Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clouds were so strange if you thought about it; They swirled and danced in the sky in a sleepy kind of lullaby. When clouds were dark in color, parents told their children that they were angry or sad. Clouds can’t feel emotions though. It's practically impossible. Clouds don’t even have a source of energy, let alone any scientific way to classify them as “alive”. Alive things feel things, at least that’s what every fake adult spokesperson would say.

Tommy liked looking at the clouds. He didn’t personally enjoy them when they were grey and bloated with water, but he still found himself staring at them to pass the time nonetheless. Honestly, Tommy wishes he was a cloud. That means he wouldn’t have to feel. Sounds nice.

He also wouldn’t have to listen to his supervisor's useless lecture of being respectful. He honestly hadn’t done anything wrong. His science teacher Mrs. Taylor had assigned him to be partners with a notorious brat of a girl for a photosynthesis presentation. The brat’s name was Heather, and she had immediately complained and been embarrassed when Tommy moved over to her desk, a hesitant smile on his face that faded quickly as she ignored him and continued to talk to his friends.

If there’s one thing that Thomas Andrew Watson hated more than his dad’s constant absence, his eldest brother’s hypocrisy, and his other brother’s overwhelming apathetic nature, it was being ignored.

So, naturally, Tommy had rather loudly pointed out a messy stain in Heather’s skirt, making a big fat deal out of nothing. After the stain announcement, he went to her shoes, and then her voice, and then rolled down the big red carpet of assholes with a final "even your fucking face is a mess". Tommy knew that he should “be the bigger person”, and that his insults weren’t even good, but Tommy hated being ignored. He pushed down the thought that whispered, ‘Are you sure it's not your abandonment issues speaking? You haven’t expressed your emotions in a healthy way since you were eight, idiot.’

Tommy may have anger issues, but at least his subconscious is aware of it. He counts it as a win in a strange way.

Mrs. Taylor had handed him a detention slip, and Tommy dreaded it. Not because he thought that his dad would be pissed or that his brother’s would make fun of him, god no. If any of them even read his message about his detention, then Tommy would think the world was ending. No, Tommy dreaded it because Tubbo wouldn’t be there. When Tommy and Tubbo were still friends, they always got in trouble together. Detentions were like fun games to the two of them, and Tommy wasn’t driven to irritation by boredom.

However, Tommy was more than aware that Tubbo wouldn’t be there; He hadn’t even talked to Tubbo in three months. The wound was still fresh, and being alone in this bitchass stuffy room with a pinched faced vice principal only made it worse, made the regretful laceration bleed like a waterfall.

“... honestly, Mr. Watson, you must learn to keep your mouth shut! If you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say it,” The vice principal, Ms. Randall, spit out with venom. Tommy was well aware that she would rather be anywhere else than with a loud mouth, obnoxious thirteen year old. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her.

“I expect to hear from Ms. Summers (The brat’s last name, Tommy supposes, still looking out the window from the corner of his eyes) that you sincerely apologized,” Ms. Randall held her wrist up to her face to look at her watch, “Now, for your punishment, open up your math textbook and complete pages 317 to 340. No complaints, and no guessing. I want to see full work, too.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tommy grumbled under his breath, muttering a few curse words her way after she walked out of the classroom to grab her work from the office. Looking at the clock, which read ‘3:21’, Tommy sighed but still reached into his backpack. At least he could pass the time with this; Even though it is total bullshit.
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Me:
Dad [4:33]
The school said u dindnt answer their call, so just letting you know i got detention for being mean to a classmate [4:33]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Me:
Tech [4:42]
Can you pick me up from school pls? [4:43]
[Technoblade read your message at 4:45 p.m.] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tommy stared at his phone screen, thumb ghosting over the send message. He hated how they ignored him, like he didn’t exist. (He didn't bother texting Wilbur, he was away at college). He was especially pissed at how Techno read his message, but still didn’t reply, or even attempt to come get him. Like he didn’t matter.

Whatever. It’s not like he cared anyways. He can just walk to the bus station and take that home. No biggie.

Tommy played on his phone as he walked on the paled sidewalk, kicking a rock between his beat up sneakers. He passed a few people on the street, pointedly ignoring their greetings or stares. He grimaced and looked up from his screen when a rumble sounded in the distance, clouds beginning to drizzle all over the town (it was really a city). Tommy began to run, sprinting when he saw the bus station bench with the crappy cover over it. He practically slid onto the plastic seat, sneakers sloshing a bit on a forming puddle.

He said a few grumpy cusses to the empty air, before looking back down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling on Pinterest (it's a great app, okay?! Looking at all those pie recipes is a great pastime!). Tommy could vaguely tell that someone was walking up to him, but he was waiting for a bus, and a bus is public transportation. It wasn’t that weird for some person to come and stand there, too, to wait for it.

“What is a mortal baby like you doing out in this precipitation?”

Okay, scratch that, what the fuck?

Chapter Text

“What is a mortal baby like you doing out in this precipitation?”

The voice almost seemed to echo out into the disbelieving silence. It had no distinct qualities to it; Not too high or too low. The only weird thing about it was how it seemed itch Tommy’s ears in a not-welcomed way, like the blonde wasn’t meant to be hearing it, and how it had an air of casualness to it like it had every right to waltz up to a stranger and act like their friends. Also, “mortal”? “Precipitation”?

‘Great,’ Tommy’s thoughts hissed to himself with toxic undertone, ‘Already had to deal with detention, now I’m dealing with a druggie.’

Part of Tommy wanted to brush the stranger (emphasis on STRANGE, because Jesus, this guy had to be on some hardcore inhalant shit), but the other part wanted to tell the guy to screw off with a not so nice answer. After a few seconds, with no new sound of the person walking away, Tommy huffed before turning around with the most passive aggressive look he could manage. Wilbur used to do that look with Tommy when the older still actively lived with Tommy and the other members of the family; He spent most of his time with his girlfriend, Sally, nowadays.

A tall man, probably around twenty or something, was eying him with a strange look in his emerald eyes. Like he knew something Tommy didn’t. Kind of pissed Tom off. The stranger’s head almost brushed the top of the dingy cover, fluffy yet somehow slick dirty blonde locks windswept to the side, covering the top of his left eye a bit. Freckles dotted tan cheekbones like watercolor details on a professional artist’s work, fine and ethereal. The man’s green sweatshirt was rolled up a bit on his arms, jeans crinkling by how he was standing, dirty sneakers not seeming to mind the puddle getting dangerously closer to it the longer the rain dropped.

Bitch was fucking pretty. Tommy hated him even more.

“What?” Tommy dumbly decided on asking, realizing with a flush that he had been staring at this man with a stupid look on his face for more then ten seconds.

“The precipitation,” The taller motioned out to the street, “Does it not bother you?”

Tommy tsked, his old glare crossing his face again, “No, it doesn’t, and why the fuck are you calling rain its fancy name? It’s just rain.”

“Oh! This is rain?” The man turned somewhat excitedly to the dripping clouds, holding a hand out to catch the cold drops. Tommy stared at him with a look of incredulous awe, before snapping his jaw shut and scoffing.

“Yeah. Precipitation and rain are the same thing,” Tommy said matter-a-factly.

“Well, I had a feeling that the two were the same, but I had thought that rain would be gentler… prettier… like crystals. Like they would fall slower, quieter. That’s how their described in all the stories I’ve read, y’know. Your writing brethren certainly correspond things in a more romantic light, making things more beautiful than they really are. Interesting,” The man rambled, emerald orbs stuck on the pool forming in the palm of his hand. He looked perfectly content, curious even, to learn this knowledge.

Tommy, on the other hand, was internally horrified. Either this bastard was drunk, on drugs, both, or unhealthily sheltered. Maybe even mentally ill. To not know that rain’s scientific name was literally “precipitation”, meaning the two were the same things, was just a little concerning. Just a little.

“Yeah…. yeah…. whatever you say, Big Man,” Tommy scouted over to the very far edge of the bench.

Tommy’s anger was replaced with fear and a little bit of sadness for the man stuck to the rain in front of him. He stared for a few seconds more, before going back to his phone. He couldn’t find it in himself to cuss this poor guy out. As long as the man stayed quiet and didn’t piss Tommy off, the blonde could endure his presence -

“You are quite knowledgeable for a infant.”

Never fucking mind. This man was about to be shanked by a no. 2 pencil straight out of Tommy's backpack.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Tommy spat out, anger prickling under his skin. The green eyed fucker, turned around with a praising smile. As if Tommy, a full grown preteen, would be absolutely enthralled by being called a smart infant.

“I said, you are quite knowledgeable for an infant,” The lizard said with a smile.

“Fuck you, man! I’m not a fucking baby, I’m thirteen!” Tommy defended his ego with vigor, wishing murder was legal and that he was stronger than a gust of wind. The man chuckled, and Tommy’s eye twitched.

“Oh, you’re feisty aren’t you! I’ve met many others, but never one to openly confront me like this, especially when shown a compliment. Perhaps you are what George said to be, ‘hot-headed’. What a wonderful thing!”

Tommy spluttered at the man’s words, who flashed a pearly white smile, “What- Fuck you! You’re a crazy bitch! You got a fucking problem that needs to get under contro! Stupid jerk, hope you die in a fire! Get stabbed in an alley way!”

“I hope that those don’t happen,” The man laughed as if Tommy was telling a funny joke. Tommy threw some more rude names his way as the bus (THE BUS, THANK YOU GOD) pulled up, flipping the dirty blonde off as he boarded the bus. The fucker had the nerve to wave with a laugh.

