 sat still in its room, staring blankly at the padded wall. The familiar hum of the facility was punctuated by the occasional explosion. Its expression remained unchanged, emotionless, detached. Its mind, however, was alert, waiting, as it listened to the distant booms. It’d learned a long time ago that explosions were either a distraction or a signal for something worse. Either way, it was used to it.

The explosions grew louder, shaking the room. Its wings twitched slightly, but it didn’t move, not yet. It knew better than to waste energy on something it couldn’t control. Its eyes flicked around its cell as the blasts continued. Bookshelves lined the walls, with mythology books neatly arranged on the shelves, rewards for good behavior. It could use them, maybe throw them, but they wouldn’t do much.

It shifted its gaze again, its thoughts sharpening. Its training was more than enough to defend itself, and its instincts screamed to be ready. It stood up slowly, stretching its wings out a little. They were a sign of what it could do, and a reminder of what had been done to it. It would fight if it came to that.

The noise outside his door shifted. Footsteps.

T-015 immediately froze, every muscle taut. It knew these footsteps weren’t from the scientists, they never came near its room on rest days. This was different. Its heart beat faster as the footsteps grew closer, and the door started to open.

A man stepped inside, about six feet tall. His attire was strange, sleek black fabric with green accents, angular straps crossing over his chest, and a strange white mask covering his face. As soon as their eyes met, the stranger froze, his hands raised in a silent surrender.

T-015 didn’t flinch. It just glared at the man, its red eyes burning with intensity. The stranger didn’t move at first, clearly sizing it up, but then he started backing away slowly, closing the door with a cautious click.

T-015 stood still, staring at the door, waiting. It could hear the stranger on the other side whispering, likely to someone else, but the door creaked open again, just a crack this time. The man’s head popped in and then quickly out. Then, he did it again. And again.

The whole scene felt absurd, like a game of peek-a-boo, but the tension was unmistakable. T-015 narrowed its eyes, waiting, frustrated. Was this a joke? Who were these people?

Finally, after a few moments, the door opened wide, and another figure stepped inside. This one was more striking, wearing a shimmering midnight blue top that barely covered his midriff, with silver chains linking long, detached sleeves to his wrists. His mask was like the others, blank and white, but with goggles drawn on it. His presence felt strange, like he was a walking contradiction, graceful yet commanding.

Without a word, the blue-clad man glanced at the room, his eyes landing on T-015. He blinked in surprise before turning away to usher someone else in. And that’s when things went from strange to downright ridiculous.

The third figure was even more absurd. He wore a high-collared black jacket with gold flame-like designs, paired with crimson red pants and a black coat that looked like it had been through a war. His mask had a drawn-on angry face, eyebrows and all.

T-015’s fists clenched. Three against one? This wasn’t a fair fight, not anymore. But as it sized them up, it realized something else, these three didn’t look like they had any idea what they were doing. They were professionals, yes, but still, unpredictable, and potentially dangerous. It had to stay on guard.

The green man, T-015 decided that was now named Dispy, stepped forward first, his steps slow but determined. T-015’s eyes followed his every movement, every twitch of his fingers.

Dipsy took a step closer, his hand slipping behind his back. A nervous energy radiated off him, and T-015 growled in warning, ready to fight, its powers boiling beneath the surface.

“Hey-” Dipsy started, his voice strangely soft, almost as if he was trying to calm a skittish animal. But then, seeing the tension in T-015’s wings, he quickly stepped back again, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. He whispered something to Tinky-Winky and Po before turning his attention back to T-015, cautiously.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Dipsy said, his voice steady but gentle. “I just want to-”

But before he could finish, T-015 grinned, its red eyes gleaming with mischief. The moment it’d been waiting for.

With a surge of power, T-015 leapt above Dipsy, kicking him hard in the back. The green man stumbled forward, clearly not expecting the sudden movement. But before T-015 could land, Po’s flame-like power erupted, creating a wave of fire that forced it to twist in midair to avoid being burned.

“Careful, FlairDevil!” Tinky-Winky’s voice was calm but firm. “We need him conscious, not charred.”

T-015 landed with a thud, rolling into a defensive stance. It wasn’t about to give up that easily. It wasn’t going to let them catch it off guard. But it wasn’t sure where to start, there were three of them, and its powers were enough to take on one, maybe two, but this?

Dipsy lunged at it again, trying to restrain it, but T-015 side-stepped, avoiding his hold. However, Tinky Winky’s touch brushed against its arm, and in an instant, T-015 felt its body go heavy, the world blurring. Tinky Winky’s power had taken effect. Sleepiness flooded it, but it fought it, tried to stay awake, tried to stay in control.

“Get him!” FlairDevil barked, his flames growing in intensity as he took a step toward the boy. T-015 managed to push itself to its feet, its wings twitching as it prepared to flee or fight. But it was too late.

Dipsy moved quickly, his telekinetic abilities sweeping T-015 off its feet, and in the next moment, it was being princess-carried, its legs and arms bound tightly. T-015 struggled briefly, but its vision grew blurry, and everything started to feel like it was slipping away.

It was placed in a chair, the metal of the chair groaning under its weight as FlairDevil, surprisingly considerate of its wings, snapped off the back of it before T-015 could settle. But the wings? They were gone. They folded into its body as though they had never existed.

Tinky Winky’s gaze turned cold, but he didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand, and T-015’s mind cleared in an instant, the grogginess vanishing as it’s senses sharpened once more.

Dipsy gently removed his mask, revealing a face almost identical to T-015’s, though older. His eyes, however, were a brilliant green, no trace of red.

“Hi,” Dipsy said softly, his voice still calm but with an undeniable warmth. “I’m Dream, and I'm pretty sure you’re my clone. You’ve been through a lot, and I’m here to help you. You’re not alone anymore.”

Chapter Text

T-015 sat rigidly in the chair, its eyes fixed on the man before him, the one they called Dream. The man’s soft yet confident demeanor was a stark contrast to the harshness T-015 had experienced from others. He seemed… kind. Maybe too kind. For the first time in what felt like forever, T-015 considered speaking.

When it finally opened its mouth, its voice was hoarse and hesitant. “I’m not a clone.”

The trio stared at it, momentarily stunned into silence. Dream blinked, Tinky Winky tilted his head in confusion, and FlairDevils usual smug expression softened into one of curiosity.

“What do you mean?” Dream asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. “You look just like me. How…?”

T-015 frowned, it’s hands clenching the edges of the chair. “I mean what I said. I’m not your clone. I don’t know why I look like you, but I’m no copy.”

The trio exchanged glances, the confusion thick in the air. Finally, Tinky Winky stepped forward, his voice quieter than usual. “We didn’t know. We assumed you were because… well… you look so much like Dream. We’re sorry if we hurt you or treated you unfairly.”

FlairDevil nodded. “We didn’t mean to be harsh. We just wanted to help you.”

T-015 stared at them, its gaze lingering on Dream. It wanted to believe them. No, it needed to believe them.

Dream stepped closer, crouching down to T-015’s eye level. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” T-015 replied, it’s voice flat, as if the question were absurd. “T-015. That’s my name.”

FlairDevil snorted, though not unkindly. “No, I mean your real name. Before you were… y’know, captured or whatever.”

T-015 froze. Its mind raced, but it was like hitting a brick wall. No matter how hard it tried, no matter how deep it searched, there was… nothing. A cold sweat formed on its forehead, and panic gripped his chest.

“I… I don’t…” it stammered, its breath hitching. “I don’t remember.”

Dream immediately reached out, his voice soothing. “It’s okay-”

“I don’t remember!” T-015 repeated, its voice rising. “I don’t remember! I don’t remember! I don’t remember! I don’t remember!”

Dream’s hands gently rested on T-015’s shoulders, his thumbs pressing lightly to steady it. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice calm and grounding. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

T-015’s breathing slowed as Dream’s words sank in, its gaze meeting the man’s steady green eyes. For the first time, T-015 felt a faint flicker of safety.

Tinky Winky broke the tense silence. “Maybe you could choose your own name,” he suggested, his eyes drifting to the bookshelves that lined the room. “You’ve got all these books. You must love mythology. What about something from that?”

T-015 hesitated, glancing at the shelves filled with worn books. It shook his head. “I… I don’t have that right.”

“Of course you do,” George said firmly. He smiled faintly, his eyes catching on a title. “What about Theseus? You and he share a letter, and… well, it feels fitting.”

“Theseus…” T-015 repeated, its voice barely above a whisper. The name rolled off its tongue like it belonged there. It felt right, like finding something it hadn’t realized it’d lost. It looked up at George with wide eyes. “Theseus. I… I love it.”

Dream smiled warmly. “Theseus it is, then. Thanks, George.”

T-015, no, Theseus, blinked in surprise. “George? Your name is George?”

George chuckled. “Yep. That’s me.”

Theseus turned to FlairDevil. “And you? What’s your name?”

FlairDevil smirked. “Sapnap. But don’t wear it out.”

As the warmth of his new name settled over him, Theseus sat quietly, his fingers tracing the edge of the chair. It felt strange, yet comforting, to have something that was his, something that didn’t remind him of captivity.

Dream studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering in his green eyes. “Theseus,” he began softly, “can I ask you something?”

Theseus looked up, meeting Dream’s gaze. “What?”

“How old are you?”

The question caught him off guard. He tilted his head, brows knitting together as he thought. “I… I think I’m eleven. I’m not sure.”

George blinked. “You think?”

Theseus shrugged, his voice quiet. “I don’t really know. I’ve been here so long… it all just blurs together. Days, weeks, years. They didn’t really matter.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.

“What about your family?” Sapnap asked gently, leaning forward. “Do you remember them? Who they were? Their names?”

Theseus frowned, his hands curling into fists on his lap. “I… no,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t remember. It’s all blurry. Faces, voices… it’s like trying to grab smoke. I know I had a family, but I don’t know who they are.”

Dream crouched beside him again, his expression full of understanding. “That’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to remember everything right now.”

Theseus shook his head, his voice rising in panic. “But what if I never remember? What if I never know who I was? Where I came from?”

George stepped in, his voice firm but kind. “Hey, listen to me. You’re Theseus now. It doesn’t matter who you were. What matters is who you want to be.”

Sapnap nodded, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Yeah, you’re not defined by your past. You’re here, right now, with us. And that’s enough.”

Theseus looked between them, his chest tightening. The words felt foreign, yet they reached a part of him he didn’t know existed. He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

George glanced at the bookshelves lining the walls, his curiosity piqued. “You know, you’ve got a lot of books here. Did you read all of these?”

Theseus gave a small smile, the first genuine one they’d seen. “Most of them. They were… my escape, I guess. When everything else felt hopeless.”

Sapnap grinned. “Well, I’m calling it now. You’re the nerd of the group.”

Dream chuckled, standing up. “Hey, there’s no shame in that. Nerds are cool.”

Theseus laughed, a soft, hesitant sound, but real nonetheless. It startled him, like he’d forgotten how to do it. The trio smiled, their warmth wrapping around him like a shield against the cold memories that lingered.

For the first time, Theseus felt like he belonged.

As the laughter faded into a quiet hum of comfort, Dream placed a hand on the back of Theseus’s chair, his expression turning serious but gentle. “Theseus,” he said, his voice soft yet resolute, “how do you feel about getting out of this place? Coming with us… back home?”

The word “home” lingered in the air, heavy with a meaning Theseus wasn’t sure he fully understood. He blinked, his heart thudding in his chest. “Home?” he repeated, his voice barely audible.

Dream nodded. “Yeah. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Theseus stared at him, his mind racing. For so long, all he’d known was the cold, sterile walls of this place. The idea of leaving felt like a Dream, or maybe a cruel trick. But as he looked into Dream’s steady, kind eyes, something inside him whispered that this was real.

“I…” He swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up in his chest. “Yes. Please. Take me with you.”

Dream smiled, relief washing over his face. “Good choice.”

George and Sapnap exchanged a grin as Dream knelt to untie the ropes binding Theseus to the chair. The moment the restraints fell away, Theseus hesitantly stood, his movements stiff and unsteady after what felt like an eternity of confinement.

As soon as he put weight on his legs, they buckled beneath him. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he started to fall, but before he could hit the ground, Dream caught him.

“Whoa there,” Dream said, his arms slipping under Theseus with ease. Before Theseus could protest, Dream lifted him up, cradling him in his arms like a princess.

Theseus’s face flushed crimson. “I-I can walk!” he stammered, though his shaky legs told a different story.

Dream smirked, adjusting his hold on the boy. “Clearly,” he teased. “But until you prove it, I’ve got you.”

George snickered. “You’re gonna have to get used to this. Dream’s got a thing for dramatic rescues.”

Sapnap leaned in, smirking. “Careful, Theseus. You’re setting a dangerous precedent. Next thing you know, he’ll be carrying you everywhere.”

Theseus glared at them both, though his embarrassment was softened by the warmth of Dream’s arms. “Shut up,” he muttered, though there was no real venom in his tone.

Dream chuckled, glancing down at the boy in his arms. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous.”

Theseus sighed, his exhaustion catching up to him as the adrenaline of the moment faded. His head grew heavy, and before he realized it, he let it rest on Dream’s shoulder.

The steady rhythm of Dream’s footsteps and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing lulled Theseus into a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in years. His eyelids drooped, and soon, he was fast asleep, his small frame relaxed and trusting in Dream’s hold.

