Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clang, clang, the ringing sound of my hammer hitting metal as I continue forging a sword. The noise echoed through the square, weaving into the hustle and bustle of the market square my shop was at the edge of. I sigh and wipe the sweat off my brow and flip over the sword to hammer out the other side. I hum as I work, helps me focus. The process of forging is ingrained in my muscle memory. If I don’t hum or something, I’ll start thinking, remembering. Never a pleasant thing. The art of forging brings it back anyway.

Hissss, the red-hot metal steams as I dunk it into the bucket of water. My mind flickers back to my hometown. I’m doing the same thing, just in a different environment. And more often. Also more swords and weapons than horseshoes and farming equipment. I can feel my star start to glow hot as the memory of being able to forge faster and better replaces the magicless way of doing it.

I shake my head. Forcing my star back into hibernation. I can’t use it. You can tell if something has been forged via magic and not plain old fire. I continue humming.

I’m wrapping the hilt with leather by the time I hear my incredibly loud kid’s echoing footsteps on the stone floor of my blacksmiths shop.

“Hi dad!” Tommy yells as he runs past me and into the house. I hear clatters. I assume he dropped his books on the counter or something. I hear an “oof” and a bang as he runs into the door frame in his rush.

“You alright Tommy?” I ask, not turning away from my art. He’s a tough kid.

“Yup!” He exclaims. I hear him grunt as he pushes himself up and hops over to me. “What are you doing?” He asks very close to my face.

“Well my gremlin child,” I chide as I look up to see the golden blond and blueish eyed kid. He was wearing a blue embroidered bandana over his ears and hair, his normal red sleeved and white t-shirt, shorts and sneakers. It is the start of summer after all. “I’m wrapping a sword hilt.”

“Who’s the sword for?” He asks.

“Special order,” I answer, tucking in the flap of leather in.

“Frooommmm whooo??” he whines.

I ruffle his hair, and he grips his bandana out of habit. “I don’t actually know Tommy.”

He sighs. “Well I’m gonna go play with…kids.” I honestly don't think he has any friends.

“No luck in the friends department?” I place the sword on the table, offering my full attention to Tommy.

“Well there’s not much I can play you know?” He gestures to his left shoulder and the loose sleeve without an arm in it. “Most people play catch or baseball. Not tag.”

I smile sadly. “I’m sorry Tommy.”

He mirrors my smile. “It’s’okay.” I bite my lip. “Not your fault.” he adds hastily, he knows I blame myself for his lack of an arm.

I sigh. “Do you actually have something to do?” I change the subject.

“I was going to follow Wil around again. He normally plays with me after a little while.” he shrugs.

“I don’t like you doing that Tommy.” I don’t like him around Wilbur at all. He’s a nice guy, so is his dad, but Wilbur is not a good influence.

“He’s fun!”

“He’s Wilbur.”

“Ok, fine.”

“I’m going to clean up, and I’ll do something with you. Sounds good?” I wipe my hands and start putting away my tools.

His eyes widen in excitement. “Can we--!”

“Hey Techno, Tommy!” I hear Wilbur say from the front of my shop.

“Hey Wilbur,” I call.

Tommy pouts.

“What sad to see me?” Wilbur asks as he leans against my anvil and exhales a breath of smoke and puts his cigarette back in his mouth.

“I thought you had to be six meters away from entrances to smoke,” I say sarcastically. He won’t listen to me. At least it’s just smoking now.

“Came by to deliver this,” he hands me a beat up and slightly burnt notebook. “Dad said you would appreciate it and maybe consider his offer?” Wilbur tilts his head and smiles mischievously.

“My answer is still no,” I sigh apologetically, opening the book.

“What is it? What offer?!” Tommy asks, using my arms as a fulcrum and jumping up to try and see the book.

I pick him up and hold him as I flip through the book. It’s in piglin, I wonder where Phil got it. I can’t read any of the first half, it’s too damaged.

“What does that say?” Tommy whispers to me. “Should I be able to read this?”

“No, it’s not overworld,” I say, half paying attention to him.

“Can you read it?” he oohs as I flip to a page with pictures on it.

