Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crowd roared on the other side of the curtain, applause echoing through the backstage. Tommy wished he was closer to the curtain. He couldn’t see anything from the back room, but with Sam tinkering on the portal and looking over his shoulder to check on him every couple seconds he didn’t have a chance to break away.

Not like a big man like himself couldn’t break away. He just chose not to. Sam was a wimp anyway.

The portal warbled in his ears, and Tommy kept his eyes focused on the smallest bit of red curtain that flicked into view. The door was ever so slightly cracked, mainly so Sam could hear Dream’s inevitable signal, but Tommy liked to think the door was stubborn and refused to stay closed. Kinda reminded him of his own stubbornness. Well, Tubbo said he was stubborn, but when was Tubbo ever right?

The answer was often. Tommy opted to ignore that part.

Tubbo was the one who told him about magic after all.

Tommy didn’t really get magic. Before the Magic House, he hadn’t thought magic existed, but how else would you explain the whirling swirls in front of him? Sam said it was very simple to understand, just some crystals and clamps that were angled perfectly. Tubbo argued that the portal ran on fairy dust and the bone marrow of dinosaurs. Somehow, Tommy didn’t think that last part was true. He still didn’t really understand.

He didn’t want to understand. Not when the purple wisps curled around his stomach. Not when magic had ruined his life.

The cheers stopped. Tommy could practically see Dream wave his hand dramatically to stop the noise, the red and green lights reflecting off his mask. That mask had to be the dumbest thing about Dream, a half white mask that trailed from his messy hairline to his jaw in a way that the ladies said was “handsome” and “mysterious.” Tommy couldn’t tell why ladies thought that was attractive when he clearly was more attractive than Dream could ever hope to be.

His thoughts were interrupted by that dumb, stupid, awful phrase.

“What’s a magician without his rabbit?”

Tommy swallowed a gag. Phantom nausea rolled through his gut as Sam gestured to the portal.

He had stepped through the portal several times, so the feeling wasn’t new to him but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate every second of it. But Tommy never complained. How could he? After everything Dream had done for him? He had given him a roof over his head, safety from the streets and a refuge from the stink-hole that was the orphanage. Tommy couldn’t complain, not after long nights spent in alleyways picking through trash bins for the smallest scrap of food. So once again, he took a large breath and stepped through the swirling purple portal.

Portal travel was not as exciting as he had first thought. The only way Tommy could describe the feeling to Tubbo and Ranboo was that it felt like getting stuck in a washing machine on spin cycle and then thrown into a tsunami that collided with a tornado. Okay, so maybe that was a little far. But the prickling nausea that stabbed at his stomach made it easy to over exaggerate. This time was no different, and no better unfortunately. Tommy had discovered the fourteenth time he went through the portal that shutting his eyes drastically decreased his nausea, so he squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

Eventually, the twisting stopped, and another roll of nausea washed over him. This time it had nothing to do with the portal, and instead with the hundreds of people surprised by his sudden appearance on stage that their shouting and clapping pierced through his skull like nails. Tommy opened his eyes to greet the blinding lights, blocking any view of the audience in front of him.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, tightening just enough to be uncomfortable. Something about Dream’s grasp always made Tommy tense. He didn’t question it but stuck to routine and bowed slowly to the crowd. Loud cheers erupted at the action. He needed to get off the stage. Like now. He could handle nausea, but if Tommy didn’t leave, his grilled cheese might make a reappearance.

Dream grabbed his hand, and they bowed again. Tommy was thankful that his act was the last one of the production. Dream liked to save the best for last, and Tommy was the best with his curly, white-blond hair and sparkling eyes. Dream said he was magnetic, something that drew in people better than any other act. With another dramatic wave to the crowd, Dream pushed Tommy offstage as the curtains fell.

“Good job, Tommy.” Dream pushed Tommy’s hood back, the stupid bunny ears thudding gently against him. “My rabbit always does so well.”

Tommy felt his face heat up. The familiar retort of “I’m not your fucking rabbit” died on his tongue. He hated the whole bunny costume, the whole rabbit theme. The poncho, cape, whatever the heck it was, was way too big, the bottom hem almost reaching his knees. The poncho had a hood on it with two white bunny ears that stuck straight up, at least on good days when the weather was right and Tubbo stuck enough wires through the fabric. Dream made him wear a pair of furry, white boots that left fuzz everywhere after his performance. At least he could wear a pair of sweatpants, even though they were white as well.

Dream expected an answer, so Tommy pushed his familiar embarrassment aside and took the compliment.

“Thanks, Dream,” he sighed. His stomach growled with nausea.

“However—” Dream tapped the mask side of his face. “You didn’t seem very pleased to be on stage.”

Tommy felt his stomach drop and let out a laugh that sounded way more nervous than he intended. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that, big man. Just got caught up in my own awesomeness.”

Tommy squirmed under Dream’s scrutinizing gaze. He didn’t dare tell Dream about his nausea. For one, Dream wouldn’t care if he felt bad after the performance. Dream could be really clingy if he wanted to, but he expected Tommy to take care of himself. He was old enough, Dream insisted. When it came down to it, Dream didn’t give two flying fucks about how Tommy felt.

Second, Dream didn’t like complainers. He had given Tommy a grilled cheese sandwich minutes before the performance, and Tommy had almost flung himself at the magician for the treat. Food was a luxury that Tommy didn’t deserve, and a grilled cheese was a reward. He had eaten the sandwich too fast, but he had no idea when he would get such a reward again. That was one of the rules after all.

Rule number four: don’t complain.

Dream’s face was always hard to read, with or without the mask, but the mask made it especially hard. Tommy had lost count how many times he wanted to take the stupid plastic thing and snap it in half.

He must have accepted Tommy’s lie because he nodded slowly and sent him a reassuring smile. “Then maybe you should pay more attention. I’d hate for you to be unfocused next time.”

A warning. Maybe Dream didn’t completely believe Tommy, but he also wasn’t mad at him, so Tommy counted that as a win.

“Right, can do, mate.” Tommy shot finger guns at the magician. “Can’t really stop my unbelievable awesomeness though. I can’t make any promises.”

Dream’s frown dropped as he hummed a neutral reply. Tommy shut his mouth. Better not push too far.

“Well, I’m gonna head out, if you don’t mind,” Tommy said and turned to go. He really hoped Ranboo had one of his cold ginger ales in the fridge.

“Hold on a second, rabbit.”

Tommy gulped before setting his face in a neutral position and turning to Dream. “Yeah?”

“We have a big production Saturday night,” he said. He tugged the sleeves of his suit coat, slipping the green velvet jacket off. His wrinkle-free, collared shirt reflected the low light. “I expect you to be ready at six-thirty. You won’t just be performing.” Dream fiddled with his cufflink. “You’ll be mingling with our guests.” He stopped and looked Tommy in the eyes. His one visible eye, a striking unnatural green, held Tommy’s gaze. “And you’ll be on your best behavior. Won’t you?”

Tommy nodded rapidly.

“Words, rabbit.”

Ah shit. Tommy scrambled to fix his mistake.

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Good,” Dream crooned, fiddling with his cufflinks again. “Go rest. You’ll need it for practice tomorrow.”

Tommy watched Dream leave before he darted towards the basement. Dream had to be dramatic, and Tommy couldn’t stand it. But the announcement of a “big production” increased his nausea. The fact was the “production” wasn’t a production at all, but rather an elaborate party, full of expensive tuxedos and diamond encrusted dresses that belonged to the snobbiest people Tommy ever had the misfortune of meeting.

That also meant that he was to be the main attraction.

Tommy pushed past Jack Manifold with only a few swear words thrown his direction, focused on getting to the basement as quickly as he could. Puffy called his name, probably to congratulate him, while bad let out a screech that could have only been caused by Skeppy. Tommy was a big man, the hugest man, but if he ran into one more staff member, he was going to throw up on the waxed hardwood flooring.

Tommy Innit was known for many things, and barging through doors unannounced was one of them. Tubbo and Ranboo should have been unaffected by Tommy’s dramatic stage entrance into the basement, but the two idiots fell off the couch as Tommy darted into the bathroom. Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t have time to register Ranboo’s shout of surprise and Tubbo’s string of curses before he threw up his grilled cheese into the toilet.

“Ew, gross,” Tubbo supplied helpfully behind him.

“You’re not helping,” Tommy spat before gagging again. “Fuck you.”

A thin hand pulled back his fringe and Tommy mentally sighed in relief.

“Stop talking, will you?” Ranboo combed back the pale strands with a sigh. “You’re just going to make it worse.”

Tommy wanted nothing more than to cuss Ranboo out for thinking he knew more than him, but his stomach lurched and he snapped his mouth shut.

Despite Tubbo’s general unhelpfulness, Ranboo managed to keep Tommy’s hair out of his face and get Tubbo to fetch a glass of water. To his credit, Tubbo didn’t spill too much water. Tommy grabbed the cup from Tubbo and chugged the glass, trying to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Ranboo sent Tubbo for another glass.

“That bad today, huh?” Ranboo asked.

Tommy scoffed. “Nah, nothing I can’t handle. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten so close to performance.”

Ranboo tilted his head in a way that looked awfully like a cat. He blinked through his bangs. “What did Dream tell you?”

“Whaaaaaa?” Tommy threw a hand over his heart, nervous laughter spilling from his lips. “You’re getting paranoid, man. Dream fucking complimented me today!”

Ranboo squinted. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Am not!”

“You also don’t throw up after a simple portal trick.”

Ranboo was right; Tommy had learned how to push past the nausea after he had thrown up on stage the first time he used the portal. The grilled cheese combined with the announcement of a special production had not helped his situation.

Ranboo and Tubbo hated the high-end parties Dream would throw. Tubbo would rant about how Dream was an “egotistical tyrant who just wants to be complimented” (which Tommy didn’t disagree with). Dream always took great care to dress Tommy up like some kind of rag doll and Tubbo hated it.

“You’re not a thing,” Tubbo had spat as he angrily marched across the basement. “You’re a human being, not a fucking rabbit.”

Tommy had shrugged, face burning. “I owe it to him, Tubs, you know that.”

They never agreed on the matter in the end, and Tommy valued his friendship with Tubbo way too much to end it over Dream.

And here he was, about to tell Ranboo about yet another of Dream’s “big productions.”

“There’s gonna be another party,” sighed Ranboo.

Tommy blinked. “How—”

“Your face is bright red and you haven’t said anything in a good thirty seconds,” he deadpanned.

Stupid Ranboo.

“It’s Saturday night,” Tommy muttered, shoving his arms under the rabbit poncho. He glared at the cape and began to pull it over his head. “He wants me to—,” he stuck his hands out from the fabric and made air quotes with his fingers—‘mingle.’”

Ranboo snorted. “Mingle?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Who are we mingling with?” Tubbo’s heavy footsteps stopped by Tommy’s side and a plop sounded on the tile floor.

Tommy wrestled the last edge of the poncho off, shaking his curls. “My new girlfriend.”

“Yeah right. Who’d want to date you?” Tubbo grabbed the poncho and pulled the wired ears out from the hood.

“Dream’s throwing another party this Saturday,” Ranboo said.

If Tubbo’s gaze could kill, Tommy would be lying in a crumpled heap.

“Dream’s what?!”

Tommy shrugged. “Well, he didn’t exactly say that’s what was happening. Just a big production or whatever.”

All three of them knew what that meant, and Tommy knew that even though he prided himself on being an excellent liar, for some reason neither Tubbo nor Ranboo fell for his lies. Tubbo merely stared at him from under his overgrown bangs.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” Tommy pulled his hair back to allow some cooler air onto his sweating forehead. “All I’ve got to do is just—”

“Get dressed up and act pretty, precisely why we’re going right up to Dream and telling him no.”

They had argued about this before, but Tommy wished Tubbo would just drop the matter. There was one major difference between him and Tubbo and Ranboo: Tubbo and Ranboo were hired, Tommy was not. Tommy was what Dream called a “special case” or something like that. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the magician as he listed off all the things he was going to do for Tommy. Dream did keep his word. Tommy had a roof over his head and, if he was good, food in his belly. He just had to listen and obey anything Dream told him to do. Had he fought against the rules Dream put in place? Oh absolutely, because if Tommy was anything he was independent. He had cursed and sworn and even thrown a couple punches for good measure.

He had fought it for a while.

But after that night.

Tubbo and Tommy both knew why they couldn’t tell Dream no. It was almost as if the argument were a formality, a grasping pull for some sort of control over Tommy’s life that made them feel as if they could change fate. Tommy would argue with Tubbo if only for the fact that he couldn’t argue with Dream himself.

Not if he wanted a repeat of that night.

But tonight had taken more out of him than Tommy wanted to admit. Then again, it wasn’t every night that he threw up after appearing on stage for hundreds of people.

Tubbo groaned, smacking his hands on the tile. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“No kidding.” Tommy and Ranboo sighed in unison.

Tubbo stopped kneading the rabbit cape and opted to throw it out the bathroom door. Tommy wanted to say something, but what could be said?

What could be said over something that couldn’t be changed?

“You got any ginger ale, Ranboo?” Tommy asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, yeah, there’s one left, I think.” Ranboo stood up, Tubbo following, and reached out a hand which Tommy gratefully accepted. “Probably best to get off the bathroom floor.”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, not the best place to impress the ladies, am I right, boys?”

The joint groans of the boys eased the growing tension, and Tommy laughed. As much as he denied it, he was a performer, an actor, a jester on a stage. Except his stage didn’t stand before gaudy audiences but two boys whom he called friends and brothers. He was more inclined to perform now than before.

Dream had called him a performer when he first brought Tommy in. He was the spotlight of the stage, the bright light that drew in greedy moths and gnats. Tommy had hated the comparison. He would have rather been a lighting technician, fixing the light rather than being the light. Being the light was dull. Sam had said that lights shined brighter in darkness, but Tommy would argue that multiple lights were prettier than just one. The sun may be bright, but it shines alone, and no one can look at it for long.

Tommy preferred the stars. Before Tubbo and Ranboo, he would spend his nights on the roof of Dream’s Magic House tracking which constellations he could see. He couldn’t find many, the city lights too bright to let the stars shine, but he could usually find the Big Dipper or Orion winking at him in the night.

The roof was Tommy’s one safe space in the theatre. A single staircase led to the roof, unused and mostly forgotten except by Tommy’s fleeting footsteps. The fresh air brushed against his skin, usually chill, but always clean and free of strong perfume and bodily sweat. He’d sit for hours on end and watch the city life buzz beneath him and the moon set before him. And on the rooftop that stretched to the sky, he sang.

Singing had been the only constant in Tommy’s life. People came and went, shelters went up and down, and food disappeared and reappeared. But through the rain, snow, and sun, Tommy could always sing. He hadn’t known many songs on the streets, but the few he knew, he belted with all his heart. It kept his spirits up and his confidence high even when no one was listening.

When Dream took him in, Tommy hadn’t changed his routine. He couldn’t keep the song out of his heart, so he skipped about his new home humming and tapping and singing. Funny thing was Dream didn’t seem to like the happy smile that spread across Tommy’s face.

“Would you quit the singing already?” Dream had snapped, dragging a hand over his eyes. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, bitch?”

Dream had shown him what he would do about it, and Tommy had nursed his swollen cheek for a week.

Rule number one: No singing.

The longer he stayed at the theatre, the more Tommy realized that his singing didn’t belong. It hurt, knowing that the one thing he enjoyed hurt Dream, but he refrained from singing in the theatre walls.

But even the threat of Dream’s raised hand couldn’t stop Tommy from sneaking up to the roof, the one place he felt safe, to sing into the twinkling city night. It was the one rule he had to break.

Tommy plopped on the worn green couch, adjusting the flat pillows against his back. He smiled as he realized that the basement had become just as much of a safe space as the rooftop. Though that had nothing to do with the room itself.

Ranboo handed Tommy a cold ginger ale that he wasted no time in opening.

“Thanks, Boo.” Tommy chugged the soda, wincing at the bubbles burning at his raw throat. Tubbo sat beside him with one of their community jumpers in his arms. It was one of Tommy’s favorites, a pale, ice blue that hugged him nicely and kept him incredibly warm.

“What, you going soft for me, Tubs?” Tommy teased as he slipped the jumper on.

“What? No, what the fuck are you on about?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know man, you’re been kinda clingy.”

Tubbo gaped at him. “Wha—I’m literally not doing anything? I literally—is this about the jumper? What the fuck. Ranboo, tell Tommy to fuck off.”

Ranboo sat on the other side of Tommy, his journal in one hand and the large purple blanket in the other. He raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, Bo. You seem kinda clingy to me.”

Tommy snorted at the distorted noise coming out of Tubbo’s mouth.

“Boo!” Tubbo whined.

Ranboo just stared at him, sending Tommy into a fit of laughter.

Stuck between the two on the couch held more comfort than the stage, more comfort than the roof. Tommy didn’t mind the arms wrapping around his own or a stray finger poking at his side, even though the closeness to the two tickled the itch that told him to panic. But between Ranboo’s horrible puns and Tubbo’s disgusting flirts, Tommy felt safe. He was safe, at least for a time.

They didn’t leave the couch, tugging the blanket from one armrest to the other while they joked and talked about their day. Tommy’s stomach settled as he finished the ginger ale. He made sure to chuck the empty can at Tubbo’s head. The wooden clock counted the hours, and Tommy tried not to look at it. He couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to its hands. But every time his mind would wander and the warm comfort in his chest grew dim, Tubbo would tug on his hair or Ranboo would ask him a dumb question.

And still, the night seeped into the basement, and Tommy pulled himself out of their pile. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?” He grabbed his crumpled rabbit costume by the base of the staircase.

“I don’t have a choice in the matter,” Tubbo groaned. He flopped over Ranboo’s lap and tucked his chin over the couch armrest.

Tommy smiled. “You’re right.”

“And go to sleep, will you?” Ranboo said. “You better not be on the roof tonight.”

“And what will you do if I am?”

Tubbo laughed as Ranboo dragged a hand under his fringe.

“I’ll tie you to your bed and shove a sleeping mask on you,” Ranboo joked.

Tommy brushed him off and said his goodbyes, skipping up the stairs three at a time. The theatre was quiet at this time of night. Performers had returned to their rooms, props had been pushed to the sides, and lights had been dimmed or turned off. Tommy thought that the theatre looked more beautiful at peace than it did bustling with the audience.

He slid through the halls, racing quietly up the creaky staircase to his room. It wasn’t technically a room, more like space in the attic that Dream had cleared out and shoved a flimsy cot in. Old boxes stacked in the corner, a locked power box hanging on the wall. Tommy didn’t complain, rule number five and all that. The first couple of months he lived in the attic were amazing, but the novelty of the cramped, hot room wore off.

After he met Tubbo and Ranboo, Tommy started plastering things on the walls, mainly posters for other high end fine arts exhibits in the area surrounding Dream’s Magic House. A Lady Death art show here, a Spanish opera there, and his walls began to look like a poster book for the classiest events.

The cot creaked under his weight, and Tommy pulled the threadbare blanket up to his chin. He could already hear Dream’s footsteps tapping up the ladder. He sighed and sunk further into the mattress.

Dream flung the door open with his usual confidence, glancing at Tommy from the mouth of the room. When he started staying with Dream, Tommy thought the scene was very homey. A big brother poking his head into his room to check if he was ready for bed, a tender hand coming to smooth his sheets down and give him a reassuring smile. Dream had humored him a couple times on days when he had been especially good. That was at the beginning.

Dream squinted in the low light. “Tommy?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a call to obedience.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

Dream didn’t respond (he never responded) and shut the door, leaving Tommy to listen to his retreating footsteps.

Tommy often wished he had a clock in the room. Counting the minutes would be so much easier. He hated these tense hours waiting for Dream to go to bed. The singular, squeaky window let Tommy watch the gray clouds float across the navy sky, promising freedom and twinkling stars. His stomach rumbled. He could feel the basement chill disappearing, stuffy heat creeping under his blanket.

The House creaked as it settled, all movement from Dream’s room below finally stopping.

He kicked the blanket off dramatically and grinned at the crumpled mess on the floor. Ranboo could threaten all he wanted, but Tommy had a calling, a fate that guided him to the roof, and no rule or warning or suggestion could keep him from it.

He had a song to sing, after all.

—

Wilbur was not throwing a temper tantrum.

He was a twenty-one-year-old man with a stable job, a roof over his head, and a family that loved him. He was beyond blessed with his current position and there was no reason for him to be stomping through the downtown streets at two in the morning.

Wilbur was currently, however, not on speaking terms with his family.

He was just thankful that Mum let him leave the house without Dad or Techno trailing behind him. He needed a second, a minute, heck, an hour even to get his thoughts in order and to calm down before he looked either of them in the eyes.

Just because he and Techno were both adopted didn’t mean that his brother understood. Techno’s rumbling, matter-of-fact tone was driving Wilbur crazy. How dare Techno act like he understood? Had he spent years on the streets looking for food that wasn’t rotten? No. Had he ever huddled under a makeshift, cardboard awning just to stay out of the rain? Of course not. Techno was too much of a fucking goody-two shoes to even yell at Dad. The little bitch never did anything wrong in his eyes.

Oh, and don’t even get him started about Dad. He tried to bring up his time as the cliché “starving artist” and how he “roamed from country to country” trying to find someone to buy his paintings. But Wilbur was quick to point out that Dad had never slept on the streets or stole food. That always shut him up.

Wilbur could out speak both of them, twisting his words into daggers. It was only fair, he told himself, since they dared to encroach on his life.

But that small voice in the back of his mind said he was being unfair. They were family, the first people to look at him like a human being and not a dirty racoon.

Go back, go back, it whispered.

Wilbur ignored it.

The city lacked its usual noise this early in the morning. He passed few people on his aimless path, and those he did pass were not in a sober state of mind. A normal person should be scared, but Wilbur was in the mood to knock someone’s shit up. He only hoped someone would start a fight with him. He would win by sheer frustration alone.

Wilbur would usually take in the night. He loved the sleepy hums of streetlights and car engines. He would watch the flickering lights contort the shadows and relish in the breeze nipping at his face. Tonight though, he was too put out to take inspiration from his surroundings. His sour attitude ruined everything around him.

He hadn’t even noticed how he shuffled into the recreational district, an older area of the city known for its theatres, museums, and fine wineries with extravagant art. The Craft family spent a lot of time in this area, and if Wilbur had been paying closer attention, he would have made an abrupt one-eighty just so he wouldn’t be reminded of his father’s art or his brother’s novels. But he kept plowing through, kicking at the stone sidewalks.

He stopped by the mouth of an alley way and took a deep breath. His heart pounded in his head, roughly telling him that he was in for a hell of a headache later. Wilbur groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was an idiot for coming out here alone, he would be the first to admit. A forty-five minute walk awaited him, and now his knees ached. And because he was in an anger-induced coma, Wilbur hadn’t even bothered to grab his phone. If he wasn’t throwing a fit earlier, he was definitely thinking about it now.

Wilbur wanted to scream.

“Stupid, fucking—”

“In the wee, small hours of the morning.”

Wilbur froze.

“When the whole wide world is fast asleep.”

Someone was singing. Soft and gentle into the night with the most magical voice Wilbur had ever heard in his life. He knew the difference between good and bad singing, that was one of his jobs after all, being on one of the audition committees for a theatre just down the street. He had heard his fair share of singers, and they all thought they were the greatest singer since the invention of music. And yet for all their confidence, none of their voices came close to the voice drifting around him.

“You lie awake, and think about the girl, and never, ever think of counting sheep.”

Wilbur was desperately looking around for the voice now. But everywhere he turned his head, he could only see brick buildings and flickering street lights. He had to find the source. He had to know whose voice had stunned him so suddenly that all his pent-up anger melted away into the sidewalk like it never existed in the first place.

“When your lonely heart has learned its lesson.”

Frustration wrapped around his heart, and Wilbur had half a mind to ask who was singing when the small voice told him to look up, look up.

And he listened.

On the rooftop, far above the city grime, sat a boy who couldn’t be a day over fifteen. His legs swung off the edge, lazily thudding against the bricks in time to the song. He leaned back on his palms as he stared into the sky. With the building lights faintly glowing behind him, his blond-white hair framed his face like a halo.

“You’d be hers if only she would call.”

Techno would tell you that Wilbur wasn’t the type to be rendered speechless. Yet, Wilbur found that he couldn’t think. He could barely breathe.

“In the wee, small hours of the morning.”

Wilbur wasn’t a superstitious person. He believed in rhythm and reason, the steady tempo of the universe that demanded a pattern and a stability that remained unchanged since the dawn of time. He didn’t fancy Techno’s fairy tales and Greek myths, and he couldn’t find the vivid stories Mum would create in her sceneries. And yet when he looked at the boy he couldn’t help but wonder. . .

“An angel,” he breathed, unsure of what else to do.

The boy smiled like he heard Wilbur.

“That’s the time you miss her—”

“Tommy!”

Both the boy and Wilbur jumped at the shout, the boy whipping around to the voice and pulling up his legs.

“Get down here, now!”

Tommy, the boy, the angel, whatever he was, scrambled to his feet. “Ah, right, coming, coming.” His voice changed instantly, losing the loose, carefree tilt and suddenly tight and on guard, something that didn’t sit well in Wilbur’s stomach. Tommy disappeared from sight and the angry murmuring died with the squeaking clang of a door.