Dream glanced down at him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “He’s out,” he murmured to George and Sapnap.

“Can you blame him?” George replied, his voice quieter than usual. “The kid’s been through hell.”

Sapnap nodded, his expression unusually serious. “Yeah. He deserves a break.”

Dream looked down at Theseus again, his smile growing. “We’ll make sure he gets one.”

And with that, they left the cold, unfeeling walls of the facility behind, stepping into the unknown, together. For the first time in years, Theseus wasn’t alone. He was going home.

Chapter Text

Three Years Ago

Techno knew something was wrong the moment he saw the front door wide open.

Tommy was a stickler for safety, obsessively checking and rechecking locks before bed, making sure every window was shut tight. The sight of the yawning doorway sent a chill through Techno’s spine, an instinctual warning thrumming in his bones. His hand immediately went to his waistband, fingers curling around the grip of his gun, one he carried religiously, just in case.

Behind him, Phil and Wilbur tensed, their bodies shifting into high alert. It was late, nearly 3 AM, far too late for an open door to mean anything good.

Techno swallowed down the guilt gnawing at his gut. He already felt bad about missing Tommy’s birthday. He had wanted to be there, had even suggested skipping the mission, but Phil had insisted it was too important. “Tommy would understand if he knew what we were doing,” Phil had said.

Techno wanted to believe that.

He had planned to make it up to Tommy in the morning. Maybe whip up some chocolate chip pancakes, spend the day with him. But that hope felt paper-thin now as he stepped inside, his heart hammering a war drum against his ribs.

They were heroes, Top 3, to be exact.

Phil, the number 2 hero, Anemoi, was a legend in his own right. With his sleek, crow-black wings and near-limitless stamina in the air, he was the very image of a guardian angel. He had an aura about him, calm, steady, reliable. The kind of hero who made you feel safe just by being there. Kids adored him, crowding around him whenever he made an appearance, their tiny hands reaching for his feathers, their wide eyes looking up at him in awe. He had a soft spot for them, too, Techno had seen the way his usually sharp demeanor softened when he was around them, the way he crouched to their level, ruffled their hair, answered their endless questions with patience. The media had long since labeled him the “Hero of the Skies,” a protector who never faltered, never hesitated to swoop in and save the day.

Then there was Wilbur, the number 3 hero, Muse. If Phil was a guardian, Wilbur was a performer. He had a voice that could control anyone, bend them to his will, but only if they responded. A clever power, but one with clear limits, and Wilbur had learned how to wield it with all the finesse of a seasoned actor. Charismatic, charming, infuriatingly popular. He was the kind of hero who thrived in front of a camera, who could flash a grin and send teenage girls swooning. The tabloids were obsessed with him, dubbing him the “Silver-Tongued Savior.” Concert crowds and magazine covers, fan clubs and devoted admirers, Wilbur had them all. And Techno never let him forget it.

And then there was Techno, the number 1 hero, Orion.

He was different from them. Where Phil was adored and Wilbur was idolized, Techno was feared. Respected. Revered.

His power was blood, theirs, his own, it didn’t matter. He could control it, shape it, solidify it into weapons sharper than any steel. He could pull it straight from an enemy’s body, make them collapse where they stood. But he couldn’t create it. And therein lay his weakness. Every time he used his own blood, he edged closer to exhaustion, his body struggling to keep up with his own ability. He produced more blood than the average person, enough to keep himself fighting longer, but there was always a limit. A price.

And yet, despite the brutality of his power, the public loved him. Not in the same way they loved Phil or Wilbur, there were no gaggles of children rushing to hold his hand, no teenagers writing his name in glitter pens on their notebooks. But there was something larger than admiration, deeper than devotion. Awe.

People looked at him like he was unstoppable. Unshakable. A force of nature.

They called him “The Hunter,” a warrior who never lost his prey. He was the one criminals feared in the dead of night, the one civilians whispered about with hushed reverence. Parents told their children, “If Orion is there, you’ll be safe.” Even the government treated him like a mythic figure, the final weapon they sent when all else failed.

But none of that mattered right now.

Right now, something was wrong.

With slow, practiced movements, Techno nudged the door open with his foot, gun raised as he moved through the house. Every corner, every shadow was checked, each room swept methodically. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing-

Tommy’s room.

Techno’s breath hitched as he stepped inside.

The walls were the same. The furniture was the same. The bed, the desk, the drawings scattered everywhere, all the same. But on the wall, written in a deep, glistening red, was a single sentence:

“Should’ve paid more attention.”

Techno didn’t need to touch it to know what it was. The metallic tang of blood hit him instantly, his power thrumming in response to its presence. His chest tightened, his stomach twisted into knots.

No.

No, no, no.

His heart pounded as his eyes darted around the room, desperate to spot a flash of blonde hair, to hear a familiar, bratty voice calling him stupid for looking so worried. This was a joke. It had to be. Tommy was just pissed about his birthday. He had to be here, he had to.

But he wasn’t.

“Tommy!” Techno’s voice tore through the house as he spun on his heel, shoving past Wilbur and Phil. He sprinted from room to room, overturning furniture, ripping open closets, yanking aside curtains. “Tommy, this isn’t funny! Come out, now!”

Silence.

His breathing was ragged as he stormed back into Tommy’s room, where Phil stood frozen, his wings drooping, and Wilbur, Wilbur was sobbing, his shoulders trembling violently as he clutched onto Phil for support.

Techno barely registered them.

His eyes caught on the bed.

There, tucked in neatly beneath the covers, was a stuffed cow.

His stuffed cow.

The one he had made for Tommy.

Techno’s body moved on autopilot as he approached it, his hands trembling as he reached out and picked it up. It was soft. Small. He had spent weeks making this, learning how to sew, watching Build-A-Bear workers stuff plushies just to get it right. He knew Tommy loved animals, his drawings were scattered across the room, cows being the most common. Techno had wanted to give him something special. Something personal.

And now it was all that was left.

The dam broke.

Techno held the stuffed cow close, his fingers curling into the fabric as he sank to his knees. A sharp, painful sob ripped from his throat, silent, but devastating. He had never been good with emotions. Never been good at expressing how much he loved his little brother.

And now, when it mattered most, he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there.

And Tommy was gone.

Chapter Text

The TV flickered in the dimly lit living room, casting a warm glow over the three boys as they devoured their spaghetti. The air was thick with the scent of garlic and marinara sauce, their bowls nearly overflowing with the generous portions Schlatt had served.

Tubbo sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the couch, while Ranboo and Purpled lounged comfortably on the cushions above him. The moment Tubbo had sat down, however, an argument had sparked, one that showed no signs of stopping.

“This is bullshit,” Tubbo grumbled, shoveling another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “It’s my house. I should be on the couch, and you two should be on the floor like the peasants you are.”

Purpled raised an eyebrow, lazily twirling his fork in his spaghetti. “Uh, first of all, no. Second of all, why do you even want to be on the couch? You literally sat on the floor on your own.”

“Because it’s a principle thing!” Tubbo huffed. “This is my house. I should have the best seat.”

Ranboo snorted. “Okay, but hear me out—this is basically our house too.”

Tubbo froze mid-bite, slowly looking up at him. “Excuse me?”

Purpled nodded in agreement. “Yeah, dude. We’re here all the time. I have a toothbrush in your bathroom. That basically gives me tenant rights.”

“I have a pair of socks here,” Ranboo added, pointing at his feet.

“You stole those socks from my drawer, you lanky twig!” Tubbo accused, jabbing his fork in Ranboo’s direction.

“Correction—I liberated them.”

Purpled nodded sagely. “It was an act of survival.”

“Survival?” Tubbo repeated incredulously. “I swear—” He groaned, rubbing his temples before shooting them both a glare. “Look, squatters, just because you practically live here doesn’t mean you get couch privileges. It’s my house. My rules.”

Ranboo tilted his head. “But if we live here too, then technically, doesn’t that mean we also have a say in the rules?”

Purpled gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, we should have house meetings!”

“No.” Tubbo pointed at them both. “You don’t live here. You crash here. There’s a difference.”

Purpled waved him off. “Sounds like semantics to me.”

“Semantics my ass! I want the couch!”

Ranboo stretched his legs out further, effectively blocking Tubbo from even considering climbing up. “Sorry, man. If it was really your couch, you’d already be sitting on it.”

Purpled grinned, resting his arm behind his head. “Yeah, we’re just enforcing natural selection. If you’re not fast enough to claim the couch, you don’t get the couch.”

Tubbo gaped at them, looking genuinely offended. “You fuckers—”

Before he could finish, Schlatt’s phone rang.

The sound cut through the bickering, sharp and unexpected. From the kitchen, Schlatt sighed, wiping his hands on a dish towel before pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah?” he answered gruffly.

The boys paid little attention at first. Schlatt got calls all the time, sometimes work-related, sometimes just some old drinking buddy talking his ear off. But this time, he didn’t say much. His voice dropped, low and tense. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

Tubbo frowned, leaning his head back against the couch. “That’s weird.”

Ranboo raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“My dad usually bitches about calls before answering. He didn’t do that this time.”

Purpled shrugged, twirling spaghetti onto his fork. “Maybe it’s important.”

Tubbo tried to shake off the weird feeling in his gut, but something about the way Schlatt had left, so abrupt, so quiet, felt off.

The minutes dragged on. The TV kept playing, but no one was really paying attention. Eventually, their plates were cleared, but still, no Schlatt.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then, the door creaked open.

Schlatt stepped back into the living room, his face unreadable. His shoulders, normally squared and confident, were tense. His hands clenched at his sides, his eyes darker than usual.

And then, without warning, he walked over and pulled the three boys into a crushing hug.

Ranboo stiffened, startled. Purpled barely managed to set his bowl aside before he was yanked in. Tubbo, still sitting on the floor, let out a confused squawk as he was practically dragged upward into the embrace.

“What the hell—” Purpled started, voice muffled.

Schlatt didn’t let go. He just held them tighter, like he was afraid they’d disappear.

Then, his voice, rough and hoarse, broke the silence.

“Tommy’s gone.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Ranboo pulled back slightly, blinking. “What do you mean, gone?”

Schlatt’s jaw tensed. His grip on them loosened just a little, but the weight of his words only hit harder. “He—” He exhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt. “He was taken.”

Tubbo’s world stopped.

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, that—that’s not—”

Purpled’s face paled. “That’s not possible,” he whispered.

Ranboo’s breathing turned shallow. “But he—he was just at school yesterday—he was—” His voice cracked, his chest heaving.

“No,” Tubbo repeated, more forcefully this time. His hands clenched into fists. “You’re wrong.”

Schlatt knelt in front of them, gripping Tubbo’s shoulders. “I swear to you, kid,” he said, voice shaking with barely restrained rage, “I’m going to fix this. I’ll find him if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.”

The three boys were sobbing now, clinging to each other, their minds unable to fully process what they had just heard.

Schlatt stood up, pulling his phone from his pocket, and in a voice sharp as steel, he barked into the receiver:

“I need every hero out on the streets looking for an eight-year-old boy. Blonde, scruffy hair, blue eyes. About 4’7”. Red hoodie, brown shorts. Make this top priority. I need him found.”

The voice on the other end didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

The line went dead.

Schlatt turned back to the boys, his face grim. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed.

“There’s something you kids should know.”

Chapter Text

A dull throbbing settled in Theseus’ head as he slowly drifted into consciousness. The world felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater. Voices filtered through the haze, bickering, sharp but familiar.

“Dream, you do realize you have to tell your mom, right?” That was George’s voice, clipped and exasperated. “You can’t just adopt a kid and not mention it.”

“I can and I will,” Dream shot back. “She barely ever comes over anyway, it’s not like she’ll notice.”

“Oh my God,” Sapnap groaned. “Forget your mom, do you realize this means we need a fifth car now? Dream, we’re literally out of space! I’m already smushed against George, and he has bony-ass elbows—”

“Excuse you?” George snapped.

Theseus forced his eyes open. The world swam for a second before coming into focus. He was in the front passenger seat of a car. Dream was driving, his hands gripping the wheel like he was ready to fight it. In the backseat, George and Sapnap were crammed together, their arguing intensifying by the second.

“Dude, I’m just saying,” Sapnap continued, shoving George’s arm, “either we get a bigger car, or you get out and run home.”

“Why me?” George shot back.

“Because I called shotgun first.”

“Theseus is in the front seat, dumbass.”

“Oh. Well. He can’t drive.”

“You barely can either!”

“I drive better than Dream!”

Dream scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t even act like you don’t hit curbs every time you park,” George said.

“That is false—”

“Okay, yeah, this is fine,” Theseus muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes.

All three of them snapped their attention to him.

“Oh hey, you’re awake,” Dream said, sounding far too casual for someone who had apparently just adopted a child.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Sapnap quipped.

“How are you feeling?” George asked, his voice a little softer than before.

Theseus blinked at them. “Like I just woke up in a car with three idiots.”

“Okay, rude,” Sapnap said.

“But accurate,” George added.

Dream just grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”

The drive continued, filled with more back-and-forth arguments that felt less like actual fights and more like some kind of chaotic, never-ending conversation. At some point, George started listing reasons why Dream was the worst person to adopt anyone.

“You barely sleep.”

“So?”

“So what if he needs something in the middle of the night?”