My eyes widen in realization as I realize what it is. The second half survived, and the title was clear. “Level 2 of fire moving” I flip through the book. The hand book for levels 2-8 of fire moving.

“Wilbur, where you get this,” I hiss angrily. I close the book and pass it to Tommy and set him down.

“I told you we could get you stuff.” Wilbur shrugs.

“But you brought it here! Anyone can--” I whisper-yell.

“I know you have places to hide things. You must be hiding your things somewhere,” Wilbur interrupts.

“What stuff dad?” Tommy asks.

“Wilbur, I would kill you and deform your pretty face if the kid wasn’t here,” I whisper hiss in avian.

He rolls his eyes. “Then you’d have to move again,” he quietly responds in avian.

I glare at him.

“What did you guys just say?!” Tommy exclaims.

“Well thanks for stopping by Wilbur. Say hi to Phil.” I pick up Tommy and walk inside the house.

I hear Wilbur scoff and leave.

I place Tommy down and hold my head in my hands for a moment. What were they thinking?! You can’t just give people elemental controlling handbooks!

“You ok dad?” Tommy asks, holding out the book.

“Yeah. Yeah,” I sigh. “Let's make a picnic, yeah?” I smiled and accept the book from him. And pull out the picnic basket from the cupboard.

“Yeah!” Tommy flings his arm up in celebration. He knows what a picnic means.

I chuckle and start packing sandwiches and such over the book.

Chapter Text

“La la lu,” Tommy starts singing as we pack the basket. “La la lu!” He continues maybe a little louder than the lullaby is typically sung, but it’s Tommy.

“Oh, my little star sweeper,” I sing softly, the volume the lullaby is supposed to be sung. I slide two daggers and other thrown weapons into the folds of the cloth lining of the basket.

“I'll sweep the stardust for you!” Tommy sings loudly, smiling brightly when he sees me slide the weapons in.

I sigh and continue singing softly. “La la lu, la la lu.” I close the basket and pick it up.

“Little soft fluffy sleepeeerrr! Here comes a pink cloud for you-oou-oooou!” Tommy half yells half sings as he dashes out the door.

“La la lu, la la lu,” we sing together as I close the door.

“Little wandering--” Tommy stops singing.

“Angel,” I complete the line and turn around and see what caused Tommy’s abrupt silence. Or rather who.

Looking around my forging area absentmindedly is a 6’3 dirty blond haired man. He has black wings folded tightly behind him and greyish horns filed down. I can tell both cause him pain, he conceals it well. He was wearing netherite armor, forged for him. End style. Fitting for an ender dragon hybrid. For a moment I think he might be looking for a place to hide; he’s wearing a white mask with a childish smiley face on it. But he has an enchanted collar around his neck. What the army uses to control hybrids.

“Oh hi!” He says with genuine cheer.

“Hello. How can I help you?” I ask. I probably don’t sound cheerful, but I do have a rather mono-tone voice.

“I’m here to pick up a sword?” He holds out a buyer's copy of an order form.

I nod, glancing at Tommy. He looks frightened. But is standing there bravely. Even if he’s shaking like a twig. “Go inside,” I say to him. I give him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as I walk over to where I keep order forms.

Tommy gives one last glance at our unusual visitor and dashes inside.

I pull out my keys and open one of my cupboards and pull out my sales log. Or at least some of it. It’s about eight years worth of a budget anyway.

“Number?” I ask.

“Oh yeah!” The dragon hybrid jumps and stares at the paper, nibbling his lip.

“You can’t read over world?” I guess.

He shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says meekly. “Not worth teaching.”

“Everyone should know how to read,” I say in end and hold out my hand for the paper.

“Thanks,” he responds in end, handing me the paper.

I glance it over. It’s the sword I finished earlier. As in ten minutes ago.

“How do you know end?” he asks.

“I’m a collector of sorts,” I answer vaguely. It’s a partial truth, maybe like a fifteenth of truth.

“Why’d you send the kid inside?” he asks.

“You’re a hybrid.” I unlock the cupboard with the sword in it and pull it out.

“Oh, I understand,” he says sadly.