Wilbur stood, shocked, on the sidewalk, staring at the place where Tommy had sat. Surely it had been a dream. Some figment of imagination he had made up to calm his fuming mind. But the notes had been so clear and the voice so heavenly, Wilbur didn’t think there was any way he could have made it up.

“Tommy.” He tested the name reverently. It was. . .odd to be taken with a stranger in the night. He wanted to scold himself for being so easily hypnotized by a song. But the boy was like one of Techno’s sirens luring lonely pirates to their timely doom among the rocks.

Wilbur frowned. Rocks indeed. Tommy seemed to be resting on the sharpest of rocks, cruel and unappreciative of the treasure that sat above them. Wilbur had heard that tone many times in uptight shop owners and prissy passersby. As much as he hoped he was wrong, Wilbur knew that a harsh tone ended in harsh actions.

And you’re complaining about your loving Dad and brother not understanding you, Wilbur scoffed to himself. They may not understand him, but at least they were trying. At the end of the day, Wilbur knew that Dad and Techno loved him and always would.

But did anybody care for Tommy?

He wanted to barge into the building and search for the boy, but he suddenly felt bad for yelling at Dad and Techno. Looking back, his words were nothing but ugly, and the familiar feeling of guilty nausea was taking root in his stomach. He needed to head back. It was late. Very late. Wilbur stared at the lights on the top of the building.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered as he stomped to the front of the building.

He wasn’t going to go in, at least not yet. But he had to know where he was so he could come back. He could already tell that the angel’s voice was going to haunt his dreams. His fate was sealed.

He found that he had been at the back of an old theatre, rustic brick meeting freshly painted trim in an effort to keep the old building from looking too dilapidated. The paint job didn’t flatter the flashy posters and in fact made the building look worse. Greens, reds, and purples (a horrible color combination that even Wilbur with his lack of visual design knew was an awful choice) blinked three words.

“Dream’s Magic House? Really?”

It was a dumb name, and Wilbur could almost hear Techno mocking the unoriginality of it. But still, Wilbur tucked the name into his memory.

The forty-five minute walk home lasted five minutes in Wilbur’s eyes, every color and sound more vibrant than it had been minutes before. He hummed the bars of Tommy’s song. He wanted to commit every detail of the night to memory: the soft light refracting around Tommy’s hair, the low notes echoing slightly off the alley walls, the thud of his heels against the bricks. He wanted to know more. What kind of boy lived within the theatre walls? What did he sing as he went about his daily chores? What was his favorite color, what was his routine? How did he respond to his family, his friends?

How could Wilbur become a part of it?

Wilbur barely registered his house in front of him. His keys jingled irregularly as he fumbled with the lock and stumbled through the door.

“Wil!” Dad jumped up from the living room couch, worry lacing his features. Techno sat in the worn, leather armchair, and his eyes darted anxiously to Wilbur’s face. Mum was there too, though in a much less panicked state than his dad and brother. A playful smile graced her face, and she winked at Wilbur.

“Where were you?” Dad’s hand tugged at his hair. “What were you doing?”

Wilbur felt like he was dreaming, floating through reality with a deep fog lingering in his mind. He smiled.

“Listening to an angel.”

Silence.

Dad blinked. Mum’s amusement turned to confusion. And Techno. . .

“Heh?!”

Chapter Text

Today was a Henry Day.

Henry Days were special. Tommy could technically have a Henry Day whenever he wanted, but limiting Henry Days to certain times gave him something to look forward to, something to cheer his heart when he felt like a shell of himself.

Henry Days were bad days or the aftermath of a bad night. When everything was going wrong, when his stomach ached and his head pounded, when even Tubbo and Ranboo were denied from seeing him, he could always go and see Henry.

And did he need to see Henry today.

Henry wasn’t the cow’s actual name, but it looked so lonely and lovely in the painting that Tommy had to name it. Henry was, in fact, just a painting of a cow, an incredibly fluffy cow, lounging under a weeping willow and surrounded by alliums. Ranboo had said in passing that they were his favorite flowers, and Tommy had mentally written down that detail, solidifying it in his brain whenever he’d look at the painting.

Tommy wasn’t an artist, so he couldn’t say why the painting had stuck out to him. Dream’s Magic House didn’t have many paintings, and the ones it did have were weird and strangely dark, gripping his shoulders and sending chills down his spine. But Henry’s painting held a sense of peace rooted deep within calculated brush strokes. Its energy only matched one other painting in the Magic House, a painting Tommy called Clementine. Clementine Days were saved for special occasions, for days when Tommy could actually bring himself to smile.

This was not one of those days.

Henry hung in an unused back hallway where the walls pressed close together and the peeling wallpaper reached Tommy’s hips before it switched to an off-white paint. The lights flickered from age, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet as Tommy slid onto the antique velvet bench. Tommy was positive he would sit down one day and the bench would break under his weight, but it hadn’t. It held him, Tubbo, and Ranboo all at one time, so Tommy assumed it was hanging on to life pretty hard.

The bench had a better handle on life than Tommy did.

He drummed his fingers on the cushion and looked up at Henry.

“Hey, ma friend.”

Henry laid under the tree with a blank stare.

“Rude not to say hi.” Tommy leaned against the wall.

Henry didn’t feel the need to be polite.

Tommy sighed. “That’s fine, big man. I just—I need a minute to think anyways.”

He pulled his knees up, studying the way the light purple alliums swayed in the breeze. He wondered what it would be like to be an allium, to feel the breeze rustling through his hair in a wide-open field. The roof gave him a taste of the wind, but a taste only left him hungry for more.
Tommy considered himself lucky, especially after last night. Dream could have handled the situation differently. Tommy had never been caught before, so the amount of fear that shoved its way into his lungs last night still left him reeling the next morning. Dream had been furious, but it was nothing that Tommy hadn’t handled before. He had deserved it after all. Tommy had broken the rules, so he deserved every ounce of Dream’s wrath.

Apparently, he had been listening to Tommy for a while. It made him feel. . .well, he didn’t know if he felt uncomfortable or flattered that someone was listening to him sing. Tubbo had heard him singing once and wouldn’t stop gushing to Ranboo about how pretty his voice sounded. Tommy had wanted to die, curl up into a corner, and never look at another human being again. But singing was breaking one of Dream’s rules, so the embarrassment of getting caught was lost on Tommy. It was a rule he had broken before, and a punishment that was just as normal. He could go without a couple of meals. He had done it before. Sure, Tubbo and Ranboo wouldn’t be happy, but Tommy thought he got away with little consequences.

He tried to ignore the way Dream’s shouting still bounced around in his head.

Tommy sighed and ruffled his hands through his hair. “Welp, Henry, nice seeing you.”

He pretended that Henry blinked at him.

“Wow, thanks.” Tommy stood up and stretched, ignoring the pops in his back. Henry still sat under the tree. Shadows rested on his back and Tommy could almost hear him breathing. He sighed.
“See you next time.” He walked away from the painting and back down the hall, each step heavier than the last.

As they say, the show must go on.

—

Wilbur’s fingers felt numb, the guitar strings digging into his finger tips no longer felt like anything. Base and drum melded together in his head, and he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. They had been in the studio for the past five hours—the past three were spent on one song. Well, three hours spent on Wilbur messing up the lyrics of one song.

“You doing alright, mate?” Joe asked, lowering his guitar.

“Yeah, yeah, just peachy.” Wilbur stood back up and tried to push back his curls. “Let’s try again, I’ve almost got it.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that the past five tries, Wil.” Mark flipped his drumsticks idly. “Let’s just go home. We’ll call it a day.”

Wilbur glanced at the clock and adjusted his guitar strap. “No, I’m fine. It’s not even four o’clock yet. One more time, I got this.”

Joe and Mark looked at each other as if they didn’t believe him. Ash merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

One more time, Wilbur promised himself, gripping the guitar frets. I can do this

He, in fact, could not do it.

It wasn’t for the lack of trying, forcing his mind to stay focused on the words of the song he himself had written. Surely, he should know the words of his own song. But every time he tried to sing, his tongue tripped over the words as they mingled with another song. He’d been mixing up the lyrics so much that every now and then he hadn’t realized he had messed up. Joe would tap Wilbur’s shoulder to make him aware of his mistake.

Wilbur felt like he was going insane.

Sure, he wasn’t the most emotionally stable person (last night was a prime example of his irrationality), but he still could handle his own thoughts. He had simply run into a kid singing a Frank Sinatra song on top of a random building under the name of “Dream’s Magic House” in the middle of the night, morning, whenever it was. The kid was a stranger. Wilbur had no idea who he was and had no business knowing who he was. It was just a strange incident after a tense day.
That’s all it was, just a singing kid.

Just a singing angel, his small voice supplied.

Curly blond hair glowing in the moonlight, legs swinging carelessly and lazily into the air, a faint smile spreading over his face with an overwhelming sense of peace and—

Wilbur cursed himself. He needed to focus. Yet no matter how many times he told himself to focus, his brain refused to listen.

“Wilbur, let’s call it a day.” Joe’s voice left no room for argument as he gently pulled the guitar out of Wilbur’s hands. Wilbur made a noise of protest.

“I’m—”

“Fine, yeah, yeah. Well, you can be fine tomorrow then, yeah?” Joe patted his shoulder. “Go take a nap or something.”

Wilbur begrudgingly agreed, and the band quickly split ways after locking up the studio, probably glad to be free of whatever torment Wilbur was putting them through. He lingered at the door of the studio after they left. He couldn’t bring himself to move. He needed to go home—maybe taking a really cold shower would help—but he knew if he went home his small voice would remind him how it was missing something.

How it was missing someone.

The walk home was pure misery, but every moment since he woke up that morning had felt that way. He had an itch. An itch to go and see Tommy again. To truly meet the kid instead of stalking him outside his home like some kind of psychopath (which Techno had assured him he was).

Wilbur grumpily marched into the house, kicking his shoes under the shoe rack and throwing his scarf on the coat hanger.

“Can you make any more noise?” Techno called from the kitchen.

Wilbur scowled as he pulled his jacket off. “Don’t test me!”

The entryway of the Craft home opened to their joint living room and kitchen, a bar separating the two areas and leaving room for the dining table. Techno, surprisingly, was sitting at the kitchen table, papers scattered all over the wooden surface and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His glasses had slid down his nose again, and he made no move to push them up as he poured over his notes.
Wilbur dropped his guitar case on the floor and threw himself into the chair beside Techno. “Your glasses are falling.”

Techno hummed, not taking his eyes off the poem in front of him. “Being too loud.”

Wilbur leaned over to look at the poem. “You should have a comma after the second line. Hey, HEY!”

Techno shoved Wilbur’s face away, pushing his glasses up his face.

“Hands off the glasses!”

“Then keep your face out of my work area.” Techno grabbed the pencil from his ear and twirled it.

Wilbur frowned and leaned forward on his elbows. “Whatcha writing?”

Technoblade groaned. “Don’t you have anything else to do besides bother me? I’ve got a reading in two weeks.”

“Why would I want to do anything when my little brother is here!” he cooed, to which Techno fake gagged.

“Yeah, well you only annoy me when you have absolutely nothing else to do and you’re bored out of your mind.”

Techno always had this knack of being undeniably good at detecting lies, and Wilbur wished he could kick his teeth in. He was not using his brother as an excuse to keep his mind off Tommy. He wasn’t. He wanted to see how his writing was going. And Techno did need a comma after the second line.

He totally wasn’t wondering if Tommy would help him team up against Techno—

“I talk to you for two minutes, and you’re already at my throat,” he replied with a dramatic sigh. “So mean, Techno.”

Techno slammed his pencil on the table. “Is this about that singing kid?”

“What?” Wilbur placed a hand over his chest. “You wound me with your words.”

“That’s kinda the point.”

Wilbur crossed his arms. “No, I am not thinking about Tommy.”

“You know his name!?” Techno ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “You have no idea how incriminating this makes you look—”

“Oh, fuck off, Technoblade! I just. . .”

Funnily enough, Wilbur couldn’t bring any words to his defense. Maybe he had used most of them last night. But he couldn’t think of any now. His brain was still fogged with last night’s image of a boy who had so much mystery.

“You know, you could go to one of the shows,” Techno said. He picked his pencil back up and pushed his glasses in place.

Wilbur blinked. “What?”

“You could go to one of the shows. At the Magic House?” Techno crossed out a word before thumbing through his pocket thesaurus. “Maybe if you actually talked to the kid, you wouldn’t be in such a mood. As long as you’re not creepy about it.”

Wilbur shot up from his chair. Why in the world couldn’t he go now? He could literally go to tonight’s showing! He could stick around afterwards and talk to him! He—

“Oh my gosh, will you stop towering over my manuscripts, I’m trying to focus,” Techno complained, but even his monotonous aggravation couldn’t get under Wilbur’s skin.

“You are a fucking genius, Technoblade!” Wilbur threw his arms around Techno who flinched at the suddenness of the hug. He grabbed his guitar case and sprinted up the staircase. “I’m buying tickets immediately!”

“Don’t scare the kid off by being a creep!” Techno called after him.

Wilbur flipped him off, even though he couldn’t see it.

—

Wilbur had begged his family to come with him, but unfortunately, they were all busy. Techno still had his poetry reading to prepare for, and he hadn’t even moved from his spot in the kitchen by the time Wilbur had taken a shower and dressed up for the event. He had called Mum after Dad hadn’t answered, but they couldn’t make it either. Mum apologized but said that the art show manager was having a heart attack and Mum wasn’t going to risk the potential setbacks that might happen as soon as she left.

That was how Wilbur Craft found himself entering Dream’s Magic House by himself on a Wednesday night in a freshly pressed suit.

Wilbur wasn’t sure what type of event this would be, but the last thing he wanted was to come underdressed, as Techno would probably never let him live it down. But he was not going to show up in a poet’s blouse, sleek trousers, and a red coat just to make a statement. He wore one of his more casual suits and forwent the tie, partly because he didn’t want to be choked by it all evening and partly because it looked too formal. And he was very glad he did, since the performance seemed to be a high-level event, but not high enough to warrant expensive jewels and flashy outfits.
Dream’s Magic House was crowded to say the least, audience members lingering in the lobby with echoing laughs that bounced off the Magic House’s vaulted ceiling. Wilbur wasn’t one for architecture like Dad was, but even he could see the beauty crafted into the building. Delicately carved murals of famous operas and musicals were etched into columns. Long windows melted into soft carpeted floors. Wilbur noticed several doors and passageways that ran deeper into the building’s infrastructure, but most of them were blocked off with a velvet rope or a sign reading “Employees Only.”

Wilbur could imagine Tommy dashing around one of those doors, the thought bringing warmth to his heart.

He had thought at one point that he might be recognized in the crowd. The downside of having not one but two famous painters as his parents meant that most people knew who he was even if he didn’t know who they were. Thankfully, Wilbur hadn’t run into any nosy patrons of his parents’ works. He could blend in with the audience and enjoy the show.

He could focus solely on Tommy.

Wilbur took his seat twenty minutes before the production, trying to stop his leg from shaking. He had been given a production flier with the names of the shows, but after skimming over the entries, he realized that none of them had Tommy’s name listed in any of them. A part of him sunk at the information. It was very possible that Tommy was a background hand, working on scenery or costumes. For all Wilbur knew, Tommy might not even work at the Magic House, instead just being a kid sneaking out onto a rooftop. He bit his lip and pushed the thought aside.

He had no idea what he would do if this was a dead end.

Lights flickered and dimmed to announce the start of the show. Wilbur grabbed the armrests of his seat.

The anticipation was actually going to kill him.

With a flash of green smoke, a lanky man with a velvet green suit jacket and a stage mask stepped onto the stage, his arms flourishing with dramatic ease as the audience applauded his arrival. He bowed with a surprising nimbleness before addressing the audience.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the most magical place in the world!”

The crowd roared in response, but the masked man ignored them, continuing his speech. “You have come for mysteries and mages, tricks and treats, flashes and flares! And we will provide all this and more! So hold on to your seats—”

He bowed again, one arm behind him and one in front,

“—sit back—”

He lifted his head slightly, a bright green eye locking its gaze with Wilbur’s,

“—and enjoy the show.”

Wilbur felt a deep shiver run down his spine. He glanced around at those near him, but no one seemed to notice, too focused on the magician who once again disappeared in a puff of smoke. He took a deep breath. It was nothing, nothing at all.

Danger, whispered the small voice.

It was nothing.

The maroon curtains pulled back slowly to reveal the stage and Wilbur shifted to the edge of his seat. The steady draw of the curtains pushed the feeling of anticipation to the rim of his heart, threatening to spill out onto the theatre floor. His heartbeat clapped in time with the audience. His ears rang with the overwhelming noise. He could be there. Tommy, the angel, his angel could be on that stage just behind the rosy curtains that blocked his view.

And then the curtain was gone.

His heart fell at the sight.

Tommy was nowhere on the stage, instead two men appeared. One was dressed in a black and red robe with fake horns and a devil’s tail that curled on the stage and the other dressed in bright blue jay blue with a square box on his head that had a crudely drawn face with its tongue sticking out. Wilbur deflated, hitting the chair with a thud. He ignored the audience’s excitement.

In all honesty, he shouldn’t have been surprised. The chance of Tommy actually being in the performance was probably incredibly low.

But a low chance was still a chance.

Wilbur watched the performance in a daze. His eyes searched for only one person; the others didn’t matter to him. The performances blurred together, time blending as Wilbur kept his eyes on the stage. As soon as the curtain rose and no blond-headed figure bounced on stage, he tuned out, slumping lower and lower into his seat.

He glanced at the program in his hands, green letters mocking him. Wilbur groaned and forced himself to sit still. According to the paper, there was one more act after this one. A man with fox ears and a fox tail tossed hoops into the air, catching and twirling them with ease, but Wilbur couldn’t find it in himself to care. The curtains fell once again on the act. He sighed and crumpled the program in his hands. He had wasted his evening, his head filled with Techno’s mocking chuckles and Dad’s pitying smile that would await him when he returned home. If he even wanted to return home after tonight. A very long walk around the city seemed nice right about now.

The curtain rose, and Wilbur looked up numbly, now ready to be done with the show. The magician came on stage and stood in front of a large black frame that sparkled purple in the low light.

“We hope you have enjoyed our show!” He flourished his arms as he gestured to the stage. “Frights and feats have danced before your eyes, all of them more fantastic than the last! But oh, my dear friends, we are not quite done. You have seen me amaze and astonish you with tricks never seen before. But you haven’t seen the tip of what I can do! After all—”

This man would not shut up. Wilbur could feel a headache growing behind his eyes.

“What’s a magician without his rabbit?”

The frame behind the magician lit up in a blinding purple that cast swirls on the stage and the audience. The crowd awed at the light show, the magician stepping out of the way so they could get a full view of the glowing frame. Then, the purple rippled from the middle to the edges of the frame like waves on the sand. The ripples grew larger, almost shaking the frame.

Then he stepped out.

Wilbur didn’t recognize him at first. He noticed the large fluffy boots that reached the middle of his calves and the oversized white hoodie. The large rabbit ears attached to his hood flopped slightly over his face, only letting small curls poke through them. But as he stood up, steadying himself from the purple swirl’s grasp, his thin face came into full view with a smile plastered to his face.

Tommy stood stiffly as he squinted from the bright stage lights.

Wilbur stopped breathing.

It was an odd sense of deja vu, once again faced with the angel of the night showered in light as he lingered unaware of Wilbur’s presence. The warm rays of the moon were exchanged for harsh white and green that brushed over him like a paintbrush.

To say Wilbur liked the whole animal theme that the show had going would be a lie, but for some reason the rabbit outfit on Tommy just fit. It made sense. The white complimented his hair nicely, even though it drained the color from his face. Tommy tilted his head so one of the ears would shift out of his face. Anyone would immediately say that the boy looked pretty as he faced the audience with a charming, strained smile. The magician and Tommy bowed, encouraging the crowd to cheer louder.

Wilbur hadn’t even questioned how Tommy had appeared. He could only watch as the duo bowed again and the magician ushered Tommy off stage. Wilbur’s heart sank a bit when he realized Tommy wouldn’t be singing on stage, but it made sense. This freak show was for cheap tricks and flashy lights. A voice like Tommy’s wouldn’t fit.

The lights returned to a normal color and the audience meandered out of the theatre. Wilbur wasted no time in pushing past anyone in his way. He had to catch Tommy. He had to talk to him. He shoved through couples and families, almost tripping over several smaller children. Everything moved in slow motion, each step more frantic than the last. Wilbur had never been more grateful for his long legs.

A flash of a green suit coat rounded one of the halls marked “Employees Only.” He didn’t think twice, quickly stepping over the ineffective rope blocking his path. If Dad could see him entering an employee only area, Wilbur was sure he would be scolded harshly, but Dad wasn’t here and Tommy was feet away from him.

He saw the two as soon as he slid around the corner.

“Hey!”

The magician and the boy abruptly turned at his voice. The magician looked. . .well, pissed from what Wilbur could tell. Even backstage, he still had the mask settled firmly on his face, the edges of a frown visible from under the plastic. His singular, visible eye held Wilbur’s gaze just like it had from the stage.

Tommy, on the other hand, looked beyond confused. Apparently, random audience members didn’t just break through well-marked boundaries to follow the performers. He had pushed the hood off and his blond hair stuck out in all directions.

Wilbur was suddenly aware that this was the closest he had ever been to the boy.

He looked even paler up close, Wilbur now able to see the boy wearing heavy makeup on his cheeks as if it were covering something. But the makeup couldn’t hide Tommy’s sunken cheeks and tired eyes. He looked worryingly thin, and that had nothing to do with his natural lankiness. When was the last time the kid ate? Wilbur scanned his figure, but the rabbit poncho he wore covered most of his body.

The magician cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

Well, Wilbur certainly hadn’t thought this far.

Yes, he had expected to talk to Tommy, but he hadn’t exactly thought out what he was going to say, let alone how he was going to introduce himself in front of a complete stranger (Wilbur opted to ignore the part that technically both the magician and Tommy were strangers). He couldn’t just say, “Oh, hey there! I saw you singing on the rooftop of this building, and you sounded really good, so I decided to come and find you! My name’s Wilbur!”

Fuck, Techno was right, he was a creep.

But even though Wilbur was taken off guard, it didn’t mean that he was speechless.

“Oh, I just came to meet the stars of the show!” He threw his arms lazily behind his back and smiled. “How could I not be intrigued with such a magnificent performance!” The lie fell easily from his tongue.

“Usually people wait for one of the late night events,” the magician replied evenly. “It’s a little more. . .conventional.”

Wilbur shrugged. “Wasn’t aware I was being unconventional.”

“Most people don’t jump the sign that clearly says, ‘Employees Only.’” The magician scowled.
“Well, I’m not most people.”

Wilbur watched in delight as Tommy bit his lip to stop the smile that threatened to overtake his face. The smile was just a hint of what he had seen last night, but something about the smile seemed off. It reminded him of the loud voice that shocked Tommy out of his song. It felt like a chain wrapping around angelic wings.

And he guessed it was tied to the magician.

The man still hadn’t bothered to give Wilbur his name or even the common courtesy to smile. He had rubbed him the wrong way while he watched him on stage, but in person? Danger tickled at the back of his mind. Wilbur pushed it away.

“Name’s Wilbur.” He held out his hand for the magician to shake, which he did slowly. “I’ll admit, you had my attention through the entire production, don’t know how, but you did. And your final show? Amazing! You were incredible, mate.” Wilbur directed the last comment to Tommy. The boy straightened, eyes widening.

“You—”

“Well, yes, he should be.” The magician cut Tommy off, and the boy frowned. “He’s the reason this show exists.” He placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and the frown disappeared.

Wilbur swallowed an angry retort that threatened to come out.

“Pretty sure I was talking to—your partner there,” he said, almost letting Tommy’s name slip. That was the last thing he needed, a mistake that would land him among the stalkers.

The magician squinted at him but nodded his head slightly toward Tommy. The boy’s eyes twinkled.

“Ah, yeah, thanks, big man!”

The magician curled his fingers around Tommy’s shoulder.

“I mean, uh,” Tommy said, face falling, “Thanks. Thank you.”

Wilbur forced a smile to his face. “Of course. I don’t think I caught your names?”

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, but the magician interrupted him harshly.

“Dream.” The magician leaned closer to Tommy. “I own this theatre.”

“I figured as much.” Wilbur held back an eye roll. “And your name?”

Oh, Wilbur hated the way Tommy looked to Dream as if he were asking permission to talk. Dream nodded again.

“Tommy.” This time, though, Tommy reached out his hand to shake Wilbur’s. So maybe Wilbur reached forward a little too quickly, but the excitement of being properly introduced made it hard to restrain himself. Tommy’s handshake was everything Dream’s wasn’t: firm, confident, and almost lingering on his own as they pulled back.

“Nice to meet you,” Wilbur said to Tommy. And by the way Dream’s eyebrow furrowed, the magician knew he meant it solely for the boy.

Good. Bitch was driving Wilbur crazy.

“This has been pleasant, I’m sure,” Dream said, “but you are still in an employee only area. And we did just have a performance so I know Tommy is exhausted.”

It was a subtle and gentle fuck off if Wilbur had ever heard one. He really wanted to pull out his own Uno reverse card and shove Dream away from Tommy, but he knew when he’d outstayed his welcome. Afterall, this was only the first of many meetings, he told himself. So he elegantly ignored Dream’s tone and the disrespect he laced through Tommy’s name and nodded.