“I’ll still be awake.”

“You eat like a raccoon that broke into a gas station.”

“I don’t see the issue.”

“You make terrible decisions.”

“I made the fantastic decision of bringing him home, so joke’s on you.”

“Are we even gonna talk about the fact that we never discussed this?” Sapnap cut in. “Like, I get it, Dream makes stupid choices all the time, but usually we at least pretend to vote on things.”

“Yeah,” George added, “like when we voted against getting another dog and Dream still came home with one.”

“That was different,” Dream argued.

“How?”

“Dogs don’t have abandonment issues.”

Silence.

“…Okay, well now you just made it sad,” Sapnap muttered.

“I am sad,” Dream said. “Hence, adoption.”

Theseus stared at them, unsure whether to be confused or… oddly reassured. They were ridiculous, sure, but there was something grounding about the way they interacted, like they had been doing this forever.

The car eventually slowed, turning onto a long, winding driveway. They passed through massive iron gates that creaked open as they approached. The moment they pulled up to the house, Theseus froze.

It was a mansion. No, more than that. It looked like something out of an old fairy tale.

The towering stone walls were partially covered in ivy, making it look almost ancient. The windows stretched tall, some framed with intricate carvings. In the center of the garden was a massive pond with lily pads floating on the surface, and a fountain sat in the middle, spilling water into the pool below. The pathways were lined with neatly trimmed hedges and vibrant red flowers, the kind of landscaping that felt both effortless and meticulously maintained.

“…What the hell,” Theseus breathed.

“Welcome home,” Dream said casually, stepping out of the car.

Sapnap groaned as he stretched. “Every time I see this place, I’m reminded of how stupidly rich we are.”

“Theseus, you good?” George asked, watching as he hesitated at the gate.

“I—” He didn’t even know what to say. He had imagined a lot of things, but this? This was not what he expected.

Dream clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. “Come on, kid. You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

As the door creaked open, Theseus felt a rush of excitement and anxiety at the thought of exploring his new home. Dream, George, and Sapnap stood by his side, ready to give him the grand tour.

“Welcome to our house, Theseus!” Dream said with a grin, his green hoodie contrasting with the soft, warm colors of the entryway. “Let’s start with the best part, my room!”

They stepped into a bedroom filled with sleek posters of cars, and a collection of model cars lined the shelves. The walls were painted a vibrant shade of green, and a large snake-themed tapestry hung above the bed. “This is where I keep my stuff,” Dream said casually. “Oh, and I have swords! I’ll show you later.” He winked, just as a large Black German Shepherd padded into the room. “And this is Stryker. He’s a trained attack and protection guard dog, so he’s always got my back.”

“Whoa, he’s cool!” Theseus exclaimed, watching Stryker sit obediently by Dream’s side. Just then, a torbie cat with brown and red patches strolled in, purring softly. “And that’s Patches,” Dream continued. “She’s my therapy cat. Always knows when I need some extra comfort.”

“Next up is my sanctuary,” George said, ushering Theseus into his room. It was a peaceful haven with walls painted a calming blue. “I love plants, so I have a whole collection!” He pointed to the various plants scattered throughout the room, along with posters of indie bands hanging above the bed. A shelf was adorned with mushrooms and a small gun display. “And this is Fluffy,” he added, gesturing to a fluffy gray cat lounging in the sun by the window. “And my dog, Locke!” he said, motioning to a golden retriever happily wagging his tail nearby.

Sapnap bounced into the next room, practically bursting with energy. “Welcome to my domain!” His room was a fiery explosion of orange, decorated with posters of heavy metal bands and a couple of electric guitars propped against the wall. An axe hung proudly above his bed. “If you like fire, you’ll love it here!” He picked up a skateboard and spun it in his hand. “And here’s Blaze!” He gestured toward a spunky golden retriever, who was wagging his tail and bouncing around excitedly. “And I also have Fritz, my brown German Shepherd, but he’s probably outside right now.”

“Wow, your rooms are amazing!” Theseus exclaimed, feeling a mix of admiration and nervousness.

As they continued through the house, Dream led Theseus to the fourth bedroom. “This room is for my mom whenever she visits,” he explained, opening the door to reveal a cozy, inviting space. Soft pastels adorned the walls, and the bed was piled high with fluffy pillows and a warm quilt. “I wanted it to feel really homey for her. She loves soft things.”

Theseus stepped inside, noticing the little touches that made it welcoming, framed photos of Dream and his mom, a small bookshelf filled with her favorite novels, and a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand. “It’s nice,” Theseus said, a little surprised at how comforting the room felt.

“Yeah, my mom’s kind of a big deal,” Dream admitted with a sheepish smile. “She always makes the place feel like home when she’s here.”

“Do you think she’ll visit soon?” Theseus asked, glancing at Dream.

“Definitely,” Dream replied confidently. “And she’ll love to meet you!”

Sapnap nudged Theseus with a grin. “Plus, she makes the best cookies. You’ll have to try some!”

“Sounds awesome!” Theseus smiled, his stomach rumbling at the thought of fresh-baked cookies.

Dream gestured for Theseus to follow him to the next room. “Alright, now let’s check out the empty rooms,” he said, leading him to the fifth bedroom.

“This one will be yours, if that’s alright,” Dream said, motioning to the simple setup: a basic bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a closet. A charming bay window overlooked the backyard, letting in warm sunlight. “We can go shopping this weekend for everything you need, and you can pick the color for the walls!”

Theseus’s eyes widened with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “Really? I can pick everything?”

“Of course!” Sapnap chimed in. “And we can have a blast decorating it!”

“Yeah, just think about how cozy it could be!” George added with a smile. “You’ll love it.”

As they moved to the sixth bedroom, another empty space with just the basics, Theseus felt a flutter of happiness at the thought of having his own space, something he hadn’t had in years.

“Just so you know,” Sapnap said, kneeling down to scratch Blaze behind the ears, “we’re here for you, man. You’re not alone anymore.”

“Yeah,” Dream agreed. “We’ve got your back, always.”

With the promise of friendship and a real home, Theseus felt a warmth spreading through him, pushing away the shadows of his past.

As the excitement of the bedroom tour settled, Dream clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s show you the rest of the house! There’s a lot to see.”

They stepped out of the hallway and into a spacious living room. Large windows let in streams of sunlight, illuminating the comfy couches and a coffee table littered with magazines and game controllers. “This is our hangout spot,” Dream said, plopping down on the couch. “We chill here, play games, and watch movies.”

Theseus felt a wave of warmth wash over him, but he hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It looks really nice,” he said softly, his eyes scanning the room.

“Yeah, and we’ve got a ton of snacks!” Sapnap added, ruffling Theseus’s hair playfully. Theseus flinched slightly at the sudden movement, quickly forcing a smile.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said quietly, trying to mask his discomfort.

“Oops, sorry!” Sapnap said, backing off with an apologetic look. “Didn’t mean to startle you!”

“Let’s check out the kitchen next!” George said, leading the way. The kitchen was modern and bright, with white cabinets and a large island in the center. A fridge full of colorful magnets and photos added a personal touch. “This is where all the magic happens,” George said, grinning. “And where Dream usually burns toast.”

“Hey! That was one time!” Dream defended himself, laughing. “I’m a great cook. Just… not when it comes to breakfast.”

“Right,” George smirked. “Just wait until you see what I whip up. My specialty is mushroom risotto!”

“That sounds amazing!” Theseus said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice despite himself.

“Now, come on! I want to show you the library!” Dream said, leading them through an archway into a cozy room lined with shelves of books. A couple of oversized bean bags were scattered around, creating a perfect reading nook. “This is one of my favorite places in the house,” Dream said, running his hand along the spines of the books. “You can read or chill here whenever you want.”

Theseus took a step inside, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. He moved cautiously, his fingers brushing against the shelves. “Wow, this is incredible,” he said softly, his eyes lighting up as he scanned the titles. “I love reading.”

“Good, because you’ll find plenty of books to get lost in,” George said, flashing a smile. “And if you want, we can have reading parties!”

“Next is the office,” Sapnap said, leading them to a room filled with desks and computers. “This is where we do schoolwork and other stuff. We can even set up a desk for you if you want to study or work on projects.”

Theseus nodded, but he felt the familiar weight of anxiety creeping in. “Thanks, guys,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, careful to keep a bit of distance.

They made their way down the hall to the bathrooms. “This is the main bathroom,” Dream said, opening the door to reveal a clean, spacious room with a shower and plenty of storage. “And if you ever need privacy, there’s a smaller bathroom just for guests.”

Theseus peered inside, feeling a flicker of reassurance at the organized space. “Perfect,” he nodded, trying to absorb the comfort it offered.

Finally, they arrived at the last door. “And here’s the laundry room,” George said, pushing it open to reveal a functional space with washing machines, shelves for supplies, and even a small sink. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s essential!”

“Yeah, and we can throw a load in whenever we need,” Sapnap added with a grin.

Theseus stood just outside the door, feeling a mix of emotions. He appreciated the welcoming environment, but the overwhelming openness of the house made him cautious. “You guys have a really nice place,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t believe I get to live here.”

“Just wait until you meet everyone else! It’s going to be awesome!” Dream said, throwing an arm around Theseus’s shoulders. Theseus flinched slightly at the sudden contact, then relaxed a bit when Dream quickly pulled back, noticing his discomfort.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Dream said, his voice gentle. “I just wanted you to know you’re part of this family now.”

With the promise of friendship and a real home, Theseus felt a renewed sense of hope mingled with caution. It would take time, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a small spark of belonging amidst the shadows of his past.

Chapter Text

Theseus awoke to a quiet, almost surreal stillness. The bed beneath him was soft, and the walls of his new room were bare, the only furniture being a simple dresser and his bed. The simplicity was almost comforting, but it felt incomplete, like a canvas waiting to be filled with color. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he remembered Dream’s promise: they were going shopping today.

He slid out of bed, stretching as he grabbed his hoodie and tossed it over his head. His mind wandered as he walked down the hall, making his way to the kitchen. The smells of breakfast were already wafting through the air, and he could hear voices.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he was met with chaos. Dream and Sapnap were in the middle of a food fight, pancakes flying through the air, syrup splattered everywhere, and both of them laughing uncontrollably. It was like a scene from a cartoon.

George sat at the table, completely unfazed by the madness. He calmly ate his eggs, waffles, and bacon, as though nothing unusual was happening. He looked up when he noticed Theseus entering, offering him a warm smile and waving.

“Morning, Theseus,” George greeted, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “Come sit. We’ve got food for you.”

Theseus smiled back and slid into the chair beside George, his curiosity piqued by the chaotic scene around him. He grabbed the fork, digging into the eggs.

“Don’t mind them,” George said with a chuckle, nodding at Dream and Sapnap. “They’ll burn themselves out soon.”

“I’m kind of impressed, honestly,” Theseus muttered around a mouthful of food. “I didn’t know pancakes could fly like that.”

“They’re special,” Sapnap said from across the table, a bit out of breath from his pancake battle with Dream. “It’s a new technique.”

Dream finally collapsed into the chair next to Sapnap, wiping his hands on his hoodie. “Okay, fine. I’m done with the food fight for now. We’ll save the rest for later.”

“Theseus, we need to talk to you about something,” George said, setting his fork down. His tone shifted, and Theseus immediately noticed the change.

“About what?” Theseus asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

Dream leaned forward, looking almost serious for the first time that morning. “We wanted to tell you something important. We, uh, we’re villains. Top three, actually. Like, the villains everyone talks about.”

Theseus blinked, his fork hovering mid-air. His gaze shifted between Dream, Sapnap, and George. “Villains?”

Sapnap nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, top three. We’re kind of a big deal. People are terrified of us.”

Theseus stared at them for a moment before he shrugged casually. “Okay. Cool, I guess.”

Dream, George, and Sapnap exchanged surprised looks. “You’re not… scared?” George asked, his eyebrows raised.

Theseus grinned. “Why should I be? I mean, no hero ever came for me. But three villains did. So, I don’t really care that much if you guys are villains or not. You saved me, and that’s what matters.”

The three of them were completely stunned by his calm response. Dream and Sapnap exchanged a quick glance, clearly expecting more of a reaction.

“You’re not freaking out?” Sapnap asked, his voice incredulous.

“Nope,” Theseus said with a shrug. “You’ve already done something heroes never did. That’s enough for me.”

“You’re making me emotional,” Sapnap said, putting a hand to his chest dramatically.

Dream, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly launched himself over the table, practically tackling Theseus into a hug. “You’re too sweet! You’ve really got us, man! Thank you!” Dream sniffled exaggeratedly. “This is too much.”

Theseus laughed awkwardly, his hands stiff in Dream’s embrace. “Uhh, okay, Dream. I don’t know if you can breathe in here.”

“Fine, fine,” Dream grumbled, releasing him with a smile. “We just, seriously, you’re amazing.”

“Alright,” George said, standing up. “Enough of that. We’re going shopping today. Get ready for a spree. We’re hitting up Hermit Mall, and you’re picking out everything yourself.”

Sapnap grinned. “This is gonna be great.”

A short while later, the four of them were outside in the driveway. Theseus had been dragged into the backseat of a baby blue 2013 Volkswagen Beetle Convertible, which seemed completely out of place for a group of villains. George was in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, looking unusually calm and collected. Dream and Sapnap were in the back, bickering about the best playlist for the drive.