Tommy stomped to the back. He flopped down with a few grumbles, a red face, and a shunned dignity. With Tommy’s luck, Wilbur and Techno would both be home when he got there. That would be the icing on the fucking cake, wouldn’t it? Been dragged through the mud by school, by an insane stranger, and then by his family. A perfect day.

Tommy knew, however, that Wilbur would be with Sally. That Techno would either be at the gym or locked in his room. That Dad would be on another work trip. That Tommy would have to figure out his homework by himself, cook dinner or be lucky enough to be left some take-out, and then go to bed and get up in the morning to go and apologize to the brat at school.

Somehow, Tommy wished he never got on the bus to go home at all.

Then he remembered that crazy son of a bitch, and snorted to himself. Yeah, Tommy would rather go home after all.

Chapter Text

The arcade’s colorful lights shone through the windows, blending together and mixing until it was a rainbow sheet of brightness. The props and prizes lined the windows, drawing attention to children walking by and teenagers messing around. The ‘Open!’ sign sat on the door, seemingly looking at Tommy with an inviting grin.

Tommy sighed, gripping his birthday money tightly, before pushing open the glass door and entering the building. It had not been a good Friday, and all Tommy wanted to do was enjoy mindless games and forget about his troubles. So, while everyone was actually living on a Saturday afternoon, Tommy was fucking surviving off of the local arcade.

Walking in, Tommy was hit by the smell of junk food and happiness and he couldn’t help but deflate and smile. He walked around bystanders on their phones or talking with eachother, around signs and standing posters, around employees and tables. He had one goal in mind, ignoring everyone around him.

He did send a smile and a half-assed greeting to the employee, Quackity, who was working the coin counter. The two went way back, Tommy knowing Quackity as Wilbur’s funny friend. The blonde used to see the beanie loving man almost every day, until it just stopped. When Tommy had run into the older man during one of his first visits to the arcade, he had gotten around to asking Quackity about it and apparently, Quackity and Wilbur had a major fight and fallout to their friendship. To this day, Quackity hasn’t told Tommy what it was about, though he clearly is still bitter about it.

After snatching his coins and running off to the main center, Tommy was pleased to find that most games were unoccupied. So the preteen played PacMan and Tetris, vision filled with digital colors and hearing the loud laughter of the crowds walking around, and he was fucking elated. Gaming always made his day better.

(Back when he and Tubbo were attached at the hip, they would come after school almost everyday, creating chaos and driving the employees crazy with their antics. Tommy is pretty sure Tubbo still goes after every school day, so he makes sure to only go on the weekends. Tommy doesn’t want to see Tubbo right now. Especially after what he said.)

Of course, nothing good happens to Tommy, and when he was spinning around after grabbing his tickets from the Crossy Road game he ran into a strong chest. It had a strong cologne that smelled like sea breeze and citrus, and was outlandishly warm and somehow cold at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry….,” Tommy trailed off as he made eye contact with the owner of the chest in front of him, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

It was the guy from the bus station two weeks ago. Today, he was wearing a white and blue hoodie with a unknown logo and dark jeans. Those fucking shoes were the same as last time, though, and Tommy wondered how they weren’t falling apart yet. Those Nikes aren’t going to last much longer.

“It’s you!” The man said with recognition glimmering in his eyes, “How are you, angry child?”

“Better before you got here,” Tommy gritted out, crossing his arms, “and I’m not a fucking ‘child’. I’m thirteen.”

“Still a child to me. What are you doing here?” The man stood back and put his hands in his hoodie’s pocket, titling his head. Tommy wanted to desperately just punt the guy, but he didn’t want to get banned from yet another arcade, which, by the way, wasn’t even his fault. It was Tubbo’s!

“What do you think?” Tommy asked sarcastically, widening his eyes for emphasis. He only got more annoyed when the green eyed bastard seemed to actually think about it, emerald eyes staring at him with intensity. He leaned back, closed his eyes, before turning to Tommy fully again.

“You’re here to drive away your boredom and negative emotions,” The man said simply, eyes trained on Tommy’s. Tommy was taken aback, not expecting an answer so strange yet so accurate. He opened his mouth to retort something to the sandy blonde but the taller was already continuing, “Though, I think that doing a physical activity is better for that. When I’m upset, I usually do activities to get me focused more on my body’s coordination than my own mind. My mom says that it’s unhealthy, but I see nothing wrong with it. She’s always been more of a emotional specimen, though, so I can’t blame her for worrying. However, you have only the technological screens to comfort you. Therefore, I am offering to comfort you instead.”

If Tommy wasn’t slack jawed before, he certainly was now. This guy is so fucking weird.

“What… you… no, I don’t want your stupid comfort,” Tommy managed to get out, extremely weirded out. The man only looked at him even longer, eyes moving side to side a bit as if reading Tommy like a book. It was subtle enough to just be passed off as glancing around randomly, but Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the guy was actually reading him somehow.

“You sure?” Tommy’s glare hardened like it did at the station.

“I’m sure,” He spit out, cyanide dripping off his words and missing their mark on the toned man.

“Even if I said I wanted to roller skate?” Okay, now this was more difficult to refuse. When Tommy was younger and believed that his family loved him as much as he did them, he used to go skating with his brothers at the old roller rink that has long been torn down to be replaced with a Walmart. He remembered the loud music and the motion of seemingly gliding on the floor. Tommy hasn’t been skating since he was seven.

“Can’t you do that yourself?” Tommy asked, hating how he was actually considering to skate with this fucker.

“Well, I’m sure I can learn. I’ve never been skating before, but I thought it would be a good bonding experience! You haven’t been skating for a long time either, so…. a trip down memory lane, perhaps? You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” Tommy chose to ignore the words “bonding” and “You haven’t skated either for a long time”. It was tempting, but he barely knew the guy.

As Tommy was about to refuse, the man’s hand rested on his shoulder, and he immediately was flooded with a mush of emotions. All of them were positive, and it didn’t hurt, but it made refusing harder and harder to think about.

“What do you say, baby mortal?” The emerald eyed asked with a charming smile, one that almost reminded Tommy of Wilbur’s when he was a good person, a good brother. However, it was all this guy’s own. While the both provided a sense of comfort, Wilbur’s was almost sly and more of a smirk, but the stranger’s was full teeth and joy filled. Tommy quite liked it.

“Sure, why not? Gotta nothing better to do,” Tommy shrugged.

“Good, good,” the man’s hand fell off his shoulder, “My name is Dream, by the way.”

“Tommy,” The boy replied.

The two walked over to the roller skate check out desk, ran by a guy named Karl. He greeted the two with a cheery smile and chipper greeting, giggling a bit to himself. When Dream had picked out size sixteen skates, Tommy had asked him ‘how fucking big are you’re feet? Hmmm, big foot?’, which made the green eyed elder wheeze. It sounded a bit like a tea kettle, but Tommy reveled in it anyways. It was a nice sound, one that made him a chuckle a bit. Tommy didn’t understand why he couldn’t hate this guy anymore, but didn’t focus too much on it. He felt something that could only be described as a gust of summer wind on his mind when he did.

The two males had walked over the the rink near the back of the arcade, dozens of people skating around and doing tricks. Cheesy music played on the speakers and lights shined onto the floor in different designs, switching randomly. Tommy tied his skates up before shakily standing, looking over at Dream, who looked like a natural for someone who had apparently never skated before.

The two had rolled into the rink, before slowly starting to go around, Tommy falling down a few times and Dream helping him up. The two jested and joked like old time friends, and Tommy was starting to find it harder to remember why he didn’t like Dream in the first place. Dream’s humor itched a part of his brain satisfyingly, and his smile eased him. The two got faster and faster around the rink until they were practically racing each other around it, both slipping a few times with loud laughter. Occasionally a few people would look at them in fondness or in irritation, but screw them. Tommy told that to Dream who laughed and said something that sounded like ‘is that the same thing as “fuck off”? I should ask George about that later…’

It was all fun and games until Dream slowed to a stop, grabbing Tommy’s upper arm and pointing across the rink, “You see that guy Tommy?”

“Huh?” Tommy squinted, “The black haired one with a bandanna? Looks like he’s pissing himself or somethin’.”

Dream wheezed, “Yeah, yeah him… now I have a request for you Tommy.”

Tommy tried to lean like a sunflower to the sun when Dream lowered his voice and asked Tommy to do the act. Tommy had done an evil smirk, before beginning to roll away from Dream to the ravenette. When he was close enough to smell the guy’s weird ass cologne (smoky and woodsy), he crouched down, and grabbed the guy’s sweatpants. With a flourish, Tommy cleanly pantsed the man before rolling away as if hell was on his heels. He held in cackles painfully when he yelp sounded from behind him, a familiar wheeze following.

“Good job, Tommy,” Dream praised once Tommy was close enough, “But you might want to get going.”

Sure enough, the ravenette and a short brunette with sunglasses were fast approaching, and Tommy began to roll away to the exit of the rink. He looked back at Dream who winked at him, before turning back to the two men approaching. Tommy’s heart was still warmed from the praise he had been given and with adrenaline in his system, he tore off the skates and ran out of the arcade into the nice weather of the streets, stumbling to get his sneakers on.

So sure, Tommy may be banned from another arcade, but he had finally caused chaos again. A normal, a constant. It was like a breathe of fresh air. And as Tommy ran with laughter still bubbling out of him, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone, surprised to see a new number had texted him.
______________________________________________________________

Dream :)
See you later little mortal [2:57]
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Chapter Text

Adolescence is a funny thing to Tommy.