“Of course, rather rude of me to just barge in,” Wilbur laughed and straightened his suit coat. With a wave, he turned back. “Goodnight!”

He felt two pairs of eyes watch him disappear around the corner. He could have sworn he heard a small “bye” as he left, but his hearing never had been the greatest.

Wilbur left the Magic House in a much better mood than he walked in. The performance had been, to say the least, fucking awful, but Tommy had been there. He was there, on stage, in front of him. And not only that but Wilbur got to talk to him. Face to face. He hoped their conversation would satisfy his nagging thoughts and he would actually be able to get stuff done.

He hoped.

But as low city lights guided his steps home, buildings cast their shadows into the streets, and the chill of the evening settled softly in his bones, Wilbur knew that the magician’s tight grip on the angel’s shoulder would replace the previous image of the angel in the night.

—

Tommy fought back the urge to curse as Dream dragged him up to the attic. His boney fingers dug into his shoulder. He wanted to shrug him off. He wanted to curl his lips and yell a very polite “fuck you” in Dream’s face. He wanted to rip the mask off.

But Tommy never got what he wanted.

Dream shoved him into his room, and Tommy had to catch himself from stumbling. He whipped around, opened his mouth, and—

“Shut up.”

Tommy winced. “But I—”

“I said, shut up.” Dream’s voice sunk into Tommy’s nerves. “I can’t trust you with anything, can I?”

Tommy bit his lip, fidgeting with one of the pom poms that hung from his poncho.

“Do you care about my rules? Do you even remember them?” Dream ran a hand through his gelled hair. “I give you very simple rules, and you can’t even follow them!”

He itched to apologize, but he wasn’t allowed to talk. So he curled in on himself through the poncho and begged for the fabric to swallow him whole.

“‘Don’t speak to guests unless allowed.’ It’s simple! Incredibly easy to do! And yet you can’t even do that!”

“I’m sorry, Dr—”

Tommy registered the numbness of the slap before the actual slap. The numbness faded to a throbbing sting. He gingerly touched his face and squeezed his eyes shut.

He deserved that.

Dream’s eyes bore into his soul. He just wanted to apologize, to fix his mistakes. But of course he couldn’t do anything right. Even when he tried to make things better he failed. He deserved a lot more than a slap to the face.

Tommy waited for Dream to say something, say anything. The disappointed silence wrapped around his cortex. The floor of the theatre creaked underneath them, performers and stage hands cleaning up after another success. His feet sunk into the hardwood like the weight of an anchor dragging him into the sea.

Just say something, Tommy begged.

But Tommy never got what he wanted.

The door closed with a splintering slam that scraped against his brain. He couldn’t breathe in the silence, suddenly feeling very much alone. He fell onto his bed and pushed himself into the corner of his room as he gathered the thin sheets around him. The blankets couldn’t replace Tubbo’s warm hugs. They couldn’t replace Ranboo’s gentle fingers against his scalp. His head hurt. His stomach begged for food.

He curled in to himself, head settling between his knees.

Tommy chuckled as he rubbed tears off his cheeks. “‘I’m not most people.’ What an idiot. . .”

In the quiet of the attic, alone with his thoughts and the off-white sheets, Tommy laughed quietly to himself at the words of a stranger.

Chapter Text

Tommy held the prop swords close to his chest as he dashed down the hall. The red rug folded under his shoes, and he let out a laugh. He wanted to shout, but held back the victory dance for when he escaped. Sliding through a door, he almost ran into Bad who gasped in surprise.

“Tommy, Tommy! Don’t run! Hey!”

Tommy kept running, because he was a big man who didn’t listen to bitches who dressed up like the devil. He turned around and tried to flip him off, but the swords got in the way.

“Fuck you, Bad!”

“LANGUAGE!”

His laugh drowned out Bad’s protests as he skidded through another hall. The Magic House could have been a maze if Dream wanted to turn it into one, the passages and hallways blurring together into a jumbled mess. But after living in it for five years, Tommy knew the halls like the back of his hand.

And it was a good thing.

“TOMMY INNIT! BRING THE FUCKING SWORDS BACK!”

Tommy was the master of witty comebacks (Ranboo would totally agree with him and not sigh and shake his head), so he could have easily hit Tubbo with the most ingenious insult that would have sent Tubbo to his knees in shame. The only problem with that meant he had to yell. And yelling meant giving away his position. Giving away his position meant losing his super pog swords. And Tommy wasn’t dumb enough to do that.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want to face the wrath of Tubbo Underscore. Absolutely nothing.

Tommy slid through another door and shut it behind him. He pressed himself as close to the wall as he could. His heartbeat thudded in his ear with a steady rhythm, growing louder and louder and—

“TOMMY!” Tubbo shouted right outside the door.

Tommy froze and held his breath. How in the name of everything holy had he gotten here so quickly?!

Silence seeped through the wall, Tommy listening to Tubbo’s heavy breathing and his angrily tapping foot.

“Tommy, I’m serious! I have to make sure those are ready for tonight! Jack’s gonna kill me! You know how he is about his props!”

He bit his lip as he tried to hold back his laughter. He wished he could use his hand to keep his mouth shut.

Tubbo groaned and stomped down the hall. Several doors opened and shut, but the noise faded, leaving Tommy alone.

A satisfied smirk crossed his face. “Big Man Tommy strikes again,” he whispered to himself. Hoisting the swords closer to his chest, he turned to leave the room from the opposite door—

—and stepped into the grand lobby of Dream’s Magic House.

Something sunk in Tommy’s stomach, but he pushed it aside. Sure, he wasn’t ever allowed to be in the lobby without Dream by his side, but that was during production nights. It was early in the afternoon, crisp, yellow sunlight trickling over fancy rugs and carved pillars. The sun actually reached the Magic House in this room. Giant skylights welcomed the sun with wide arms, and Tommy smiled up at the beams. The room sang at his arrival, beckoning him closer in, closer in, closer in.

And who was Tommy to say no?

He skipped into the lobby, twirling around with the swords before letting them fall on the carpet with a clatter. The sound echoed off the rafters, and a thought struck him: this lobby would be the perfect place for a sword fight.

Tommy rummaged through the discarded swords, inspecting the handles and blades to find the sword that was meant for him. That’s how all the stories went after all. The hero chose the perfect sword that had a super badass name. A sword with a red gem in the hilt caught his eye, and he grabbed it. The sunlight flashed off the blade. He tilted it and saw his wide-eyed reflection.

“Sick,” he whispered.

He flourished the sword, widening his stance like he’d seen actors do on stage. That had been years ago, after sneaking into a theatre one night when the wind was too cold and the theatre was too warm. Actors and actresses wielded swords with ease, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to join them. The sword weighed his hand down like a good-sized stone.

“Ha, ha!” Tommy pointed the sword at a patch of sunlight that weaved its way around a pillar. “You wanna fight, bitch? I’ll stab the shit out of you!” He slashed at the light, twirling around—

And almost stabbing a guy in the throat.

Tommy did not scream. He did not fall backwards on the pillar with shrieks that were way too high to be considered natural. He was the biggest of big men, and big men don’t scream.

That made the man in front of him a very small, very tiny man.

The man’s scream matched Tommy’s in pitch, and he stumbled back, hands flying in front of his face.

“What the fuck!” He pulled his hands down to reveal wide brown eyes and crooked wire-rimmed glasses. “What the fuck, man!”

“You can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!” Tommy snapped. The sword clattered on the ground when he let go of it.

“Ugh, man.”

Tommy watched the man nervously pacing the room. He looked. . .familiar. Dark brown curls hung over his forehead and twisted at the nape of his neck. A blue scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders, contrasting the black turtleneck underneath. He wore a pair of those dumb plaid pants that were purposefully cropped above the ankles to show off his socks. Socks that had orcas on them? Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Your socks are dumb.”

The man stopped and squinted at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said,” Tommy crossed his arms, “your socks are dumb. They look stupid.”

He leaned over to check his socks as if the pattern had changed since he put them on. Wow, this guy really woke up and chose orca socks, huh?

“I dunno, I think orcas are pretty cool.” He shrugged. “A much better animal than anteaters.”

“Ant—” Tommy burst into laughter, his head hitting the pillar with a thud. “Why—why the fuck—”

“They’re idiotic creatures! Freaks of nature! I don’t—stop laughing, you gremlin!”

Tommy wheezed one last time and shook his head in hands. He looked up at the man who was smiling at him, a huge, genuine smile that made Tommy’s stomach feel weird. And not the “I haven’t eaten in three days” weird. A weirdness that Tommy couldn’t place.

Suddenly, the brown eyes and hair clicked into place. “You’re the dude from last night. The one who fucking went into an employee’s only zone.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Guilty as charged, I guess. Tommy, right?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, and you’re, I don’t know, fucking Winston or something.”

“Winston?!”

“Watson then?”

“Watson?!”

“It started with a ‘w,’ I don’t know!”

It was the man’s turn to laugh now, a giddy laugh that trickled from his mouth like the sunlight falling through the skylights. Tommy couldn’t keep himself from laughing with him.

“It’s Wilbur, you absolute idiot,” he snorted as he wiped his eyes from under his glasses. “Oh my.”
“Of course, Wilbur. A dumb name for a dumb face.” Tommy smirked. “I should have remembered.”

Wilbur groaned but held out a hand for Tommy to grab. Tommy hesitated a split second before taking the hand gratefully.

“Sorry about almost slicing your head off. Even though it is ugly.” Tommy still felt the need to apologize. It was an accident of course, but Wilbur might not have seen it that way and he might be upset, and—

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Wilbur waved his hand carelessly. “I did sneak up on you after all.”

Tommy squinted up at him. “Wait a sec. . .what are you even doing here?”

“Me?” Wilbur pointed to himself. As if there was another person in the damn room. Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you, bitch. Who else am I talking to? The rugs?”

Wilbur sputtered. “You always this colorful with your language?”

“You’re not answering the question! We’re not open right now, in case you couldn’t tell.” Tommy gestured around the empty lobby.

“Yes, I can tell, thank you very much. I have eyes.”

“Well, you sure weren’t using them last night.”

Wilbur’s face scrunched up, an emotion Tommy didn’t recognize flickering across his eyes. “I was, I just. . .uh. . .”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. He looked oddly flustered as his hands fidgeted with a woven picnic basket that Tommy had just noticed. Wilbur’s hands fiddled with the basket’s handle, eyes looking anywhere but him.

“What’s in the basket, eh? You got a bomb or something?”

“A bo—yes, Tommy, I have a bomb stored in my picnic basket, how did you know?” The bewildered, flustered look was back on his face, replacing any of the tension that had lined it earlier. “No, I don’t have a bomb. I, uh, brought lunch actually.”

“Lunch?”

Tommy knew for a fact that Wilbur did not work at the Magic House, but he guessed that it was possible for him to work somewhere nearby.

“What, you eat lunch in the Magic House for fun?” Tommy asked. “Seems like a weird place to choose, if you ask me.”

“Well, no, I don’t eat here. Usually, I mean. I actually was going to come find you.” Wilbur smiled, hoisting the basket up closer to his chest. He dug through the basket and pulled out a couple items to show him. “I’ve got some chips, oranges, and a couple sandwiches Tech made. I hope you like pb and j, gosh, that’d be bad if you were allergic or something.”

Tommy stared at him. “I’m sorry. . .what?”

“Oh fuck, you’re allergic, aren’t you.” A distressed look crossed over Wilbur’s face. “Fuck, okay, well, we still have the chips and oranges, and I think Mum put some cookies in here, so we shouldn’t starve I guess.”

Tommy felt like he had been thrown into the back seat, tossed a map, and ordered to navigate to Antarctica. Had Wilbur, a complete stranger that ignored signs (or possibly just couldn’t read), brought him lunch? Surely he was hearing things. But Wilbur kept rambling about his nonexistent peanut allergy, and Tommy could only question what the fuck was happening.

“What? No, no, I’m not allergic to fucking peanuts, dickhead! I’m fine!”

Wilbur let out the loudest sigh of relief, and Tommy was afraid he was gonna fall to the floor. “Oh thank fuck you’re not. Death, if you were—”

“Bro, will you just shut up for three seconds?!” Tommy dragged his hands across his face. This must be what Tubbo felt like when Tommy wouldn’t stop rambling about that cool dog he had seen on the street. He suddenly felt very sorry for ever getting under Tubbo’s skin ever.

Wilbur wouldn’t stop talking long enough for Tommy to get his thoughts in order. His head spun with the implications of a stranger bringing him lunch. He didn’t deserve lunch today (he didn’t deserve lunch most days, but especially today). Wilbur had to see that, right? He had been obnoxious the night before. Surely Wilbur had been annoyed with him. Right?

“You—okay, so wait. You brought me lunch?”

Wilbur scratched the back of his neck. “Um, yeah? I know it’s kinda, oh I dunno know, weird for me to bring you lunch since we met yesterday, but I wanted to. . .well, talk I guess. Sorry if I’m coming across as creepy, fuck, um—”

“No, no, no!” Tommy shouted a little louder than he expected, and both he and Wilbur winced at his voice. Fuck, so Wilbur had met him yesterday, saw something that made him want to come back (what that was Tommy had no fucking clue), and decided to reach out to him and bring lunch. And what did Tommy do? Immediately break a rule—rule four: don’t complain. He barely knew Wilbur and already he was coming across as ungrateful.

“No, it’s not weird, I’m sorry. It’s just. . .unexpected is all.” Tommy laughed nervously. “Most people find me annoying at first, ha.”

Wilbur blinked. Tommy had a weird feeling that he was searching for something, but he had no idea what. He shifted in place.

“Do people really?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shrugged. To be completely honest, he wasn’t exactly sure. He didn’t talk to a lot of people besides Tubbo, Ranboo, and Dream, and he was ninety-seven percent sure that all three of them found him annoying, if they still didn’t. After all, he was just a nuisance after all.

Wilbur sank to the ground beside Tommy and put the picnic basket in front of them. “Well, I don’t think you’re annoying.”

Half of Tommy wanted to snatch the picnic basket, but the other more reasonable half told him to not be an idiot. He intertwined his fingers together to distract himself. He had tried to eat a granola bar that morning (the first thing he had eaten since the rejected grilled cheese), and it had actually stayed down much to his surprise. But as Wilbur unpacked the picnic basket, Tommy could feel his stomach rumble unhappily. He pulled his knees to his chest.

Wilbur seemed oddly sincere when he said Tommy didn’t annoy him. Though Tommy knew it was just a pleasant lie. Adults were brilliant at pleasant lies, he had found out. Even this picnic basket was probably a pleasant lie, a gift wrapped in some kind of favor that Tommy would eventually happen to repay.

But for some reason, Tommy didn’t push him away. Something about him just felt right. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know if he wanted to.

Wilbur started pulling items out of the basket, and Tommy watched him eagerly. He didn’t feel hungry, but Tubbo said that was because his body was used to it and that it didn’t mean he shouldn’t eat. And, well, if Wilbur was willing to share, Tommy wasn’t going to say no.

“So, you work here, right?” Wilbur asked as he handed Tommy a saran-wrapped sandwich. “I mean, duh, you performed last night. Dumb question.”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, really dumb question. Wasn’t like you saw me or something.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Well excuse me for trying to make small talk. You been here for long?”
Tommy turned the sandwich over in his hands, his fingers getting caught in the saran wrap. He had been here for a while. How long ago even was it? “Uh, I dunno, like five years I think.” Yeah, that sounded right.

“Six—how old are you?”

“Sixteen.” Tommy grinned proudly.

Wilbur lowered the bag of chips, scrunching his nose. “So you’re a child?”

“Wha—no! I’m practically twenty!”

“You are nowhere close to twenty,” Wilbur said as he nodded sagely. “You’re a child, a baby, a small human.”

“I am not!” Tommy shoved Wilbur’s shoulder and made the bag of chips fall out of his lap. “If I’m a child, then you must be ancient!”

He could feel himself hesitate in panic at the action, suddenly aware that he was showing a lot of energy to someone who wasn’t Tubbo or Ranboo. He should stop. He should calm himself and reel back the comforting naturalness of being himself before he made a mistake.

“Oh please.” Wilbur picked up the bag, not phased at all by Tommy’s show of emotion or aware of the thoughts that raced through his head like a freight train. “Dad’s the one who’s old, not me. I’m only twenty-one.”

Tommy looked him over again. “Well you sure look old. You dress like a grandpa.”

“Right, says the one who’s wearing a tank top in the middle of fall,” Wilbur shot back.

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t need an old man jumper to keep me warm. I’m always warm. I am the definition of warmth and comfort in all seasons. Women know me as the Hot Man.”

Wilbur laughed the same glowing laugh and doubled over. “The Hot—do they now?”

Tommy watched him calm himself down. He’d never admit that he was grinning softly to himself. Something about making the man laugh left a warm tingle inside him. It was odd. Part of him warned that he was making a mistake. But Tommy didn’t make mistakes. He knew what he was doing.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Wilbur sighed and looked Tommy in the eye (nobody did that, his mind whispered). His nose scrunched again as he leaned a bit closer.

“You’ve got freckles?”

“Oh? Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his cheeks with his hands, suddenly very self-conscious of his face. It flushed under his fingers (no, he was not blushing, Big Men don’t blush), and he shoved his face into his elbow to hide as much as he could.

Dream hated the freckles, something about them not being good for show business. Tommy never went on stage without his face being lathered in foundation that clogged his already struggling pores. The foundation felt more like a mask plastered to his face. He guessed it made him more like Dream than he wanted to admit.

Ranboo had complimented his freckles the first time they met, Tommy remembered, and he had been the first to say something positive about them. Though, Tommy supposed, that was because Ranboo knew what it was like to feel insecure about one’s face, his own face mask a constant accessory. Tommy quickly put an end to Ranboo’s compliments, however. Dream hated them, so he should too.

This was the part where Wilbur’s true colors would show, where he’d say that his freckles ruined what would be an otherwise perfect face and that he should really keep the foundation on permanently. Tommy braced himself for the verbal impact.

“They’re. . .nice.”

Tommy snapped his head to Wilbur’s gaze. “What?”

Wilbur waved his hand in a circle around his face. “They look nice. I just didn’t see them last night, ya know? Took me off guard.”

If Tubbo was there, he would have told Tommy that he looked like a goldfish with the way his mouth hung open. Which, fuck him for thinking that. But Tubbo could say all he wanted. Heck, Ranboo could compliment his freckles all he wanted, but this dude? His head was practically spinning at the emotional whiplash he was getting from Wilbur. Who the fuck was this guy?

Tommy apparently couldn’t form a complete sentence and had left the silence hanging for too long because when he zoned back in, Wilbur was cheerfully telling him about where he worked. He talked around his sandwich, waving the item casually about. Tommy looked at his own sandwich which was finally free from the saran wrap. He wanted to take a bite. He really did. But he was still being punished for last night, so that was obviously out of the question.

He was stuck between obeying Dream and not eating the sandwich or showing gratitude to Wilbur for bringing him lunch of his own accord.

He decided that being ungrateful for once would end better.

Thankfully, Wilbur hadn’t seemed to notice his disinterest in the food, more caught up in filling the silence. Tommy listened at first since he didn’t want to be a bother and interrupt, but Wilbur was just so easy to pick on and such a fucking twat that he really couldn’t help it in the end. The conversation turned from a one-sided rant to a double-sided blade that they parried back and forth. Wilbur would complain about the train being too slow and Tommy would ask if his freakishly long legs were faster. Tommy would argue about the benefits of soda and Wilbur would mock the hundreds of cavities that probably hid in his teeth. Tommy didn’t hold back his banter, but the surprising fact was that Wilbur didn’t either. Tommy wasn’t told to act mature. Wilbur joined him in acting ridiculous.

The time passed quickly. The sunlight slowly dimmed to pinkish oranges in the skylights, not disappearing but threatening to, the early fall evenings darker than the summer evenings before it. Wilbur had long since finished his sandwich (and hadn’t mentioned Tommy’s half-eaten one), and Tommy could feel his brain start to shut down. He couldn’t keep up with Wilbur as much any more, but once again, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You have any hobbies, Tommy?” Wilbur asked. He pulled his leg up to his chin, tilting towards him.

“Pft, do I, a Big Man such as myself, have hobbies? No, no, I do not have time with all my courting of Women.”

“Oh, come on now,” he whined. “You don’t just sit around here all day, do you?”

“Already said, my time is filled with wooing Women. It’s a very serious business.”

“So when you’re not on stage, all you do is woo women?”

Tommy glared at him. “Were you not listening?”

“You don’t, I don’t know, have a magic trick yourself? You just kinda stood on stage last night.”

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. Magic tricks reeked of Dream. “Uh, no, not really into magic tricks. I hang out with Tubbo and Ranboo, I guess.”

Wilbur nodded. They had talked about the two earlier, and Wilbur seemed relieved that Tommy had friends for some weird reason. Tommy had given up trying to figure out his quirks.

“You sure?” he pushed. “You seem like a musically inclined kinda guy.”

Thoughts of Tommy’s place on the roof flashed through his head. “What makes you say that, huh? Music is for nerds. They get all excited over concerts and musicals. I mean seriously, you mention Hamilton once, and they go fucking ballistic.”

“Then you might as well start calling me ‘nerd’ then, because I happen to like Hamilton,” Wilbur scoffed.

“Of course you like Hamilton, bitch. I could tell from your Edgar Allen Poe looking ass that you had to be some kind of drama king.”

“I—it’s a good musical!”

“Whatever you say, nerd. Or,” Tommy started to smirk as an idea that Wilbur was sure to hate came to mind, “I could call you ‘Bur,’ like a mix of Aaron Burr and Wil-Bur. Which both happen to be dumb names. Dumb names for a dumb bitch.”

Wilbur stared at him, a thick silence surrounding them. His face was frustratingly blank as his eyes blinked.

Shit.

He had done it now. Tommy never knew when to stop. Never knew when he had gone too far. He pushed his jokes, his words, his personality so far just to make people like him. It never worked. It only pushed people away. It called for fake smiles and slick conversations only kept up because they had to be. Always too far. Always too pushy, too clingy. Always too bright.

And Tommy burned anyone who dared to reach for his rays.

Apologies piled behind his lips like water to a dam, threatening to spill at any movement too swift for him to stop. He hadn’t meant to, he didn’t want to lose this. He was just starting to like Wilbur, though he would die before admitting it. Something about his casual tone and encouraging presence put Tommy at ease. Ranboo and Tubbo gave off the same impression, but Wilbur. . . . Tommy couldn’t describe it, the familiarity that pulled like gravity. He wanted more. He wanted his friendship.

But Tommy knew he never got what he wanted.

“‘Bur?’” Wilbur’s voice floated through the air. “You’d call me ‘Bur?’”

Tommy nodded. He kept his eyes down. He couldn’t turn back.

“Aw, Tommy!”

“Heh? Wha—are you fucking crying!?”

Wilbur rubbed frantically at his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the tears that leaked between his fingers. “No! No, I am not! Shut up!”

Tommy had expected shouts at least and a slap at most, but crying? What was he supposed to do? He didn’t feel comfortable enough to hug the man. Heck, he didn’t even know why he was crying!

“Aw, fuck man, you can’t just say stuff like that!” Wilbur adjusted his glasses with a long sigh. He laughed slightly and looked Tommy in the eye. “You’re a sweet kid.”

What.

“What the fuck, I am not sweet! I’m a terror, a nightmare, your worst fucking enemy! Hey! Hey! You’re a bastard, a right wrong-un, you hear! I’ll clart you, just watch out!”

Wilbur cackled at Tommy’s ravings, ignoring the fists that pounded against his shoulder. Tommy tried to stay mad, he really did, but the sunlight and Wilbur’s laugh blended together in the forbidden Magic House’s lobby and everything felt right. Wilbur would leave soon. Tommy would return to the Magic House, prop swords in tow. He would crawl into his squeaky attic bed and wait for Dream’s heavy footsteps.

But right now, Tommy let himself laugh with Wilbur and let the future go.

—

Techno had counted the syllables in his poem about forty times, and he had come to a conclusion.
Writing was an idiotic passtime made for fools who hated the world and hated themselves.

Which made Techno a massive and utterly ridiculous fool.

What else was new.

He was two minutes away from tearing the poem into a thousand pieces and throwing them dramatically into the fireplace when Wilbur barged into his room and fell face down on his freshly made bed.

“You could have done that in any other room in the house, but instead you chose mine,” Techno sighed.

A muffled “yup” came from his pillow. Wilbur rolled over and stretched, the largest smile plastered on his face.

Techno blinked at him. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Wilbur asked innocently.

“‘Didn’t what,’ he says. Tell me you didn’t go back to the Magic House.”

Wilbur stared at the ceiling. His smile melted into a horribly concealed smirk as he bit his lip.
“You went back. During the day.”

“Your stress-writing sandwiches were going to waste, so why not share them with Tom—”

“I swear to the heavens, Wilbur, you’re going to get yourself arrested for stalking!” Techno ran his hands through his hair with an exasperated groan. “I’m not joking about this, man.”

“Did you know he has freckles, Tech?”

So Wilbur wanted to play the ignoring game. Wonderful. Techno rubbed his eyes.

“And he’s hilarious! He was waving around a fucking sword when I found him. Almost got my head sliced off, oh my gosh, you should have heard him scream.”

“Uh huh.” Techno turned back to his poem. The lines glared at him.

“And, and, Tech, Techno, Technoblade, he gave me a fucking nickname, Techno!” Wilbur let out a bubbling laugh. “Fuck, he said he was gonna call me ‘Bur,’ Tech!”