“Alright, we ready?” George asked as Theseus buckled up.

Theseus looked around, taking in the small, quirky car. “It’s… cute.”

“Yeah, it’s a classic,” Dream said, leaning over the seat from the back. “We’ve got style, okay?”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “We do, but I swear, if we have to listen to George’s ‘calming music’ one more time, I’m throwing him out of this car.”

George smirked, unbothered. “You’ll thank me when you get to the mall.”

They drove through the streets, the top of the Beetle down, the wind blowing through their hair. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the city.

“So, Theseus,” Dream asked, his voice filled with excitement. “You ready to pick out some cool stuff? You’re in charge of your own shopping trip today. No limits. Choose whatever you want.”

Theseus grinned. “No limits? Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

When they arrived at Manberg Mall, the place was bustling with energy. It was a massive shopping center, with towering walls of windows and neon lights that flashed above the many stores. Dream led the way, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

“Alright, let’s start with your room,” Dream said, clearly eager. “You’ve got to pick out everything, Theseus. We don’t know what you like, so this is all you.”

George nodded, “Yeah, you’re in charge today. What kind of vibe do you want for your room? Something calming? Or, uh, something cool?”

Theseus paused for a moment, realizing this was the first time someone was actually asking what he wanted. “Uh, I think red,” he said, pointing to a wall paint sample. “I like red. Like, a really bold red.”

“Nice choice,” Sapnap said, throwing an approving glance at Dream. “I wouldn’t have expected that, but it works.”

They moved to the bedding section next. Dream grabbed a random set of sheets, but Theseus looked through the options carefully, eventually selecting a red blanket and white sheets. It was simple but looked comfortable.

“That’s a solid pick,” George said, taking note. “I like it.”

Next, they moved on to pillows. “What about throw pillows?” Dream asked. “You like any of these?”

Theseus picked out two throw pillows with a pig design and then one with a bee design, which made him smile as he added them to the cart.

“Weirdly specific, but okay,” Sapnap teased. “But I love it. They’re you, Theseus.”

They moved to the posters, and Theseus picked a large poster of Orion, the number one hero. He stared at it for a moment before looking up at the group.

“Do they have any merch of villains?” Theseus asked curiously, eyeing the shelves.

The three of them paused, sharing a look. “Not that I know of,” Dream said, scratching his head. “That’s something we might need to fix.”

They picked out a desk, bookshelves, a soft area rug, and some curtains. Each time, Theseus was given complete freedom to choose what felt right, with Dream and Sapnap offering only light suggestions.

Once they were satisfied with the room decor, it was time for clothing. “What do you usually wear?” George asked, holding up a hoodie.

Theseus glanced at the clothes on the rack, and after a moment of consideration, he grabbed a couple of T-shirts, hoodies, and jeans that felt comfortable to him. He added red sneakers and black boots to the cart, grinning as he imagined wearing them.

After that, they moved to the accessories section. “Got to pick out some cool hats or jewelry,” Sapnap said, tossing a beanie into the cart.

Theseus smiled at the options and picked a bracelet and a necklace that caught his eye. He added them to the cart with a sense of pride.

Finally, they reached the stuffed animal section. Theseus’s eyes lit up when he saw a Mooshroom Cow plushie. He picked it up with a grin, adding it to the cart.

After everything was selected, the group made their way to the checkout.

“You sure you got everything?” George asked, checking the cart one last time.

“Yep, I think I got everything I need,” Theseus said, his smile wide as he glanced over his purchases.

“You’ve got good taste,” Sapnap said, slapping him on the back. “You’re gonna love your new space.”

Dream put his arm around Theseus’s shoulders. “This is just the beginning, buddy. Welcome to the family.”

As they made their way back to the car, Theseus felt a sense of warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time, he felt like he truly belonged. And as they drove back, laughter and music filling the air, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something wonderful.

Chapter Text

The room felt colder when Theseus entered, his eyes scanning the familiar yet unfamiliar space. Dream was on the phone in the corner, speaking in a low, measured tone. George was hunched over his computer, typing furiously. Sapnap stood behind him, peering over George’s shoulder, muttering his occasional commentary. It was almost like nothing had changed, despite everything that had happened. It felt… normal.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Theseus asked, stepping further into the room.

Sapnap grinned and shrugged, clearly unfazed by the question. “Just working on our next mission. You wanna join the planning session?” His voice was casual, like he had asked Theseus to join a game of cards instead of something much more dangerous.

“Mission?” Theseus raised an eyebrow, unsure if he wanted to know what that really meant.

George spun around in his chair, pushing a few buttons on his keyboard before gesturing for Theseus to come closer. “Yeah, we’re planning a heist.” His eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief. “Let me show you what we’re dealing with.”

George tapped the screen, pulling up a map, but instead of just displaying the map of a typical city, it had a complex layout, dotted with locations and red flags. There were specific places marked with icons, almost like targets. Theseus couldn’t help but feel a sense of danger in the air.

“This is where we’ll be operating. There’s a big event coming up, and we plan to crash it,” George continued, the glint of a strategist in his eye. “And we’ll be dealing with some heroes along the way.”

“Heroes?” Theseus repeated, narrowing his eyes. He had been locked away for so long that he couldn’t even begin to remember who was on the ‘good’ side anymore.

Sapnap leaned in, adding in a blunt manner, “You’re gonna need to know who we’re up against. The heroes, I mean. Some of ‘em can be real pains in the ass.”

George turned back to his computer, clicking a few keys. A board appeared on the screen, each hero’s name and face lit up in front of him. Theseus leaned in, his curiosity growing.

“First up,” George started, gesturing to a name on the screen, “Mr. Smith. The President. Honestly, no one really knows what his powers are. He keeps everything about him a secret. Even his first name.” George’s voice was dry, as though it irritated him that Mr. Smith remained such an enigma. “But he’s powerful. Very powerful.”

Theseus watched as George clicked to the next image.

“Orion,” George said, his tone shifting a bit, more serious now. “He’s one of the most dangerous heroes. He’s a hybrid, part Avian, part Human. His power? Blood control.” George paused for a moment, letting the weight of the words sink in. “He can control blood, manipulate it. He can use it to enhance his strength, speed, and endurance. It’s terrifying, really.” He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “You see, even villains respect Orion. He’s one of the few heroes who genuinely care about civilians. He’s not like the others.”

“Does he work with vigilantes?” Theseus asked, intrigued.

“Sometimes,” Sapnap answered casually, but there was a trace of admiration in his voice. “He offers them jobs sometimes. And he doesn’t just see us as the enemy. He’s a rare breed of hero.”

George clicked to the next hero.

“Crow. He’s another Avian hybrid. His wings are pretty massive, so he can fly, obviously. He’s got talons, great reflexes, sharp eyesight. Honestly, he’s pretty chill. Doesn’t care much about vigilantes, but he’s cool about it. And kids love him,” George said, his voice more relaxed. “But he’s not the kind of guy you want to mess with.”

Theseus nodded, trying to process everything. “What about Muse?”

George’s face hardened slightly. “Muse? He’s a human. And he’s trouble. His power is voice manipulation. He can hypnotize, control, or just disorient you with his voice. He doesn’t care about anything except making sure the law is followed, and if you’re doing something he doesn’t like? He’ll stop you. No questions asked.”

“And then there’s Tempest,” Sapnap added, eyes gleaming with interest. “He controls lightning. It’s cool, but dangerous. He’s a bit reckless, but effective.”

George clicked through the heroes quickly, explaining them one by one. Warden, Freezerburn, Wild, Starbringer, Photon, Prowler, Hbomb, Mimic, and Supreme all had their own unique abilities, each explained in detail. Some were familiar with technology, some with light, others with physical strength. But each hero had one thing in common: they were formidable.

“Okay, listen up,” Sapnap said, stretching out in his chair. “You’ve got the heroes, yeah? But we’ve got some powerful allies ourselves.”

George nodded, then pulled up a list of familiar faces on his laptop. “Let’s start with the basics. First up, we’ve got Quackity Nevadas, Roulette. This guy’s an Avian-Human hybrid. His ability is probability manipulation. That means he can alter the odds to make impossible scenarios work in his favor, like flipping a coin and getting heads every time.”

Sapnap leaned forward, grinning. “Roulette’s a pretty cool guy. We work with him a lot. He’s got this crazy ability to manipulate the odds in his favor, and his enhanced senses make him a real pain to fight.”

George continued. “But his powers are unpredictable, so we try not to rely on him too much.”

Then, George switched to the next villain. “Next is FrostFlare, aka Niki Nihachu. She controls both water and ice. Cryokinesis and hydrokinesis give her a lot of versatility in combat.”

Sapnap nodded. “She’s a really awesome person. Bakes us cookies all the time. We’re pretty sure she’s got some sort of connection with the hero Freezerburn, but we can’t prove anything.”

George clicked to the next image. “Dryad, or Hannah Rose. She can control plants, vines, roots, you name it. She can create defenses, bind people up, or even heal injuries with her abilities. The only catch is she needs fertile ground to make the most of it.”

“She’s good when there’s greenery around,” Sapnap added. “But put her in a place with no plants, and she’s a lot less useful.”

George scrolled to the next villain. “Bad Halo, also known as Noctis. He’s a demon-human hybrid. His strength, durability, and terrifying presence make him a juggernaut in battle. However, he’s weak to light-based attacks.”

Sapnap chuckled. “You know who that is, right? My ‘dad.’” He winked.

George rolled his eyes but explained anyway. “It’s a joke. Noctis is actually the same age as Sapnap, but there was this time Noctis bandaged Sapnap up after a fight, and it became this ongoing thing where Sapnap calls him ‘dad.’ It’s funny.”

“Theseus, don’t worry about the joke,” Sapnap said, waving his hand. “Noctis is just a beast. He can take down a whole army if he has to.”

“And then there’s Charlie Slime,” George continued. “The guy’s a mystery. We don’t know much about him. He’s some kind of slime hybrid. His body can stretch, compress, and reshape, making him nearly impossible to hit. However, fire and extreme cold get to him.”

Sapnap smirked. “He works with Roulette. Basically his right-hand man.”

George clicked to the next screen. “Velocity. Superspeed. This guy’s a blur in combat. The problem is his stamina, if he uses his speed too much, he burns out fast.”

“And last, but not least,” Sapnap said with a grin, “Skeppy Halo, aka Lapid. The guy’s got diamond skin. When he transforms, his body turns into a nearly indestructible diamond. The downside? He’s heavy and slow. But good luck breaking through his defenses.”

“And he’s Noctis’ boyfriend, or at least soon to be,” George added with a chuckle.

Sapnap’s grin widened. “You should see them together. It’s like a weird, beautiful mess.”

“Theseus, those are just some of the villains,” George said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s talk about the vigilantes.”

George scrolled to the first image. “Boreas. A Wither-Human hybrid. His power is the Wither effect. She can drain health and energy from their enemies, and it lasts for three days. Not fun to deal with.”

Sapnap nodded. “He’s actually a pretty cool guy. She’s got respect for heroes and villains alike. But you mess with them, and he’s not letting you off easy.”

“The guy’s got a moral code, but she won’t let you slide if you break it,” George added, clicking to the next image.

“Rewind,” Sapnap said. “Controls time. He can rewind events or phase objects out of existence. Heroes are too scared to call him a villain, so he works under the radar. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t go out much.”

“Theseus,” George explained, “Rewind’s the kind of guy you don’t want to piss off. He can undo everything you’ve done with a snap of his fingers. And he keeps to himself because, well, he’s that powerful.”

Sapnap grinned. “Then there’s Phantom. Invisibility. He can vanish entirely, making him the perfect mercenary. But, fun fact, he’s technically not a vigilante. He’s a merc. The hero corporation just calls him that to keep the civilians from freaking out.”

“Theseus,” George said with a sigh, “Phantom isn’t a guy you want as an enemy, but he’s one of our best allies. He works for whoever pays him. No loyalty, just business.”

“There’s one more thing you need to know about the retired heroes,” Sapnap said, his voice turning quieter. “Lady Death. She was the number one hero before she disappeared four years ago. Her power? Death gaze. If she looks at you, you’re dead. She was the most terrifying hero ever, but now… she’s gone.”

“And then there’s Puffy,” George said with a wistful smile. “She used to be Marauder, the number one vigilante. She retired five years ago, but she’s still loved by everyone. Civilians, villains, even heroes respect her. She’s got control over everything, telekinesis, energy, elements… You name it. She was the strongest vigilante, and everyone adores her.”

Dream’s voice drifted in from across the room as he hung up his phone. “That’s right. And if you need to, you can just call her Puffy.” He gave Theseus a knowing look. “She’s my adopted mom, but keep that a secret, alright?”

Theseus blinked. “Wait, Puffy? Your mom?”

Dream nodded. “Yeah. But no one needs to know that. Just call her Puffy, and everything will be fine.”

As George finished explaining, a sudden silence filled the room. Theseus looked at the board, his mind spinning with new information.

“So… what do you think?” George asked.

Theseus let the weight of the names and abilities sink in. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice firm.

“I think I want to become a villain.”

Dream, who had been on the phone the entire time, finally hung up, turning to face Theseus with a knowing look.

“I think you’re in the right place.”