When you’re a kid, adults will tell you to cherish it. That is the “best years of your life”, that once it's done, it's done. You can never have that freedom again. However, it's the same adults that want you to grow up and mature because you can’t act like that, you’re too old for that. You suddenly have responsibilities and have to immediately figure out where to go with your life. As soon as you’re 18 you have to become a functioning member of society with no guidance or clue on what to do.

Tommy has no idea what kind of parent Phil was or is to his brothers, if the man would be a father that provided and helped, or a father that let you flounder and figure it out on your own. When Tommy was adopted at the age of four, Wilbur was fifteen and Techno was twelve. He didn’t get to fully know what his brothers were like because of his fucking toddler brain but his mind whispers that, ‘They were good, loving, funny, and your fucking heroes.’

Now Wilbur was off with a girlfriend that didn’t even know Tommy existed as well as ignoring and belittling everything Tommy did. When Wilbur was around, Tommy felt like a failure. Everything he did was wrong: He sang that note wrong, his joke wasn’t funny, his grades were atrocious, his art was ugly, he sucked at sports. All those things were words Wilbur had uttered to him with utmost disapproval. It made Tommy want to cry and scream at the same time. Tommy stayed silent every time.

Technoblade was even worse. Stoic and apathetic, not even giving Tommy the time of day. When Tommy was in the kitchen or living room and the pink haired genius walked in, he would ignore him. Not even look his way. It was like Tommy didn’t exist, he wasn’t there, he was a ghost. Maybe, Tommy had thought a thousand times before, if he were to mess his own body up Techno would see him. Just for one day, for one hour, for one fucking second. He would see how broken he made Tommy.

Phil wasn’t the best nor the worst. While he left money and occasionally responded to Tommy’s texts, he was never around. Always something with work, always something better to do than be a dad. Tommy used to think that Phil had abandoned all of them, but it was a year ago during summer break when all three of the very males that Tommy hated were home. Their laughter and talking echoed in Tommy’s mind as he had laid in his bed, hands over his mouth to hold back his whimpers and cries. Phil loved Wilbur and Techno, but he didn’t love Tommy. How could he? Tommy hadn’t proved himself yet, obviously.

He wasn’t like Wilbur, a virtuoso with humor and charisma, undoubtedly handsome. He wasn’t like Techno, a prodigy in both academics and sports, someone with their head set on straight. He wasn’t like Phil, a hard worker and someone with undying passion. He wasn’t even like Tubbo, a sweetheart with good intended chaotic habits.

He was Tommy and no one liked Tommy.

It was coming up to Spring break which meant that Tommy’s entire family would be home, as well as Sally and a few of Wilbur’s college friends.
Tommy was convinced that the only thing that was keeping him from ditching this town and running away was Dream.

Two months ago was when they caused chaos and almost got banned (Quackity had sent a very funny voicemail, in Tommy’s opinion) from the arcade. After that, while they didn’t hang out a lot, they texted and called constantly. Dream did get him into trouble a couple times by calling him during school hours, but for some reason, a strange event always saved him from a detention. Whether it was the fire drill going off, or a fight in the hallways, Tommy was getting off scotch free and honestly? He wasn’t complaining.

Even though Tommy still didn’t fully like Dream, he was just glad to not be alone, and it was his business if Dream reminded him of what he wanted Wilbur and Techno to be. The emerald eyed man was very suspicious and strange, but he provided good company, so Tommy indulged. Also, the blonde was pretty sure that the other wouldn’t leave him alone anyways. It was really only a matter of time until Tommy caved.

Today, a week away from Spring break, Dream had invited Tommy to the mall. According to the lizard fucker, he had never been, and wanted Tommy to show him around. With nothing better to do other than wallowing in anger and self pity, he had agreed. So here Tommy stood in a striped shirt and jeans, playing mindless games on his phone. He had been wondering if he should go look for Dream, but a hand soon clapped down on his shoulder, and the familiar smell of ocean mist drifted into his face. Dream was wearing a button up shirt that was opened slightly with light jeans. Still those fucking Nikes.

“Dream,” Tommy smiled, “ ‘Ow do?”

“Tomathy,” Dream wheezed out at the sight of Tommy’s fallen face, “I’m doing well. I’m glad you came to hang out with me today! I hope it’s okay that I brought some friends along!”

Tommy, taken aback, “Uh… sure big man, that’s fine. Where are they-“

“YOU!”

Tommy jumped at the yell of incredulous fear, and looked around Dream’s broad chest to see a familiar face. It was the ravenette from the roller rink. His black hair was held back from a white bandana, orange sweatshirt with his denim jacket looking stretched out from the pose he was pulling. His hand was outstretched into a point, and he was leaning back, almost reminding Tommy of that JoJo anime he used to watch with Tubbo.

Behind him was a short brunette, clout glasses pushed up into his hair, a pretty hickory color. His brow was raised into an unimpressed look, dark eyes scanning over Tommy with an unknown swirl of emotions within them. His dark blue turtleneck went startling well with Dream’s button up shirt, different little flowers woven into the fabric. Almost looked like the two were matching; it reminded Tommy of old couples.

“Sapnap,” Dream started, “He has a name.”

Ah fuck, it was Tommy’s que.

“Yep, name is Tommy Danger Kraken Innit, nice to meet you men. Lovely weather we havin’, yeah?” Nailed it.

It seemed to have a positive effect, since the look of enraged fear turned into amusement as the guy — Sapnap, was it? — let out a few chuckles, lips turning up. His companion was a tougher crowd to please, but his eyes softened a little bit from its hardened look, shoulders drooping a bit.

“Yeah, I guess it is man,” the ravenette started, “My name’s Sapnap, the shortie behind me is Gogy.”

“George,” The brunette corrected with a subtle glare thrown at Sapnap's (what the hell was up with his name?) way.

“Great! Now that we’re all friends, I saw that coffee place upstairs. ‘StairBills’ was it?” Dream clapped his hands a bit, before putting a hand on Tommy’s back and pushing him along with his long strides. Tommy heard a yelp behind him that sounded like it was from Sapnap, and two pairs of hurried footsteps after them.

That’s what led to a full tour of the mall. The four of them went from stores like Gucci (which Tommy and Sapnap made jokes about) to Kay Jewelers. Dream had attempted to go into Victoria Secret, but George had pulled him back with Tommy and Sapnap pointedly avoiding looking into the store. Tommy may love women, but that sort of thing was not something he was confident about. The four had found themselves at the food court, Dream offering to go be the one to pay, though George seemed rather reluctant. However, the string bean of a man had run off before the brunette got to stop him. The three of them seated began to awkwardly talk, before getting into a steady and fun conversation. Tommy couldn’t remember the time he had talked like this. Sapnap and George just brought something out in him, he supposed.

As Sapnap began to tease George about something Tommy hadn’t been fully listening to, the blonde spotted that last person he wanted to see. Tubbo was there in the food court. Tubbo was here. Tubbo was… was…. happy? The once friend of Tommy’s was laughing with a kid Tommy had never seen before. They were tall and lanky, a sheepish smile on their face. Tubbo only was that happy when Tommy was him. It hurt more than the blonde expected it to.

Though he shouldn’t be sad that Tubbo left him, because the brunette had been so fucking mean for no reason.

( When Tommy had complained about his brothers for the fifth time that fateful day, Tubbo had snapped. “Stop complaining Tommy! That’s all you do! You want to know the reason your family doesn’t care about you?! It's because you’re you! All you do is focus on the negatives, you’re selfish Tommy! You never listen to me, never want to do what I want to do… you’re just an asshole, man.” Tubbo had gotten up and just left Tommy sitting there, trying to hold the tears in. Tubbo had never yelled at him before. Tubbo had never been so honest, either. )

Okay, so maybe Tommy wasn’t the best friend in the world. That didn’t mean that Tubbo just got to abandon him like his family did. It was wrong, it was mean, cruel, and just… it was just something Tommy should have seen coming.

“You okay Tommy?” George asked, hand laying over Tommy’s to bring him back to Earth. He could still hear Tubbo, though.

“Uh, yeah, sorry George,” Tommy said, zoning in on Sapnap’s steady breathing and George’s furrowed brows. Anything other than Tubbo. The wound was still there, and it was just getting salt slowly poured into it. Tommy missed the look George gave Sapnap, both glancing over at Tubbo at the same time. Soon enough, Dream came bounding over, shitty mall food in hand. ‘Finally’, Tommy’s subconscious said, ‘he’s back.’

Tommy pretended not to feel a warmth curl in his chest when Sapnap threw his arm around Tommy’s shoulder as the four of them ate. Tried not to feel special when George called him “love”. Tried not to feel scared and disappointed when he boarded the bus and he was carried away.

Tommy tried to not recognize the feeling as happiness.

Tommy didn’t deserve to be happy. Tubbo said so himself. Phil, Wilbur, and Techno expressed it every day.

So when it was late at night, Tommy curled up into a ball, and he let himself cry without his hands acting as a barrier for his pitiful noises. God, Tommy was such a social reject, a screw up, a… a… disgusting adolescent. Except, there was no adults to tell him what to do. He was an adolescent alone.

______________________________________________________________

Tubbo was just enjoying his day with his new best friend, Ranboo, at the mall. Yeah. New.

It hurt more than Tubbo would admit.

But he had Ranboo (Tommy only had him)! Ranboo was funny (Tommy made him laugh until his sides ached), kind (Tommy always let Tubbo have his lunch if he forgot), and just overly wonderful (Tommy was one of a kind; Tubbo was lucky to be blessed with meeting someone like him).