Techno pushed the poem under a stack of books just to get the thing out of his sight. He might as well listen to Wilbur’s crazed rantings. “‘Bur?’ Like short for ‘Wilbur?’”

He nodded. “But also like ‘Bur’ as in ‘Aaron Burr’ from Hamilton ‘cause he thinks I’m some sort of theatre nerd.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Techno raised an eyebrow.

Wilbur shot up from the bed and pointed a finger in his face. “Oh, you think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “At least the kid understands that you’re weird.”

Wilbur’s face scrunched up, but he ignored the comment and continued. “He was super nervous when he gave it to me too. Got all flustered and everything. He must have thought I wasn’t gonna like it, which is absolutely ridiculous.”

“So he calls you ‘Bur’ now?”

Wilbur’s smiles were infectious like a disease that settled in his bones. Techno woke up most mornings to his sickening smiles. But he had been off lately, Techno could tell. He was sure Dad and Mom had noticed too, but none of them had mentioned it. He’d get like that sometimes, so stuck in his own head and work that his smiles took too much effort to keep up. Wilbur, like everyone else in the Craft family, needed an inspiration source. He needed something to fuel his smile.

Techno either understood Wilbur too much or not at all, and though he didn’t get his infatuation with a magician’s hired hand, he could see the effects.

He could see Wilbur’s wide smile shine.

And he wondered what the heck was going on.

Chapter Text

He should be asleep.

Wilbur should slide into his sheets, turn the lights off, and sleep. But he couldn’t. The bed mocked him as he sat on his couch, guitar and sheet music in his lap. He shivered as the air conditioner kicked on and pulled his jumper closer.

The bed is warmer, his small voice whispered. Just go to sleep

“I can’t,” Wilbur groaned to himself.

Because his dreams were haunted with the song of an angel.

It had been a week. A week since he had seen Tommy, had spent an entire afternoon with the kid, and his stupid brain still wasn’t fucking satisfied. Wilbur knew the reason. It was a selfish reason that grated against his own morals, but it was a reason nonetheless.

He wanted to hear Tommy sing.

After spending those hours with Tommy, Wilbur could tell several things. Tommy was full of energy, overflowing with jokes and laughs and smiles that warmed him to his core. Tommy was cautious but open, who leaned toward human contact with ease. But for everything he knew about Tommy, there were a million things he didn’t know. Tommy brushed off any questions about his personal life (besides ones that had to do with Tubbo or Ranboo).

And he had definitely brushed off the music question.

Wilbur wasn’t sure if Tommy had flinched or if he had imagined the whole thing. But he did know that Tommy denied (or at least ignored) his question about music.

He avoided the fact that he liked to sing.

Because he did like to sing. A person didn’t sit on the edge of a building at three in the morning and sang with his whole heart if he hated singing. That was ridiculous. Wilbur clearly saw his smile from the street. He knew the words by heart, and his confidence was evident. But when Wilbur asked, Tommy didn’t falter. No mention of singing, no mention of any musical talent at all.

It didn’t sit right on Wilbur’s stomach.

The whole situation felt off, and Wilbur couldn’t figure out why. Not just the singing, but the way Tommy seemed flabbergasted at Wilbur offering him a simple pb and j. He would pause mid-conversation or wait quietly for a reaction before continuing with a well-timed joke. Through their whole conversation Wilbur could only see one thing: Dream’s hand crushing Tommy’s shoulder.
Wilbur stumbled off the couch, papers scattering across the room. He gently placed his guitar in its stand before rushing about his room. Shoes, scarf, jacket, phone. He was not going to be stupid again. No amount of impatience was worth another scolding from Dad. He almost stepped out of his bedroom, but a discarded red sweater caught his eye.

Red like Tommy.

Guess the extra sweater was coming too.

—

Was it dangerous being up so soon on the roof?

Yes.

Did Tommy care?

Absolutely not.

He was too over the moon to not sing, so perched on the roof he was, his heels thudding against the brick wall. He had no idea why Wilbur’s visit had lifted his mood so much. Maybe it was the carefree tone Wilbur used instead of the stuffy, grown-up tone most adults used when talking to him. Maybe it was the lack of pressure to behave and the lack of Dream looming over his shoulder. Or maybe it was the fact that someone beside Tubbo or Ranboo wanted to sit and talk with him, no strings attached. Maybe it was all three. Tommy didn’t really care at this point, satisfied to bask in the warmth left over from that afternoon.

“Fly me to the moon.”

Thud thud on the wall.

“Let me play among the stars.”

Tommy leaned forward and belted the song into the night. Singing was the only way he could release the bubbling happiness in his chest, otherwise he would implode. He could only talk about his afternoon so much before Tubbo looked like he was going to bash his head into the wall and Ranboo almost dozed on the couch (and that was after about two hours of him rambling). The lyrics tasted sweet like fruity candy that stuck to his palm on a humid spring evening.

“Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”

He had made a promise to himself one night, when the attic’s walls loomed like prison bars and the bruises felt like battle wounds, that he would fly. At the time, he was too young to realize that a human being could not fly. But the promise still rang in his head at the drone of every plane or the whip of every helicopter.

“In other words, hold my hand.”

Tommy wiggled his fingers against the concrete.

“In other words, baby, kiss me.”

He made a funny face and lowered his voice like one of the bass singers he had heard on one of those records that would play at the Bookstore. He’d sit out there a lot, listening to old classics while two carefree kids danced about with an older sister. The tone rumbled through his chest as he laughed. Something about the song’s lyrics and the silly, deep voice relaxed him even further.

“Fill my heart with song—”

Something in the back of his mind warned him that he was singing too loud, that if he kept this up, Dream would reappear on the stairs behind him, fist raised and lips curled, and—

“—and let me sing forevermore.”

So maybe he choked the line out more than sang, but who was there to prove it? It was just Tommy, his song, and the sky, his emotions buried deep within his chest. He wasn’t going to think about Dream. He wasn’t going to let the “what if’s” of the future sour his mood. Dream could lock him up, for all Tommy cared, but he wouldn’t stop singing. He couldn’t stop singing.

“You are all I long for, all I—”

The roof door squeaked.

His heart froze.

Tommy was reckless, he’d be the first to admit. He had kicked and screamed at Dream’s rules, hated every angry word thrown at his pride. But Dream knew how to reign in his recklessness, make him more “likable.” He was supposed to be the magician’s rabbit after all, perfect in every word, posture, and appearance. That’s why he didn’t deserve nice things. That’s why he didn’t deserve warm meals. Because he was so supposed to be the very picture of obedience. Being reckless tossed all of Dream’s hard work to the side.

And Tommy had broken that picture of perfection.

Again.

Once was enough. He had already broken the rule the other night. But he was too reckless. He was so confident in his own abilities and so blinded by his own selfish happiness that he doomed himself.

In short, Tommy was fucked.

He glanced around the roof, but was there really any use in hiding? He had already been caught and hiding never made anything better. His lungs began to burn before he realized he wasn’t breathing. Cursing between ragged breaths, Tommy pulled himself off the ground. His heart pounded against his chest, demanding him to run, to hide, to get as far away from Dream. Sharp pounds vibrated through his head. He couldn’t see straight. He shut his eyes.

Just go away, Tommy begged. Please. Just this once. He stepped back, each one sending a twisting guilt through his stomach. He couldn’t get enough air. He needed to breathe. He needed to surface out of his own panic just long enough to think. He had to answer Dream clearly, his answers honest and quick, otherwise everything would get so much worse so very fast. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t catch his breath. He choked.

“W-wait—” He didn’t recognize his own voice leaving his lips. Trembling and hoarse. He could explain. He could. He needed a second. He needed to explain. He needed to breathe.

A shadow ran over Tommy’s figure, his shaking hands darkened under Dream’s gaze. The magician didn’t speak as he let the silence flow into Tommy’s lungs and choke him. Tommy wanted to beg for forgiveness that he didn’t deserve. It wouldn’t work, he knew that. But he couldn’t stop the urge.

Dream stepped closer and Tommy stepped back. He wished he would stop coming closer. His presence sucked the air out from around him. Tommy gasped as something warm and wet rolled down his cheeks. The breeze brushed against his face, and the cooling, brief relief forcing more tears to his eyes.

“Tommy?”

He flinched back at Dream’s worried, tender tone. It was fake, fake, fake, his mind screamed. A trap, a ploy. Dream was never truly kind, only harsh words and actions wrapped in shiny paper enticing him to tear it open. He wouldn’t fall for it—he was smart, as all Big Men were.

“Tommy? Hey, it’s—it’s me.”

He froze, heart roaring in his cars. Of course now he chose to listen. A lot of good it would do him. Dream’s voice was full of panic, worry dripping from his tone. That. . .that wasn’t right. Dream never panicked. Dream never worried. Why start now? Tommy tried to focus, he really did. The city lights swirled his vision. His quick breaths plugged his ears.

“You need to breathe, Tommy. Can you do that for me? Just a breath.” Dream’s voice cracked.

Tommy hiccupped, unable to stop the sobs that racked his body. The punishment was so much worse when Dream acted kind. The pain was so much sharper, the heartbreak so much more real. Ranboo had said once that it was possible for a person’s heart to physically break from sorrow. Tommy didn’t think his heart could handle that.

“Come on, Tommy, you can do it. Just a breath.”

Tommy saw Dream spread his arms as he crouched, height obscured behind long legs. (But Dream’s legs weren’t that long, Tommy’s mind reminded him. Dream never crouched to the floor. He never left himself so open.) The concern in his voice was so tender and fond, Tommy didn’t know what to do. He bit his tongue.

“I won’t hurt you, Tommy, I swear. You’re okay. It’s alright.”

If he could catch his breath, he would scream angry accusations through his tears. How dare he say that he wouldn’t hurt him? Dream always admitted that his punishments hurt—they were supposed to. But now he has the audacity to promise safety? He sucked in a short, pained breath.
“I promise you’re safe,” he said as if he had read Tommy’s mind. “I won’t hurt you. Fuck, I would never.”

The hurt that dripped from Dream’s voice felt so real and so genuine that, despite all of Tommy’s stubbornness and resolutions, he felt his body stumble towards the man, unable to say anything around his cries.

“Oh, there you go, dear boy. Good job, you’re doing so well.”

He didn’t think he could cry louder.

He was always falling short. He was never enough. And he knew that. There were so many areas he could improve on, but no matter how hard he tried, he still failed. He was used to it. He could live with that. So why, why, when Tommy couldn’t keep his panic hidden, would Dream say he was doing a good job? He knew he wasn’t. So why?

“Oh, Tommy. Can I hug you?”

If he was in a right state of mind, Tommy would have killed himself for the whine that came from his throat. He was never offered a hug.

So he took it.

Tommy collapsed in Dream’s arms, gripping his sleeves for dear light. He dug his fingers into the soft sweater—a sweater that Dream would never wear. He gasped and pushed back. This wasn’t Dream. It wasn’t him. It was someone else.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Breathe for me, Tommy. Come on, take a breath with me.”

The stranger lightly held onto Tommy’s forearms. The touch sent tingles down his spine. He took an exaggerated breath, and Tommy subconsciously copied him. He held the breath for so long that Tommy’s vision began to swim. And then the stranger released it, leaving him gasping for air.

“You’re doing so well, Tommy. Let’s go again.”

The next time he guided Tommy through his breathing, he counted, a steady tracker of how much time was passing. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight. Each set became easier. He could feel his head clear, though he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. He kept them closed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see who was in front of him. He wasn’t sure he could hide his embarrassment.

He could breathe now. The exercises were simple now. In place of the counting, the stranger was humming a random tune with no clear direction. It sounded familiar.

“You with me, Tommy?”

And then he knew who it was.

Tommy lifted his head to meet Wilbur’s hot chocolate eyes, warm and sweet with all the comfort of a fireplace and not the chill of the night air. It made sense now. The soft, kind words. The relaxed, worried posture. It wasn’t Dream. It was Wilbur. His hands still rested on his arms, but his grip was a perfect mix between loose and firm, telling him he could back away if he wanted, but encouraged him to stay. He wanted to ask what he was doing here, how he had even got here, but his tongue sunk to the bottom of his mouth.

Wilbur smiled. “Hey.”

Tommy wanted to reply, he ached to reply, but it came out in a broken sob as he fell into Wilbur’s chest. (He shouldn’t be so trusting. He shouldn’t fall into a stranger’s arms. But the stranger’s arms were more comforting than the magician’s.)

He was afraid Wilbur would push him out of the mock hug, but after a second, Wilbur’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. His sweater smelled like espresso and Tommy buried himself deeper into his hold.

One of Wilbur’s arms fell from the hug, and Tommy tensed. He messed up. He knew he shouldn’t have fallen for soft words and gentle touches. Everything came with a price, Dream had said.

But the hand dragged through the curls at the nape of his neck, and Tommy broke.

His throat hurt from sobbing so much (he wished he could stop). He didn’t know how long he had been crying, but everything hurt. His chest hurt from heaving. His head was fully aching now, and still he couldn’t stop. Part of what little rationality he had left told him he had been keeping this in: the crying fits demanded to be let loose but Tommy always denied them. Crying meant punishments got worse so he held back.

He guessed that all that holding in finally meant he had to pour out.

Wilbur didn’t say anything. He scratched at his hair and hummed softly as if a strange boy wasn’t crying his heart out into his arms. His free hand rubbed lazy circles across his shoulder blades, and Tommy curled deeper into him. He should feel embarrassed. He should feel confused. But he could only feel exhausted.

“How you doing?” Wilbur asked when Tommy’s cries had melted to hiccups and sniffs.

“I. . .I’m s-sorry.” Tommy rasped, voice raw. “I didn’t m-mean—”

“No, no, no. No apologies, Tommy. You haven’t done a thing wrong.” He pulled Tommy a little closer. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you, I’m sorry.”

Tommy shook his head. “It’s m-my fault. ‘Should—shouldn’t be up here in the first, the first place.”

Wilbur made a confused noise. “The roof? You’re not supposed to be here?”

Tommy tensed in Wilbur’s hold. He couldn’t tell Wilbur about the rules, he couldn’t, because than Wilbur would tell Dream, and Dream would find him and he’d be in even more trouble and—

“Breathe, Tommy, breathe. It’s alright.” Wilbur’s voice cut his spiral off.

He exhaled shakily. “S-sorry.”

All of Wilbur’s gentle movements paused as his hands pulled away from Tommy. He could feel his heart rate rise. Wilbur—ever so slowly and tenderly—pushed his shoulder back so the two could look at each other. Tommy immediately flushed. He knew he looked awful, red eyes and snotty nose, not at all what Dream would call perfect. He stared at Wilbur’s face as long as he dared before looking at his lap.

“You don’t have to apologize, Tommy, I’m serious,” Wilbur whispered. “It’s okay if you’re up here on the roof—”

“No, it’s not!” Tommy cried. He didn’t understand. “I’m not, I’m not supposed to be out of the attic, I’m not. I wasn’t supposed to be here Tuesday night either.”

“You weren’t?” It wasn’t an accusing question, just a clarifying one.

“No.” Tommy’s voice sank. “I wasn’t.”

They sat in silence, car horns drifting to the roof to try and fill the gap. Wilbur’s hands stayed on his shoulders, his thumbs rubbing against them. Tommy could feel himself slump back into Wilbur’s arms, but he inhaled and sat back up. He tried to blink the haze away.

“P-please don’t, don’t tell Dream. I—”

“Tommy.” Wilbur’s hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks, gently brushing wet splotches from his face. “I’m not going to tell Dream. You. . .I’m not. . .I won’t tell him. You’re fine.”

Tommy inhaled and looked Wilbur in the eyes. His head screamed at him to look away, but he had to know Wilbur’s reaction. He expected a neutral face, one planning to give him away no matter what he said, or a mischievous glint in his eye, expecting a favor some time down the road. But Wilbur’s face was filled with the same kind of worry Ranboo would wear when he didn’t think Tommy was looking. Something else was mixed with it, but Tommy didn’t know what it was. Not disgust or apathy, but concern? But it wasn’t just concern. He didn’t know, and his head was starting to hurt from thinking too hard.

Wilbur tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. He scrunched his face differently than Dream.

“Tommy?”

“Do you promise?”

Tommy hated how his voice went all wobbly and vulnerable after a good cry (it was another reason he never cried). His voice was always so raw and scratchy, definitely not attractive in the slightest. He shouldn’t be talking, but he wanted to know. He needed Wilbur’s promise. If he snitched on him. . .

Tommy wasn’t sure what he’d do.

However, Wilbur’s face instantly softened, and he lowered his hands to Tommy’s and squeezed. “I promise,” he said. His face slipped from gentle to firm—not stern or threatening, but resolute and dripping with determination. “He won’t find out from me.”

Was it smart to trust a man he had spent one afternoon with? A man he barely knew?

Probably not.

But Tommy never was one for common sense.

A sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding escaped, and Tommy slumped forward. Exhaustion had settled in his bones and now all that Tommy could think of was how tired he was. It had been a long day, one Ranboo would probably call “emotionally draining.”

Wilbur’s thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of his hands. Tommy sighed. The night air sent chill bumps climbing up his arms. He should be cold, but his chest tingled with an unknown warmth. An abrupt laugh echoed down one of the nearby alleyways. Tommy imagined a couple of friends kicking around one of the twenty-four hour convenience stores. He hoped they were warm.

“Tommy?” Wilbur squeezed his wrists gently, but the pressure jolted him out of his sleepy trance. He yanked his hands back to his chest, blinking stupidly at Wilbur, but he made no move to grab them again though as he sat back on his heels. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Yeah, well usually having a panic attack and then crying your eyes out will do that,” Tommy said dryly but with no real spite. He had the sudden urge to sweep every event that happened under the rug. He had to blot tonight out of Wilbur’s mind. Tommy stood up and swayed a bit but managed to keep his balance. Wilbur quickly copied him, hands reached out to catch him from falling, Tommy guessed. But he was fine. He had his annual cry and now it was back to being annoying and obnoxious. “It’s time for me to go to bed, anyways. Got Big Man stuff to do tomorrow.”

Wilbur frowned. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m just gonna get in bed.” He waved him off and smiled. “Really, I’m good.”

He knew he wasn’t very convincing. In all honesty, he probably looked like Death had given him a kiss, but he had looked worse. Wilbur didn’t look happy with his response, but thankfully didn’t push him.

“O-okay. Okay. That’s. . .that’s fine.” Wilbur shoved his hands into his pockets and gave him a weak smile in return. “Just. . .get some rest, okay?”

Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. He was just too tired. Instead he nodded and walked past Wilbur to the roof door. Tommy could have sworn Wilbur leaned closer to him, but when he looked, Wilbur watched him leave with the same tenderness he had been using all evening. Tommy opened the door. He should just go to bed.

But he might have messed this up.

He felt a desperation crawl into his lungs, rattling in his bones. Tommy wasn’t allowed to have nice things—he always messed them up after all. And Wilbur? He was just another nice thing, another relationship he didn’t deserve. Yet, Wilbur had sat and talked all afternoon with him about nothing and anything and everything in between. He didn’t treat him like a caged rabbit with no control. He had brought food and expected nothing in return. And Tommy ruined it with one simple panic attack.

Right?

A small part of his brain scolded him. Wilbur wasn’t like that. He hadn’t pushed him away when Tommy had collapsed in his arms. He held him. Really held him, not a restraining grasp that promised no escape, but a warm wrapping that calmed every nerve in his body. He didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t think he could lose it.

With a deep breath and crossed fingers, Tommy turned to Wilbur and gave him a small smile. “Uh, see you later?”

He wouldn’t answer. Tommy would be better if Wilbur didn’t answer.

But Wilbur grinned so brightly Tommy swore he saw moonbeams reflecting off his pale face.

“See you later, Tommy.”

He blinked.

And climbed through his bedroom window, breathless laughter tangled in his throat.

—

The pure relief that washed over Tommy’s face almost wiped all of Wilbur’s guilt away. His crystal blue eyes sparkled brighter than they had all day, and then he was gone. Wilbur could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs before fading into the night.

Wilbur threaded his fingers through his curls and pulled as he forced himself to breathe. Tommy had been terrified, panicked over something so simple for no reason. He had broken down so quickly that Wilbur had been left reeling, struggling to calm him down. No one, no one, deserved to have such a terrible breakdown. Wilbur could remember familiar experiences that he had on the streets. Those were the days where Wilbur could only rely on himself. He had no one to calm him down. Just like Tommy.

Wilbur focused on steadying his breathing, using the same method he had guided Tommy through.
He sat there, surrounded by the night with his arms curled around himself like he was the child. Because that’s all that Tommy was. A child thrown into a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

There was so much that Wilbur didn’t know. Why did Tommy not want anyone to know? Why couldn’t he be on the roof? Or sing? Why was he so terrified of Dream? Wilbur had puzzle pieces but no box. The mystery clawed at his brain, demanding for an answer that he didn’t have. He had no way to fix any of this and it frustrated him. The sorrow and panic was gone now, replaced by a fierce protectiveness that reminded him of the time Techno had been accused of cheating on that dumb algebra test. It should have scared him, the attachment that latched onto his senses, but it didn’t. It settled comfortably in his stomach.

He had almost called him angel several times. It weighed on his tongue, but Wilbur didn’t dare speak it. He wanted to—oh how he wanted to—but he couldn’t ignore Tommy’s obvious distress and decided against it. Dad would be proud for keeping his emotions in check, but the longing to tell Tommy what he truly thought of him was overbearing.

But trust was fragile right now, a spider’s silk slowly threading its way between Wilbur and Tommy, beautiful in its own way but so easily broken. He had vowed to keep Tommy’s secret safe. Not just the rooftop, but his singing too. Something told Wilbur to keep that especially hidden. Wilbur’s possessiveness clung to his bones, begging him to just take Tommy home.

Because Wilbur didn’t just promise to keep Tommy's secret—he promised to keep Tommy safe. Tommy didn't know it yet, and it might be a while before Wilbur could probably explain it to him, but he was already wrapped in Wilbur's protective hold.

He was attached now, and he was going to uncover the Magic House’s secrets.

Chapter Text

“One two three, one two three.”

Tommy kept his eyes on his feet, not daring to look anywhere else.

“One two three.”

He stumbled as he stepped backwards.

“Keep moving!”

He bit back a “what do you think I’m doing?” and focused back on his feet. It wasn’t the time for witty comebacks. He was Tommy Innit after all, the biggest—

“One two three, one two three.”

Tommy bit back a groan. He couldn’t let his mind wander. Not while Dream stood in the corner of the room keeping time as Tubbo played the piano. Tubbo was a brilliant pianist, music spilling easily from his fingertips. He didn’t have the chance to play often, but Tommy knew if he could practice more, he would be a famous pianist in no time at all.

Tommy also knew if he glanced at Tubbo’s face, he would see annoyance carved into his features.
Dream didn’t let Tubbo play the piano except for large events like the one this Saturday. He was the only member of the Magic House who could play well enough to be considered “worthy” for such a large audience.

Dream and his stupid perfection complex meant the party would be filled with only the best. Which meant the best pianist. And him.

Tommy couldn’t mess up.

They had run through the waltz at least a dozen times by this point. The sun hung directly overhead, light dancing with Tommy on the hardwood floors. Tommy liked to imagine he was waltzing with the rays. Up, left, down, right in perfect timing. He reveled in the warmth in his toes that his sunny partner brought.

He either basked in the sun or huddled in the shade of Dream’s icy gaze.

Because today, Dream wasn’t wearing the mask.

It didn’t happen often. Tommy knew that he only wore it to hide the true ugliness that was underneath. His nose was straighter than a ruler, and his eyes catalogued every movement. Tommy was positive the magician had never smiled a day in his life. Was he human? Probably not. A human actually had common decency. Dream had no decency, not even the common kind. Tommy could never decide if he wanted to see Dream with the mask or without it.

Tubbo’s fingers skipped up the piano keys as Tommy glided into the final moments of the dance. He counted the tempo with Dream. One two three. His steps were light and airy, like he was floating through the air instead of thudding on the ground. The crisp, inside air that smelled like long-settled wood and hints of cedar flooded his lungs. If he closed his eyes, Tommy could feel clean night wind wrapping around his arms. He bowed low on the last note, feeling the vibrations fade into the room.

“Well done, little rabbit.”

Tommy flinched at Dream’s sudden proximity. He towered behind him as he placed a bony hand on his shoulder. Tommy felt suddenly hot.

“You’re going to make me proud this Saturday, aren’t you?” Dream murmured. He moved his hand to Tommy’s hair, fingers twisting the existing curls tighter.

Tommy swallowed but didn’t move. “Yes, sir.”

Dream smiled. Well, he did what most people would call a smile. Tommy saw the display of teeth as a warning wrapped in gentleness, hypocrisy at its finest.

Dream shifted his gaze to Tubbo. “You can leave now.”

Tubbo scowled (he always had more courage than Tommy). He slowly rose from the piano and raised an eyebrow at Tommy. Tommy smiled lopsidedly, a silent I’ll be fine, whispered in his face. Tubbo rolled his eyes but got the message and gathered his music. A mix of worry and anger crossed his face when he looked at Dream, quickly disappearing as he left Tommy and Dream alone.

Tommy gulped. “’Ow do?”

Dream stared at him unimpressed. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Tommy blinked. “Huh?”