Chapter Text

The air in Dream’s office was thick with unspoken excitement as he, Sapnap, and George led Theseus toward the wall lined with towering bookshelves. The room itself was massive, the dark mahogany shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with books of all genres, some old and tattered, others crisp and new. It was an impressive collection, one that seemed out of place for the infamous Number One Villain.

Dream walked ahead of them, his steps unhurried as he reached up and plucked a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from the shelf. Instead of flipping it open, he yanked it downward like a lever.

With a deep click, the bookcase before them groaned, gears shifting within the walls. Then, with a mechanical hiss, two sections of the bookshelf split apart, one sliding to the left, the other to the right, revealing a sleek, industrial elevator hidden behind them.

Theseus blinked. “That’s dramatic as hell.”

Dream grinned. “Gotta keep up the aesthetic.”

They all stepped inside, and as the doors closed, the elevator hummed to life, descending smoothly beneath the mansion. Theseus felt his stomach dip slightly as they traveled downward for what felt like a full minute before the doors slid open with a soft ding.

The sight before him stole his breath away.

The underground base was enormous. The ceiling was high, supported by thick black steel beams, with rows of dim, recessed lighting casting an ambient glow over the space. The floor was sleek, dark concrete, polished enough to faintly reflect the overhead lights. Multiple workstations and equipment were scattered throughout, but what caught Theseus’ attention first was the massive garage area to the right, where three pristine motorcycles were lined up, one orange, one forest green, and one blue, their paint gleaming under the lights.

Dream motioned toward them. “Those are ours. Custom-built, fast as hell, and made for quick getaways.”

“These are so much cooler than a hero’s stupid armored truck,” Theseus muttered, eyeing the bikes enviously.

Dream smirked. “Obviously.”

Further down, a long wall of display cases stretched across the room. Each case contained a mannequin adorned with a different costume, arranged with careful precision. Theseus’ eyes immediately landed on three familiar ones, Dream’s dark cloak and skeletal mask, George’s muted blue and white suit, and Sapnap’s black and red armor-like ensemble. But his gaze continued down the line, scanning the others.

His eyes flickered to the nameplates beneath each case.

Dream.

FlareDevil.

Daze.

His brow furrowed as he kept reading.

Marauder. FrostFlare. Dryad. Noctis. Lapid. Velocity.

Some of the names rang a faint bell, but most were unfamiliar. The last three display cases held suits labeled Roulette, Slime, and Phantom.

Then, at the end of the row, eight empty display cases stood waiting, their nameplates blank.

“These aren’t…” Theseus trailed off, staring at the suits.

“Nah, we don’t keep trophies here,” Dream said, already knowing what he was thinking. “These belong to allies. If they need a spare or a backup, we’ve got them covered.”

That was… oddly practical.

Before he could dwell on it, George grabbed Theseus’ wrist and tugged him toward another section of the base, where a sleek workstation stood, five monitors arranged in a semi-circle. The screens displayed various data streams, security camera feeds, schematics, live news reports.

“This is my domain,” George said, spinning into his chair smoothly. “Everything digital, I handle it. Security, hacking, surveillance, information control, you name it.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “So you’re a hacker?”

George shrugged. “I’m not the best at tech, but I’m definitely better than these two.” He jerked his thumb toward Dream and Sapnap, who both made exaggerated offended noises.

“That’s a lie,” Sapnap argued.

“You asked me how to turn on the monitors last week.”

“That was one time!”

Before Theseus could laugh at their bickering, Sapnap threw an arm around his shoulder and steered him toward another section of the base, a massive, organized workshop. The walls were lined with tools, shelves stacked with different materials, and a workbench covered in half-assembled gadgets.

George rolled his eyes from his chair. “Yeah, yeah, you’re very talented, congratulations.”

Theseus laughed, but his amusement faded as he turned to Dream. “And what about you?”

Dream grinned. “I taught these two how to fight.”

The words carried weight, and Theseus believed them. Dream was the number one villain, after all.

Sapnap suddenly clapped his hands together. “Speaking of fighting, I pulled an all-nighter after you got here, y’know, just in case you decided to stick around.”

Theseus gave him a confused look as Sapnap rushed over to his workbench, rifled through a few papers, and then turned back with a large sheet in hand. He held it up proudly, revealing a carefully designed outfit sketched in ink, with annotations scribbled in the margins detailing material choices and functions.

It was his. His villain costume.

Theseus stared at it, wide-eyed. The design was sleek, sharp, and incredibly well-thought-out. Dark tones with subtle highlights, an aerodynamic build that would complement his flexibility, and space for adjustments if needed.

“…This is sick,” Theseus finally said, voice quieter than before.

Sapnap smirked. “So you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it.”

“Good,” Sapnap said, grinning. “I’ll start putting it together now.”

As Sapnap got to work, George waved Theseus over again. “Now you need a name. Like how I go by Daze and Sapnap’s FlareDevil.”

Theseus sat down, thinking. For ten full minutes, he let the idea settle in his head before leaning in and whispering his chosen name into George’s ear.

George blinked. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “That’s perfect.”

He didn’t reveal the name to Dream or Sapnap, just smirked and turned back to his screens.

Dream then clapped a hand on Theseus’ shoulder. “Alright, let’s see what you can actually do.”

They moved to the massive training area, a large, open section of the base filled with climbing structures, balance beams, and even a warped wall.

“Tell me everything you’ve got,” Dream instructed.

Theseus took a breath. “Gravity manipulation, I can increase or decrease gravitational pull, which means I can pin enemies or levitate objects. Downside? Overuse gives me horrible migraines. I also have heightened eyesight and flexibility, plus…”

He flexed his shoulders, and with a sudden whoosh, his black-feathered wings unfurled from his back.

Dream didn’t look surprised. “You’ve got retractable wings? Makes sense.”

“Yeah, but they’re kind of a pain, I'm not super used to them, all the training at the lab was more just so I stayed in good health, not to actually use my abilities.”

Dream smirked. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll make you into a picture perfect villain in no-time, maybe you’ll even end up becoming a top villain once we're done training.”

The training was brutal.

Dream drilled him on parkour, forcing him to scale walls, leap between platforms, and navigate complex obstacle courses at top speed. His flexibility was pushed to its limits as Dream made him practice dodging attacks, rolling out of falls, and twisting mid-air to land properly.

“You’ve got potential,” Dream admitted as Theseus hung upside down from a bar, panting. “You just need refinement.”

Finally, after what felt like hours, Dream crossed his arms. “Now, weapon of choice?”

Theseus, still catching his breath, smirked. “A gun.”

Dream stared at him.

Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing, wheezing like a broken tea kettle.

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that funny.”

“No, no,” Dream wiped his eyes, still laughing. “It’s just, imagine the heroes. They’re expecting some fancy gravity-based weapon, maybe something with energy projections, and you just pull out a gun.”

Sapnap, overhearing, snorted. “That’s actually hilarious.”

George, from his desk, didn’t even look up. “It’s practical.”

Dream finally calmed down, grinning. “Alright, we’ll get you a gun.”

And with that, Theseus’ real training as a villain began.

Chapter Text

Pain.

It was always the first thing. It came before awareness, before memory, before thought. A deep, searing agony that curled around his bones and settled into his skin like a sickness that would never leave.

Theseus was dreaming, he knew that. But that didn’t make it any less real.

The world around him was sterile, white walls and too-bright lights, the stench of antiseptic thick in the air. Cold metal pressed against his back, a table, a slab, something too hard and unyielding. Restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, and distant, muffled voices spoke in clipped, clinical tones.

“Subject remains stable.”

“Increase the gravitational force, see how much he can withstand before his bones start to crack.”

“We need to push him further.”

The pressure started at his chest, like an unseen hand pressing him down, growing heavier, heavier, heavier.

Theseus gasped, his body convulsing as pain tore through him. His vision blurred, spots of black dancing at the edges. His lungs burned. His ribs ached. He couldn’t breathe—

And then,

Voices.

Not the cold, detached voices of the scientists. No, these were different. They were warm, desperate, familiar.

He was standing now. Or maybe he wasn’t. The lab was gone, faded into nothing, replaced by an endless void of shifting light and shadow.

And before him,

Three figures.

Three boys.

They stood just a few feet away, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. They were his age, no, they weren’t just strangers his age. He knew them. Somewhere deep in his bones, in the very fabric of his being, he knew them.

The shortest of the three, no taller than five feet, had mid-length, fluffy brown hair and striking green eyes. His face was scrunched up, desperate, as he took a step forward, fists clenched.

The second boy was taller, maybe five-foot-five, with curly black hair parted to the side. One of his eyes was green, the other a soft shade of purple, a mix that should have been strange but wasn’t. His shoulders were tense, his hands shaking.

The last boy stood just an inch shorter than the second, with sandy blonde hair parted down the middle. His bright purple eyes gleamed like they were glowing, raw emotion swirling in them like a storm.

Theseus stared at them, his mind a blur of static and confusion.

Who—?

Then it hit him.

Tubbo. Ranboo. Purpled.

The names slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Flashes of the past flooded his mind. Laughter ringing in the air. Running through fields, through playgrounds, through streets that were safe because they were together. Hands grasping onto his, pulling him forward, never letting go.

Home. Love. Them.

He took a step forward, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “I—”

“You need to remember.”

The words were spoken by all three of them at once, their voices overlapping, desperate.

“I— I do, I—”

“You need to remember!”

Their voices grew louder, rising into shouts, into screams. Their faces twisted with anguish, their eyes burning into him.

“Remember, Theseus! Remember us!”

They didn’t care about anything else. Not where he had been, not what had happened to him. They just wanted him to remember them.

The void around them trembled.

“I— I’m trying—”

“Remember!”

Their voices were deafening now, echoing around him, rattling inside his skull.

And then he was screaming too.

“I need to remember! I need to remember! I need to remember!”

The void shattered.

A new voice, deeper, urgent, cut through the chaos.

“Theseus! Theseus, wake up! Wake up!”

And suddenly, he was awake.

His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, his entire body trembling. His vision was blurry, but the first thing he saw was Dream.

The villain was holding him, arms wrapped tightly around him, cradling him like something fragile. His mask was gone, revealing his face twisted in concern, his green eyes scanning Theseus’ face frantically.

Theseus barely had time to process it before the weight of his dream came crashing back down on him.

“They’re gone.” His voice broke, raw and shaking. “I— I forgot them. I forgot them.”

Tears burned his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. “How— how could I forget them? They— They loved me, I loved them, and I—” His breath hitched. “I left them.”

Dream didn’t tell him he was wrong. Didn’t try to dismiss his grief. He just held him tighter, rubbing slow circles into his back.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dream murmured. “I promise, Theseus. We’ll figure it out.”

Theseus buried his face into Dream’s shoulder, sobs wracking his body.

Dream kept whispering reassurances, telling him that everything would be okay. That he, Sapnap, and George would help him. That he wasn’t alone.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, his body too drained to stay awake. His sobs faded into quiet sniffles, and soon, he was drifting back to sleep, his breathing evening out.

Dream let out a slow breath, his grip on Theseus never loosening.

He turned his head toward the doorway.

Sapnap and George stood there, both silent, their expressions grim.

Dream met their eyes, his voice quiet but firm.

“We need to find them. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled.”

Sapnap exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. George’s fingers twitched at his side, his jaw tightening. Neither of them questioned it.

Because Theseus had just broken apart in Dream’s arms, sobbing over people he had loved, people he had forgotten. And Dream knew, without a doubt, that if there was even a chance of finding them, of bringing them back into Theseus’ life, then they had to take it.

George gave a short nod, already turning toward his tech station. “I’ll start looking.”

Sapnap cracked his knuckles. “If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”

Dream looked back down at the sleeping boy in his arms, his grip on him tightening.

“We have to.”

Chapter Text

The city stretched out beneath him, bathed in neon blues and reds, pulsing like a living thing. Theseus, no, Tyrant, stood at the edge of the rooftop, taking it all in. Four years of training had led to this. He was finally out.

Dream, FlareDevil, and Daze stood beside him, their figures outlined against the glow of the skyline. He was supposed to wait until sixteen, but they knew he’d just sneak out anyway. It was easier to let him go now, to trust that he was ready.

And he was.

His outfit was built for movement, a long brown cloak draped over his shoulders, fastened by a strap across his chest. A red scarf hung loosely around his neck, standing out against the darker colors. Underneath, his top was snug, patterned with a diamond design, held tight by a leather belt decorated with small engravings. His pants were reinforced with extra stitching and straps, sturdy enough to last in a fight but flexible enough to move freely. His arms were wrapped in layered bracers and leather, tapering into fingerless gloves, and his boots were buckled tight, gripping the concrete beneath him.

Dream stood just to his right, his outfit as sharp and controlled as he was. Deep green and black, with a high collar and a cutout at the chest. His sleeves were wide but tapered into fitted gloves, silver details running along the fabric. Chains draped across his arms and down his back, catching the city lights. The lower half of his outfit was sleek, fitted pants, heeled lace-up boots, and a long, split coat trailing behind him. A choker, sharp earrings, and metal-tipped gloves made him look even more intimidating.

FlareDevil, on his other side, was dressed in black with deep red undertones, gold details tracing the edges of his tunic. Straps crisscrossed over his chest, leading down to a wrapped belt at his waist. His sleeves were long and decorated with more gold, ending in fitted cuffs. A split skirt fell over slim black pants, the hem lined with gold patterns. His boots, laced up to his knees, had pointed toes and matching gold trim. Small chains and ornaments hung from his clothes, subtle but noticeable when he moved.