He had been walking down the sidewalk to the bus station with Ranboo when suddenly, two men bumped into him. One was wearing an orange sweatshirt and another a turtle neck, but Tubbo couldn’t see their face. Whatever, no big deal. What was a big deal was how Tubbo fell over, nose crunching on the sidewalk, blood immediately flooding out. When Tubbo sat up and looked at his hands he found that there was no blood and that the pain was gone.

This happened all the way home. Tubbo randomly hurting himself and the injuries automatically healing. Fucking weird. It was almost like God and his angels were out for him.

Chapter Text

Tommy stared at his house from afar, clenching and unclenching his hands to distract him from the urge of running far away. It was the designated day that Wilbur and his entourage would show up. Tommy had been dreading it. He dreaded it even more when Phil finally texted him, but not to let him know that he was home waiting for him or that he was worrying about where his son was, no, Phil texted to ask Tommy to run to the store. Apparently, Phil decided he wanted to make a homemade meal to impress Wil’s girlfriend. Tommy had snorted when he thought about how shocked Phil must have been to see their fridge empty; Like he didn’t leave a thirteen year old to make dinner. Tommy didn’t even know how to make rice, so take-out was almost every night.

Still, Tommy went to the store, picking out items that he knew his family would like. Ripe tomatoes, fancy sausage that he couldn’t even pronounce the name of, high end pasta noodles. It was sickly funny, because Phil knew that Tommy didn’t like pasta. It felt like slimy worms down his throat, and the smell made him nauseous, and him being a picky eater just added onto that. But it was apparently Sally’s — who Tommy is pretty sure didn’t even know he existed — favorite, so the boy would have to endure it.

Now, though, Tommy doubted he was strong enough to even walk up the driveway. The view of his family’s silhouettes in the window scared him. Tommy was scared, and he was ashamed of that. He was afraid of being belittled, ignored, and overlooked again. He forced his legs to move anyways. Right, left, right, left, right, left. He had to close his eyes when he opened the door to take a few deep breaths, to tame the flurry of butterflies that tickled his insides so much he thought he was going to throw up.

Tommy walked in and slipped off his sneakers, balancing to make sure he didn’t drop the bags. He could smell garlic and the musty smell of flour and knew that Phil had made garlic bread. Tommy was relieved at that; He wouldn’t starve himself tonight. Garlic bread is superior, next to those Red Lobster biscuits he had only once, but still, fucking good shit-

“Oh! Who… who are you?”

Tommy turned his head to look at a red headed woman, and his mind whispered the answer, ‘Sally. She’s pretty’. Her red waves poured over her back like a waterfall, her mismatched eyes (one a dark blue, one a hazel) slightly squinched by her furrowed brows. Then, Tommy felt hatred boil in his veins when he heard her repeat the question softly, like he was a wild animal that she was trying to tame. Wilbur really didn’t give a fuck about him. Didn’t even tell his girlfriend of two years that he had a second brother. When he said that ‘she doesn’t know I exist’, he was exaggerating. Guess not.

“I’m Tommy,” Tommy introduced himself as he shuffled a little towards her, “Wilbur’s brother.”

“Wilbur’s… brother?” Sally looked confused, before something in her eyes shifted, something Tommy couldn’t decipher but felt nervous at. Sally continued before Tommy could talk, her face relaxing as she smiled and she extended a sharp nailed hand, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tommy! I’m Sally, Wilbur’s girlfriend.”

“I know,” Tommy said as he awkwardly shook her hand. Sally’s smile didn’t fade, however, so at least he was on her good side. She moved aside as Tommy shuffled by, towards the kitchen where he heard Phil and Techno talking. He put the bags down on the counter and watched as Techno grew quiet when Tommy was there. Phil, however, turned around with a smile to face his youngest son.

“Tommy!” Phil exclaimed, “I was wondering where you were! Any troubles?”

‘Yes, I have troubles. You’re acting like you were here, like you love me, and I hate it. I hate you, dad. I wish you never adopted me, you’ve helped ruin me, and I’ll never forgive you for that. I’m only thirteen and I wish I was dead.’

“No, just a long line,” Tommy said quietly. He could hear Wil’s laughter from the living room.

“Okay, that’s good. Go on and wash up, will you? You look like you just came from hell and back,” Phil grabbed the items and turned around. Just like that he ends the conversation. Techno didn’t even look at him. Tommy left the room and walked to the stairs. He walked to his room, locked the door, and flopped down on his bed. He promptly screamed into his pillow, muffling his sound of distress.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

“So, how old are you Tommy?”

Tommy glared at his plate, fork stabbing his pasta with frustration poorly projected. Wilbur’s friend, Fundy or something, asked with the clear intent of clearing out the awkwardness Tommy was basically emitting like the rotten smell of garbage. There were four friends of Wilbur’s: A kind faced girl named Niki, the Fundy guy, another guy with mutton chops whose name is Schlatt, and a person called Eret. Sally was there too, on the right side of Wilbur. Everyone was seated at the dining table, all smiley and conversing. Everyone except Tommy, keeping his head down and barely eating.

“Thirteen,” Tommy mumbled out.

“Gee, thirteen? I thought you were seven!” Fundy joked. Eret smiled a bit at the ginger’s attempt at joking, but Tommy didn’t even lift his head. He only jabbed his poor meatball harder. Luckily, Fundy seemed to get the memo and backed off. If Wilbur or Phil weren’t around, he would’ve cussed Fundy out like he did Dream, but they were very present, talking about Wilbur’s college experiences.

Tommy hated this. Honestly, he just wanted to be with Dream and George and Sapnap. He wanted Dream’s cologne that made him think of beaches and the gooey StarBursts, along with that full teeth smile that had deep dimples. He wanted George’s dry humor and soft touches that provided so much more comfort than he possibly could know, his pet names like “dear” and “darling”. He wanted Sapnap’s chaotic tendencies and his stupid warmth, his iconic headband he wore every day.

Tommy wanted them.

But did he deserve them?

“Tommy?” Sally’s voice knocked him out of his turbulence of thoughts, “Do you not like pasta?”

Her eyes were on him, and he fought the urge to either shrink in his chair or answer her, but he still responded with, “No, it’s fine.”

Wordlessly, she grabbed his plate with a questioning brow as if asking, ‘do you really want this?’ Tommy shook his head, and Sally took her salad and put it in his nearly finished bowl, and took Tommy’s plate. She also gave him her garlic bread, and Tommy gave a slight smile and a “thanks”. Then fucking Wilbur had to speak up with a, “Oh no, babe you don’t have to do that! He’s just being over dramatic. Always been a picky eater.”

“That’s why I did it, Wil,” Sally said simply as she began to eat her pasta again, “I don’t want him to starve, let alone force him to eat something he doesn’t like.”

“Please, he’s fine. He’s just being ungrateful,” Wilbur had to fucking push the issues, “Isn’t that right, Tom?”

All eyes were on him and felt sick, nauseated even. He had eaten a few of the noodles, only so he wasn’t that hungry. He hated the clawing feeling of starvation climbing around his stomach, and because he lived off crappy take-out, he didn’t eat like this much. It made him feel wrong. Now, with attention that he didn’t want (right?) he almost vomited right there and then. Wilbur continued, “Answer me, Tommy. It's rude if you don’t, especially with guests around.”

The silence was strangely loud, and Tommy hated it. He couldn’t even look up, his hands were shaking so bad, his thoughts swimming. He really shouldn’t have eaten that spaghetti.

“Yes,” Tommy choked out, “You’re right, Wilbur. I’m sorry, Sally.”

Sally didn’t respond. Wilbur’s friends didn’t say anything. Techno didn’t say anything, but then again, when did he ever? Phil and Wilbur started talking again, like they didn’t treat him like a dog, like they didn’t make him apologize for something Sally did. He wanted out. With a panic, Tommy thought he was going to throw up. He remembered what happened last time he threw up in front of Wilbur; The humiliation of getting punished for being sick in front of him by Wilbur taking away his comfort stuffie (Henry. He was the thing Tommy always had. The only one to catch all his tears, hug him when he was sick in bed, to never look angry or disappointed.) and lecturing him on how ‘disgusting’ it was. Tommy wondered if Wilbur ever was diagnosed with something. He thinks his brother may have something wrong with him.

He clenched his hands and closed his eyes. He couldn’t be sick here. He wouldn’t be sick here. He just… he just needed to get away from the noise and the stuffiness. He couldn’t just leave, Wilbur would throw a fit, and Phil would follow. Techno wouldn’t give a shit. He needed some excuse, he need something NOW-

‘That’s What I Like’ began playing throughout the room, Tommy fumbling to get his phone, blushing. He swore he had put it on silent. That picture of Elmo with the flames behind him flashed across his screen, the name “Sapnap >:)” displayed proudly. Tommy almost cried in relief seeing that dumbass’s name, but stood up with a sheepish facade and pointed to the hallway, “Oh… I’m sorry, I thought it was silent! Can I take this, please?”

“Really?” Wilbur asked with an impressed gaze, “Right now? Can’t you just hang up-“

“It’s fine! Take your call, Tommy!” Niki interjected quickly, putting on a sweet smile.

“Yeah man, it's fine,” Schlatt shrugged, “Could be important or something… yeah.”

Tommy didn’t need any more approval, as he quickly walked out of the dining room. As he picked up, he almost cried when he heard the almost southern accented voice talk, “Hey Tommy!”

“Sap….” Tommy’s facade fell, the euphoria of being free from his family fleeing his body like water from a waterfall. His br- friend’s voice calmed him, and he felt like he was going to cry.