“Oh! Not that!” I forgot that was what he would think of first. “Kid lost his arm. Bad memories.” I add. Vague once again.

He gives me a soft smile. “What did you collect?”

“Odds and ends, mostly magical artifacts.”

“Hybrid crafted items.”

“Yes.” I lay the sword out on the counter.

“Is the kid part of your collection?”

I almost drop the paper as I read the order details. “What?!”

“Oh sorry! I shouldn’t have pried.”

He thought Tommy was a hybrid. Why did he..? “Why would you think that?”

“Well you’re clearly a good blacksmith.”

I scoff. He doesn’t know the half of it.

“And you collect things. You don’t find a collector who’s good at making weapons hiding out in a city full of farmers.”

“I stopped to raise my kid. He needs a good childhood.”

He nods. “I just thought for a moment you were one of those people who hid hybrid kids so they aren't put through this.” He gestures to the collar.

“Maybe if I didn’t have a kid, I would do that yeah, but he comes first.” Be the sympathetic blacksmith with morals, but not that committed to them to give up his and his child's life.

“Yeah. Nice to meet someone with morals.”

“The sword was half paid for up front,” I switch to over world. I’m done with this conversation.

He nods and accepts it. He pulls it out of its sheath to inspect it. “It’s very well made. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” I pull out my sheets to mark it off as paid.

He pulls out his coin purse and pauses. “Umm... how much?”

“Five emeralds,” I chuckle.

He nods enthusiastically and pulls five out and passes them to me.

“Dream!!” I hear a British accented voice call out from closer to the market square.

“Shit,” Dream mutters. “Coming George!” he calls out. “Thank you again. Maybe we can talk I've swords another time?” he nods before sheathing the sword and dashing off.

“Perhaps,” I chuckle and start locking everything up.

I grab the picnic basket and walk inside looking for Tommy.

I find him soon enough holding his head in his knees and a candle in front of him. The beeswax candle is flickering off and on and making shapes and just generally being unstable. The candle itself has not melted at all.

“Hey Theseus,” I say softly. “He wasn’t here to hurt you. He just came for the sword. We’re still hidden.”

He looks up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He sighs in relief and the candle extinguishes itself.

“You still want to go on that picnic?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yes please!” he exclaims with his typical hyper attitude.

I chuckle and start walking out. He follows.

“This picnic is going to be so great! You made us sandwiches! That means we don’t have to eat lasagne for dinner again! And we get to be in nature! And see flowers! And bugs! And animals! Maybe hunt a deer! Ooh! Or a bear! I’m going to be a big man and hunt a whole pack of wolves! Or a…” I zone out his endless stream of chatter as I hang the closed sign off of the overhang. It is five now. The squares shutting down anyway.

The two of us successfully avoid most people (at least the ones we know) as we head out to the heavy woods to the north. You know, the ones that are supposedly haunted and cursed and that we’re the eccentric family who enjoys picnics in them. At least there’s privacy you know?

Chapter Text

I watched Tommy attempt to climb many trees and logs and jump over pools of water along our normal route and fail as normal. I try my best not to laugh, but my best is not always enough.

“Stop laughing at me!” He yells as he pulls himself up after falling out of a tree, again. “Bitch!”

“Where did you learn to swear?!” I scold. I don’t really care, in fact it makes people more wary of him and less curious about us. I think. Maybe it is a bad thing. The three sets of childhood memories I have are blurry and slightly contradicting.

“Wilbur!” He runs ahead.

“Oh my word,” I mutter. I should tell him to stop negatively influencing my kid. But I also don’t want to remind him about Fundy.

I watch him disappear behind the wall of ivy that has grown over the entrance to a system of caves over the years. With a little encouragement from me of course. I follow as well.

The caves are beautiful. To whomever made them I’m eternally thankful. That person is long dead, the materials are worn and the infrastructure ancient. It’s made of blackstone and quartz. I found areas made of red sandstone as well. But chiseled red sandstone. I’m sure you know why I stopped. But the black stone and quartz reminds me of home. I have hoped that I could’ve raised Tommy there. But the more he grows the more I’m glad I raised him as a human. I don’t think nether life wouldn't’ve suited’ve suited him. Don’t get me wrong, I know he could’ve handled it. Tommy just likes nature and music rather than fighting and gold. Very odd for his blood, but who am I to question it? I played the violin.