Daze was more relaxed in his stance, but his outfit was just as detailed. His cropped black top had a high collar, silver jewelry draped across his chest. Over it, he wore a short blue jacket with wide sleeves, intricate embroidery running along the edges. His wrists were covered in black leather cuffs, extending over his hands. A flowing blue skirt hung from his waist, detailed with silver and black embroidery. A wide belt secured it all, with long embroidered panels draping down, silver medallions and tassels shifting when he moved.

Four years ago, Theseus never would’ve imagined himself here, standing beside them, dressed like this, ready for whatever came next.

But this was real.

And it was just the beginning.

Flashback 

“Again.”

Dream’s voice rang through the training room as Theseus groaned from where he’d landed on the mat, his back aching from the throw. He barely had time to sit up before Dream’s telekinetic grip yanked him to his feet.

“You’re not fast enough,” Dream said, arms crossed.

“I tried!” Theseus snapped, adjusting his stance.

“And you failed,” Dream shot back. “Try again.”

It had been like this for months, parkour drills, sparring, dodging objects Dream threw at him with ruthless precision.

Sapnap had been just as bad.

“Alright, kid, if you wanna fight up close, you gotta hit harder.” Sapnap cracked his knuckles, then effortlessly dodged the punch Theseus threw. “Slower than my grandma, dude.”

“You don’t have a grandma,” Theseus grumbled.

“Exactly. Try again.”

Even George got involved, though his training was more… annoying.

“What’s your first move in a fight?”

“Punch the guy in the face.”

George sighed. “No, idiot, you analyze the situation. What’s their ability? What’s their range? Are they stronger than you?”

“Well, they’re definitely uglier than me.”

“You’re impossible.”

Four years of that. Four years of getting tossed, punched, electrocuted (thanks, Dream), burned (thanks, Sapnap), and mentally berated (thanks, George).

And now, finally, he got to put it to use.

End of Flashback

George adjusted his earpiece. “Alright, one more time for the dumbasses in the room.”

“Oh wow, that’s crazy,” Theseus deadpanned. “I didn’t know you were self-reporting.”

Dream snorted.

George ignored him. “We’re hitting the high-security vault at New Dawn Financial. Upper floors, laser grid, three guards stationed at the entrance. Sapnap and I disable the security systems while Dream and Tyrant grab the cash. We’re in and out in under six minutes.”

“And if things go sideways?”

“Then Dream throws you at the problem and we leave,” Sapnap said cheerfully.

“Great. Love the faith, guys.”

It was too easy.

George disabled the cameras, Sapnap took out the security with non-lethal takedowns, and Dream, his dad, handled the laser grid with his telekinesis. Theseus followed, carrying a duffel bag that was steadily growing heavier with stolen cash.

“Thirty seconds,” George warned in their comms.

“Relax,” Theseus said. “This is basically a—”

“Don’t say it,” Dream interrupted.

”—walk in the park.”

Sapnap groaned. “Dumbass just cursed us.”

The second they stepped onto the rooftop to leave, three figures landed in front of them.

Wild, Starbringer, and Freezerburn.

“Well, well, well,” Wild drawled, shifting on his feet. “What do we have here? The top three villains pulling a good old-fashioned bank robbery?”

“Boring,” Freezerburn yawned, stretching. “I expected more from you guys. Like, I don’t know, stealing the mayor’s car or something.”

“That does sound fun,” Sapnap admitted.

Starbringer’s eyes flicked to Theseus. “Wait a second. There’s four of you.”

Wild squinted at him. “That’s new.”

Theseus grinned. Then, in a sweeping motion, he dramatically bowed.

“Introducing,” He straightened up, smirking. “Tyrant.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Freezerburn laughed. “Holy shit, you got a kid now?”

”‘Kid’?!” Theseus snapped. “I’m literally fifteen.”

“Oh noooo, fifteen?” Freezerburn mocked. “We should all be terrified.”

“You should be,” Theseus shot back.

And then he pulled out a gun and shot Wild in the leg.

Wild screamed. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

The heroes froze.

“Did he—” Starbringer blinked. “Did he just—”

“You—” Freezerburn looked genuinely caught off guard. “You shot him?”

“What, you thought I was gonna pull out a sword and dramatically monologue about how ‘fate is cruel’ or some shit?” Theseus scoffed.

Wild, still clutching his leg, glared. “Dude, who carries a gun?!”

“Me.” Theseus cocked it again. “Want another?”

Freezerburn’s brain rebooted. “You little—”

“Hey! Language!” Theseus interrupted, mock-scandalized. “There are kids here!”

“YOU ARE THE KID!”

Dream sighed, stepping in. “FlareDevil, Dazec keep them down.”

Sapnap and George moved fast, launching fire and punches. Starbringer, still processing what the hell just happened, barely managed to dodge.

Meanwhile, Freezerburn and Theseus were just screaming at each other.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU BROUGHT A GUN TO A SUPERPOWER FIGHT!”

“AND I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE STILL TALKING!”

“WHO EVEN TRAINED YOU?!”

“THE TOP THREE VILLAINS, BITCH!”

Starbringer, now fully realizing how bad this was, hit his comm. “HQ, requesting immediate backup. We have—”

Dream’s eyes snapped to him.

“Tyrant, back to base.”

Theseus groaned. “Oh, come on! It’s finally getting good!”

“Now.”

Theseus scowled but took off, sprinting across the rooftops.

As he ran, he muttered, “This is so unfair. I didn’t even get to pistol-whip someone.”

A second later, his comm crackled, and Sapnap’s voice came through. “Oh, by the way, I totally forgot to add wing slots to your costume, so don’t try flying or you’ll rip the whole thing.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“Nope. Have fun running!”

Theseus sprinted across the rooftops, cursing Sapnap’s name with every step.

“Are you actually—are you actually joking right now?” he hissed into his earpiece. “You’re telling me, only now, that you forgot to put wing slots in my costume?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap responded, sounding far too casual about it. “My bad.”

“Your bad?! I literally almost jumped off the roof just now!”

“That would’ve been funny.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sapnap said smugly.

Theseus grumbled under his breath but didn’t have time to argue. He could still hear sirens in the distance, and while Dream had insisted he return to base, Theseus wasn’t keen on leading any heroes straight to their hideout.

So he ran.

The city blurred past him, the wind cool against his face as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, muscles burning with the familiar strain of exertion. His breath evened out, mind locking into the rhythm of his movements, until he skidded to a sudden halt.

Because standing on the rooftop ahead of him, barely ten feet away, were three people.

They stared at each other.

The boy to the left was dressed in a worn brown bomber jacket with rolled-up sleeves, the fabric littered with patches. A green bandanna was tied around his neck, and he wore black cargo pants that looked reinforced for movement. His combat boots were scuffed but sturdy, and a gas mask covered the lower half of his face, concealing his identity.

The person in the center looked almost regal in comparison, wearing a fitted black sleeveless top adorned with gold embroidery and tassel-like details. A rich purple cape draped over their shoulders, gold-trimmed and lined with triangular patterns. Their arms were decorated with gold armbands and cuffs, charms dangling from their wrist. Their black pants were loose-fitting, embroidered subtly with gold accents, and a dagger was strapped at their hip. A black mask concealed their eyes.

And finally, on the right, the tallest of the three stood in an elegant black cloak lined with deep purple, fastened at the shoulders with silver, star-shaped brooches connected by a delicate silver chain. The edges of the cloak bore intricate geometric patterns, one side displaying a large arcane sigil. A pointed hood cast their face in shadow, but even in the dim light, Theseus could tell they were also wearing a black mask. Their black buttoned vest, sleek undershirt, and slim trousers gave them a polished, almost mysterious air.

The world fell silent.

It was like the city itself had paused. No sirens. No footsteps. No distant chatter.

Just them.

Theseus felt his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

His hand twitched. His breath caught.

He took a step forward.

“Tubs?”

The one on the left, the boy in the bomber jacket, lunged forward before Theseus could react.

“Tommy!”

The impact knocked the wind out of him as they collided, tumbling onto the rooftop in a heap. Arms wrapped around him, tight and desperate, refusing to let go.

And then the person in the gold-trimmed outfit was running at him too, voice breaking as they shouted—

“Tommy!”

Then the tallest one was moving, joining the pile, arms wrapping around both of them as they crashed together in a mess of limbs, laughter, and something dangerously close to sobbing.

Theseus’s vision blurred. His breath shuddered.

He knew these voices.

He knew these arms.

He knew them.

“T-Tommy, you—holy shit—”

“You’re alive—”

“We thought—”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

His hands clenched into fabric, bomber jacket, rich purple cape, a flowing black cloak, gripping onto them like they might disappear if he let go.

His chest ached. His throat burned.

He tried to speak. Tried to say something, anything.

But all that came out was a shaky, broken whisper.

“You guys found me.”

Chapter Text

The night air was thick with tension, but Tyrant could only feel the warmth of the arms wrapped around him. Tubbo, Purpled, Ranboo, they were here. They found him.

They still loved him.

Dream, Daze, and FlareDevil stepped down from the rooftop, their footsteps almost eerily silent. The moment they moved, Tubbo tensed, shifting just enough to put himself between Tyrant and the approaching figures. Purpled’s hand flicked toward his dagger, and Ranboo subtly adjusted his stance, ready for a fight.

Tyrant pulled back slightly, just enough to look at them all properly. “Guys, it’s okay.” He gestured toward the approaching trio. “Meet my team.”

Dream came to a stop, arms crossed, his mask hiding his expression, but his voice was neutral. “And who exactly are your friends, Tyrant?”

Tyrant grinned, the sheer joy in it so unlike the cocky smirks he usually wore. “Dream, Daze, FlareDevil,” he said, nodding to each of them, “meet Tubbo, Purpled, and Ranboo.”

The names hit Dream like a slow-moving bullet.

The nightmare talks. The whispers in the dark. The rare moments when Tyrant let his walls down just enough for Dream to glimpse what lay underneath.

Tubbo.

Purpled.

Ranboo.

These weren’t just old friends. They were part of Tyrant’s past, the one he never let himself hope to reclaim.

Dream’s shoulders eased, just slightly. “Ah.”

Ranboo, still on guard, narrowed his eyes. “And you are?”

Dream tilted his head. “Dream.”

Purpled tensed. “The Dream?”

Tyrant rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“Yes,” Dream said simply.

Tubbo’s eyes darted between Tyrant and Dream, his brows furrowing. “And what’s he to you?”

Tyrant blinked. “Uh.” He hesitated for half a second before shrugging, completely casual. “My dad.”

Silence.

Purpled blinked. Ranboo’s mouth parted slightly. Tubbo just stared.

“Your what?”

“My dad,” Tyrant repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tubbo turned to Dream, eyes narrowing. “You steal my best friend for four years and now you’re his dad?”

Dream, entirely unfazed, shrugged. “He started calling me that when he was twelve.”

Ranboo and Purpled snapped their heads toward Tyrant. “What?!”

“What?” Tyrant echoed, feigning innocence. “It’s true.”

FlareDevil snorted. “Yeah, it wasn’t even a big deal when it happened.”

Dream gave an approving nod. “He just said it one night, and we moved on.”

Daze smirked. “We all had a minor heart attack, but, y’know, internally.”

Purpled let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. That’s not possible.”

Dream’s expression remained unreadable beneath his mask. “And why’s that?”

Purpled turned to Theseus, incredulous. “Because I remember your dad.” His voice was firm, edged with something almost bitter. “And it sure as hell wasn’t him.”

That sent a ripple through the group. Ranboo and Tubbo both stiffened slightly, watching for Theseus’s reaction. But Theseus didn’t look angry or defensive—he just huffed out a breath, something tired and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“You remember my dad?” Theseus asked, voice strangely neutral.

Purpled hesitated. “I mean… yeah. A little.” His brows furrowed, like he was trying to piece together an old, blurry memory. “Not much, just that he was… there sometimes. He wasn’t—” He cut himself off, but Theseus already knew what he meant.

He wasn’t like Dream.

He wasn’t steady. Wasn’t safe.

Theseus crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah, well. He’s gone. Dream’s here.”

Purpled opened his mouth, then closed it, something unreadable in his expression.

Dream finally spoke. “I never said I replaced him.” His voice was level, but there was something firm beneath it. “I’m just the one who raised him.”

Purpled exhaled slowly, glancing back at Theseus. He seemed to be debating something, some argument or protest. But then he just shook his head.

“…You really call him Dad?”

Theseus shrugged again, smirking. “I mean, yeah.”

Purpled sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “What the fuck did we miss?”

Flashback

The hideout was quiet that night. Unusually so.

Dream had gotten used to the sounds of Theseus, his endless energy, his sharp wit, the way he filled every room like he belonged there. It had been over a year since he took the kid in, and in that time, he had gone from a half-starved, furious mess to… well, still furious, but stronger. Smarter. Alive.

But tonight, Theseus was quiet.

Dream leaned against the doorway of the common area, arms crossed as he watched the kid sitting curled up on the couch. His knees were drawn to his chest, his usual fire dimmed into something small.

Dream knew what this was.

It happened sometimes, when the weight of everything got too much. When the training and the lessons weren’t enough to drown out whatever haunted him before this life.