“You okay, man? If you want to talk I’m just outside,” Sapnap’s voice was low and kind, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to drown in it. It would have been easy, since he felt like he couldn’t breathe anyways. Then his words caught up to him.

“Outside? How are you out…. oh my god, what are you doing?” Tommy looked out the window next to the door. Spotting his friend, he almost wanted to go back to the dining table. Sapnap was standing on the sidewalk like one of those standing emojis, stupid face lighting up when he saw Tommy’s through the glass. A grin the rivaled Kermit’s appeared and Tommy almost wanted to flip him off. In his hands was a grocery bag and two slushees, one cherry and the other Coke.

Tommy glanced back behind him towards the smell of dinner, before throwing his shoes on quietly and whispering into the phone, “One second, I’m comin’ big man.”

Sapnap and crappy 7/11 drinks were better than his family anyday.

Chapter Text

“So… Do you want to talk about it?” Sapnap’s voice was casual, as if he didn’t just witness Tommy run out of his own house like hell was on his heels. The boy was kind of grateful for it. He didn’t know if he could put his mistreatment (It was mistreatment, right? It wasn’t just what families did, right? Maybe Tommy was just overreacting, like always.) into words, let alone sentences. Whenever he tried to say something, it was like a wall of honey blocked his throat, forcing the words down.

“No,” Tommy shook his head, sipping on his coke slushie. He could see that Sapnap looked at him, but he couldn’t see his face. He hoped it wasn’t annoyed. Wilbur’s would have been if Tommy didn't answer him.

“You sure? I won’t judge you or anything,” Sapnap said with an understanding tone, “Your feelings are valid, no matter what they are.”

Tommy chewed on the straw, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck was Sapnap so nice? The two walked down the sidewalk towards a different neighborhood, a park in the distance with a huge red slide. Looks like they were heading there. The silence between them was uncomfortable, but not because they didn’t know what to say. It was because they knew what they wanted to talk about but either didn’t have the guts or didn’t want to be the one to say it. Tommy wanted to say it, he wanted to talk. He just couldn’t. It was too hard.

“Dream suggested I come hang out with you tonight, by the way,” Sapnap’s voice spoke out into the incoming darkness, “I was going to spend time with you, but he insisted tonight. That’s why I was outside your house. Wasn’t stalking you or anything.”

“Wasn’t thinkin’ you were bitch,” Tommy said. Okay, maybe he was thinking Sapnap may be a creep, but he didn’t mention it. The ravenette wasn’t like Dream, let alone like George. Those two weren’t creeps.

Dream was like Spring; Warm and comforting, a new beginning. His smile resembled a blossoming floor, and his eyes were the same color as morning dew grass. His freckles were like seeds of a flower or sprinkles of fresh dirt. Smile not as bright as a summer sun, but it was shining nonetheless. He was genuinely funny, but not chaotic as Sapnap, and he was like a breath of fresh air, tinted with bright flowers as bright as his laugh.

George was like winter; Crisp and serious, yet lovely all the same. He came off as cold and harsh, words dry and unable to tell if teasing or not. Yet, once you got to know and watch winter -- or in this case, George -- you would see how beautiful it is. George’s skin was like snow, and he always smelled of sweet candy peppermint and evergreen trees. He was like a painting, picture perfect, akin to his tight lipped smile.

Sapnap, not like spring or winter, but like summer. Fun and energetic, like the mood the season provided. His laughter was contagious and his eyes shined like the boiling son. His personality was, however, a conundrum. He was funny like Dream, but strangely awkward in nature like George. Tommy just couldn’t get a read on him.

So now, with only Sapnap here to offer a shoulder to cry on, Tommy was conflicted. He wanted to ask to go to George and Dream, but when Sapnap asked if he wanted to sit on the swings, Tommy couldn’t help but say yes. Together they sat, slushies in hand, the 7/11 bag at Sapnap’s rocking feet.

“Hungry?” Sapnap asked after a few moments of silence -- well, not exactly. There was those fucking cicadas chippering away to each other. Nasty buggers.

“Sure, whatcha got?” Tommy watched as Sapnap pulled out spicy chips, hot cheetos, and beef jerky. He couldn’t help but ask, “What are you? A ‘Chad’?”

Sapnap laughed, a crescendoing and decrescendoing sound, “ ‘Chad’? What even is that?”

“God, I thought Dream was bad. You’re so much worse,” Tommy grabbed a cheeto bag, opening it with slightly chilly hands. Sapnap let out a scoff, though it had no heat behind it.

Silence once again enveloped them. A few cars drove by, headlights bright and blinding, Tommy’s eyes squinching up each time. Sapnap rocked back and forth calmly on the swing, Tommy moving his slightly side to side. The dust of the snack mixed with the cold excess of liquid down the drink made a nasty combination of cheap 7/11. Tommy couldn’t find the need to wipe his hands yet, so he ignored it.

“When I first met you, Tommy,” Sapnap started softly, voice barely a whisper, “I realized you were very special. You’re clever, witty, and brave. Most of all, you’re kind. Not because you’re a success case or feel the need to be charitable. You’re kind just because you are.”

Tommy didn’t know where this was going or coming from, but he still listened, face red as Rudolph’s nose. When was the last time someone had complimented him? Not for doing something right or trying his best, but just to compliment to compliment?

“I don’t know why not everyone sees it, but I know that you’re family surely doesn't, so you don’t need to lie to me. Just talk,” Sapnap concluded his little heart felt speech and Tommy wanted so desperately to cry until he couldn’t speak anymore.

“I… I just… I try so hard and… nothing good happens,” Tommy explained, feeling childish for not being able to get his words out. Sapnap let out a hum, but it was understanding and so, so nice that Tommy continued. The blonde spilled his heart, along with a few tears that went unnoticed, and he felt his heart get lighter with every insult and sorrow that crawled out of his trembling lips. Sapnap was a comforting presence next to him, like a warm fireplace in a winter cabin, or… or… like a guardian angel. Yes, Sapnap was acting like a complete angel.

“Sorry,” Tommy sniffed.

“No, don’t apologize,” Sapnap said, his hand (always slightly sweaty and calloused) slowly grabbing Tommy’s, like he was giving the boy time to pull away if he wanted, “Remember what I said?”

“My… feelings are valid?” Tommy asked, eyes trained on Sapnap’s hand. There were little scars on the back of his hand, and Tommy wondered how long they had been there and how he got them.

“Yes, your feelings are valid, and it's okay to be angry and upset,” Sapnap said. A light in a nearby house flickered on, a silhouette walking behind a light curtain. A car honking came from the distance, and Tommy wondered when it had gotten so dark. He could see the stars clearly, all pretty and free in the sky. Tommy wished he was a star.
“You’re a good kid Tommy, and I care about you. Hell, I even love you like a clingy little brother,” Sapnap said, a tiny smile in his tone. Tommy swore that the Windows shutdown noise echoed in his head. ‘Love you like a brother’.

“... and I know that George cares about you, too, and dear fuck don’t even get me started on how Dream feels about you. He loves you Tommy. You’re practically his world.”

Tommy didn’t deny the tears that burned in his eyes, and let them fall. He cried and Sapnap gently held him (when had he gotten up from the swing?) and told him stupid jokes that made him realize that he was home in his friend’s arms.

“If you want, we can go have a super late dinner with Gogy and Dream,” Sapnap said as he pulled away, just the tiniest bit. Tommy nodded, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulder.

“Great, but how do you feel about committing some light arson first?” Sapnap asked, a chaotic glint in his eyes, and Tommy felt himself glare at the ravenette too. Not out of heat or anything, but this man had two things on his mind: Comfort the blonde and get arrested in the stupidest way possible.

What the hell, though. Tommy was done with crying for tonight.

“Sure, yeah, why the fuck not man?” Tommy wiped his eyes and let a smile across his face.

________________________________________________________

This was a mistake, Tommy realized as he sat in the holding cell, Sapnap next to him. Soot stained their faces, and Tommy’s shoes were covered with mud from running into a dirty yard. Sapnap had spotted an “abandoned” house and with a devious grin, he held up a lighter. Tommy, who thought ‘what the hell can I do to stop this guy?’, just nodded back.

Turns out, the house is not abandoned- well, no it WAS, but a couple had bought it and was renovating it. They were out of town, but the police was called by a neighbor, and then the police showed up, and… actually it’s kind of obvious how they ended up in the nearest police station.

If Tommy wasn’t so comfortable and stupidly confident with the man who was grinning like he won the lottery next to him, he would be terrified of his family finding out. When Tommy was first ushered into the car, Sapnap leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry. They won’t know.” Something told him that Sapnap meant his dad and brothers, but the more logical part of him said that Sapnap was talking about the police somehow.

“Gogy should be here soon,” Sapnap suddenly said, eyes now trained on the door. Tommy hoped he was right, he didn’t want to go to juvie… yet. Sure enough, a cop opened the door to the holding cells, and in walked a familiar brunette and dirty blonde. George’s face was strangely calm, his pink cardigan rolled up to the elbows, his loose button up wrinkling as his arms crossed. Dream had an impassive look on his face, though there was a look in his eyes and a twitch at the corner of his lips that showed that he may be a little amused. Nah, he was fucking losing it internally. Tommy could tell he was trying not to go fucking feral.

“Mr. Blaze and Mr. Watson? Mr. Found and Mr. Taken are here to bail you out,” The officer spoke as they unlocked the door. The look sudden fire in George’s eyes and Dream having to turn away with soft shakes of his shoulders, Tommy didn’t know if he would be going home that night.