Dream grabbed Tommy’s wrists and placed one on his shoulder and the other on his hip. Dream then placed his right hand on Tommy's back, sending tingles up his vertebrae. From a distance, the scene looked laughable. Tommy was slightly taller than the magician, but Dream still took the leading position of the waltz. Nerves burned at Tommy’s spine. He willed himself to stay where Dream placed him.

“You’re too reliant on the music. You look like you’re dancing alone.” Dream’s poison eyes searched his face. “You’re too loose.”

“Yeah, no duh, I’m dancing by myself. I don’t know what you expect,” Tommy spat.

A hand grabbed his chin and Tommy yelped from the pain. Dream yanked his head down to meet his eyes that bore into what Tommy felt was his very soul. Hot and cold rushed over his skin. He bit his tongue, heart pounding at his rib cage. Surely Dream could hear the panic coursing through his veins.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m too loose. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tommy couldn’t stop himself from rambling out apologies. He was breaking rule two: don’t talk back. Oh, he was an idiot! He needed to keep his stupid mouth shut. He wondered how many of his problems could be solved if he didn’t say anything.

Tommy waited for the slap or the shove, but it never came. Dream’s fingers steadily held onto his chin as he searched his face lazily. It reminded Tommy of a book Ranboo had been reading him and Tubbo. Something about a cougar stalking its prey in the Appalachian Trail. That would be accurate, wouldn’t it? If Tommy was a rabbit, then Dream was a cougar.

“It’d be a shame if something happened to you so close to performance,” muttered Dream, almost as if Tommy wasn’t in front of him. “I won’t teach you a lesson today, little rabbit. But don’t test me again. Be grateful that I’m giving you mercy.”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Tommy sighed as his shoulders dropped. “Thank you, Dream.”

Dream only hummed and let go of his chin, resuming their positions in the waltz.

“Try again, from the top. Focus on me and don’t forget what you’re doing.”

Tommy mumbled out a “yes sir” and Dream began to count again. His voice echoed through the empty room. The steps came easily enough, but Tommy missed the comfort of knowing Tubbo was with him. Now it was just him and Dream, who was far too close for comfort. Dream ate into Tommy’s space and left him no room to breathe. He moved faster than the normal tempo of the waltz. Tommy struggled to follow him.

Tommy melted into the waltz. Focusing on Dream would escalate his panic, so he didn’t focus on him. As he sucked in a breath, he stopped thinking about why he was dancing and instead on the dancing itself. If he thought about the why, panic would grip him by the throat and choke all rationality out of him. He liked to dance almost as much as he liked to sing, but dancing for Dream?
Though thinking about his feelings made him sick, Tommy admitted quietly that he felt like Dream’s rabbit when he danced. He was nothing more than an animal on display, stumbling after Dream’s instructions.

Dream stopped, and Tommy had to catch himself from falling into Dream’s chest. How he knew the waltz was over, he had no idea, and he was smart enough not to ask for once. Dream withdrew his hands from Tommy’s back. Tommy’s knees buckled a little at his release, every bone in his body screaming in joy that finally, finally the distance between predator and prey had lengthened. But he kept his face carefully neutral and his body still.

Thankfully, Dream seemed to notice his composure and nodded.

“Better, I suppose. We may practice later today, but I have other things to do.”

Better things to do, Tommy’s mind supplied and he frowned. An ache pounded through his chest before he could stop it. Was he too slow? Should he have focused on Dream more? Fuck, he shouldn’t have zoned out in front of Dream. Maybe he would have been prouder if Tommy had given him his full attention. Guilt mixed with the ache, and Tommy bit his lip. Should he say something? Maybe—

“Keep yourself presentable today.” Dream brushed a stray hair out of his face before turning to leave. A simple warning—don’t bruise yourself pulling a stupid stunt. “Oh, and rabbit?”

Tommy stayed glued to the center of the room, watching Dream’s figure linger in the doorway. Dream’s hand curled around the doorframe in a familiar way, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to cause discomfort but not to bruise. He looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting in the shadow of the alcove. Tommy’s heart was too loud again. The beating hammered through his head.
“You’re still not allowed any lunch today.”

Dream smiled.

“Bye bye, rabbit.”

Tommy didn’t move when the door shut softly. He didn’t move when he heard Dream’s footsteps disappear into the Magic House. He didn’t move when a bird landed on the skylight and its shadow hopped across the floor in front of him.

And then he bolted.

Not the way Dream went, oh no, Tommy wasn’t stupid, but backwards, farther into the front of the Magic House and away from Dream’s office. He knew where he needed to go. Not to the basement where Tubbo, who was sure to be too angry to calm his nerves, and Ranboo, who had a mountain of costumes to mend, were. Not to the roof while the sun was still out.

To the lobby.

Tommy ignored the guilt that stabbed through him. He wanted the quietness of the hall mixed with warm sunlight. It was a place where he could think, a place he had only been to once outside of performing. It wasn’t the place, Tommy knew that deep in his heart. It was the small inkling of hope that maybe, just maybe, Wilbur would be there. To laugh and distract him from the dance and the performance and the pressure. But he pushed those thoughts aside. He wasn’t going for Wilbur because Wilbur wouldn’t be there. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

He skidded past the door and slammed his body into the paneling, wincing as the sound echoed through the empty room. He froze. No sounds came from behind the door. Clanks and voices came from further in, but nowhere near the lobby. Tommy took a deep breath and chuckled in relief.

“Bitch,” he whispered to his guilty conscience. “Can’t feel bad about a bitch.”

Tommy walked backwards from the door, chest still heaving from adrenaline. A thought of “it’s not over yet” flashed through his head, but he cursed at it and turned into the room. He would deal with his actual performance tomorrow. Worry wasn’t a part of Tommy’s personality.

He breathed in the lobby air. The air smelled cleaner than the practice room, less like heavy anticipation and dusty piano keys and more like a greenhouse without humidity. The floor clicked under his shoes. A grin stretched across his face and he was yanking his shoes and socks off as fast as he could.

Tommy may have thrown his shoes a little too hard since they bounced off one of the pillars and almost hit him in the head. Luckily, he was a Man of fast reflexes and skill so he dodged like a professional boxer before the shoes could smack him across the face. He frowned at them.

“No reason to be rude,” he scolded.

He wandered around the lobby. The beams overhead cut the sunlight into shapes, and Tommy skipped over the shadows as he roamed. He didn’t know why he was lingering. Maybe he enjoyed the freedom, the stress melting off his shoulders.

Maybe he was waiting for someone.

It was a dumb idea. Tommy had accepted that Wilbur wasn’t coming back. Who would? A kid, a stranger at that, is singing early in the morning on a roof of all places and then when you try to interact with him said kid has a panic attack in your arms. Yeah, Tommy wouldn’t show back up either.

Another ruined relationship, he scoffed.

But for some reason that thought hurt more than normal.

Tommy wanted to fix his relationship with Wilbur. He had treated him like a human being. He treated him like he actually mattered and wasn’t just some pet to coddle and dress up. And sure, Tubbo or Ranboo didn’t do that, but when Wilbur didn’t it felt different. He barely knew Tommy but he still treated him as a person.

Wilbur treated him as a friend.

So when Tommy rounded the corner and saw Wilbur sitting against a pillar, picnic basket next to him and hands behind his head, he froze.

“What kind of Hallmark movie am I in?” Tommy whispered.

Wilbur must have heard him or something because he tilted his head toward Tommy and the biggest smile stretched across his face.

“Tommy! Hey man!” He brought his hands to the floor, fingers tapping against the hardwood. A nervous excitement danced around Wilbur’s face like he was expecting something to happen. “How are you doing?”

Tommy couldn’t help it that his body tensed. Wilbur was here, which was everything his subconscious wanted. But that meant Wilbur was here, the same Wilbur that watched him not only break down but also. . .

Fuck, Wilbur had heard him sing.

He never sang for anyone, not even Tubbo or Ranboo. And Wilbur had listened to him sing his heart out. All his emotions and pride bled into his singing, and Wilbur had heard it all. His voice was squeaky and unsteady, too high pitched and too breathy to be nice. He had been singing Frank Sinatra like a World War II vet for heaven’s sake. His singing was probably out of tune because he hadn’t been focusing on his breathing, just the words and the thrill of no mistakes. The whole song was just—

“I, um, brought lunch today.”

Tommy snapped out of his thoughts to see Wilbur opening the basket (he could have sworn Wilbur’s hands were shaking). He pulled out a tupperware bowl with a green lid.

“Mum made mac ‘n cheese last night so I brought the leftovers before Tech could eat it all.” Wilbur shook the bowl slightly as he glanced at Tommy’s face. “If you’re hungry, that is.”

Tommy stared at him.

He wasn’t mentioning last night. Hadn't even hinted at it. Tommy waited, but Wilbur only tilted his head in confusion.

“Um, you alright? I can—I can leave if you want me to. I don't want to be in the way—"

“No!”

Wilbur looked as shocked as Tommy felt. He hadn't meant to shout so loud, but the thought of Wilbur leaving sent anxiety twisting through his gut.

Don't let me ruin something else, Tommy breathed.

“Ha ha, um, no, ya know, like, it’s, it’s fine. You’re not gonna, not gonna get in my, my way, ya know?” Tommy stumbled over his words. His face warmed, heat pushing into his cheeks no matter how hard he wanted it to stop. He avoided Wilbur’s gaze. Oh, he had messed up now.

To his surprise, Wilbur laughed.

“Aw, is Tommy embarrassed? Did you want to see me that badly?” he cooed.

“I am not fucking embarrassed!” Tommy shouted, heat raging across his face. “And I don’t care about you, bitch!”

“You missed me so much!” A wicked grin spread across Wilbur’s face. “How sweet!”

“You’re imagining things! You’re a bitch! Fuck you!”

“A bitch that you missed, huh? You missed me so much—hey!”

Tommy kicked at Wilbur’s hip with his bare foot (not hard enough to hurt of course, though Tommy could hurt him without a second thought). Wilbur groaned but still managed to laugh at Tommy’s bright red face.

And Tommy felt surprisingly safe.

Cursing never ended well for Tommy. A swat to the back of the head, a privilege taken away. It wasn’t appropriate after all, Dream made sure he knew that. So he kept his swearing to a minimum around the magician. He should keep his swearing down around Wilbur as well. But Wilbur didn’t comment—he swore right back at him. He laughed and prodded, riling Tommy up even more.

He treated Tommy as his equal.

When Wilbur’s laughing died down and Tommy’s cheeks returned to their original color, Tommy slid next to Wilbur with a disgruntled but amused look on his face.

“Still weird that you’re just sitting in an empty room waiting for me,” Tommy scoffed as he crossed his arms. “Kinda creepy if you ask me.”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking you.” Wilbur elbowed him. “Didn’t think you’d say no to free food.”
Tommy glanced at the Tupperware bowl. “You said your mum made it? The mac ‘n cheese?”

“Yep!” Wilbur popped the ‘p’ loudly. “She had some free time yesterday. Home from work and all that.”

Tommy watched Wilbur pry the lid off the glass bowl and pull out a plastic fork from the basket. He handed Tommy the bowl and fork, and Tommy stabbed one of the noodles.

“Your mum too lazy to make hot mac ‘n cheese?”

“What? No, I just didn’t heat it up before I came, ang—gremlin!” Wilbur dug back into the picnic basket, but he couldn’t hide his own blush in the sunny room.

“Ha! Look who’s blushing now, Bur!” Tommy laughed. Wilbur’s head shot up as Tommy waved the fork between his wide-blown eyes. “Poor Wilbur, can’t even heat up a bowl of mac-a-roo-nee and cheeze!”

Wilbur sputtered incoherently, but Tommy paid him no mind. He took a bite of the mac ‘n cheese and stopped. It was actually really good. Not too much cheese, but enough so the noodles weren’t dry. He was reminded of how hungry he was and, despite the warnings of Dream echoing in his head, shoveled the pasta into his mouth.

“Hey, hey! Slow down! You’re gonna choke!” Wilbur grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from the bowl.

Tommy’s arm locked up, but he forced himself to relax when Wilbur’s grip stayed soft, holding instead of containing.

“Big Men don’ choke,” Tommy said around his noodles. He pointed his thumb at his chest. “’M Big Man.”

Wilbur snorted. “Yeah, sure. Just wait until you start choking. Then you’ll be sorry.”

Tommy glared at him, pulled his wrist out of Wilbur’s hand, and took another large bite of mac ‘n cheese, never taking his eyes off him.

And of course Wilbur thought it was hilarious, breaking into laughter. After he could breathe, he opened a second tupperware bowl, and the two sat in silence as they ate.

“So.” Tommy spun his fork around. He never was good with silence. “Your mum, yeah? What’s. . .what’s she like? You said she wasn’t home much?”

His nerves screamed at him for asking such a personal question. He wasn’t supposed to be asking questions at all according to rule five. The questions had slipped. He couldn’t control his mouth. He couldn’t control anything, it seemed. Always falling short. Was it so wrong to want to know more? To know what made Wilbur Wilbur? Was his mum nice? She cooked good food, so she couldn’t be that bad. Did he have a Tubbo or a Ranboo to talk to?

Did anyone treat him like Dream treated Tommy?

The thought sent rage through his chest, but he swallowed the feeling.

Wilbur hummed as he finished chewing. “Oh, she’s wonderful, absolutely great. She’s not home much because of work, but I’m not home much more than she is. Plus, we have family dinners, hence the pasta.”

“Does she work a lot?”

“Not usually. She’s got a big show coming up, so she and Dad have been really focused.” Wilbur gave him a funny look. It wasn’t a bad look necessarily, but Tommy still squirmed under his gaze. Then something shifted, like an idea flicked through his mind, and Wilbur straightened with a quiet oh. “Are you worried they’re not taking care of me?”

Tommy needed to stop flushing like a giddy school girl because this was getting ridiculous. No Big Man should blush this much.

“Absolutely not! What is it with you and thinking I care about you? Are you that self-centered, prick?”

Wilbur waved his outburst away, but he could still see the cheeky smile tugging at the bastard’s face. “Of course, of course, my bad.” He looked up at the skylight, smiling softly. “They take good care of me and Tech. I’m fine.”

Instant relief washed over him.

“Who’s Tech?” Tommy changed the subject with the expertise that only came with being a Big Man and shoved some pasta in his mouth to avoid talking. Fuck, he really was the smartest.

“My older brother, Technoblade.” Wilbur began to ramble much to Tommy’s relief. (He hadn’t messed up yet. He hadn’t pushed too far.) “He’s a hermit, never leaves the house except to go to the library like some kind of nerd. Apparently I’m ‘too loud,’” he made quotations with his fingers. “He needs it to be dead quiet while he writes, I swear.”

“He’s a writer?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah. Poetry mainly, though I think he’s in the middle of a book right now. I dunno, he won’t tell me anything about it.”

“Probably because you’d tell everyone what it was about.”

Wilbur gaped at him, but Tommy kept talking.

“You seem like the kind of guy that never shuts up.” He smirked.

“Oh, of course you would say that. You sound exactly like him, this is outrageous.” Wilbur threw up his hands.

“So are you the only one who doesn’t have a job? You mooching off your parents and brother?”
“You are the most pretentious child I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

Tommy laughed before chucking his fork at Wilbur's head. Unfortunately, his reflexes were impressively quick, and he caught the fork without even flinching.

Yo?! Tommy stared at the hand that twirled the plastic silverware mindlessly.

“For your information,” he said, still twirling the fork and raising an eyebrow at his awestruck expression, “I’m a musician. In a band, actually.”

Tommy caught his breath. A musician? A real life, actual musician? The ones that created music with light touches that danced across nylon strings and brass knobs? Wilbur could do that? His head flooded with questions. Music flooded his veins, giving life to every note that spilled from his mouth, and now, instead of wondering about music’s inner workings, he could have someone guide him through every bar and stanza. He hungered after musical knowledge with a greater ache than the physical one plaguing his stomach.

And Wilbur could just. . .make it. Without even trying.

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing, eh?” Wilbur’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Considering I’ve rendered you speechless. Either that or you’re fixing to make fun of me. Again.”

“You’re in a band? Like, like your own mini orchestra?” Tommy leaned closer causing Wilbur to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “You just do it for fun?”

“Well, yeah. It’s my job too, so I get paid and all, but yeah I do it for fun.”

Tommy’s insides churned in excitement, his heart banging against his chest. His questions left his mouth before he could think about it. He asked about crescendos and cadences and what was the difference between jazz and a waltz. He asked what instrument would be the easiest to learn and what trumpets were made of. Anything that came into his head, he asked. Dream shut down all his questions about music. Ranboo had no musical experience. Tubbo tried to explain piano, but it was hard without the instrument in front of them (and poor Tubbo wasn’t the greatest teacher, his excitement getting in the way of his ability to speak). So he asked and asked and asked until Tommy had to breathe.

He sucked in and started to ask another question, but Wilbur put a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.
“Okay, okay! Calm down, you’re gonna pass out!” His laugh cut through his words. Tommy glared at him. Bitch thought he could just shut him up. He looked at Wilbur’s hand over his mouth.

And he licked it.

“What the fuck!” Wilbur scrambled backward, frantically wiping his palm on his pants. “You just fucking licked me!”

“Yeah, well if you kept your grimy hands off my mouth, we wouldn’t be having this problem, would we?” Tommy laughed at Wilbur’s pouting face. “Answer my questions!”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

“Pl-please,” he stammered, sudden confidence flickering at his sudden seriousness.

But Wilbur chuckled and put on a frown so obviously fake that Tommy’s heart soared.

“I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?”

Each question Tommy threw at him, Wilbur answered easily, explaining each concept as if he had repeated them in his head before going to sleep at night. Tommy was sure that one question would catch him off guard and waited for the stuttering and the apologetic shrug, but it never came. To his surprise, Wilbur managed to bring up terms that Tommy had never heard before, pulling his brain into brand new directions. Tommy drank every word with wide eyes and an overflowing heart.

Something about Wilbur’s voice explaining his deepest, secret love warmed Tommy’s entire being.

“I should bring my guitar next time.” Wilbur shared the same excitement as Tommy—he could see it in the way his chocolate eyes glittered. “I could play you some songs from my band.”

Next time.

The words echoed in Tommy’s head. It was another promise. His heart leaped at the implications.

Next time.

A giddy smile danced across his face.

“I’ll hold you to it, Big Man,” Tommy laughed. “I’ll be proper ticked if you decide to never show up again.”

“Oh, I have to show up again. I need to see you back on stage.”

Tommy thought he was picking on him, joking, joshing, even. But Wilbur’s tone and smile was genuine, and that almost confused Tommy more. He hadn’t meant to be sincere, right?

His next laugh was uneasy. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“ ‘Cause you looked adorable in that rabbit costume,” Wilbur teased.

His heart plummeted to his gut.

That.

That wasn’t right.

He swallowed. “What?”

Maybe he misheard. Yeah, that was it. Wilbur was different. He wasn’t like the guests that cooed and eyed him like a piece of art. Wilbur brought him lunch and wore dumb whale socks and loved music and made promises and—

“Yeah, you’re so cute in it.” Wilbur smiled, but the soft, tender shine had vanished from his face. “Like a little bunny rabbit.”

Tommy had never seen the sunlight look so dull.

All his senses shut down, everything around him growing muffled and foggy like walking through the city streets on a late night after a thunderstorm. Except he couldn’t hear any thunder. He couldn’t hear anything at all. A scream caught in his throat, and he choked on it. The ringing in his ears sounded more like a shrill police siren.

He’d never had a panic attack hurt so much.

His hands flew to his hair and he pulled. He had to stop, he had to breathe, he had to think. He couldn’t think. The word “rabbit” echoed through his head like a taunt, mocking him for being so foolish. He thought Wilbur was different. He thought he had a friend. He thought. He should have known better than to think. He was a stupid boy anyways. He shouldn’t be allowed to think.

The collar of his shirt tightened around his throat. He clawed at the hem, trying to get it away from his skin. Air filled his lungs, but it didn’t help him breathe. The air stuffed his lungs full of cotton and fabric, a quilt of crushed hopes and confirmed fears woven together to cover his misery. He choked on threaded knots. He deserved to choke.

“—ommy, Tommy!”

He knew that voice, but it wasn’t supposed to sound so stressed and worried. It was supposed to rumble through the air and through his lungs. He opened his mouth to call for the voice and choked.
“Tommy, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Didn’t he know what happened? Couldn’t he see the panic yanking his breath away? Surely he had known. He should have seen how utterly miserable he was on stage. He had to have known.

“Please,” Wilbur’s voice cracked, “what happened, angel?”

A raspy sob finally broke free from his chest.

Angel?

Something in him broke at the nickname, said with such tenderness and care and love that Tommy didn’t know how to process it. He had had several nicknames in his life, but none of them lingered in the air with the weight that Wilbur had put on the word angel. The name overflowed with worth, and Tommy didn’t deserve any of it. Yet Wilbur’s devastated love washed over every bone in his body.

Wilbur had to have no idea. He hadn’t realized the anxiety that spiked through Tommy as he stepped through the portal. He didn’t know about the burning touches and the constant criticism that pushed him to be better, to be perfect, to be spotless. He was different, Tommy knew he was. But the mere thought of Wilbur seeing him like Dream saw him—a pet to dress up and parade around, to show off and coo over—scared Tommy more than any punishment Dream ever gave. Wilbur had to be different.

His eyes met Wilbur’s, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He had one idea, one test that would challenge Wilbur’s motives. Tommy knew how Dream would respond. That’s why he never asked. But Wilbur?

What happened, angel?

Wilbur’s dark eyes flickered over Tommy’s face nervously. He looked as panicked as Tommy felt. Tommy inhaled a shaky cry.

He had to know.

“Please fucking hold me,” he begged.

Wilbur leaned back, a startled look flashing across his face before it melted into a sorrowful worry that pricked at Tommy’s heart. For a second, he was sure Wilbur was going to recoil in disgust, telling him to “man up” and get over himself. It was just a costume. Just a stupid pet name that carried all of Dream’s expectations.

And then, when Tommy thought he had finally lost the interest of the man who had so easily slipped into his life, Wilbur launched forward and gathered him into his arms, pulling him so close to his chest that Tommy could feel his heart beat softly into his cheek. One of Wilbur’s hands pressed into the space between his shoulder blades and the other settled at the nape of his neck and scratched ever so slightly at his hairline. Tommy melted into him, every warm touch the most blessed contact he’d ever received.

His sobs didn’t stop (his chest still ached and burned from the heavy breaths that dragged against his throat), but the raging doubts in his heart stilled. They were not gone, no, they still lingered in the darkest corners of his mind and threatened to crawl into the middle of his thoughts, but they were still. Tommy could focus. So he curled into Wilbur and slowed his breathing.

The wood floor scraped his knees, and the sun shined directly onto his back, making his skin crawl uncomfortably. His arms ached from grabbing Wilbur’s sweatshirt so tightly. His hand kept slipping from his back.

And yet, in spite of being scrunched into Wilbur’s shoulder, Tommy stayed. He pushed closer. He breathed. Because Wilbur’s hold was warm and safe and, for a moment, Tommy felt like nothing in the world could harm him.

Wilbur didn’t ask what was wrong. He continued to rub his back and didn’t pull away. He held tightly, Tommy matching his hold. If Wilbur let his grip loosen, so did Tommy. If Wilbur pulled Tommy closer, Tommy pulled Wilbur closer. He wasn’t going to mess this up. If Wilbur wanted to leave, he’d let him. But Wilbur didn’t shift to get away or groan in annoyance. He held.

Seconds ticked by, and Tommy was content to let them. He listened to Wilbur hum, the vibrations buzzing in his ear. He hadn’t moved his hand from Tommy’s hair. The steady strokes of Wilbur’s fingers lulled him into a sleepy calm.

“Tommy?” Wilbur whispered.

His words sounded treacherous in the silence, the gentleness disappearing with a single sound. Tommy shuffled in Wilbur’s arms and blinked.

“Mmm?”

“What happened?” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence. Tommy couldn’t see his face clearly from his angle but he could see Wilbur’s mouth twitch.

“What?” Tommy would admit that he wasn’t thinking the clearest, considering he had a second panic attack in the span of twenty-four hours and he really wanted to curl into his bed and sleep into next week.

“You. . .I think I did something wrong.”

Tommy shifted out of Wilbur’s hold and the two looked each other in the eye. Wilbur glanced over his face with worry but something else was there too. An uncertainness flickered in his eyes, an emotion full of guilt. Tommy knew that look. He had seen it all too many times in himself.

Wilbur wouldn’t look guilty if he had called Tommy rabbit on purpose, at least, his guilt wouldn’t look so genuine if he was lying. But Tommy already knew that.

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy assured and gave him a smile. It was a sad excuse for a smile, even he knew that, but he tried to make it as convincing as possible. Wilbur didn’t buy it.

“It is my fault,” he insisted. “I did something or said something, I don’t know, and it set you off. What did I do? Please, Tommy, I need to know. I don’t want to do it again.”

“You don’t?” Tommy shouldn’t be surprised of Wilbur’s concern at this point, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around why he would be so sincere.

Wilbur looked appalled. “No! Heavens no! I never want to make you react like that. Ever.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, his hands somehow finding Wilbur’s. His thumbs ran over his knuckles just to keep himself distracted. How could he say this? How could he just tell the man how disgusting a single word made him feel? He wanted to tell him the truth but it stuck to his tongue like caramel taffy. He had to tell him.