If you head through the main tunnel and take the second left. Do not keep going, that’s the creepy red sandstone section. To the right is too damaged to be safe. The other lefts lead to other parts of the woods. This one leads to a scenic cove.

I walk up to find Tommy jumping up and around in the shallow water around, scaring the fish and frogs and other semi-aquatic life around. He’s laughing and is holding his bandana. I can see his ears sticking out. Fluffy and pink and so very obviously piglin. Technically if you cut them you can make them look like just burnt or injured human ears. I could explain it away along with the injured arm and my various scars. I just told people we were attacked by rogue hybrids and that’s how Tommy’s mother died. People shut up after that. I notice he also pulled his tail out of his pants. It's wagging as he laughs and attempts to sneak up on a frog.

I chuckle and start setting up the picnic. We are actually having a picnic; it is basically dinner time. If I’m using the time to teach Tommy how to control his fire powers and fight, so sue me.

After a minute he runs over to the picnic blanket and sits down. He discarded his boots and socks earlier and rolled up his pants so they don’t get wet. He tried to dry them off with his fire once. Thankfully he’s fireproof. I’m not.

“Can I set something on fire?” he asks hopefully.

“No. Not yet,” I say and pass him a sandwich.

“Thanks!” He exclaims. “So later then!” His smile covers his face.

“If you can show me that you can control it,” I say firmly.

He pouts. “Why is that so important! I can turn it off,” he whines.

“It's the first thing you learn. Control. You can’t start a rampant forest fire without being able to stop it without a sweat,” I chide. I know enough about fire control that you aren't taught any advanced techniques without being able to control it very very well.

He groans and finishes his sandwich quickly.

I smile and eat mine.

I watch as Tommy calms himself down and evens out his breathing very quickly. Less than ten seconds this time. Impressive. It used to take him nearly an hour when we started out. Breath control is important with fire. It controls the power and stability of your flame. I take a drink of water as he cups his hand and summons a flame in his hand. It’s small and orangey red. A very weak flame and controlled. He glances up and smiles. I smile back and nod.

“Bigger? Hotter?” He asks.

“Hotter,” I say. He can make it bigger no problem, he struggles keeping it small and powerful.

He sighs and takes a deep breath in. I watch the flame fade away from the cherry red to an orange. It slowly becomes lighter, starting to change to white. Then it doubles in size. He grits his teeth and douses it. “It’s too hard!” he exclaims.

I open my palm and a bright purple and blue flame lights up. I feel the black patterns on my face appear and my eyes start glowing a bit. My hands also turn into black, and claw like. I drop the sandwich as it crumbles to dust. I never liked that side effect of my powers. You can’t control the wither. Everything you touch dies.

Unless it’s already dead.

Tommy’s eyes widen as he pokes the tiny flame and splits it and takes a bit. I watch the purple fade as he takes it, the wither won’t stay in it. It stays small and bright blue. He moves it around his hand, fidgeting with it.

“Now duplicate it,” I say. I take a deep breath in, and the black fades from my body again. Perfectly human, doesn’t kill everything they touch.

Tommy nods, determined to do it. He can do it. I’ve seen him do it consistently. We just haven't practiced in a couple of weeks. I was busy and he had school.

“Keep it small,” I remind, pulling out another sandwich and taking a bite.

“Yup!” he sparks a small red flame and warms it up to orange. It steadily increases from a pale orange to bright white. He bites his lip as a bit of blue appears. He’s holding his breath. Bad habit.

“Breath Tommy,” I remind, taking his other hand in mine.

“Oh right,” he gasps and evens his breathing. I watch the flame increase and shrink as he breathes.

“Careful,” I murmur.

He swallows, and the flame’s size stops moving. It turns from a white to a blue. His smile widens. “Look! Look!” He exclaims, holding it up to me.

“Yeah!” I clap.

He douses it and does it again. And again.