Honestly? He didn’t mind.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you two,” George’s voice was more exasperated than angry, his slender hand resting on Tommy’s upper back as the four males walked -- supposedly -- to Dream’s house. After getting out of jail, Dream had finally let his laughter out like water out of a dam. George had glared at Sapnap and Dream’s jesting for a while before beginning his lecture, Tommy having to keep up with his brisk strides.

George’s lectures were nothing like Wilbur’s and Phil’s. Wilbur’s hurt so damn bad, with words like barbed wire that kept scratching at his ears and wrapping around his heart. Phil’s was almost pitying and just made Tommy feel bad, not hurt, but like a disappointment.

George’s words held meaning; A promise of learning, growth, and fixing one’s mistakes. They didn’t lash out at his aching mind, and they didn’t make him feel less than a person. His words were almost kind in a way.

“What? We were having fun,” Sapnap defended, spinning around to look at George, Dream tilting his head to watch the interaction between the two.

“You committed a crime,” George deadpanned. Dream snorted before turning around to miss the glare the short man sent his way, Tommy holding back giggles of hysteria and freedom.

Honestly…? This is all Tommy ever wanted, what he wanted Techno and Wilbur to be, what Phil would be. These interactions were like his wildest dreams of Wilbur smiling warmly and not mockingly, of Phil being at home after school, of Techno talking to him. In a way, the men he was with were like a strange parallel to his family.

While Dream was teasing and humbly humorous, George being strict yet present, and Sapnap just being a -- somehow -- nice ‘Chad’ they were black and white to Wilbur’s insults, Phil’s fatherly mask yet absence in his children’s lives, and Techno’s overbearing silence. Water and fire, summer and winter, sweet and sour, soft and sharp, flowers to weeds. Parallels.

“Tommy?” Dream’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and Tommy noticed that they were standing outside a townhouse smushed between others, but there was no mistaking that this was Dream’s. It just gave off his energy, especially with all the metal and stone animal figurines decorating the larger step to the door.

“Oh… sorry, big man. Just thinking,” Tommy gave a sheepish smile that Dream returned, though he was more confident. A calloused hand slowly went behind his back as the two walked in, George’s voice carrying throughout the home as he yelled at Sapnap that he ‘had to put water into those things first’. The stairs leading up to the actual living space were carpeted and scuffed, there was Dream’s cologne barely hanging in the air. Sapnap’s shoes were tossed carelessly by the door next to George’s neatly placed ones. Tommy could see the lights from the TV and the rooms, the shuffling of footsteps, and he could feel Dream’s hand on his back, and - and -

It was too much because Tommy felt something he never felt when he went to his OWN house.

Tommy felt at home.
Tommy felt at home, and that scared him.

Still, through a daze of foreign emotions, he slipped his dirty shoes off and placed them next to George’s and Dream’s recently placed ones and tried to ignore how it felt some-fucking-how nice next to theirs’. He followed Dream up the stairs on shaky legs and tried his best smile at George when he turned away from a cabinet to offer his own dry smile.

“I hope you’re okay with burgers, Tommy, since Sapnap insisted on making some,” George stated, Dream going to the living room and plopping down on the couch. Due to the building of the house, there was a giant arch so Tommy could still see the blonde, and that made him feel a bit safer and Tommy hated that.

“Sure, fine with me,” Tommy decided on, moving his gaze to George’s figure who was grabbing different glasses from the cabinet.

“Okay, okay, good,” George busied himself with grabbing a few forks and napkins, “What would you like to drink?”

“Uh… you got any Coke?” Once George nodded and pointed towards a cabinet, Tommy went and grabbed one and poured it into a glass the brunette had slid to him, before shyly walking over to where Dream sat watching a nature documentary. Tommy didn’t know how to act in this house, and it made him feel awkward. He slowly sat down next to Dream, who turned to smile at him.

“Do you want to watch something else?” Dream held up the remote.

Tommy turned to look at the screen, seeing the show at the moment was about fruit bats and a calming Australian accent played over the footage of the critter looking around its surroundings, “Nah, keep it on.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Dream randomly adding facts in during the show, and Tommy fighting against his inner turmoil of emotions. Luckily, right when Tommy thought he was about to burst, Sapnap came skidding to the couch, two plastic plates in hand. It looked dangerous to almost spilling all of the food piled onto its surface, but either the ravenette wasn’t paying attention or he didn’t give a shit. George followed behind his friend far more calmly, holding two plates as well.

“Alright boys, here you are,” Sapnap plopped down next to Tommy. With a bit of horror, Tommy realized that the condiment on the other's burger wasn't ketchup, but hot sauce. How? The horrendous smell of hell's own flames, that's how. Before Tommy could ask what the hell Sap was doing, Dream spoke (see: whined).

“You made that special hot sauce again, didn't you?” Dream let out a bit of a whine, “Why can’t I try it? You never let me!

“‘Cause you threw up when we ate hot wings,” Sapnap said as Tommy grabbed a plate from his grasp, George handing a plate to Dream and taking one for himself. The brunette sat down next to the now dejected-looking Dream, almost cuddling into his side, like some couple or whatever. Barf.

“It was one time!” Dream pressed, but Sapnap was already digging into the horribly spicy-looking food, making Tommy watch in awe. How was this guy not dead? The smell was making Tommy’s eyes water and his mouth dry. The two men bickered with each other as Tommy added in and watched with amusement overriding his nervousness that still resided in the back of his mind, George eating in silence, though sometimes scoffing at the words thrown between them.

After the burgers (which were fucking heavenly - like an angel made them) were consumed, the conversation became more pleasant, but Tommy only heard muffled voices. He tried staying awake, rubbing his eyes and pinching himself, but it was failing. The documentary changed from bats to whales, and the voice and calming visuals of the large animal swimming were not helping.

Tommy was tired, from the crying at the park or from the first failed dinner, he couldn’t tell. He let out an indignant whine when an arm pulled him into a warm chest and soft sweatshirt. He hated the tears that sprung into his eyes for the second time; it was hard to not cry when he was having an emotional inner war, finally being surrounded by people that cared about him, and being embraced by someone so warm yet cooling at the same time.

“Oh sweetpea,” The chest rumbled softly, “It’s okay, you’re okay. Just sleep.”

Tommy still wanted to stay awake, but he felt this strange feeling wash over him, like a lukewarm ocean wave. His mind was put at ease, and a kind hand came to his prickly one that guarded his heart and pulled it away. It felt strange, having no blockage to his emotions. Tommy didn’t feel that shame when he cried anymore, just relief and safety. The strong arms held him closer as he drifted off to sleep.

For once, instead of nothing or fitful kinda nightmares, it felt like someone was making dreams just for him. In the one that lasted the longest, he was in the stars, and he ran into a woman. She was tall, almost as tall as Dream, and she looked shocked to see him. Her curly air reminded him of a sheep, glistening in the starlight as rainbow shaded, her sweet grey eyes turning from confusion to somewhat fondness.

“Gosh, I knew this would happen,” She had said to no one in particular, “Should’ve known he’d do something like this… oh, he’s owing me an explanation when he gets home, that’s for sure…”

“Hello,” She had said, “What’s your name?”

‘Tommy’, Tommy had wanted to say, but it didn’t seem to come out.

“Tommy,” She had heard him anyways, “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.”

She had grabbed his hands gently, her’s calloused like Dream’s, and pulled him up into the stars with her. She twirled him around and talked about stars and stardust, sprinkling some in his hair. At the end of the tour of the constellations, she pulled him into a hug, one just like Dream’s with strong arms and warmth. She smelled distinctly of apples and cinnamon, and it made Tommy sink into her more than before.

There were a lot of like similarities between this god-like woman and Dream, and Tommy didn’t know if he liked it. He liked them, yes, but it was weird.

“My boy will treat you well,” She had murmured into his lemon locks, “Be brave, little one, and if you should fall, my son will be there to catch you.”

Tommy dreamed of many things after that, but none were as good as that. Tommy distantly hoped through his fuzz-filled mind that he’d dream of stardust, rainbows, and loving embraces in his cold bed and colder house.

God, Tommy hoped.

Chapter Text

The first thing Tommy wakes up to is a steady heartbeat. It vibrates and bounces around his head, his ear pressed up against a soft sweatshirt. It’s a nice sound, Tommy decides, and he zones in on it.

The second thing is voices. One just a hint scratchy, seemingly talking at normal volume. The other is strongly British-ly accented and is talking lowly, as if trying to keep quiet. A news reporter’s voice is welcoming the weather reporter to the scene. As Tommy begins to wake, he can make little pieces of the conversation.

“… are you…” British-ly accented.

“The kid… swings… was a….” Scratchy voice.

“Shit… own brothers… bastards…” British again.

Tommy opens his eyes, and he realizes that this is the first time he’s woken up with someone there. Not in a creepy, stalking way but in a caring, looking-out-for-you way. The arms embracing him are warm, and his blue eyes crack open to see the mint green of the hoodie. The sun is streaking into the room, and Tommy whines when it gets into his eyes, turning until he can’t see the light anymore.

One of the arms lifts, rising to fall into his loose curls, and Tommy goes boneless, “Tommy? Sweetpea, are you awake?”

Tommy hummed back, his head answering helpfully, ‘Dream, it’s Dream!’

“Oh, look at you,” Dream whispers, soft and all sickeningly fond, it makes Tommy’s heartache in a good way. Warm fingers tangle in his hair, scratching and rearranging.

“George and Sap are making breakfast. They’ll probably be done soon,” Dream explains without prompting, “Let’s get to the table.”