“Dream calls me. . .that.” Tommy shifted and focused on the ridges of Wilbur’s hands. “Um, ya know. . .”

“Rabbit?” Wilbur’s voice was low and soft, barely audible in the sunlit room.

Tommy nodded as a fresh wave of shame rippled under his skin. He wiggled under his gaze.

“I’m his. . .” He couldn’t say it. It hurt too much. Because Dream cared about him. He cared for him when no one else dared, pushing past his flaws to make him into a better person. Maybe one day Tommy would graduate from a pet to a brother.

But until then, he couldn’t admit the truth.

“Oh, Tommy.” Wilbur wrapped his hand around Tommy’s, softly stopping his nervous rubbing. “I—I’m so sorry.” He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” he mumbled.

Wilbur hummed. “No, I didn’t. Doesn’t make it right.” His hands squeezed his three times. Then he looked Tommy in the eye (Dream never did that) and asked, “What else do I need to know?”

“What else?” he repeated.

“Yes, what else. What should I avoid talking about?”

Tommy lowered his eyes. Wilbur’s hands squeezed his again, and he could feel rough calluses on the tips of his fingers. The stupid costume immediately came to mind, but communication was difficult, especially when he actively avoided it. It had been ages since Tubbo and Ranboo found out about his aversion to the costume, but even then the three of them hadn’t sat down and talked about it. It was an understood rule—don’t mention the rabbit costume.

“I know there’s something else, I can see it in your face,” Wilbur said.

Well then.

Tommy glared at him. “Fuck off.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I might.”

“Come on, Tommy, I don’t want to upset you again,” Wilbur pleaded.

Tommy kinda wanted to tell him off again, but his sincerity bled through his features with a fierce earnesty that he couldn’t deny.

“The. . .costume. I just. . .it looks dumb, innit?”

His eyes widened and he nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

Tommy let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding and copied Wilbur’s nod. His worried look melted into a smile and the feeling of warmth and safety flooded through Tommy’s veins. He felt like he’d give anything to keep that smile on his face, just for a moment of blissful happiness that slotted itself between sadness. He didn’t understand what made Wilbur look like that. It couldn’t have been him after all.

What happened, angel?

Tommy swallowed.

Strangers don’t call strangers pet names. They don’t pour love and admiration into single words with clarity that makes your eyes and chest burn. But Wilbur had. He had said angel so easily, it was as if he had said it a million times before.

Tommy was the king of reckless mistakes, anyone could tell you that. He had already made several risky decisions in the past minutes. Would it really hurt to make one more? Every time he had pushed, Wilbur had answered, sweet and to the point without a second thought. Wilbur must have had truth living in his bones. His smile didn’t falter. So Tommy asked.

“Why’d you call me angel?”

Tommy was not expecting Wilbur to blush.

His face turned a brilliant red and he immediately turned his head away from him. He kept opening his mouth, but nothing came out, his movements shaky and unsure. Tommy would have laughed in different circumstances at the abnormally flustered state of Wilbur, all smooth sarcasm and gentle concern vanishing faster than he could say “pog champ.” Instead, worry shot through his heart. This was it. He had finally pushed too far. He had finally messed up. He should have just ignored the nickname.

But he couldn’t ignore the nickname.

“You don’t, you don’t have to tell me,” Tommy rushed and gave a half-hearted chuckle to lighten the mood. “It’s not, it’s not a big, a big deal, innit? Just—forget about it, it’s fine. It’s fine! No worries, Bur, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Tom—”

“No, no, no. No apologies or whatever you’re gonna, you’re gonna say. Shouldn’t have asked to begin with. Don’t—”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Wilbur interrupted. “Did I—did I mess up?”

Tommy had to stop himself from visibly recoiling. His words stung like a slap to the face, harsh and spoken with a resigned acceptance (he’s sincere, sincere, sincere), and Tommy didn’t know how to react. Wilbur didn’t mess up. He was understanding and gentle and everything Tommy could ever think of in a human being. Wilbur was the definition of perfect, even with his shitty socks and unkept hair.

“Wha-no, no! What do you mean—no you didn’t mess up! How could you mess up? I just, I—”

He couldn’t get his words to work as he stuttered over himself in an attempt to get his thoughts out of his mouth. Wilbur was asking him to bear his heart out to him whether he knew that or not. The burning truth of what that nickname meant to him weighed on his tongue, and Tommy had no idea if he could even say what he was thinking.

But he had to, didn’t he? Because Wilbur was perfect and Tommy wouldn’t let him think otherwise.

“You. . .I. . .um. . .” Tommy took one hand from Wilbur’s hold (he had forgotten their hands were still clasped, tightly tying themselves together in an effort to make this work) and ran it through his hair. Wilbur waited, eyes patient but sad with an acceptance he didn’t understand.

Fuck it.

“I liked it,” Tommy whispered.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “What did you say? I didn’t quite—”

“I liked it,” he repeated and returned his hand to the pile in Wilbur’s lap. “I—I—aw fuck. I liked it, okay? It. . .it was nice.”

Wilbur blinked rapidly and croaked out a shaky, “You did?”

Tommy nodded.

He looked like he was going to combust, an infectious smile splitting across his face like a wave washing footprints in the sand away. His eyes sparkled as he laughed in what Tommy assumed was disbelief.

“You’re—you’re joking, right?”

“Look, dumbass, I’m not gonna say it again, alright?” Tommy pulled both hands away this time and wrapped them around his knees which were pulled to his chest. “Believe me or don’t, I don’t care, you’re the one who wanted to know, I just—”

“Tommy!”

Oh, he was not about to cry right now, surely not.

“You actually liked it?” Wilbur chuckled, all despair gone from his face. “Can I keep. . . ? You know?”

Tommy pushed his face into his knees. “I guess if you want, I don’t care.”

He didn’t think Wilbur’s grin could get any more sinister.

“Oh, I think I will, angel.”

“Nope! Changed my mind!” Tommy shoved his hands in Wilbur’s face. “I take it back, I take it back! Nope, nuh uh, not gonna deal with this!”

Wilbur had the audacity to laugh at his pain. “Alright, alright.” His smile softened and Tommy had to look away before his heart exploded. “I guess we’re even now.”

“Even?”

“Yup. You call me Bur, I’ll call you angel, yeah?”

His heart skipped a beat. For some reason, the nickname held more than any promise could. It was an entanglement, an attachment, another thread that weaved the two of them together. Such a short time shouldn’t be enough for a bond like this, this strengthening tie that didn’t break in the growing tension. Two panic attacks and Wilbur didn’t like Tommy any less. In fact, it seems as if he liked him more. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Dream commanded him to cut the rope. He couldn’t get hurt if he never cared, the voice reasoned. But Wilbur wasn’t the only one winding the thread around Tommy’s heart—Tommy wrapped the thread around himself, around Wilbur.

They were entangled in a dance, standing at a tightrope’s edge on the verge of one wrong step. The further they danced into the middle, the larger the drop. No net lay beneath the thread, thin and swaying in the whirling of reality.

But Tommy was stupid enough to lead Wilbur further.

“Yeah, in your dreams, Bur.”

“You literally just—”

“Mimimimimi! I’m Wilbur and I’m tall and cocky and devilishly handsome. All the ladies love me and I’m sooo funny.”

“I do not sound like that!”

“You gonna argue with a Big Man?”

Wilbur smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

Tommy smiled back.

Chapter Text

Between his writing deadline hanging over his head like a guillotine and the unpredictable mood swing that was Wilbur Craft, Techno was almost to the point where death seemed like a viable solution for his problems.

If his own self-imposed stress didn’t kill him, Wilbur would.

Today, an essay sat in front of him, and Techno had a hard time believing he was the one who wrote the absolute garbage of a paper before him. Did he even know basic grammar rules? Apparently not, but he supposed this was karma for writing at four a.m.

Dad sat next to him at the table, clicking away at his laptop with no thought to Techno beside him. It was rare nowadays for Dad or Mom to be home, but Techno knew they were just as busy as he was. Dad had paperwork to fill out, for him as well as Mom since she had begged him to do all the tedious work, and asked if Techno wanted the company. Dad didn’t interrupt like Wilbur, so he responded with a contented “yes” before burying himself in marking his paper in red ink.

That was, until his brother flung himself into the dining room.

Wilbur was practically floating off the floor, eyes brighter than a full moon and smile wider than the ocean. Techno didn’t have to ask to know he had been with Tommy. Again.

He had completely forgotten about Dad beside him.

“Wil? You good, mate?” Dad looked up from his computer with a confused frown. “What happened?”

Wilbur’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Oh, Dad, you won’t believe—”

“Here we go again,” Techno mumbled as he set his pen down. He wouldn’t get any editing done with Wilbur here, so why pretend like he was?

“—what kind of day I have had!” He flung himself next to Techno and crossed his arms behind his head. “Any day is wonderful when I’ve spent it with Tommy!”

Dad frowned again, but this time it was the kind of frown he’d give one of the boys when they’d forget to eat a meal or show up late to an event. “Wilbur, I told you not to bother him. . .”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Wilbur tutted. “How can I bother him when he wanted to see me!”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “He voluntarily wanted your miserable presence.”

Wilbur wordlessly flipped him off and continued talking to Dad. “Tommy is enraptured with music, Dad, absolutely taken with it. When I told him about the band? He about exploded with excitement and questions. He’s so bright and enthusiastic about everything, it’s incredible!”

Techno tuned Wilbur’s ramblings out (the same characteristics of Tommy came up in every ramble about the boy: enthusiastic, passionate, and sweet). He could pick his pen back up and try to focus, but he instead watched Wilbur’s expressions. The same unconditional love was shining in his eyes, stronger than it had been yesterday. His fondness for the kid was growing rapidly, and Techno would be lying if he thought Wilbur’s emotions weren’t overkill. He wanted to believe that this kid was everything Wil said he was, but Techno just didn’t know.

He didn’t know what he’d do if Tommy turned about to be a fluffed-up bed-time story turned traitorous nightmare.

A flicker of pain in Wilbur’s eyes made his heart skip.

“What else happened?” Techno interrupted, suddenly drawing the attention of Wilbur and Dad to him.

“What?” Wilbur chuckled, but it was wary and half-hearted. He took his glasses off and wiped the lens on his scarf.

Nervous habit, Techno noted.

“Something different happened today,” he stated. “Was he alright after the panic attack last night?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, he’s fine. All good.” Wilbur pushed the glasses into place.

Techno squinted. “Then why are you lying?”

Dad glanced between the two of them and made an “o” shape with his mouth. “You are lying. What—”

“I am—how the fuck do you know I’m lying!” Wilbur threw his hands up. “I’m not!”

“But something happened,” Techno pushed. “Are you okay?”

Is Tommy okay?

Techno blinked the thought away.

“Is Tommy okay?” Dad voiced his thoughts anyway. Curse that man. “Is anything—”

“He just panicked again today, alright? Is that good enough for you!?” Wilbur snapped. His words were sharp, but Techno saw the worry underneath. He didn’t acknowledge the outburst. It wasn’t meant to hurt (Wilbur’s words rarely meant to hurt), but it meant to protect and hide the uncertainty he was feeling. “He panicked and I set him off! I—” He bit his lip to stop himself.

“Set him—Wil, I don’t think you would do that.” Dad stood and moved to the other side of the table so he could sit next to Wilbur. “And if you did, I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Fuck you. He said the same thing. . .” Wilbur sighed, all of his ire gone, and fell against Dad’s shoulder. A deep sadness crossed his face. “Dream. . .Dream calls him his rabbit.”

Well.

That was new.

“Who’s Dream?” Techno asked.

“He owns the Magic House. Runs it, I guess. He’s also Tommy’s. . .guardian? I don’t know what he is, Tommy never talks about him. But Tommy. . .fuck, I think he’s terrified of him.”

Now this was a can of worms Techno was not expecting.

“He’s abusing him?” Dad wrapped an arm around Wilbur’s shoulders, and even from the end of the table Techno could see the unnecessary tightness in the grip.

“I don’t—Dad, he wears this rabbit costume, and he hates it. He hates it so much, and I didn’t know.” Wilbur rambled as he pushed his hands into his hair. “I had no idea, I thought he looked cute. I thought it was sweet, but I—I called him a rabbit too and he panicked. He panicked so bad, Dad, I didn’t know what to do. It was my fault. He was so scared and small and—”

“It’s alright, Wilbur, it’s not your fault.” Dad pulled Wilbur closer and Wilbur buried himself into his chest.

Techno looked down at his paper. Words blurred together, and he vaguely realized his eyes were watering. Not crying but obscuring his vision. It only added to the all-too familiar feeling of frustration. Sure, Wilbur’s odd obsession with a random child was weird, but the absolute humiliation radiating from the image Wilbur painted shoved the absurdity of the situation off a cliff. This was no longer a fascination, this was a kid in some kind of trouble and no way out.

“It’s Dream’s fault, innit?”

Techno glanced up at Dad. . .and kinda wished he hadn’t.

Phil Watson was the type of guy who rarely lost his cool. Frustrated and annoyed, yes—with both Wilbur and Techno as his sons there was no way to avoid that. But Techno could count on one hand how many times he had seen Dad truly mad. A particularly rude art critic had told Mom that her art was disgusting, and he had snapped. Techno never had heard him praise his wife more than in that moment. Someone had “accidentally” shoved Wilbur into an expensive vase, causing it to shatter. The idiot then proceeded to blame Wilbur for the ruined antique, and Dad had forced the vase’s bill down her throat. There were a couple other times, but the theme was the same.

Dad was the nicest person on earth until someone messed with his family.

And right now? He looked ready to wreak havoc.

Techno wanted to groan, to ask why, why, Dad was attached to Wilbur’s kid, but stopped himself. Because that’s why he was attached—Tommy was Wilbur’s kid and Wilbur was Dad’s kid. His heart was too big for his body and his empathy too wide for his rationality.

“Wil, songbird?” Dad’s voice carried the soft musical lift that Wilbur’s voice used when he would calm Techno down. But Dad’s eyes burned, bright as torturous flames, as his resolve hardened.

Techno had read this story before—he knew what Phil was going to ask.

“When can I meet Tommy?”

Wilbur raised his head, his curls bouncing against his forehead. “You’re not—Dad, you can’t just go and beat Dream up! I don’t even know if he is abusing him! I—I don’t know enough about him.”

Dad laughed loudly, but a harsh sound mixed with his normal wheeze. “No, no, I’m not going to beat him up. Have a little faith in me.”

“But, Dad—”

“I just want to meet him,” he assured. “I’m not going to take him home or call CPS. I just want to see for myself.”

Wilbur crossed his arm as a pout settled on his face. Techno rolled his eyes.

“Watch out, Dad,” Techno drawled. He leaned on his palm and raised an eyebrow at Wilbur’s disgruntled stare. “Wil might think you’re gonna take Tommy away from him.”

“I would not,” he protested. “I just don’t want you to scare him away. I can barely get him to talk about himself as it is. I don’t need a crusty old man scaring him further.”

“Crusty—” Dad threw his hands up. “I’m not that old! What the fuck!”

“Crusty, wrinkly old man.” Wilbur nodded. “You’ll scare him away.”

“Right, cause the sweaty creep showing up with lunch every day isn’t doing that already,” Techno drawled, eyebrow raised.

In all honesty, Techno probably deserved the shoe being chucked at his face. He dodged Wilbur’s poorly aimed throw with a sigh. “Rude.”

“When’s the next show at Magic House, Wil?”

Dad’s face lost its playfulness. Wilbur leaned on the table, plopping his chin in his hands.

“This Saturday. I think it’s something big.” His eyes sparkled even though his mouth twitched into a frown. “You’ll come with me?”

“You were already planning on going?” Dad asked in disbelief.

“You haven’t talked to Wil much this week, have you?” Techno received a groan from Wilbur and an embarrassed huff from Dad. Should he stop handing out sarcastic remarks?

Probably.

“I’ve barely been home, mate,” Dad defended. A true look of defeat crossed his face. “Really, I—”

“Yikes, I’m just joking, Dad. It’s fine, I swear.” Techno smiled at him. “The art show means a lot, it’s fine. Promise.”

Wilbur nodded frantically beside him, and Dad sagged in relief. “You’re killing me, Tech.”

“That’s my job.”

“You should come with us!” Wilbur suggested, poking him in the side. One of his signature feral grins spread across his face and Techno knew his mind was racing a million miles a minute.

“I’ll pass.” He picked up his pen. “Not a big fan of crowds.”

Wilbur pouted. “Party pooper.”

Techno shrugged. He knew it was inevitable—he was going to meet Tommy one way or another, Wilbur’s raging obsession sealed his fate. But if he had any say in the matter, he was not going to meet the kid surrounded by four hundred strangers in tight collars. Yeah, hard pass on that one.

“Welp.” Dad rose from the table with a determined glint in his eye (one that was far too similar to Wilbur’s for Techno’s liking).

“Guess I better tell Kristin I’m going to meet the infamous Tommy.”

—

Dream slowly combed his curls back, pinning certain ones down to achieve a plastered bald-man look that Tommy particularly hated. But he didn’t dare flinch under Dream’s rough tugs. Instead he stared straight into the mirror.

Which in all honesty, wasn’t much better.

His pale reflection stared back at him, all remnants of his freckles hidden under heavy foundation. With his curls pushed back from his forehead, his face looked long and empty. A plus side to the heavy makeup, the dark circles under Tommy’s eyes were gone. That was good, right?

Dream yanked a curl, and Tommy flinched.

“Stay still.” His visible eye glared at him through the mirror.

“Yes sir.”

Tommy’s hair was stubborn at best and intolerable at worst. He often wondered if there was something he could do about his unruly locks, an ugly mix between wavy, curly, and straight. Sometimes he wished he could chop every curl off.

Dream brushed the last stray hair into place with a satisfied nod. “Don’t touch your hair.”

Like he needed to be told twice.

Dream took a step back, motioning for Tommy to stand up. Fuck, he looked even worse standing than he did sitting. The thing about these special events was his normal rabbit costume wasn’t proper enough or something like that. It was too “informal.” So Dream had a second outfit made about a year ago, one more suited for a sophisticated party.

Compared to his loose-fitting performance outfit, this one clung to his skin like a wet t-shirt. The neckline of the navy blue shirt was wide and exposed his collarbones which he did not like in the slightest, but the sleeves reached his wrists and even extended a little farther onto the back of his hands which was nice. Delicate lacy patterns were etched into the sleeves and they itched like crazy. The shirt tucked into a pair of baby blue shorts that carried the same lacy patterns as the sleeves but small silver and gold beads were woven into the threads. In any other circumstance, Tommy might have thought it looked nice, the outfit combining a gymnast-type fit with the design of a high-end suit. Looking at himself in the mirror, however, he could only feel sick. This was just a display, part of Dream’s game of dress up and he hated it.

Ungrateful boy, his mind screamed. Dream buys you expensive clothes with you in mind and you have the audacity to be ungrateful?

Tommy swallowed.

“Thank you, Dream.”

He was thankful, truly he was. He never had anything as nice as this on the streets, and he knew that an outfit like this was not cheap. It was original and custom made just for him. Dream didn’t show his affection often, but this outfit was drenched in his love and care for Tommy. He could push past his own insecurities and hatred toward the outfit. For Dream.

Dream must have appreciated the unprompted gratitude because a genuine smile crossed his face, one that made Tommy’s stomach warm.

“You’re so very welcome, little rabbit.” Dream’s cold hand rested on Tommy’s shoulder. “I'm very excited to see your performance tonight.”

You'd better not mess up Tommy's mind supplied.

He nodded, unsure of what to say.

Dream turned him around and gave one last look-over of his outfit. “Remember, after your performance, stick close to me. No wandering off and no speaking unless spoken to. Remember the rules.”

“Yes sir.”

Dream’s fingers stilled on his shoulders. Tommy stared at Dream’s mask, forcing every warning bell to the back of his mind as his thumbs rubbed small circles over his bare skin. He was just rubbing in the foundation, Tommy knew that, but he still wanted to scream.

“Well then.” Dream stepped back, giving Tommy room to breathe again. “Stay alert and wait for my signal.” He straightened his vest before slipping his suit coat over it. Even he had ditched his flashy stage clothes, opting for a sleeker three-piece suit and a solid green tie. Green seemed to be the only color the man could tolerate for whatever reason.

Dream motioned for Tommy to follow, and the two walked through the dimly lit walls of the Magic House. Tommy refused to believe that the Magic House, of all places, was scary in the dark, creeping shadows casting haunting silhouettes on the walls. The dim lights lengthened their shadows, the occasional light from the city outside flickering through the now dark skylights. Tommy supposed that the skylights were what convinced him of the House’s hidden homeliness.

Without the skylights, he’d feel trapped.

Dream stopped outside the door to the main lobby. Tommy had never been nervous standing before the door, but now nausea rolled through his stomach. Because tonight, Wilbur wasn’t behind the door. He could already hear the half-drunken laughter of the patrons, heels clicking on the hardwood, commanding voices echoing off the beams. The lobby was no longer a quiet place of rest.

It was a stage. And prime, did Tommy hate stages.

Dream slid half-way between the door and the lobby and stopped. He turned so Tommy could see his full face, his green eyes reflecting the lobby’s moody lighting.

“Good luck, rabbit.”

The door shut with a click. The sounds from the lobby muffled and Tommy was left alone in the dark hallway.

“Alright,” he whispered to himself. He rolled his left shoulder, satisfying pops coming from the socket. “Just another performance. It’s all good. You’ve done this before. Just don’t think about it.”

Tommy had found out, after almost breaking down during a dance session with Dream, that if he imagined Dream was someone else, his dancing improved. His movements flowed and lost their choppy nature. And best of all, Dream was pleased, thrilled even at his improvements. It benefited them both—Dream got his beautiful dance and Tommy could lose himself in something he semi-enjoyed.

At first, he imagined dancing with Tubbo. But Tubbo was too short (he had slapped Tommy when he told him that) and Tommy’s balance had been so off, he had fallen over Dream.

Yeah, that didn’t end well.

The next obvious choice was Ranboo, and even though he was freakishly tall and probably had giant’s blood in him, Tommy’s balance hadn’t suffered. He had barely noticed when the practice time ended.

Ranboo was easy to focus on. Not to bash Tubbo, but Ranboo was the definition of calm. Tubbo was nowhere near calm. He was thunder and lightning, flashing and crashing through life. But Ranboo was the rain. He still had energy, pattering against the pavement, but his energy ebbed and flowed. One day he was the storm as he raged and laughed with a deep-rooted passion. The next, he was the shower, soft words and gentle hugs that cooled Tommy to his core.

Rain and thunder. Tommy needed them both. But when face to face with Dream, he needed the calming rain. He needed Ranboo.

Hell, who was he kidding? He would rather be curled up on the couch with Tubbo on one side and Ranboo on the other, tucked between his brothers.

Invisible dancing Ranboo would have to do for now.

He listened as a loud crescendo of laughter filtered through the door. He hated how the buzz of the lobby made it into the hall. He half-wished he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And then applause sounded through the air before stopping. The silence left behind was way worse than the noise, Tommy decided. Dream began to speak, distinctly lacking the over-exaggerated entertainer voice he saved for the stage. This was friendly, charming Dream, the enjoyer of parties and the optimal host for any situation. His tongue was lined in silver and gold, and everyone loved a well-presented speech. Tommy tapped his foot to drown out his voice. For once, he didn’t have to listen for Dream’s cue.

Another round of applause filled the lobby, and Tubbo began to play the waltz.

Tommy pushed through the door, imagining Ranboo at his heels as he walked into the audience’s line of sight. He kept his gaze straight and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. He turned and invisible-waltz-partner Ranboo mirrored his movements. Invisible Ranboo smiled, eyes crinkling in encouragement. Tubbo’s waltz danced around them, and Tommy’s feet began to move on their own.

One two three.

One two three.

One two three.

He let his body flow with the notes, eyes open but mind so very far away. Ranboo’s soft gray eyes twinkled as Tommy guided the two of them through the lobby. He was surrounded by familiarity, surrounded by home. Ranboo in front of him, Tubbo at the piano, and the lingering memories of cold sandwiches and mac ‘n cheese with Wilbur behind every stately column. The moonlight danced over his cheeks. The cold rays sunk into his skin like a familiar smile that lazily strummed against the strings of the night. He floated through his dance—his dance, not Dream’s. For though he may be but a pet, he would not let himself be dragged by the leash.

The waltz ended, its final notes wrapping around Tommy’s ankles as he leaned for a final bow. Just like practice, he rose gracefully and faced Dream. The audience applauded around him, but he kept his eyes on Dream. Tommy focused on Dream’s green eye glittering in the crowd like an emerald. He let out the smallest breath at Dream’s pleased look. He did alright. He did good. The audience was pleased, so Dream was pleased. Tommy’s lip twitched at the thought, but he pushed it down before Dream could notice.

Dream slid through the crowd to Tommy’s side. His face was even more excited up close. With a hand resting on Tommy’s shoulder, Dream spun to face the audience and bowed, and Tommy quickly copied him. A buzz ran through his spine, ears ringing from the continuous noise. Part of him wanted to cheer with the crowd, and the other part wanted to scramble back into the depths of the House. He wanted to step closer to Dream, to feel his arm around his shoulders, or even hear a soft word of praise.

Well. Tommy clenched his hand, keeping his face carefully neutral. That was fun.

With a wave, Dream motioned for Tubbo to continue playing, and another, livelier tune filled the lobby. The guests turned back to each other, and the excited murmur continued as if Tommy’s dance had never happened.