Dream stepped inside, keeping his movements slow, deliberate.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

Theseus didn’t look up. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Dream hummed, unconvinced. He walked over and sat down next to him, the couch dipping under his weight.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then, quietly, Theseus spoke.

“I don’t—” He hesitated, gripping his sleeves. “I don’t remember what my mom’s voice sounded like.”

Dream exhaled slowly, his chest aching at the admission.

Theseus kept his eyes down. “I thought I did. I used to hear it all the time in my head. But now… it’s just gone.” He swallowed hard. “I tried—I tried so hard to remember, but the more I try, the more it slips away. Like she’s—like she’s disappearing all over again.”

Dream didn’t respond right away. He let the silence sit, let the weight of it settle between them.

Then, he shifted, resting a firm hand on Theseus’s head, ruffling his hair just slightly.

“She’s not disappearing,” Dream said, his voice steady. “She’s part of you, whether you remember her voice or not.”

Theseus clenched his jaw. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Dream let his hand linger a moment longer before pulling back.

“You don’t have to remember everything to love someone, kid,” he said. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Theseus swallowed hard. He shifted just slightly, leaning, hesitant but real, against Dream’s side.

Dream didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge it, just let him stay there.

The minutes stretched on, soft and quiet.

Then, in the smallest, most tired voice, so quiet Dream almost thought he imagined it, Theseus whispered:

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dream stiffened.

Theseus didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he was pretending not to. He just stayed where he was, pressed against Dream’s side, his eyes fluttering shut.

Dream exhaled, his throat tight.

He lifted a hand, resting it lightly against the back of Theseus’s head.

“…Anytime, kid.”

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

End of Flashback

Purpled still looked like he was processing. “So let me get this straight. You got kidnapped, became a villain, and then just… got adopted by Dream?”

Tyrant tilted his head. “I mean, yeah, kinda?”

Tubbo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, of course that happened.”

Dream ignored the dramatics and refocused. “You three should come with us.”

That immediately put the vigilantes on edge again.

Purpled stiffened. “Why?”

Dream’s voice was calm but firm. “Because I know Tyrant. And I know he won’t let you out of his sight now that you’re back.”

Tyrant grinned, slinging an arm around Tubbo’s shoulder. “He’s got a point.”

Dream continued, “And if you care about him, which I know you do, then you should meet the people who’ve been watching his back all this time.”

Ranboo, Purpled, and Tubbo exchanged glances. There was silent communication, subtle nods, an entire conversation in their eyes alone.

Finally, Tubbo exhaled. “Fine. But we’re keeping our weapons.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Dream said easily, then turned to Flaredevil through the comms. “We need a ride.”

“On it,” Flaredevil responded.

There was a pause.

Then—

“Wait. We’re seven people. I’m calling an Uber XL.”

The Uber driver pulled up in a sleek black van, window rolling down to reveal a man in his late thirties, wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was literally nighttime.

“Name’s Rico,” he said. “Where we heading?”

Dream rattled off the address, and everyone piled into the van, Dream, Tyrant, FlareDevil, Daze, and then the three vigilantes.

Rico glanced in the rearview mirror, taking in the fact that his entire car was now filled with four villains and three heavily armed vigilantes.

He didn’t even blink. “So, is this, like, a work thing or…?”

“Tyrant found his long-lost friends,” Flaredevil said.

“Aw, nice,” Rico nodded approvingly. “Nothing like reconnecting with old pals. You guys do heists together, or?”

Purpled furrowed his brows. “We’re vigilantes.”

“Ahhh,” Rico said knowingly. “One of those morally grey reunions. Cool, cool.”

Tubbo stared at him. “You… seem very chill about this.”

“Man’s gotta make a living,” Rico said, shrugging. “You think I haven’t driven a few criminals around? Besides, no one’s shooting each other in my car, so it’s all good.”

Ranboo gave Tyrant a look. “You called a criminal Uber driver?”

“I didn’t pick him, Flaredevil did,” Tyrant defended.

“Hey, he’s got five stars,” Flaredevil added. “I checked.”

“You checked?” Purpled repeated, baffled.

Dream sighed. “Can we just get home?”

Rico gave them a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

As the van cruised down the road, Rico casually glanced at the group again. “So, what’s the move? Big villain-vigilante team-up? Heist? Family therapy?”

Tyrant scoffed. “Oh my god.”

Daze smirked. “Honestly? Could be all three.”

Purpled muttered, “This is the weirdest night of my life.”

Dream exhaled slowly. “Welcome to our world.”

And with that, they drove into the night, heading home.

As soon as they arrived at the house, Tubbo let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he surveyed the exterior. “Huh. Cute place,” he said. “Bit small, though. My place is bigger.”

Flaredevil snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t see your place on the Most Wanted list.”

Tubbo smirked. “Give it time.”

Dream just sighed, stepping past them and unlocking the front door. “Get inside before someone sees us.”

They filed in, closing the door behind them. Immediately, there was the familiar sound of masks being pulled off, straps being loosened. Tyrant was the last to remove his, shaking out his hair as the cool air hit his face.

Then—

“What the fuck?”

Purpled’s voice rang through the entryway, sharp and stunned.

Tubbo’s expression had frozen in place, his usual snide amusement wiped clean. Ranboo’s pupils shrank, and his hands twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach out or step back.

Theseus blinked at them. “What?”

“What—what do you mean what?” Tubbo sputtered. “You—you don’t look—you’re supposed to—what the fuck happened to you!?”

Ranboo was still staring, his mouth slightly open. “Tommy, you—you don’t—”

Purpled’s expression was unreadable, but his grip on his mask was tight. “…You don’t look like you.”

Theseus hesitated. Right. They still saw him as the kid he used to be. The one with bright blonde hair, pale skin, blue eyes. The one who, honestly, barely even existed anymore.

Now, he looked almost too much like Dream. Sandy-blonde hair, red eyes, sharper features. The freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose were new, too.

Dream shifted slightly beside him. “His appearance changed,” he said simply. “It happens.”

Before Purpled could say anything else, George frowned, staring at Tubbo as if trying to place him.

“…You look familiar,” he muttered.

Tubbo blinked, then shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe I’ve got one of those faces.”

George hummed, unconvinced, but let it drop.

Then—

Purpled’s gaze snapped back to Dream, something sharp in his eyes. “Why?”

Theseus exhaled. “Because when I was kidnapped, I was experimented on,” he said, blunt and unwavering. “With Dream’s DNA. It changed me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Tubbo’s jaw was clenched so tight it might’ve cracked. Ranboo looked like he wanted to throw up. Purpled… Purpled’s eyes darkened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to break something.

“…You’re serious,” Purpled finally said.

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, Purpled exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back like shaking off a weight. “Okay.” His voice was softer now, steadier. “Okay. Doesn’t change anything.”

Theseus blinked. “It doesn’t?”

Purpled shrugged. “You’re still you.”

Ranboo made a quiet noise, something torn between disbelief and relief. Tubbo swallowed hard, nodding slightly.

“Yeah,” Ranboo said. “You’re still you.”

Something in Theseus’s chest eased.

Dream crossed his arms. “Now that that’s settled,” he said, “we should probably introduce ourselves properly.”

Tubbo took a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Okay.” He rolled his shoulders, stepping forward. “I’m Tubbo, also known as Nuke.”

Ranboo followed suit. “Ranboo, vigilante alias VoidStep.”

Purpled smirked slightly. “Purpled. Most people call me Mercenary.” He shrugged. “Because, well, I am one.”

Sapnap snorted. “Figures.”

Dream stepped forward. “Dream,” he said simply. “Also known as… well, Dream.”

Tubbo’s brow furrowed. “Wait. Your villain name is just your name?”

Dream tilted his head. “Yeah.”

Tubbo’s face scrunched. “That’s so stupid.”

Dream shrugged. “The heroes would never believe that’s my actual name.”

Tubbo opened his mouth, then shut it, shaking his head. “Y’know what? Fair enough.”

Sapnap grinned. “I’m Flaredevil. Real name, Sapnap.”

George nodded. “Daze. Real name, George.”

Then, all eyes turned to Theseus.

He inhaled slowly, then pulled off his mask. “Tyrant,” he said. Then, after a beat, “My name is Theseus.”

Tubbo flinched.

Ranboo’s breath hitched.

Purpled frowned. “…No, it’s not.”

Theseus blinked at them.

Tubbo’s hands curled into fists. “Your name is Tommy.”

A pause.

Then, Theseus exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not anymore,” he admitted. “When I was kidnapped, I lost… pretty much everything. My memories, my sense of self. Theseus is the name I chose when I started over.”

Ranboo looked absolutely gutted. “You don’t remember us?”

“Not really.” Theseus hesitated. “I only even remembered you guys because of a dream I had.”

Tubbo’s throat bobbed. Purpled’s jaw was tight.

“…That’s—” Tubbo’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s really unfair.”

Theseus swallowed hard.

Purpled exhaled sharply, forcing himself to relax. “…Do you ever—do you ever want to go back?” His voice was quiet. “To your real family?”

Theseus looked at them for a long moment.

Then, he shook his head. “Everyone in this room is my real family.” His voice was steady. “But… maybe one day, I’d want to see them. Just to know. But I don’t—” He exhaled. “I don’t remember them. I don’t know them.”

Purpled studied him carefully, then nodded. “…Okay,” he murmured. “Then I’ll respect that.”

Ranboo’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

Tubbo rubbed his eyes. “Jesus Christ, this is a lot.”

Theseus huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

Ranboo took a deep breath, straightening slightly. “Do you want to know what happened after you went missing?”

Theseus hesitated. “Maybe after some food.”

Purpled immediately perked up. “I can make something.”

“NO!”

Purpled flinched as Tubbo, Ranboo, and Theseus all shouted at the same time.

Purpled narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Ranboo was shaking his head furiously. “We are not letting you in the kitchen.”

Theseus didn’t even know why he’d shouted, it had just been instinct. He frowned. “Wait, why—”

Tubbo shuddered. “Trust us.”

Purpled crossed his arms. “I feel very attacked.”

Sapnap snickered. “Yeah, no, I wanna see this now.”

“NO,” Tubbo, Ranboo, and Theseus all snapped again.

Purpled huffed. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m sitting next to Theseus at dinner.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weirdly specific request.”

Purpled smirked slightly. “What, am I not allowed to sit next to my long-lost best friend?”

Theseus rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his chest.

Sapnap clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s eat before we all get sentimental.”

And so, they sat around the dining table, villains and vigilantes, past and present, reunited at last.

Theseus’s family. Together.

Chapter Text

Dinner was quiet, at least at first. They ate without much conversation, the weight of the past hanging over them like a storm cloud. Theseus could feel their eyes on him, watching, waiting. He wasn’t sure what they expected him to say.

Afterward, they all moved to the living room. The space was warm and lived-in, filled with the quiet hum of the city outside. Theseus sat cross-legged on the couch, between Ranboo and Tubbo, while Purpled took the armrest. Dream, George, and Sapnap sat across from them, watching.

Then Ranboo spoke.

He told Theseus everything.

How they found out he had been taken, how it was Mr. Jschlatt who had broken the news to them. The sheer panic, the disbelief, the refusal to accept it. How they had searched everywhere, refusing to give up even when it seemed hopeless.

Tubbo cut in, leaning forward. “After you were kidnapped, I started taking tech and coding lessons. Hacking, too. Every single day, I combed through the police and hero databases, searching for anything, any sign of you. Just in case you showed up one day.”

Purpled nodded. “I got help from some of my brother’s associates. People who could track anyone. We tried everything.” His hands clenched into fists. “But we had no luck.”

Ranboo’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “Once I mastered my teleportation, I made it a routine. Every Wednesday, I’d teleport to every homeless shelter in L’Manberg, hoping, praying, that maybe one day, you’d end up in one of them.” His voice cracked slightly. “For seven years, we searched for you, Theseus.”

Theseus had no words. The realization hit him all at once, seven years. They had spent seven years searching for him.

His throat was tight when he finally asked, “What about my birth family?”

A silence settled over the trio. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled exchanged looks, speaking in that way only close friends could. The kind of silent conversation built over years.

Ranboo was the one who finally answered.

“You were declared dead a year after you went missing.”

Theseus blinked.

Ranboo kept going, his voice careful. “Your father, Philza, searched for you for a year. But then… he gave up. Declared you dead.”

Theseus barely had time to process that before Purpled added, “Your older brother, Wilbur, kept looking for two years. Then he stopped, too.”

Tubbo hesitated, then sighed. “Your older older brother, Techno… He searched for five years. He was the last one still looking. But now, nobody even mentions your old name, Tommy, around him unless they want a broken nose. It’s a touchy subject for him.”

Theseus didn’t know what to say.

“Dad took it hard, too,” Tubbo continued. “You were basically a second son to him. He, well, he made every hero search for you for a solid three years. Forced them to, actually.”

That caught Dream, George, and Sapnap’s attention.

“Who exactly is your dad?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tubbo shrugged. “My dad’s some kind of higher-up in the Hero Corporation, but honestly, I don’t really pay attention to what exactly he does.”

Purpled nodded. “Pretty sure he told us his job at some point, but we were too focused on Theseus missing to care.”

Theseus snorted. “Yeah, I get that. The guy talks too much anyway.”