“How many times do I have to do this?” He whines after his fourth successful time in a row.

“One more since you whined,” I respond, putting away our picnic.

He pouts and does it again. “I would throw it at you if you were fireproof,” he threatens after making the flame a little bigger to emphasize his point.

I laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s a serious threat!” Tommy exclaims, annoyed. Pushing his arms down to his sides as he huffs.

“Yeah ok sorry,” I wheeze as I catch my breath. “Target practice.”

“Yesssss.” Tommy pumps his arms, tail wagging.

I pull out a small black rimmed disc, that is attached to a chain under my shirt. I flip it and mid-air it expands. A brief flash of white nether star power lights up and the circle expands into a full shield. It’s made of the same tuff beacon cores are made of. Except it’s synthetically created by a wither and not ripped out of their chest when killed. A brilliant white shield with various enchantment runes carved in and rimmed with netherite. It glows with the tell tale clear purple flame of the building block magics of our world.

“Hit it in the air and knock it to the ground,” I say and toss the shield up in an arc.

“Got it!” Tommy exclaims in surprise when I throw it up before I finish informing him of the informed task.

He shoots out his hand and a beam of red and orange fire bursts out and hits the shield. It’s controlled, but powerful enough to kill an unarmored non-hybrid in one blow.

The shield returns to my arm and I brush off the ash and smoke residue.

“Good,” I say. My face expressionless and my voice mono-tone. I’ve never been the best at encouragement, so I don’t give it much.

“Just good!” Tommy whines.

“Well it’s nearly exactly what you’re supposed to have done. So yes. It was good.”

Tommy sighs. “What next?”

“Again. But knock it to the ground.”

Tommy nods and raises his hand again.

I throw the shield up. It rises, and Tommy blasts a beam of fire again. This time it’s bright white and less controlled. It’s successful in stopping the shields momentum as the two collide with a display of unnatural sparks. The shield clatters to the ground. Tommy meanwhile fails to stop his blast soon enough, and it continues to travel and hits a bush and it ignites.

“Shit!” Tommy yells and glances at me panicked. He can’t climb the rock walls, he’s tried, to get to the bush. I think he can control the fire from this far, but I’m not really sure.

“Well?” I gesture to the bush. I’m keeping the fire in check so it doesn’t spread. But I can't actually douse it.

“I can’t do it from that far away!” Tommy yells, surly noticing the bubble of transparent white with a bit of a purple shine, energy I’ve activated around the bush. “I’ve tried! I tried that!”

“You can do it,” I say calmly, taking a bite of my sandwich.

A small smile appears on Tommy’s face from my small piece of encouragement, but disappears soon after. He raises his hand and evens his now erratic breathing. I watch as the flames die a little bit, I also lessen my shield of white energy around it. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. He starts holding his breath.

“Tommy. Breathe,” I remind.

His eyes shoot open as he takes a gasping breath in. I watch as the flames turn hotter instead of dousing. I wince as he almost cracks my bubble. Another sandwich gone.

His arm drops to his side. “I can’t do it!” he almost sobs. “I couldn’t do it with two arms!” his hand shakes at his side.

“You were five,” I remind quietly. “I’m sure you can do it now.” I take a few long breaths and wait for the black to fade before pulling him into a hug. “You got this.”

“But…!” Tommy sobs.

I pull back and wipe the tears out of his eyes. “You got this.”

He hiccups and nods.

“Because if you don’t, we have to put it out by hand,” I joke.

“You’re kidding right?” Tommy asks as he puts his hand up again.

“No, unfortunately.”

“Then why is the fire not spreading now?” Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“If I put it out, I have to turn it into withered soul fire and that’ll kill the bush.”

“I think the bush is dead dad,” Tommy deadpans as he puts out the fire, slowly but surely.

“And the fire is big enough that it would leave wither scares for possibly a kilometer before I can put it out.”

Tommy doesn’t react to the comment as he puts the fire out. “Yes!” He cheers, arm up in the air as he jumps up and down.

“See! Told you you could.” I smile.

Tommy’s smile widens as his confidence in himself grows.

By the time he grows up, I’m sure he’ll be very very powerful.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone, Z here. This isn't a chapter.