Tommy furrows his brows and opens his mouth to protest (ignoring the part of him that admits, pleads, “please don’t let me go, I love your hugs so much, I haven’t been held in years, please-“), but is pleasantly surprised when Dream scoops him up in one big swoop, his head tucked into the crook of the man’s neck. Dream carries him effortlessly from the couch to the messy table. The wooden surface is stained with coffee circles and there are knickknacks pushed onto the center of the table, placed above a faded army green fabric centerpiece. Dream sets him down on a cushioned chair, and Tommy tries not to reach for the man as he walks towards George.

The brunette is grabbing all different cups, milk and juice cartons surrounding the hollow items. George smiles at Tommy, a small yet reassuring thing, and puts hot water into a ceramic mug. Sapnap is flipping something on the stove. The arsonist seems to pay little attention to whatever is cooking, instead focusing on an old looking radio, flipping through the channels reverently as if looking for something extremely specific. His eyes brighten and he lets out a energetic “Mornin’ Toms!” before getting immersed back into the radio-world.

Tommy greets both of them with slurred hellos before letting himself drift off, mind fuzzy in a good way. He comes to when a glass of strawberry milk is placed in front of him. The cup is glass, tall and filled to the brim with sweetness. He looks up as George places his mug down to the left of Tommy, smelling like tea. Probably is. A cup with pandas printed cartoonishly is set down across from him and a green-tinted glass is sat on his left.

His mouth twists into a sleepy smile, “Thanks Gogy.”

“Your welcome,” George doesn’t correct him, but sits down instead.

“Alrighty, Dream, this is Gogs’ and this is mine,” Sapnap annonces, handing the tall blonde the plates before grabbing two different ones, “and these are yours and Tommy’s.”

Tommy’s eyes widened when his plate was placed down: It’s a crêpe with marshmallow fluff, strawberry slices, and powdered sugar sprinkled on the top. It’s messy, in a strangely endearing way.

Years ago, when Phil had been home, he had made crêpes for the four of them. They were all the same (chocolate filled with bananas — Wilbur’s and Techno’s apparent favorite, despite Phil knowing he didn’t like bananas and chocolate) but god, if Tommy didn’t love them.

And it had strawberries, Tommy’s favorite thing in the world. Other than cows. And maybe the three seated at the table with him.

This was the first home-cooked breakfast he had had in two years. Isn't that a sad thought?

“Sleep well, little love?” George asks with a total of his head. It takes Tommy a second to realize George is talking to him, and another to let his nickname sink in. It makes him lightheaded for a moment.

“Yeah,” Tommy answers quickly, glancing at Sapnap who is absolutely and savagely devouring his food, “Yeah, I slept alright… and I’m not ‘little’. I’m a big man.”

“Sure,” George responds sarcastically.

“The biggest,” Dream evens out, “and are you sure? You look a little out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m… I’m sure. Just haven’t had food like this in a while,” Tommy admits shamefully, taking small bites of his food. It’s so good he wants to inhale it, but he slowly devours it. Who knows when he’s going to eat breakfast with people like this again.

“What do you mean?” Dream asks, and he questions like there is an option to refuse answering. But Tommy, underneath the kind tone, knows there is something unknown lurking under it. For some reason, Tommy also knows it is not directed towards him.

“Well,” Tommy starts, hesitating, before speaking up again,”My dad is never around and my brothers never really… looked out for me about anything… they still don’t. I was alone most of the time so I had to either have cereal or takeout. I was just thrown off when I saw actual fucking food, y’ know?”

Silence for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” George says sympathetically, breaking that veil of quiet that had fallen over them all. No one else says anything, but Dream reaches over and takes his hand. It’s nice.

“Well, there will be a lot more mornings like this after- OW!” Sapnap is interrupted as he yelps, his smile fading into a pained expression. George glared and Dream just smiled.

How odd.

Fuck off complicated thoughts, Tommy thought. He shoveled in some of the creamy food. Thinking was far too hard right now.
________________________________

“Tommy, slow down,” George complained, “We have plenty of time to feed ducks.”

“Yeah, but all the angry ducks are out soon, and they’re my favorites,” Tommy justified, slowing down just the slightest bit.

George and Tommy were on their way to the town park, excited (more-so on Tommy’s part) to see and feed the ducks. They were huge for their species and they were usually neutral or just fucking angry at the world. Kinda like Tommy.

Dream and Sapnap had left with a “we’ll see you all later” before walking off to a familiar street sign: Rosewood. It was two blocks away from his own street: Oakland.
Apparently the two had to pick up some lunch for later, and there was this restaurant called “Get Served” that they wanted to try. Weird name and weird reasons for leaving and suggesting that Tommy and George head to the park alone, but whatever.

“The ducks will still be there in ten minutes Tommy,” George reasoned, but he picked up his pace all the same. In a matter of minutes, the two had entered the park, the sun all bright and the sky clear. Nice day for providing snacks for pissy ducks.

“I have this spot for feeding them, and- and they usually all gather there, it’s so fucking cool Gogs,” Tommy rambles, vaguely aware that his shoe is untied and that the bread is starting to crumble at the edges.

“Tommy?” George asks, slowing considerably into an almost stand-still position. His glasses reflect the sun and he — for some reason — is able to wear a crimson sweater in this weather (oh, that rhymed!).

“Yeah?” Tommy stops too.

“Who is that?” George points to Tommy’s spot, and sure enough, someone is there feeding the ducks. Short in stature, fluffy hair, scuffed boots.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo startles, turning like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie-jar. Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy can see that new kid from the mall approach from behind Tubbo.

“Tommy,” Tubbo breathes.
________________________________

A door-bell rings, and a door opens.

“Phil Watson,” Dream smiles, but it’s wrong, “I think it’s time for a chat.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Tommy thinks when he sees Tubbo was that he hasn’t changed a bit.

His mousy brown hair falls over his forehead and sticks out in random directions atop of his head, face chubby with youth just like Tommy’s, a bandage laid out on the left side of his jaw, hazel green eyes in wide surprise – he looks the same as he did all those months ago.
His brown fleece jacket makes him look like a overstuffed teddy bear, and his jean shorts combined with his green shoes make him quite the spectacle. A bag of grapes is held in his arms, cut in half with care for the ducks.

The second thing Tommy thinks is what the hell he was going to do now.

Tommy stares and Tubbo and Tubbo stares right back, a bit slackjawed. His ex-friend looks awfully silly, in his opinion.

“Tommy,” Tubbo eventually drawls, stepping back and shoulders hiking up, “... Hi Tommy.”

Tommy’s spine tingles with tension and he lets out a small, “Hi Tubbo.”

Tubbo glances at the bag of oats and nuts in Tommy’s hand, before shyly meeting his eyes, “You here to feed the ducks, big man?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says and his hands turn into fists, because how fucking dare Tubbo call him that after what he did? It had hurt, and it had stung, and fuck it still does. Tubbo was all he had ever had; a constant that offered comfort and love, like a childhood stuffed animal that one kept on one’s bed. And Tubbo had used a nickname shared just between them, that meant so much more under the surface, and it felt like someone had just shot him in the chest.

He sees Tubbo see his anger, and a little part of him is satisfied because now Tubbo was feeling what Tommy had felt when he had been sitting at the stupid desk in that stupid classroom, eyes watering and mind reeling. Except, Tubbo’s eyes don’t shine with tears. No, they gained a gleam of vexation themselves.

“Okay, cool,” Tubbo huffs, “You don’t have to act like a dick when I ask you a simple, polite question.”

That makes Tommy laugh a bit, “Oh, I get to be a dick after you acted like one last time. Pay back right?”

Tubbo flinches back, and his cheeks go rosy with anger. Good, Tommy wants this fucker to be angry, to be uncomfortable and out of his depth.
Behind him, George stood silent and still. His face was blank and due to his sunglasses that covered his eyes, there was nothing there but a neutral, empty void. Tommy couldn’t tell if he was interested or disinterested in this heated discussion that is going on between the two of them. He just stood there, calm, collected.
The park was relatively quiet and empty, except for muffled sounds of ducks quacking and swimming around their pond.

“That was different,” Tubbo said, face red and brows furrowed. The bag of grapes was squished between his arms and his chest.

“Oh really? I think the fuck not,” Tommy took a step forward and Tubbo took a step back as a result, “You were a fucking asshole to me, and you left me. You left me alone, all fucking alone, and I needed you! I needed you, Tubbo and you left!”

“I didn’t want to!” Tubbo cried out, not too loud but loud enough to grate on Tommy’s ears, dropping the bag of grapes, “Tommy, you-”

“You didn’t want to? You didn’t want to?! That doesn’t matter if you wanted to or not, because you did! You got up and left me just like that! You left me for months, made a whole new best friend, and forgot about me-” Tommy was on the verge of tears, not caring about the environment they were in anymore. He was so angry, and hurt, and so, so fucking sad, and this just wasn’t fair.

“No, I didn’t forget, I never replaced you, I swear!” Tubbo tried to plead, “Ranboo isn’t a replacement-”

“- You didn’t care,” Tommy scowled, “You never even tried to apologize!”

“Because I had nothing to apologize for, Tommy!” Tubbo gasped, stunning Tommy into silence. The brunette’s chest heaved with this confession, hands outstretched, and voice cracking.

“Do you know what its like to be a therapist for someone all of the time? For every conversation to be about something bad, something negative, something traumatic?” Tubbo’s arms moved wildly, continuing the words that were now pouring out like a waterfall, “And it’s not that I don’t understand how much you were hurting, Tommy, because I did and I cared so much, but it wasn’t fair for you to always dump all of your negativity on me! I held it in for years, that anger of being nothing but a trauma dump for you, and i’m sorry I exploded like that but I don’t regret what I said!”