“Dear rabbit—”

Tommy turned to Dream, who was staring at where the audience had stood moments before.

“—the night is young.” Dream laughed and turned, eye squinting in merriment. “And what a way to start!”

A familiar warmth spread across Tommy’s face, but for once it didn’t carry any weight of shame. It felt genuine. Maybe he had over-thought tonight. Maybe he could enjoy the party for once.

Tommy trotted to keep up with Dream as he rejoined the crowd. The noise of conversation and music bombarded Tommy’s ears. Too many people were pressed into him all at once, the smell of strong perfume and cologne burning his nose. He had the overwhelming urge to grab Dream’s suitcoat but pushed the thought aside as soon as he had it. He scooted closer to the magician. He was fine. Absolutely fine. He could handle a little crowd. He could, he could, it was fine, he—

Dream grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into his side, huffing shortly as he leaned down to Tommy’s ear.

“Calm down, rabbit. You’re panicking.”

Tommy nodded frantically as he forced himself to breathe. Fuck, he thought he had it under control. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on Dream’s tight grip on his shoulder and the rub of lace on his arms. He thought of tall grass tickling his legs, of soft alliums bending in the breeze, and the lazy moos of a cow named Henry. He was going to be okay, he told himself before opening his eyes. Brightly colored gowns swished around him. Jewels reflected the light into his eyes. Tommy blinked hard and looked down at Dream’s shoes.

“Stay with me,” Dream murmured. “Come on.”

Tommy was afraid that he would take his hand off his shoulder, but to his surprise, Dream’s hand lingered, keeping him close and guiding him through the sea of people. He relaxed in his hold, his panic drastically subsiding. Dream rarely calmed him (it was usually the opposite), but here, stuck between people with bubbly laughs and upturned noses, he found Dream’s familiarity comforting.

That was until he saw Wilbur.

Well, he tried not to make eye contact with anyone. His eyes had merely scanned the room (a brief scan, one meant for him to situate himself) and landed on someone he wanted so desperately to see and yet couldn’t believe he was there.

Wilbur stared at Tommy, mouth hanging open in surprise. Tommy would make fun of how dumb he looked under any other circumstance, but here he felt his brain freeze. He was here? Wilbur was here, of all places and of all times. His face flushed as the lace rubbed against his skin. Every stitch in his clothes grated against his skin. He thought he wanted to see Wilbur standing next to a familiar pillar with the picnic basket on one side of him and maybe his guitar on the other.

Now, Tommy wanted to melt into the floor and never see the man again.

He quickly looked at the back wall as he willed his beating heart to steady itself. He couldn’t panic, not while people were watching. Not while Dream was expecting him to be good.

“Dream, darling!”

Tommy jumped as a pudgy elderly lady strode up to them with a wave that he realized was supposed to be elegant, but it looked more like she was cleaning a mirror. Her perfume slapped him across the face. It smelled like she took a bath in lavender and then said “Oh no, that’s not enough” before dumping an entire bottle on her head. A large golden necklace jangled as she moved, reminding Tommy of a cow bell.

“You’re looking well!”

Dream smiled. "As are you, Ms. Peterson. I’m thrilled you could make it tonight.”

Ms. Peterson bobbed her head like a duck. “Yes, yes, yes. Happy I could make it, especially to see you Dream.”

The magician’s smile widened, but Tommy knew it was fake. He had years of figuring out the difference between his real smile and his performance smile. Dream wore a mask with a lot of experience—he had plenty of practice.

“But, oh, what a pleasure to see your boy dance!”

Tommy internally squirmed under her attention but forced his feelings of repulsion from showing and stood taller. How could he, the Biggest Man, shrink under the gaze of a shriveled old grape?

“He was delightful, absolutely delightful!” Ms. Peterson clasped her hands with a sigh. “How did you ever find such a beautiful boy?”

A small ding of realization rang through Tommy’s head. That’s why he hated Ms. Peterson. She was one of those patrons who spoke about him even though he was right in front of her. She’d rather ask Dream than the actual performer. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really. She was just doing what Dream had told him.

“People don’t really care about you. If they did, they’d talk to your face. Don’t bother them by talking.”

Tommy repeated rule five: don’t speak to guests unless spoken to.

“I found him on the streets. It was winter, you know, and I couldn’t just leave him in the cold.” Dream recited the story like a classic poem. It was a poem at this point—Dream played the hero and Tommy the victim. “So I brought him here. He’s such a sweetheart.” His hand slipped from Tommy’s shoulder so he could wrap his arm around Tommy better. “It’s almost like we’re brothers.”

Tommy’s stomach flipped at the statement, and he burrowed further into Dream’s hold.

Brothers.

He turned the word over in his head. Did Dream really think that highly of him?

“Oh, you do love him, don’t you?” Ms. Peterson stepped closer to Tommy. “But who wouldn’t love such a pretty little thing. What I wouldn’t give to have this little rabbit for my own!”

His stomach flipped again, but this time he wanted to throw up. Tommy dug his fingernails into his palms and stared right into Ms. Peterson’s eyes. He couldn’t panic, not again and certainly not here. The word sounded so wrong coming out of her mouth—almost like it had when Wilbur had said it—but this time it sounded like honey dripping into a mud puddle, sweet and disgusting all at once. He wanted to scrub the word off his skin. A scream filled his lungs, but he had to keep it down. He had to stay calm. Dream was standing right next to him and he couldn’t embarrass him in front of a patron.

And then Ms. Peterson cupped her hands around Tommy’s cheeks.

“You’re such a good rabbit, aren’t you?”

His mind screamed at him. He wanted to jerk back and slap her dry hands away. He wanted to shriek so loud her ears bled. But he couldn’t do anything. His joints and muscles locked, refusing to listen to his begging brain. Her fingers dug into the skin of his cheeks. His forehead throbbed. His eyes burned. He refused to cry. But she didn’t back up and her hold tightened.

Dream.

Hope shot through Tommy’s chest. Dream was right beside him. He would notice. He’d push Ms. Peterson away and tug him back into his arms and Tommy would be safe and warm and cared for. He would run his fingers through his hair and hold his hand so tight that all memory of Ms. Peterson’s hands would fade away.

“Answer Ms. Peterson, Tommy.” Dream squeezed his shoulders and squeezed the last of his hope from his body.

“Y-yes, yes ma’am,” Tommy stuttered. His vision blurred, and tears pulled at the corner of his eyes. He kept his eyes open lest he blink and tears run down the rough fingers on his cheeks.

He just wanted Dream to help. He just wanted an escape from this nightmare.

“Dear boy,” Ms. Peterson cooed. She tilted Tommy’s head from side to side like he was a dog. Tommy swallowed down a gag. “Dream, darling, you’ve got to let me take him home one day. I could watch him dance for hours.”

Dream said something. Tommy could hear his voice, could feel the vibrations of it in his chest. And yet everything felt so far away. The din of the room disappeared, the bright colors faded, and he could barely feel his heart beating. Ms. Peterson’s hands burned his skin. He shook his head and pushed back. It was all too much, too much touch, too many noises, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he wanted out, out, out, out out—

He yanked the hands off his face and shoulders. The pressure of touch was gone, but the phantom burning remained. He could feel the hot breath of someone beside him. He shoved past someone in a velvet suit and ran. Stumbled would be a better word, because he couldn’t gather his footing, and his brain moved faster than feet. His hands grabbed onto soft and scratchy fabrics alike, but they were all too textured. He couldn’t even see where he was going, tripping over his own feet and the trains of long dresses.

Because he wasn’t paying attention, he ran into a door, the doorknob digging into his hip bone. He grimaced but pushed past the pain and scrambled to open the door. A shiver ran down his spine. Someone was chasing him, he knew it. He had to keep going.

He fell through the open door and slammed it behind him. Through his blurry vision, he could see his second favorite painting hanging in front of him—he was in one of the main halls then. The vivid purples of the moth’s wings stretched over the canvas. Even though he couldn’t physically see the details, he could tell you where every stroke, every spot, every dip was located.

Clementine, as he had dubbed the intricately painted moth, was rarely seen, since her hallway was right next to the front lobby. Henry was much easier to get to, but that didn’t mean he loved Clementine any less.

Too bad he couldn’t appreciate her right now.

He practically fell underneath the painting, curling his legs close so he could rest his throbbing head on his knees. It was only when he stopped moving did he feel the need to greedily inhale. He felt as if he had inhaled chlorine as his lungs burned from the lack of breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled again. He was alright. He was okay, he repeated to himself. His fingernails dug into his knees. There was no reason for him to be so upset. He was perfectly fine. He was perfect, poised. He was fine. He—

He was absolutely terrified. His breathing hitched, and his panic increased instead of decreasing. He shook his head rapidly, hands moving from his knees to his curls and tugging. The sharp spikes of pain helped clear his mind only for a minute. He needed to get a hold of himself. He was fine. He had to stop, he had to get over himself, he was selfish and rude and inadequate and—

He was startled by soft hands pulling his own hands away from his head.

“Mate? Hey, breathe with me, okay?”

That was a voice he had never heard before. He scooted back, hands shaking, but the person’s grip stayed gentle and their thumbs rubbed slow circles into his wrists. It felt. . .nice, the slow comforting motion bringing him down from his panicked headspace. He subconsciously leaned into the person.

“There you go, it’s alright, mate. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The person’s hands slipped from his wrists to his hands, bringing both of them to rest in their lap. Tommy noticed how large their hands were as they completely wrapped around his own.

Tommy looked up into the man’s face, for it was a man with dirty blond hair tied loosely into a low ponytail, a singular braid hanging in front of his ear and eyes bluer than a summer sky. Their color washed over him like an ocean wave, filled with a refreshing softness that swept his stress away. He had no idea who this guy was, and Tommy wasn’t the greatest judge of character, but he knew with a deep gut feeling that he was kind. At least, his panic-ridden brain screamed that he wasn’t Dream, and that was all he could really ask for in this moment.

He opened his mouth but only hiccups came out as his body slumped in exhaustion. With a soft thump, his head landed on the man’s chest. He expected to be pushed away. But one hand left his and combed through his gelled hair, and the other stayed wrapped around his own.

And then Tommy realized exactly what was happening.

The man was squeezing his hands, not tightening his grip more than the quick pressure. Fingers loosed his hair, flattened curls falling onto his forehead. Tommy stared at the man’s hands. This wasn’t actually happening right? He didn’t deserve the warm palm resting on his hands. He didn’t deserve the hand carding through his hair.

“You alright?”

Tommy jerked his head up, those same blue eyes staring into his. The man smiled as he twisted one of Tommy’s stray pieces of hair back into a defined curl.

“Mate?

Boy, he must be really out of it if he already zoned out. Tommy looked back at the man and nodded. He winced at the movement—yep, a killer headache was on its way.

“Would you like some water?” he asked, shuffling in place.

Water sounded amazing right then, but for some reason the thought of the man leaving sent anxiety swirling in his stomach. The man shifted again, and Tommy was about to protest, but he merely pulled out a water bottle from a bag on the ground. Tommy blinked.

Where did—?

“Here.” He handed Tommy the bottle.

Tommy practically choked the water down, ignoring the man’s cries of “be careful!” The warning sounded familiar for some reason which was odd since the only other people who told him that were Tubs, Boo, and Bur. He drank the last drop of water before feeling really guilty.

“Oh, um, I’m—”

“It’s alright, mate,” the man interrupted. “I brought that water to drink. Don’t apologize.”

Tommy stared at him.

The man chuckled, something sad in the sound, and brought his hand back to Tommy’s hair. He was more hesitant this time, like he thought Tommy would push him away. Not that Tommy didn’t think about it, but his hand was so warm and his touch so gentle, and he couldn’t push Bur away now—

Tommy sat up as realization washed over him. Playing with his hair, squeezing his hands, fuck, even this guy’s fucking speech patterns screamed Wilbur. Tommy scolded himself. He was overthinking things again. He liked Wilbur, but connecting every stranger to the guy? He needed to pull himself together.

“You feeling any better?” the man asked.

“You act like fucking Wilbur,” Tommy blurted.

If Tommy could stop saying out loud everything that came to his mind, that would be great.

He expected the man to tilt his head again and ask who that was, but he laughed instead, blue eyes twinkling in the low light.

“Well, that’s fair, I suppose. Considering I am his father.”

“You’re his what?!”

Tommy blinked dumbly at the man. He was having a crumby day, sure, but what were the odds of running into Wilbur’s own fucking father? At least it explained the eerie similarities between the two of him.

His heart pounded in his head. He needed a fucking nap.

Wilbur’s dad pulled his hand from Tommy’s head (and Tommy did not frown at the loss of contact) and held it in front of him, an open invitation to shake. “Name’s Phil Craft.”

Tommy carefully took his hand, shaking for only a moment and pulling back. It wasn’t like Phil had been holding his hand just seconds ago.

“Tommy.” He mustered up a small smile. “The Biggest of Men and Lover of Women.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Lover of Women?”

“Of course, they don’t receive enough of it, and I have plenty to spare,” Tommy boasted. He didn’t particularly feel like being obnoxious, if he was honest, but Tommy was an actor and he was on a stage. And the audience was Wilbur’s fucking dad.

Phil hummed. Something in his eyes shifted. Not in a bad way, no, Tommy was pretty sure Phil didn’t have a bad bone in his body. But they shifted all the same with something he couldn’t place. For once, not knowing didn’t fill him with dread.

“I’d like to formally apologize,” Tommy said, filling the silence that was settling between the two of them, “for Wilbur.”

“What? Why?” Phil scrunched his nose.

“Because he is a bitch and you are a Big Man. Bitches get on Big Men’s nerves.” He gave a final nod, as if sealing his decree with a ring.

Phil laughed again, a hearty sound that made Tommy want to make him laugh again and again and again and—

“I happen to like Wil, though.”

“But he is a bitch.”

To his surprise, Phil nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. He is a handful.”

Tommy wasn’t used to having someone agree with him. He was still overwhelmed from his panic attack and the simple agreement muddled in his brain. So he nodded lamely.

Phil didn’t seem to mind, however, mirroring his nod. “You alright now?”

His head pounded, his eyes felt dry, and his face burned from constant scrubbing. But his heart felt lighter, and Phil’s gaze was kind, and Clementine was at his back.

“Better than ever!” he choked, forcing himself to put on a brave face. “All fine and dandy if you ask me!”

He could tell Phil didn’t believe him. Tommy knew, despite all his bravado, that he was a horrible liar. He hoped that he would respond like Bur—a simple nod of the head and a long sigh.

And he did, Phil sighing with a small smile. “Can I take you home? You should probably sit the rest of this night out.”

Tommy frowned. “Uh, yeah, well, I live here so you don’t really have to take me home. And I’ve got to go back so. . .” Another round of panic crawled up his throat, but he pushed it back down. He was already in deep trouble with Dream. He had ruined the entire evening because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He did not want to anger him further. He plastered a smile on his face. “The night is young, innit?” he parroted Dream’s words from earlier. “Big Man Tommy doesn’t party-out easily.”

“Alright then.” Phil stood up and rolled his shoulders. He reached out his hand. “I’ll lead you back in, yeah?”

Tommy eyed Phil’s suit, swallowing a gasp. He had forgotten that even though Phil was Wilbur’s dad he was still a patron. And a rich patron at that. He wore a tidy suit with a matching red tie and heart brooch. Everything about Phil was just right, not in the Dream way of perfection, but something softer and organized. As he stood, movement caught Tommy’s eye.

“Yo, what are those!?” Tommy pointed at two long bits that dangled from Phil’s suit coat.

A large smile stretched over his face. “Those are coattails. Pretty pog, right?”

Tommy nodded. “The poggest. Only the Biggest of Men wear coattails, and you, Philza Craft, are the Biggest Man alive.”

Phil laughed and Tommy swore he saw pride flash across his eyes. “Philza? Wha—what the fuck? Where did you—?”

“Don’t question it, Big Man.” Tommy grabbed Phil’s hand and let the man pull him up. “All you need to know is how unbelievably cool you are. Women will flock to you.”

“Women, huh? Oh, I’m sure,” Phil trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Tommy nodded and opened his mouth to add on how amazing women were, but the door to the lobby loomed in front of him and he lost his train of thought. Phil noticed his hesitation and glanced from the door to him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Phil asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy wanted to say no. He wanted to run deep into the Magic House and bury his head in a blanket. He wanted Ranboo and Tubbo. He wanted out. Phil’s gentle voice was not helping his resolve. He wondered if Phil would listen to him talk like Wilbur had. He yanked the thought out and straightened his posture.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he sighed. Exhaustion settled in his bones, but the intermission was over and the stage was calling. So he opened the door with a flourish and flashed Phil the most genuine smile he could muster. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Phil smiled back and Tommy soaked in the warmth. “After you.”

The noise of the lobby flooded his senses again. He resisted the urge to bolt and melted into the crowd. Something in him wanted to turn and make sure Phil was following him, but Tommy realized it was better if Dream and Phil didn’t meet. Dream hadn’t been exactly thrilled to meet Wilbur, and he doubted he’d treat Phil any better. Tommy pushed through the crowd and looked for Dream’s bone-white mask. It was not a hard task, considering this wasn’t a masquerade party and Dream was of an average height. All too quickly, Tommy spotted him by the refreshment table. He paused, watching Dream laugh and swirl his champagne glass.

Didn’t even bother looking for you, a traitorous voice whispered.

Tommy told it to piss off.

“That’s Dream, correct?”

Tommy jumped at Phil’s voice, whipping around to find the man standing at his side, all playfulness and kindness drained from his face. He wasn’t. . .mad. But Phil was definitely displeased about something.

“Yeah. He’s uh, my boss.” Tommy shuffled.

Phil hummed and before Tommy could say anything was walking right up to him. Tommy gulped and chased after him. He couldn’t place the tension in the air, but he did not like it.

Dream saw Phil and Tommy walking toward him and immediately ended his conversation with the other patrons. Oh great. He was really angry then. Tommy could feel the heat of his disappointed rage from under the mask. He ducked his head.

“Dream?” Phil reached out his hand, a thin smile on his face.

The magician nodded and shook his hand. “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

“Phil Craft.” He dropped Dream’s hand quickly. “I was just talking with one of your employees. Telling him how good his performance was.” He placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy looked up at Phil, his shoulder warm under his palm.

“Oh?” Dream’s visible eye stared through Tommy’s soul. Tommy would give anything to sink into the floor right now. “He’s definitely had better performances.”

Ouch. A slap across his face would have hurt less.

Not only was Dream upset, he was lying. Tommy knew he had been proud of his performance. He hadn’t imagined the gleam in his eye or the smile reaching his cheek. At least, he thought he hadn’t.

“Then I guess I’ll have to come back.” Phil gritted his teeth. Tommy expected his grip to tighten, but it didn’t, his hand becoming a grounding warmth rather than a threat. He turned back to him and looked him in the eye.

Tommy blinked a couple times.

“People don’t really care about you. If they did, they’d talk to your face.”

“Tommy, do you think—”

“I think it’s time to greet some of our guests, don’t you think Tommy?” Dream interrupted. He had only asked because Phil was here, but Tommy knew it wasn’t a choice. It was a call to obedience.

Tommy tore his eyes from Phil’s and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good!” Dream grabbed Tommy’s arm and pulled him out from Phil’s hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Craft. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Phil hummed noncommittally. “So do I.” He looked Tommy in the eyes again and smiled, real and genuine and so kind that Tommy chomped down on his tongue to keep his own smile from popping up. “See you later, Tommy. I’ll tell Wil you said hi.”

And with a two-fingered wave, Phil disappeared into the crowd, coattails waving behind him like a superhero cape. Tommy felt his heart plummet into his gut. Dream leaned into his ear, breath hot and wet against his neck.

“You have some explaining to do, rabbit.”

Chapter Text

Tommy wanted to close his eyes, curl into his bed, and shut the rest of the world out. He could feel Dream’s gaze boring into his soul, taking in every flaw and every nervous shake. He swallowed a shaky breath. Yeah, he really wished he was in the basement with Tubbo and Ranboo right now.

“He what?”

Angry was one way to describe Dream. Wasn’t a very good way, but it was a way. Maybe a word like “furious” or “outraged” or even “I’m-going-to-nuke-a-city” might be better.

In all honesty, Tommy hadn’t expected him to go this long without asking him about Wilbur, about his long afternoon procrastinating in the lobby. But they had been in the middle of a party and it wasn’t like Dream could do anything with so many eyes. That was the one good thing about the stage, Tommy realized. No one could hurt him when he was in front of everyone. Ironic that the safest place and the most frightening place happened to be the same.

Dream asked, the next morning even though he had been gracious enough to let Tommy sleep. Not that he slept well. He knew Dream would be at his room as soon as the sun rose. His body decided to go into stress overdrive and he couldn’t sleep for more than an hour without waking up in a sweat.

So not only was he stressed beyond his mind at Dream looming over him, he also felt like he was going to fall asleep where he stood.

“How long? How long has he been coming here?” Dream demanded, stepping impossibly closer. “How long have you been lying to me?”

“I haven’t been lying.” Tommy rubbed his elbow as he stared at Dream’s shoes.

“What? Stop mumbling, you’ve got a voice for a reason. Speak up.” Dream gripped his shoulder and Tommy’s head shot up to look him in the eye.

“Just—just two weeks. N-not long. I swear, s-swear.”

“Stop stuttering,” he snapped. “Just speak correctly. It’s not that hard.”

Tommy opened his mouth to say that it was hard, trying to get his tongue to cooperate when his body was too energized on adrenaline to listen. But Dream didn’t notice.

He never notices, he thought.

“So Wilbur Crook or whatever his name has been breaking into my Magic House to, what, talk to you?” Dream laughed, clipped and strained, sending a shiver down Tommy’s spine.

“It’s Craft,” Tommy murmured. He knew Dream wasn’t a fan of Wilbur, but he could at least get his name right.

“What did you say to me?”

Tommy inhaled sharply and looked at Dream. He hadn’t meant to say it outloud. He hadn’t. It was just a simple correction. Dream hated being wrong, so he was just helping, he—

He should have expected the harsh slap across his cheek, but he hadn’t. He didn’t feel anything at first, just numbness, before the full force of the hit spread across his face like wildfire, tingling and throbbing, bringing tears to his eyes without his permission.

“You know better than to talk back to me.” Dream wasn’t shouting, he was barely speaking at all, but his hushed tone was worse than any scream. It dripped with disappointment, and Tommy could only think about how rude he was being. He did know better. It was his fault he was being interrogated anyways. He should have known better than to talk back to Dream.

“Yes, sir,” Tommy choked. He wanted to mumble, but he wanted to make Dream proud, so he spoke as loudly as his closing throat would allow.

“You’re losing your manners, rabbit.” Dream sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. He hadn’t brushed it that morning, and Tommy knew it was his fault. He was stressing Dream out just because he couldn’t obey. He shut his eyes. “See what happens when you hang out with other people? The only reason I let you hang out with Tubbo and Ranboo is because I care about you. I trust them, but I have no idea who this Wilbur is.”

Two hands rested on Tommy’s shoulders, and he resisted the urge to step back. These were gentle hands, though. Soft touches that hovered over him as if they were afraid of burning him. Tommy leaned forward despite himself.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe, rabbit.”

A chin rested in Tommy’s hair as he was pulled into a light hug. A spark of hope flickered through him. He wasn’t in trouble. He just hadn’t known, yes, exactly. He hadn’t known Wilbur was going to be in the lobby, and he certainly hadn’t known he was going to keep showing up. Maybe Dream was more worried than he was mad.

And yet. . .

Wilbur was safe. Tommy knew that. Wilbur had proved that. Wilbur hadn’t hurt him or ridiculed him. He brought him warm bowls of mac and cheese, an understanding smile, and a listening ear, things that Tommy hadn’t thought existed outside the Magic House walls. Maybe he could get Dream to see that. Maybe he could get Dream to understand how kind Wilbur was and—

The hands on his shoulders tightened and all thoughts of Wilbur vanished from his mind.

He was definitely still in trouble.

“You’re going to spend the day with me.” Dream pulled back, leaving Tommy wobbling on unsteady feet. He hadn’t realized how much he was relying on Dream to hold him up. “I can’t have you associating with strangers, can I?”

Tommy blinked away the exhaustion hiding behind his eyelids. “N-no, sir.”

Dream dug through the chest at the edge of Tommy’s bed and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and some jeans. He tossed them at Tommy.

“Put these on and come outside when you’re done.”

There was no time for a response before Dream left the attic with a slam of the door.

Tommy frowned at the clothes. It wasn’t unnatural for Dream to pick out his outfits, especially after Tommy made some mistake, but that didn’t mean Tommy liked his choices. Dream always picked long sleeves (it was easier to hide his “flaws” or his freckles). Tommy hated them, but he replaced his pjs with the outfit without complaint.

By the time he had changed, somewhat tamed his curls, and skipped down the stairs, Dream was waiting with a tablet in one hand and a large coffee in the other. Bad usually made a coffee run in the morning, a routine that had been going on before Tommy had even joined the Magic House. A large americano with no cream for Dream, a medium cappuccino for Sam, and a small cold brew for Bad, and a large lavender latte for Puffy. (Tommy never understood why Puffy would choose a flavor that tasted like soap, and he made sure that Puffy knew his opinion. Soap enjoyer.) Tommy had asked for a coffee once, but Dream had sent him a death glare, and he hadn’t asked again.