If you haven't heard yet, Technoblade died due to his cancer. 

To me, this hit pretty hard. I've been watching him since late 2013 and have seen almost all of his videos. I played on a factions server with him once when he used to dominate them for fun. One of my greatest moments was playing blitz with him. It was one time and I've already forgotten most of what happened, or even when exactly. I remember his humor and that will stick with me forever. 

Technoblade has been my comfort streamer for years. He has never failed to be able to make me laugh and I thank him for that. 

I have been struggling with depression and suicide for years now. There were multiple things that have kept me alive and here. Technoblade was a big part of that. I always wanted to be able to thank him for that. And now I can't. 

I intend to keep writing. I will never stop. Writing has been keeping me alive for several years now. I don't think I can stop.

I might take a little break. I've lost alot of people to cancer. I've lost alot of people over covid. And I couldn't see them, because of covid. This is just another hit. 

Thanks for reading my fic. I don't plan to stop.

- Z

"Thank you for Technoblade for all that you did. You were and still are my comfort streamer. Thank you for making me laugh and encouraging me to pick up a controller instead of a gun. You saved me and I'm sure others. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Chapter Text

I’m quietly humming as I douse the lanterns in my forge area before going inside. To my surprise a certain blond gremlin child was still sitting at the table. I sigh and shake my head. The rest of our picnic went quite well. While he knows everything I can teach him, my knowledge of piglin fire control is extremely basic. I’m fairly certain he should have been at this stage when he was seven. He’s three years behind and it’s my fault.

“I can tell by the look in your eyes you're blaming yourself for something again dad.” Tommy rolls his eyes, putting down his notepad.

“Well…” I start. He’s right. Do I really do it this often?

“It’s not your fault you don’t know shit about fire.”

“Well yeah, but--” I try.

“Nope!” he holds up his hand. “Yes. Yes, you may not know much, but who else could we ask? I think I’m learning a lot. Hell, I flew today!”

A chapter in the book Wilbur gifted was on controlled fire bursts in order to double jump in ways that imitate flying. Tommy caught on very quickly.

“You're doing good, dad,” he hums and hugs me.

“Thanks Tommy,” I chuckle. “You shouldn’t have to say those things, though.”

“I think you’re more traumatized than me.”

I shrug. “Who knows.”

“You.”

I sigh and laugh. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Dodging the conversation now big man?” He glares and grabs his notepad.

“Go to bed Tommy,” I laugh.

“It’s eight!”

“Your ten!”

He pouts. “You’re horribly responsible.”

“And that’s why you're alive.” I ruffle his hair and wave him off to go brush his teeth.

I sigh after he leaves. I’m not entirely sure what to do with him. I don’t know how to raise a kid, I wasn’t really ever a child myself. Or I was a child three times, it depends on one's opinion. I finish dowsing all the lanterns. I know most villages try to keep the lights on to prevent mob spawning. But here it’s thankfully far too populated for any to spawn. That doesn’t mean that street lights aren't on twenty-four seven. And that one slime chunk is slabbed. I lean against the bathroom door frame and smile at Tommy. Who is staring at his face in the mirror, on his tippy toes, so it doesn’t cut him off at the nose.

“What’ch’ya lookin' at?” I ask.

“My ears!” He exclaims. I notice now his bandana is around his neck, and he’s pushing one of his ears forward with his hand.

“What’s up with your ears?”

He bites his lip and glances at me.

I raise an eyebrow. He’s never really mentioned them other than complaining about having to hide them.

“Can I cut them off?” He asks shyly.

“Tommy?” I ask curiously.

“I don’t like having to hide,” he continues quietly. “What if I kid pulls it off? What if I don’t tie it properly one day? I can’t ever sleepover and no one can come over here! You look human enough, why can’t I?”

“Tommy,” I sigh.

“Dad,” he responds flatly.

“First of all this humanoid form your used to is a result of a fuck load of magic,” I start. “And it’s for your safety as much as keeping us hidden. You’re still piglin and not undead, I’d like to keep it that way.” I smirk.

He snickers, a break to his serious expression that didn't look right on him.