“Tubbo,” It was Tommy’s turn to feel helpless, anger replaced with a strange feeling that could only be described as a cousin to guilt. He didn’t know what to possibly say. He didn’t think Tubbo felt that way. Did he really do all that? Make every conversation about this tragedy known as his family? He didn’t know, “Tubbo, you weren’t- I…. you weren’t a therapist. You were my friend.”

“Yeah? Well I didn’t feel that way,” Tubbo was quieter now, but still upset, Tommy could tell, “I know you have a rough life Tommy, and you deserve to be able to get all of that terrible stuff off your chest, but it wasn’t fair to always dump it on me. I love and care about you Tommy, and I always will because you are my best friend, and I would do anything for you but I was just so tired. I… I was tired.”

With a horrible feeling, Tommy had the realization that Tubbo was fucking right. Every issue and problem was put onto Tubbo’s shoulders. Tommy wanted to hit himself so hard he saw stars. How had he never realized? How had he never caught onto Tubbo’s discomfort? It was so evident now, in little ways: Tubbo’s frown, the tired gaze in his eyes, the conflicted look on his face that said ‘what do I do to help you now?’, everything. It was all there, and Tommy was blind to it, to stuck in the comfort that someone was finally listening to him and understanding.

“Oh,” Tommy suddenly felt like the biggest, dumbest dickhead and regret washed out all the other emotions like a tsunami, “Oh, Tubbs. I’m sorry, I…”

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo cut Tommy off, head bowed and voice radiating shame, “I know you didn’t know, and I should have just told you but I… just snapped. I didn’t know how to talk to you after what I did, and I was scared you’d hate me, and I just was a really bad friend.”

“No!” Tommy stepped forward until he could grab Tubbo’s shoulders, who looked up from the ground startled, “No you weren’t a bad friend, well, what you did was kinda fucking shitty. You should have just talked to me, y’know. I… I would have listened.”

“I know,” Tubbo murmured, face still tinted a reddish hue.

The two boys stared at each other. Tommy sighed, an apology bubbling up in his throat like lava, pouring out thick and heavy, “I’m sorry that I didn’t know. That… I don’t know… that I used you.”

Tubbo hummed in acknowledgement, eyes something dewey that made Tommy feel as if he was titled sideways. The two stood in silence for a moment before Tommy cleared his throat, tilting his head up a bit.

“So… are we okay?” Tommy asked, hands squeezing Tubbo’s shoulders in a quick motion, “Are we- Can we try to be friends again?”

Tubbo examined Tommy’s face before seemingly deflating, smiling something precious, “Yeah. We can try to be friends again.”

Tommy smiled back.

“But I want you to stop dumping everything on me,” Tubbo said seriously, “I’m here to listen, but I don’t want every conversation to be about your assholes of a family. Okay?”

“Okay, I will. I promise,” Tommy said, “But only if you talk to me next time when you feel like shit.”

“Okay,” Tubbo nodded sheepishly and opened his mouth to say something, but Tommy pulled him into a quick hug before he could. There was still a weird feeling between them, but now, everything seemed better. Brighter. Normal again.
Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin when a slender hand laid itself down on his upper back.

George.

“Are you boys ready to go?” George asked ominously, and the boys broke apart and looked questioningly (especially Tubbo because who the hell was this guy?). Tommy rose a brow, pushing down embarrassment that followed the realization that George had seen their argument go down.

“Go where?” Tommy asked.

“To go pick up Dream and Sapnap,” George smiled, and when he did it sent a chill down both of the boys’ spines, “They should be done by now, shouldn’t they?”

“With what?” Tommy asked.

George giggled sweetly before turning around and marching off, the two boys left to run after his fast strides.
_________________________________

Tommy’s house wasn’t giving a lot of Tommy to Dream.

It was clean and pretty, smelling of wood and a bit of dust. Photos lined the walls and each piece of furniture was clean of stains and didn’t look worn at all. The TV was playing some Reality TV show in the background, and the AC was humming quietly in the background.
This house was too quiet, perfect, and calm for someone as brilliant and loud as Tommy.

“Artificial” was a word to describe this house, Dream supposed.

It was also the word to describe the people in front of him.

Phil was a pathetic looking man, hair greying and eyes tired, babbling about the weather in a somewhat nervous manner. The way he talked was exaggerated and annoying, to say the least.
His sons, Technoblade and Wilbur, were no better than their old man. If anything, they were worse.
Technoblade’s hair was silky and straight, his posture was perfect, and facial features were fixed into a poker face – he looked like a man who was the smartest in the room, and he knew it. But Dream knew better.
Wilbur was sitting cross legged, curly chestnut hair falling over his eyes and golden frames for his glasses that covered dark eyes, lips pulled into a smile that was simply polite and nothing else. It didn’t even seem genuine. The bastard was too much of a dick to pretend, Dream supposes, or maybe he was annoyed that Dream’s arrival had stopped Wilbur from leaving the home with his girlfriend and friends for a tour of the town. Amusingly, the group had left Wilbur alone when Phil asked for him to stay, opting to start the tour without him.

The three of them were sitting on a couch, looking all comfy and cozy, even with Dream and Sapnap (practically strangers – did any of them get told about “stranger danger”) sitting across from them, silent and surely looking unimpressed.

“- and isn’t it lovely that the wind has died down today? I swear it was terrible yesterday, almost knocking our trees down-” Phil rambled and god, Dream hated it.

“Phil Watson,” Phil shut up rather quickly, “You are a character, aren’t you?”

Phil sat back, lips thinning for a moment, “... What do you mean?”

Dream smiles, and he knows for a fact that it doesn’t even give the impression of kindness, “Well, let’s see: A strange man shows up at your door and calls you by name, you let that man and his companion into your home, and now you ramble about the weather to the two strangers you let into your home. So, wouldn’t you say that an individual who does that is indeed a character?”

As Phil went to answer, Dream’s smile stretched farther, showing too much teeth, “Or, maybe they are simply just an ignoramus?”

Phil blinked confused, Wilbur matching his expression next to him, while Technoblade’s brow twitched. Dream and Sapnap (who had snorted and laughed at Dream’s jest) stared down at the three men. Eventually, Phil leaned back and cleared his throat, “Um… what do you want? Do I know you?”

“Now he asks that,” Sapnap drawled and his dark eyes shone like stars as he chortled.

“I think you know,” Dream says, standing up in a flourishing style, “You have forsaken me, I’m afraid, Watson. You and your entire family… except for Tommy of course. You know, he’s why i’m actually here.”

“What-” Phil started and both of his sons’ brows furrowed, eyes slightly panicked.

“Tommy is such a brilliant boy. He’s loud, kind, funny, and somehow even colorful. He’s just plain lovely, truly. Such a little gift,” Dream explained and he started to become a bit wrong to the three family members. He seemed to grow, to change, to even glow.

“And you’ve mistreated him, you filthy bastards,” Dream hissed and he could practically feel Sapnap’s smile from beside him, “And now you are to pay.”

“Wait!” Wilbur started, falling backwards and off the side of the couch but it was too late.

Everything went wrong in that single moment.

Lightbulbs shattered, objects moved, someone was screaming, Sapnap was laughing, Dream was smiling, everything was changing, glowing, moving, too much, and Dream had been waiting to do this the moment he found out what happened to his Tommy, and-

“Dream?”
_________________________________

Tommy’s hand on his house’s front door squeezed the handle tightly, his knees felt suddenly weak, and he just couldn’t breathe because-

Because his family was all on the floor, looking terrified, and Sapnap was standing in a strange stance, as if he was getting ready to lunge. His hair was darker, eyes dilated, and his body had a glow like quality to it.

And in the center, stood the most horrifyingly beautiful creature Tommy has ever seen, and this creature was wearing the same clothes Dream had been that morning which meant… oh.

Tubbo gasped behind him and George let out a cuss, reaching around Tommy to close the door, but Tommy already saw everything.

And Tommy knew.

Opening his mouth, in shock and slight horror, Tommy called out a single, “Dream?”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. I know it’s been a bit, but I feel that I must address this and let you all know what the plan is for the future.

As most of you most likely know by now (and if you don’t, I’m sorry you have to find out this way), Technoblade – whose real name has been revealed to be Alex – has unfortunately passed away due to his cancer.

His death is absolutely heartbreaking, and I feel empty writing this. Technoblade/Alex was an incredibly funny, witty, and memorable person and I am honored that I was able to be one of his fans. Technoblade will forever live in my heart and I hope to always remember him.

His death will, of course, affect my writing and what I will produce. I do plan to finish this fic, and wrap up any oneshots or other fics that include him in it, but I am going to be holding back on a lot of “bad” parts that Technoblade was initially going to be apart of because while he is kind of a villain in the story, I feel sad and disrespectful even thinking about writing about super dark stuff with him.

After I finish this fic and all other fics/oneshots including Technoblade, any fics with Technoblade will be very rare. If I write one with him in it, he will most likely be mentioned or have a very small role.

I love the MCYT community and plan to continue writing about it, but I don’t know if I will be able to write about Technoblade anymore after I finish everything currently going on with him in it.

It just hurts to even think about.

I just wanted to let you all know what the future holds and that I am so sorry for everyone: Technoblade’s family, his friends, and all his fans. It’s horrible that he died, and it is okay to feel horrible about his death. Grief is normal and it is a process.

I hope you all look after yourselves, fuck cancer, and rest in peace Technoblade.