Dream squinted at him. “How would you know? You barely remember who he is.”

Theseus smirked. “Instinct.”

The room was silent for a beat, then Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled burst into laughter.

Dream just stared at them, unimpressed. Then, without missing a beat, he turned to George and Sapnap.

“We’re going to need to buy another house.”

George groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

Sapnap sighed, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll start looking.”

No one said it outright, but Theseus knew exactly who that house was for.

Chapter Text

I do plan on continuing this story, life took an unexpected turn for me lately and I have been dealing with some personal issues. I do not plan on abandoning this work, as it is one of my favorite stories I've ever written. I've put so much effort and time into this story and I would hate for all of that to go to waste. Thank you everyone for every single comment, kudos, bookmark, ect. It means the world to me and I hope to be back soon.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky as Theseus stepped out of the house, the cool wind ruffling his hair. The city of L’manberg stretched before him, vibrant and alive. Cars honked in the streets, people bustled through the markets, and the sounds of laughter and chatter echoed off the buildings. Theseus felt a sense of calm as he looked around, the bustling city a perfect backdrop for the chaos he was about to dive into.

Behind him, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled were already waiting, practically vibrating with excitement. Tubbo was bouncing on his heels, his fingers twitching as though he had a dozen plans already forming in his head. Ranboo stood off to the side, arms crossed, giving a look that was somewhere between skepticism and curiosity. Purpled had that usual, cool demeanor, but the glint of mischief in his eyes made it clear that he was ready for whatever came their way.

“Theseus!” Tubbo called, grinning. “You ready to make some memories?” He pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen, likely plotting something even more chaotic than the last time they’d hung out.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Theseus said, his voice laced with a quiet excitement. 

“Alright,” Purpled said, taking a step forward. “Let’s hit the city. We’ll start with something simple, like food. Then we can decide what kind of destruction we’re causing.”

“Food first!” Tubbo cheered. “Ice cream! We deserve ice cream.”

Ranboo nodded in agreement, though a smile played at the corners of his lips. “Okay, ice cream it is.”

The four of them set off down the bustling streets of L’manberg, making their way toward the ice cream stand that sat on the corner. The sun was hot on their backs, and the scent of city life was everywhere: fresh bread from a nearby bakery, the faint smell of exhaust fumes, and the sugary sweetness of the ice cream shop just around the corner.

“Five scoops of vanilla, please,” Tubbo said to the vendor behind the counter. The man looked at him for a moment, clearly taken aback, but then he shrugged and began scooping.

“I’ll take the chocolate,” Ranboo added, his tone slightly more subdued. “You know, for balance.”

Purpled, always one for a challenge, picked out the most bizarre combination, mint chocolate chip mixed with gummy worms, chocolate chips, rainbow sprinkles, and cookie dough. “This is gonna be weird,” he muttered as he handed over the money.

Theseus chuckled. “You’re a brave man, Purpled.”

They all got their ice cream, the laughter starting up again as Tubbo immediately dropped a scoop onto the ground. “Whoops! Guess I’ll need another one,” he grinned at the vendor, who just shook his head with a smile, clearly used to their antics.

Ranboo immediately slathered chocolate syrup all over his cone, making a mess as he tried to keep it from dripping. Purpled took his weird concoction with a dramatic flourish, slurping a gummy worm into his mouth before pulling a face. “Never again,” he declared, though he took another bite anyway.

Theseus smiled, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he took his own cone. It was vanilla, plain and simple. Nothing too extravagant. But the feeling of the ice cream melting on his tongue felt like bliss, something so normal, so right.

The day continued like that, with no real plan, just the ebb and flow of chaos. They ducked into shops and messed around, testing things out like kids in a candy store. Tubbo somehow managed to break a display rack in one of the clothing stores, and the clerk was left sputtering in confusion while Tubbo made a break for it. Purpled picked up a few random trinkets and slipped them into his jacket pockets when no one was looking. Ranboo used his teleportation powers to hop between aisles and pull off ridiculous stunts, like pretending to be a mannequin or teleporting behind people to scare them.

But the true madness began when they reached the heart of the city, the city square. The four of them found themselves in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by vendors and street performers. The place was packed, the energy electric.

“Ready for chaos?” Tubbo asked, grinning.

“Always,” Theseus replied.

Tubbo’s first target was a cart selling small trinkets. With a few expertly timed moves, he distracted the vendor long enough for Purpled to swipe a couple of rings, his grin wide and mischievous as he slipped them into his pocket. Ranboo didn’t even wait for a signal, he teleported onto a nearby rooftop and started throwing snowballs at random pedestrians.

It didn’t take long before the chaos exploded. People in the square started yelling, running after each other, and laughing as the absurdity spread. Theseus, swept up in the excitement, joined in without thinking. He picked up an empty crate, slung it over his shoulder like a makeshift shield, and darted through the crowd. A few bystanders tried to stop him, but he was faster, weaving between them with the grace of someone who’d been running from enemies far worse than a confused shopper.

Ranboo teleported down from the rooftop, laughing maniacally, and joined Tubbo in launching random items into the air. The pair were unstoppable, their pranks spreading like wildfire as the vendors tried, and failed, to maintain order. Theseus found himself laughing harder than he had in years.

But it didn’t last long. A loud siren went off, and the crowd’s energy shifted from playful to tense. The local heroes were on their way, probably alerted by the chaos they’d stirred up.

“Time to bail!” Purpled shouted, his hand reaching for Theseus. Without missing a beat, they bolted down the alleyways, dodging heroes, city guards, and the occasional bystander who was caught in the crossfire.

They played tag for hours, running through the alleyways, dodging security cameras, and laughing until their sides ached. Theseus was out of breath but exhilarated, his heart pounding as he sprinted past his friends, determined to outrun them. At one point, he and Ranboo accidentally tripped a wire that set off a series of alarms, forcing them to dive into a nearby fountain to escape the flood of flashing lights.

By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, they were sitting on the edge of a bridge overlooking the river, completely spent. Tubbo had ice cream smeared on his face, and Purpled was drenched in water from the fountain incident. Ranboo had somehow managed to get a bit of chocolate on his cheek, though he didn’t seem to mind.

But then, as the laughter died down and the weight of the day settled in, Theseus felt a quiet ache in his chest. He glanced at his friends, Tubbo, Ranboo, Purpled. They’d been his family before everything had gone wrong. They still were. But there was an underlying tension now. A feeling he couldn’t quite shake. They hadn’t asked the tough questions today, hadn’t pressed him for answers, but he knew it was coming.

They sat there, watching the sunset in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Theseus felt the pull of the past creeping in, but for once, he didn’t mind. It was the first time in a long time he felt normal, like the world hadn’t been shattered, like he wasn’t haunted by memories he couldn’t outrun.

And for now, that was enough.

The sky had darkened, the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the horizon, leaving only a soft, fading glow over the city. The noise of the city around them had started to die down, the world shifting into a quiet rhythm. It should’ve been peaceful, but there was something in the air now, an undercurrent of unspoken questions, waiting to be addressed.

Theseus could feel it. The silence had settled between them, pressing down on his chest, and his friends weren’t saying anything. Not yet, anyway. But he could see it in the way they kept glancing at him, Tubbo’s hopeful expression, Ranboo’s sad, probing eyes, and Purpled’s stoic face, though even he couldn’t hide the subtle tightness in his jaw. They all wanted to know. They had spent seven years searching for him, hoping for a miracle that never came, and now that he was back, they wanted answers.

But they didn’t ask. Not directly.

Instead, Tubbo was staring into the river, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the stone bridge as the water flowed beneath them. Ranboo had leaned against the concrete rail, his head tilted slightly toward the night sky, though his gaze was fixed on the ground. Purpled was the only one watching him directly, his eyes sharp, expectant. Theseus couldn’t ignore it any longer. He could feel the weight of their patience, but also the urgency beneath it. It was as if they were all holding their breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I guess it’s time,” Theseus muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of the words he was about to say pressing down on him like an anchor. He had kept the truth buried for so long, hidden under layers of numbness, anger, and confusion. But now… now it was time.

“I don’t remember a lot of it,” he started, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears. “The first few days? Blank. It’s like my brain just… shut down.” He glanced up at his friends, finding their eyes on him. “But I remember the facility. I remember the lab. The people who took me.”

He swallowed, trying to steady the tremor that threatened to break through his voice. The memories were so sharp now, so vivid, despite the fog that still clung to the edges of them. “There were so many rooms. So many tests. I don’t know how long it lasted, weeks, months, years… it’s all a blur. But I remember the pain. I remember the needles, the machines, the way they strapped me down and injected me with things that made me feel like my body was being ripped apart.”

Tubbo shifted uncomfortably beside him, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and concern. “Theseus, you don’t have to—”

But Theseus held up a hand, his gaze unwavering. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this for them or for himself, but he needed to get it out. He needed them to understand.

“No, I do,” he said quietly. “You asked. You deserve to know.”

He took a breath, the memories coming in flashes now, each one like a shard of glass cutting through his mind. “They called me T-015. A number. That’s all I was to them. Not a person. Not Tommy. Just T-015, a weapon they could control.”

He could feel his hands shaking, his palms slick with sweat as his heart raced. But he kept going.

“I remember the experiments. The ones that didn’t make any sense. They… they messed with my wings. Tried to make them stronger, faster. They wanted me to be perfect. But the only thing I became was a lab rat. Every day, I was put through the same tests. Different doctors, different scientists. Some were kind, but most were just there to see how much they could push me before I broke.”

He stopped for a moment, his chest tightening as the memories clawed at him. The faces of the kids, their eyes full of fear, of rage, of desperation, flickered in his mind. “I killed them. And every time I did, it… it didn’t feel like I was me anymore.”

He finally looked up, his eyes meeting Tubbo’s, Ranboo’s, and Purpled’s. They were all silent, their expressions a mixture of horror, grief, and something else, something Theseus couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know what they were feeling, but he could see how hard it was for them to process what he was telling them.

“I’m not the same person I was before,” Theseus said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “The person you knew? Tommy? He’s gone. I’m not him anymore.”

He felt a wave of guilt, a crushing weight on his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but it felt like the truth.

“You’re still you,” Ranboo said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll always know you as you. No matter what.”

Purpled’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening with the barely contained rage he’d been hiding. “I’m burning that place down,” he muttered, his words low and dangerous. His hand, clenched tightly at his side, twitched as if it were yearning to break something, no doubt, the building where Theseus had suffered for so long.

Theseus wanted to say something, wanted to thank him for the offer, but there was a strange knot in his chest at the thought of his friends wanting to hurt anyone on his behalf. It wasn’t their fight anymore. Dream had already destroyed the facility.

But before he could speak, Purpled’s gaze softened, and his hand reached out, almost like it was instinct. Theseus flinched at first, but Purpled paused, his fingers hovering, before gently resting on his shoulder. The touch, unexpected but comforting, sent a jolt of warmth through Theseus, and he found himself leaning slightly into it.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, them. The way they’d always been there, unspoken understanding flowing between them like electricity. Purpled had always been there, offering support in his own way, even when things were the hardest. He hadn’t forgotten that, not even after all this time. And in this quiet moment, his touch felt like a promise.

“Theseus,” Tubbo started, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve been through more than anyone should have to. But you’re not alone now. We’re here. And we’re not going anywhere.”

The group stood in silence for a few moments, but the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t lighter, there was still a lot of weight hanging in the air, but now it felt like something more solid had been built between them. Something unspoken but there, something stronger than just friendship.

For the first time in a long time, Theseus felt a small, fragile sense of peace. He wasn’t Tommy anymore, but with his friends here, beside him, especially Purpled, who kept his hand on his shoulder, the weight of it both grounding and comforting, he didn’t feel entirely lost.

“I never wanted to be that person,” Theseus said quietly, his voice softer now. “The one I became there. I just… I wanted to go home. And now… now I’m here.”

Purpled’s eyes locked with his, the storm that had been there earlier still present but softened, tempered by something that felt almost like understanding. Without a word, he squeezed his shoulder once, firmly, before letting go, his hand retreating slowly but not entirely, his presence still there.

“We’ll make sure you never have to go back to that place,” Purpled said, voice barely above a murmur, but it carried more weight than any declaration could.

The unspoken promise lingered between them, heavier than anything Theseus could have ever said aloud. It was a promise he had longed for.

And even if he wasn’t Tommy anymore, in this moment, surrounded by his friends who had never given up on him, he felt like he could finally begin to heal some past wounds, the ones that Dream wasn’t able to heal no matter how hard he tried.

Chapter Text

So umm. This is hard for me to say, but I just gotta do it.

Yesterday night, I lost my dog. It was unexpected, and I was not prepared at all. He fell sick, and we took him to the vet, and that’s when they gave the news he probably won’t even last the night.

Before I get comments on how I could think of even writing fanfic while my best friend of seven years has passed just yesterday, all I can say is everyone grieves in their own ways. And I just need to stay busy.

So, onto the main topic of this update. I’ll be rewriting the story, completely. The basic plot will stay the same obviously, but characters will have some changes, aswell as the world setup in general. The only thing I can say with confidence, is that the ending will stay the same. I have had the last 2 chapters written since the very first chapter was drafted, and I have no plans on changing it at all.

Thank you all for your continued support and advice on bettering my writing.

Love,

L.C.