“I also don’t think it’s a sound idea for you to cut them off,” I continue, softer.

He looks at me confused.

“You’re still a kid. Not exactly a good age to make a conscious decision that you can’t ever take back.”

He glares. “I can!”

I shake my head. “If you ever go back to the nether, I need to tell you that piglin serfs have their ears and tails docked to mark their station.” Not the entire truth, but he doesn’t have to know more.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s why you never cut mine.”

“Yeah,” I respond.

He stares at the mirror for a few more moments. “Is it going to be like this forever?” He asks quietly.

“Hopefully not,” I say. “But until we get out of this kingdom, yes.”

Tommy grits his teeth. “This sucks.” He smiles a bit.

“Yep, yes it does.” I smile along.

“Wilbur said I should ask you,” he adds as we leave the bathroom.

“Ask me what?” I raise an eyebrow. Depressed or not, I will murder him if he mentioned anything to Tommy.

“Just said to ask you. Said you would probably beat him up if he told me.” Tommy smirks.

I roll my eyes. “He’s sending you after me now?”

“Is it because you’re a wither?” Tommy asks.

I pause. Then nod.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

I shake my head. “I'm not saying yes. I would be endangering more than myself.”

Tommy bites his lip. “Am I in your way?” He asks.

“No. Well yes. But no.”

He looks puzzled as I tuck him into bed.

“If I had the choice, I would have you over…what the minecrafts are asking me.”

“Phil’s in on this too?!” he sits up out of bed.

I sigh and gently nudge him back down. “I believe Phil’s the mastermind.”

Tommy gasps. “Secret?”

“Yep.” I offer my pinkie and he links his in. “Goodnight,” I say and kiss him on the fore head then stand up. “I love you.”

“I love you more!”

“Love you most.” I smirk and flick off the light.

“I love you more then the most!!” He exclaims as I close the door.

I smile and walk to the kitchen. I yawn and move to tidy up what mess remains before I go to bed.

“YAA!” I yelp as I realize there’s someone sitting at the table. “Phil what the heck!” The older man was casually sitting at the table with a smug smile on his face. I know he’s significantly older than he lets on, but he doesn’t know I know. Now he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he can’t wear his haori here. I’m certain it’s stashed in a closet somewhere.

“Hiya mate!” He says cheerfully.

“Don’t hiya mate me old man.” I roll my eyes. “Out of my house.” I wave him out.

“Oh come on! I just want to chat!” He pouts.

“No.” I jerk his chair out with him on it and once again point at the door.

“You sure you won’t consider my offer?” Phil tilts his head.

I stare at him. “I have a kid,” I hiss. “It would be a cold day in hell before I endanger Tommy.”

“But yet you already--”

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him. To us. It took me seven years for me to not blame myself and you. Were. No. Help.”

“Fine,” Phil sighs and gets up. “I’d love to speak with Arius.”

My eyes flicker black as memories from one of the three pop up. “I have no idea who that is,” I lie. “I wouldn't know every… blacksmith you know.”

Phil looks at me sadly. “We’re going to move on soon.”

“Good.”

“We’ll miss you.”

“The feeling is mostly mutual.”

“Are you sure about your answer?” His emerald green eyes are hard to say no to.

I sigh. “Have I ever even come close to considering over the past five years?” I ask softly.

“No. No, you never have.” Phil unlocks the door. “I wish you would. You’d be a big help.”

I chuckle. “Yeah I doubt it.”

“We have two. If you--”

“And leave Tommy without a father? Never,” I growl.

“But don’t you keep consciousness?”

“None of us know! We don’t do it willingly! They’re abominations.”

“You really don’t mean that Techno--”

“Yes I do. Everything about it is terrifying. It’s sacrifice. You have to kill three to make one. You are asking me to be a martyr.”

“But if it would save,” Phil trails off.

“I’m not willing, Phil. I know that’s what they would ask. I’m not an idiot.”

Phil nods. He knows I’m done with this conversation. He exits, and I shut down the door behind him. I regret giving him a key.

I tidy up what little mess is left and head to bed. Surrendering myself to the dreams.