Dream looked up when Tommy arrived, giving his outfit a look over and nodding his head. Tommy dropped his shoulders. At least he could get his outfit right, even if it was only by Dream’s help.

“You’re helping with chores today.” Dream took off down the hallway with Tommy at his heels. “Since you can’t use your free time wisely, you won’t have any free time for the next week.”

Tommy bit his lip. No free time not only meant not being able to see Wilbur again, but it also meant no basement time with Tubbo and Ranboo. It hurt, but he deserved it. If he couldn’t be trusted with strangers, how could he be trusted with the friends Dream let him have?

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to reset the stage for tonight’s performance, especially Fundy’s hoops. He broke one last time, so you’ll have to make sure it doesn’t fall apart.”

The “again” went unspoken at the end of his sentence. Tommy hated fixing Fundy’s hoops for one reason—they always broke. No matter how much glue or tape or even screws he put in, the hoops still broke. Fundy needed to buy new ones, but Tommy knew that he was too lazy to do anything about it. So once again he was stuck fixing the stupid hoops.

“Skeppy managed to rip his box as well, so fix that while you’re at it.” Dream scrolled through his tablet. “The backroom for the performers needs to be cleaned. And get the fridge too. When you’re done with that, Sam is tinkering with the portal today and he’s going to need a test subject. Got it?” Dream stopped and turned his green eye to him.

“Yes, sir.”

Oh, he was not looking forward to today.

Dream stared at him, the silence in the thin hallway swirling around Tommy like fog. The walls were getting closer, aging wood bending to touch his shivering frame. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dream’s scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m going to be watching you closely today.” Dream’s voice was a whisper, another wisp among the fog. “And I’m closing off the lobby. Don’t go in there without my permission.”

Tommy gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

Dream’s eye crinkled (the one sure way Tommy could tell if he was smiling or not). “Alright then. You go start repairing Fundy’s hoops. I’m going to check on some things.”

And with a wave, Dream disappeared into the Magic House leaving nothing but a shaking Tommy behind.

His thoughts were racing. Tubbo, Ranboo, the sleeves that choked his arms, his stinging cheek. . .

Wilbur.

Tommy swallowed and shook his head. He couldn’t think—he couldn’t dwell on things that wouldn’t happen again. He knew that if he thought about Wilbur he’d break down in the hallway. So he sucked in a breath and set his jaw. He had to focus on making Dream proud.

He had to.

—

Techno counted his pieces again, double checking his essay list. For some reason, he kept missing essays, either misplacing them in his ever-growing pile of papers or forgetting a certain piece entirely. He could not confirm or deny the misplacing of some of them, however. What could he say, some of his essays deserved to have a burning burial.

He had one of those essays in front of him now, stuck reworking the thesis statement just so he could fix his outline. His head hurt and he couldn’t remember the last time he had moved from his desk.

“Techno, you in here?”

Good thing Dad kept checking in on him.

Three short raps on his door announced his presence. Techno sighed but pushed away from the desk.

“You can come in.”

Dad obviously hadn’t looked at himself in a while. His usually neat hair was sticking out of its loose ponytail and paint was splattered on his cheeks, a little bit of blue paint stuck on his nose. His eyes held that wild inspiration that sparked Techno to work harder. Something about the way Dad looked at the universe tugged at his heart, to take the same things Dad saw and painted into fairytales and turn them into stories and limericks. A smile tugged at Techno’s lips.

“Good morning?”

“A gorgeous morning,” he corrected, a sparkle in his ocean eyes. “Kristin is practically dragging me to eat something. I couldn’t put my paintbrush down.”

“Wish that were me, not gonna lie.” Techno glared at the essay like it had personally offended him.

“You just need a fresh perspective, Tech. You need to get out of this stuffy room. It’ll do wonders for you.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “Out of my room? You’re starting to sound like Wilbur.”

“Am I? How funny.” Dad chuckled, tapping his fingers against the door frame. “How so?”

Techno immediately thought of Wilbur’s strangely renewed passion to take on anything. All gloomy dispositions toward his band were suddenly gone, a true, real smile taking its place on his face. He was up even earlier than Techno in the morning with a cup of coffee and a basket of leftovers before he dashed to the studio.

But that was all because of the “angel of the Magic House” or whatever Wilbur was calling him.

“Yes, you’re—” Techno paused and squinted at Dad who merely smiled wider.

“Yes?”

And then he remembered.

“You went to the Magic House last night, didn’t you? You met Timmy or whatever his name is.”

“Tommy,” Dad corrected. “And yes, I did. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you’re acting exactly like Wil. Oh brother. . .” Techno hunched over his desk with a long sigh. “I’m gonna have to listen to you rant too, aren’t I?”

“He’s got a valid reason to ramble! Tommy is a sweet kid, Tech. He’s as funny as Wilbur said, and—”

“Shocker,” Techno muttered.

“And,” Dad continued with a light-hearted glare, “he might be able to cheer you up too, mate.”

“Wha—I don’t need cheering up! I’m perfectly fine without visiting wonder boy.”

“Technoblade, you’ve been a pain in the ass for the past five weeks, and don’t hit me with the ‘I’m really busy, Dad’ cause I’ve been really busy too. We’ve both been too uptight about these shows, Tech. You need a break. You need a little inspiration.”

“And wonder boy’s gonna give it to me.” Techno scrunched his nose.

Dad shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s if you’re willing to take it or not.”

Techno thought back to yesterday, the overflowing joy of Wilbur squashed by immense unsurety and worry. He had mentioned a guardian, or an assumed guardian at the least, and the possibility that Tommy’s situation might not be as safe as originally thought. He bit his lip and leaned back in his chair.

“You said you met him yesterday, yeah?”

Dad hummed.

“Did you see. . .I mean was anything. . .off? Did you meet the guardian dude?”

Dad looked out the window to their front lawn, a slight troubled look crossing his face. “I could answer that. Or you could go and—”

“Alright, alright!” Techno threw his hands up and stood from the chair. “I’m going! I’ll go see Tommy! Happy? Will you and Wilbur leave me alone?”

Dad laughed as mischief danced across his face. “Happy? Yes. Leave you alone? Now Tech, you know Wil can’t do that.”

Techno sighed. “I can only ask for so much.” He grabbed his ruby sweater from the bed and slid past Dad. “Oh, and you’ve got something on your nose.”

“Something on my—Techno! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

—

Tommy’s feet hurt.

Like ached-hurt. Not just a pinched-hurt, but the kind of hurt that made him want to pitch a fit just so he could sit down. If he was with Ranboo or heck even Tubbo, he’d complain and whine and beg for just a little break, and then one of them would get tired of his bitching and force him to sit. Ranboo would have one of those little applesauce pouches and Tubbo would let him use his water bottle. He’d rest and be ready to go in five minutes.

But he wasn’t with Tubbo or Ranboo.

He was with Sam.

Sam currently had his head sticking through a deactivated portal, fiddling with the knobs on the inside of the ring. He was fixing something to do with the activation points and the crystals lodged inside, but Tommy hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t care to know how the portal that ruins his life every week was put together. He’d love to see it in pieces, just not so it could be put together again. So he hadn’t listened.

Dream wasn’t around to make him listen either, so he was truly winning right now.

Sam was a surprising welcome after being shadowed by Dream all day. Tommy felt like the phrase “walking on eggshells” had new meaning after today. He felt as if one wrong breath would turn Dream’s wrath on him, but somehow, through some sheer miracle, Tommy had been perfect all day.

Sam didn’t care about Dream’s rules, so Tommy always involuntarily relaxed around him. The two didn’t talk much, due to the fact that Sam was a hulking mechanical genius who had much better things to do with his time, but the times they had interacted were definitely times Tommy would have again. Sam was gentle, different from Dream’s fake gentleness and even different from Wilbur’s (he really had to stop thinking about Bur) gentleness. Sam felt like walking a big dog, a steady warmth at your side, reinforcing and supporting you with short words of encouragement and smiles.

As much as Tommy liked Sam, he knew he couldn’t trust him. Sam reported to Dream after all, even if he didn’t care about the rules or Tommy’s rebellion.

Because Sam didn’t truly care.

If he cared, he’d say something about the bruises on Tommy’s neck. He’d step up to Dream and accuse him of being wrong. He’d get someone, anyone to take Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo and find them a home. A real home, not one of unairconditioned rooms or tattered mattresses. He’d do something. He’d say something.

But he never did. Because Tommy knew Sam didn’t care. No one in the Magic House cared. Not Sam, not Bad, not Puffy. And if no one cared, then neither did Tommy.

And if Sam didn’t care, then neither did Tommy.

He watched Sam tighten one of the portal’s screws, face scrunched in concentration. They hadn’t talked much the past hour and a half, and Tommy was enjoying the temporary peace.

“Alright, Tommy.” Sam flicked the portal to life, the low humming filling backstage like a lion purring, waiting to pounce. “Go through.”

“You know, you could just throw a brick or something through there, right?” Tommy shuffled forward. He could feel the insincerity of his smile stretch into his cheeks. “I know a couple of rings that Fundy doesn’t need.”

Sam raised an eyebrow in a way that sent reluctance shivering down his spine.

“I mean, it was just a suggestion.”

“If the portal actually worked on things that small, maybe.” Sam stood back and stretched. “I definitely wouldn’t ask you to test it, if that was the case.”

Tommy squinted. “You say that, but we know that’s not true. You love throwing me like a frisbee through this thing.”

Sam barked out a startled laugh. “A frisbee? I have never thrown you through the portal before.”

“You might.” Tommy nodded. “You seem like the kinda bitch who would throw children through magic portals.”

“I’d never.”

Tommy swore he saw Sam’s eyes twinkle, but he shook his head. “Whatever you say, Big Man.”

“Just go through the portal, Tommy. The sooner you go in and come back, the sooner we can be done.” Sam’s voice went all soft and mushy. “I know this isn’t your favorite.”

“No shit,” Tommy muttered, but he stepped up to the portal with his chin up. “Let’s just get this over with.”

With a nod from Sam, Tommy stepped through the portal. The thin film tickled his skin as he shut his eyes. The nausea rushed his system, but he could already tell that this was a milder nausea than normal. Maybe it was the lack of food in his stomach, but Tommy couldn’t be bothered to figure out why he wasn’t nauseous.

His body shook as the portal pushed him to the main stage. The force knocked him off-balance and he stumbled onto the stage with a quick gasp. It wasn’t a graceful entrance, but he wasn’t performing. He figured Sam would give him a break.

Tommy shook his head to try and clear it but only made his minor headache worse. He groaned, pushing his fringe back from his forehead. Fuck, that never got any easier. He leaned against the portal frame and slid down to the floor. He was fine. He just needed a minute.

“You good, kid?”

His head whipped up at the voice. The baritone voice echoed through the theatre, rumbling through Tommy’s head.

“Who’s there?” Tommy stumbled to his feet and peered into the dark rows of seats. “The House is closed, dickhead.”

“Yeah, could kinda tell.” The voice came closer, and Tommy could see a figure walking toward the stage. His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you want, eh? I’ll clart you if you come any closer!” he threatened.

Dim stage light flickered around the figure as he emerged from the shadows.

He was huge.

Not just tall (taller than Wilbur, Tommy’s mind supplied), but broad and muscled and fucking massive. The guy looked like he could move trees with his bare hands. And yet, this hulk of a human being had vibrant pink hair. Tommy would have snorted if he was any other guy, but honestly? He didn’t want to get on his bad side.

He didn’t want to get hit again.

“You sure you want to try?” The man grinned. “I mean. . .” He scanned Tommy, lingering on his skinny arms. A shudder ran down Tommy’s spine.

“Stop staring, I get the point,” Tommy spat. The man’s eyes snapped up to his face and Tommy’s cheeks flushed. But he didn’t break eye contact. Just because this man could easily squash him like a soda can didn’t mean he was going to freak out. Dream stared at him too—lots of people did it.

It wasn’t a big deal.

The man shrugged and strolled closer. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” Tommy crossed his arms. “But anyone would be put out by Mr. Walking Giant appearing out of thin air.”

“Mister—what?”

“You heard me. And what kind of idiot walks around with pink hair?” He waved to the man’s head. “You could dye your hair any color, and you chose Barbie pink.”

The man huffed, but a small smile spread over his face, as his head shook in disbelief. At least, Tommy guessed it was disbelief. He had been certain he’d make the man angry with his insult, yet here he was, still standing while the giant before him chuckled.

“Don’t really get a choice with that, kid.” He ran a hand through his bangs, smoothing down a few stray hairs. “I was born with this.”

Tommy barked out a surprised laugh as he fell against the portal frame. “Why—ha—why the fuck would you lie about your hair color? I get it’s ugly, but holy shit!”

“Not lying about this one,” the man insisted, grinning wide. “Plus I happen to like the color.”

“You would like pink,” Tommy snorted.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got something against it?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be a hair color for one. But isn’t it. . .” Tommy’s voice trailed off. If his hair color was natural then surely he was being showed off, right? People with rare qualities didn’t just walk around. Dream always told him that his face was what brought in the audience. That magic brought in the audience. Magic was meant to be teased and prodded, a relic of old times lingering in today. This guy had to be in some kind of show.

“Isn’t it what?” the man asked. His tone floated through the air like molasses, and he shifted closer to Tommy, resting his arms on the edge of the stage. From this angle, he looked short, and Tommy would have found it funny if his tone wasn’t so sincere.

He shuffled against the portal. “Doesn’t it make your life hard? I mean, I’d dye it if I were you.”

He’d dye his own hair if he could.

“I’m not sure why a hair color would make my life difficult,” the man said slowly.

“But don’t people make you do stuff?” Tommy pushed. “Don’t they—I dunno—show you off?”

The man stared at him, brown eyes studying him behind small rectangular glasses. Tommy swallowed.

“Ya, know?”

The silence settled around Tommy’s bones and he squirmed under the man’s gaze. Fuck, he really didn’t know when to shut up, did he? He couldn’t mind his own business for five minutes before getting in trouble. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should just jump back through the portal, Dream would be so mad, he can’t—

“Nobody’s making me do anything, kid,” the man spoke into the quiet, rattling Tommy from his spiral. “I’m a person. Just like you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Tommy opened his eyes to stare at the man resting on the stage. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything except spoken softly with him, and Tommy could feel his thoughts racing in confusion. He knew he was a person, he did, but sometimes. . .

Sometimes when Dream’s hands grew heavy, and the stage lights burned into his retanas, and the portal pushed nausea down his throat, he didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like anything in some moments. He had pushed it aside so Tubbo and Ranboo wouldn’t worry so he wouldn’t have to think about it, but he could still see their worried glances could still feel his anxiety crawl up his throat. Yet above their concern stood Dream with beady eyes watching his steps and tugging his curls in that comforting, controlling manner that made him want to barf.

He didn’t feel like a person sometimes.

The man stood in silence, like he was letting Tommy work through his feelings.

Like he was treating him like a person.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked around the dryness in his mouth.

“Technoblade.”

“That’s a dumbass name.”

Technoblade snorted. “And your name is any better?”

“Tommy’s a wonderful name, I’ll have you know.” He pulled himself off the portal and leaned over the edge of the stage. Technoblade looked really small now, and Tommy let a grin spread over his face. “Much better than Tech-no-blade.”

“Whatever you say, Tommy.” He pushed pink bangs out of his face and smiled. A real, genuine smile that reminded Tommy too much of Ranboo when he looked at Tubbo (and when he looked at Tommy, but he wasn’t going to think about that).

“What are you doing here anyways?” Tommy sat down on the edge of the stage and kicked his heels against it. “The Magic House is technically closed. Not really sure how you fuckers keep getting in here,” he muttered the last bit to himself.

Technoblade shrugged. “Gonna be honest with you, kid. I’m here cause both my dad and my brother practically shoved me out the door. Something about being ‘too stressed.’” He made quotation marks in the air.

Tommy squinted down at him. “What? So your family forced you to come here? When it’s closed?”

“I said what I said,” Technoblade sighed. He glanced up at Tommy. “You know Wilbur?”

Tommy blinked. “You’re—”

“He’s my older brother.”

“What?! What the fuck!” He scrambled away from Technoblade, eyes wide. “What the fuck!”

“You’ve said that already.”

“You’re Bur’s fucking brother?!”

“Huh.” Technoblade turned around to rest his back against the stage. “So you do call him Bur.”

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispered. “You too look nothing alike. There are no similarities. None at all. Nothing.”

“Probably because I’m adopted,” he drawled, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “That probably has, oh I don’t know, something to do with it.”

“You’re a bitch, Tech-no-blade.” Tommy pointed his finger in his face. “A bitch.”

“Heh? I haven’t done anything?”

“You scared the fuck out of me! Looming in the background like some kinda creep when you could have just said, ‘Oh, I’m Technoblade, I’m Wilbur’s brother, mimimi,’ but nooo you had to come stalking in like a serial killer or something!”

Technoblade’s eyes lit up and he pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “That’s actually a really good story idea—”

“Are you even listening to me?” Tommy pushed Technoblade’s shoulder, but the man barely moved, focused on writing a sloppy reminder. “You’re not! You. Are. Such. A—”

“Tommy!”

It was as if someone flicked a light switch, all energy immediately draining from Tommy’s system. His limbs locked up and he snatched his hand to his chest with a sharp inhale.

Dream stormed through the left stage entrance, hands clenched at his sides. His face was alarmingly neutral, but Tommy knew that it was only a mask. He scooted closer to Technoblade who had stood to his full height, now reaching Tommy’s shoulder from his place on the ground. His presence was warm, safety seeming to radiate off the man like a heater, and for some reason, Tommy wanted to bury himself behind the absolute giant of a man.

“What are you doing, Tommy?” Dream’s voice was softer than before but the edge hadn’t disappeared. “Sam said you didn’t go back through the portal.” He glanced at Technoblade as if he didn’t know why Tommy hadn’t gone back through.

Tommy shivered.

“Uh—”

“We were just havin’ a chat,” Technoblade said, voice low and even. “Doors were unlocked, so I just wanted to see what this place was.”

Tommy didn’t dare look at Technoblade. That was a blatant lie. Technoblade had just said he came because Wilbur told him to (he had no idea why Bur wanted him to come meet Tommy, but that was a question for another time), but Tommy knew if he so much as blinked in Technoblade’s direction, Dream would see through the lie. So he kept his mouth shut for once in his life.

“Well, all of our shows happen in the evenings,” Dream replied with a grunt, “so if you want to see what we do, you’ll have to come back tonight. We’re very busy today, and you’re interrupting our staff from working.”

Tommy shrunk closer to Technoblade. He was in so much trouble. Oh fuck, he was in so much trouble.

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re not too busy to show me a little tour now though, right?”

Tommy looked at Technoblade this time, staring at him like he had grown three heads. There was no fucking way he just challenged Dream. What the fuck was happening.

Dream seemed to mirror his thoughts because he paused for much longer than he normally would.

“What?”

“Oh my gosh, are you deaf or something,” Technoblade muttered. Then, he was pushing himself up on stage, looming over Tommy like a castle tower. Tommy barely came to his shoulder and he had to crane his neck to look at him. “I said, you wouldn’t be too busy to give me a tour, would you? I’m interested in what you’ve got going here.”

Oh.

Oh.

Tommy didn’t know if he should be terrified or excited. Techno wanted to see. He wanted to see the Magic House how it truly was, no flashy lights or wavering portals or fake fluff. No rabbit costumes or caked makeup. He forced the smile off his face before Dream could notice. This happened to be the safest and the riskiest thing Technoblade could have done.

And his heart felt like overflowing.

“It can’t be for long,” Dream said slowly, and Tommy clasped his vibrating hands behind him. “But I suppose so.”

Excitement and anxiety wrestled in Tommy’s heart, feelings so full he felt like he was going to burst. He swayed closer to Technoblade on accident, and their arms bumped before Tommy pulled away. Technoblade turned to him with a smile, not on his lips, but in his eyes, brown eyes warming him from the inside out.

“Lead the way, Theseus.”

Tommy opened his mouth to mock his random nickname despite the heat it brought to his cheeks, but Dream’s scowl caught his eye, and he clicked his mouth shut. Instead, he nodded dumbly and walked past Dream backstage.

Dream slid next to his side, immediately suffocating him with his presence. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine. He wanted to hang back and let Technoblade stand next to him. Something about his towering height relaxed him, the shadow he cast feeling more like a protective covering than Dream’s possessive cage. He could barely feel the man behind him, but he clinged to every ounce of comfort that radiated off his being.

When did Tommy start trusting strangers more than the man that provided for him?

Guilt rocketed through his gut, Tommy biting back a whimper at his realization. He had done nothing but betray Dream again and again. First with Wilbur, then with Phil, and now with Technoblade. And he hadn’t regretted his choice until after Dream appeared. Heck, he wouldn’t have regretted it if Dream hadn’t shown up. He swallowed.

He really was an ungrateful brat.

“This is backstage.” Dream waved lazily at the prop boxes and set pieces littered about the room. The opposite portal hummed from the back wall, and Sam’s head popped up at Dream’s loud announcement. Tommy made eye contact with the mechanic before he immediately turned his attention back to the portal.

Coward, Tommy spat to himself.

Technoblade coughed, drawing Tommy’s attention up. “Kinda empty for a place that’s so busy, huh?”

“Not everyone’s backstage,” Dream argued flatly. “They’ve got their acts to work on.”

Technoblade looked down at Tommy and rolled his eyes, forcing Tommy to stifle a laugh behind his hand.

“Yeah, of course. Practicing is so much easier when you’re in a small, cramped room compared to an airy, big one.”

Dream didn’t reply but walked to the side doors, opening one with an overdramatic swing. “After you.”

“Ah, a gentleman.” Technoblade strode past him, red sweater flicking behind him as he entered the back halls.

Before Tommy could follow him, Dream grabbed his upper arm, yanking him to his chest. Pulled next to him, all Tommy could feel was the heat rolling off the magician like waves off the pavement. His joints locked up as Dream’s grip tightened. Sam’s hammering echoed in his skull, and the House’s wood paneling smelled like it was on fire.

“You’re walking on thin ice, rabbit,” Dream murmured, sending a full-bodied shiver through Tommy. “You’re already in trouble. I don’t want to punish you, but I will.”

Air rushed from his lungs as panic gripped Tommy’s throat. His head felt like it was spinning.

It was so dark and he couldn’t see. The walls crushed his limbs into his chest, and he wanted to scream, but his throat was already so hoarse. He needed air. Sweat trickled down his spine, hair matted to his forehead. His uneven breaths rattled in his ears. He couldn’t move. He needed space. Please, Dream, he needed—

“Answer me, rabbit.” Dream’s hand squeezed his arm.

“Y-yes sir. Yes,” he whimpered. He’d listen. He’d be good. He couldn’t go back there, not again.

So he’d listen.

Dream left him shaking in the doorway to chase after Technoblade, but Tommy stayed behind for a split second. He sucked in a breath, holding it for four seconds, and then slowly released it. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but he didn’t have time to let himself fully recover. With a quick wipe at wet eyes, he scrambled after Dream.

The magician was listing the different rooms along the hall as if he hadn’t just threatened Tommy with a fate worse than death. Tommy stumbled to his side, focusing on his breathing and ignoring his shaking hands, when he made eye contact with Technoblade. He wasn’t listening to Dream at all, instead looking Tommy over as if he was expecting something to be different.

Their eyes met again, and something unrecognizable flicked across Technoblade’s face. Tommy never was good with reading emotions, but he noticed the muted anger in his chestnut-brown eyes and realized with a dull confusion that it wasn’t meant for him. Technoblade asked Dream a question, but Tommy couldn’t hear it. His anger swirled, controlled and steady, in the gaze locked on the magician.

And for once in his life, Tommy felt safe in someone’s anger.

Dream continued to lead Technoblade around the House’s first floor, half-heartedly explaining why the right storage room didn’t have a door or why they had so many trumpets in the music room. Tommy listened as if he was underwater. Conversation floated over his head, and even Technoblade’s gentle monotone asking him the occasional question couldn’t pull him back into reality. Sometimes, he would find himself drifting toward Technoblade’s side, but he always caught himself before he leaned too far.

Before Dream could pull him away for good.

Somehow, the trio ended up in the lobby (Tommy would have laughed at the irony in any other circumstance), and Technoblade stretched his arms behind him.

“And I believe that’s the end of our tour.” Dream straightened the cuffs of his button-up.

Tommy felt his heart drop into his stomach and forced his eyes to his shoes. That meant Technoblade would leave. That meant he’d be alone. He’d already been alone with Dream once today, he didn’t think he could do it again. He wriggled his toes in his shoes.

Huh. His shoe laces were fraying at the ends.

“Welp.” Technoblade popped the “p” as his joints cracked. With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders. “I suppose I do have to be going. But uh. . .got one question for ya.”

“What?” Dream snapped.

The silence around them sunk heavily, like it was dripping into the hardwood and wrapping around Tommy’s bones. Tommy held his breath. Technoblade and Dream stared at each other, and if Technoblade had lasers for eyes, Dream would be a pile of ash. Technoblade stood like a knight protecting a king or a prince.

Like he was going to fight on Tommy’s behalf.

He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do with that information.

Dream shifted under Technoblade’s gaze. “Well, what? What do you want?”

Technoblade took a step closer, easily dwarfing Dream with his height. “You ever heard of Theseus?”

If Tommy could see Dream’s face, he would definitely be blinking in confusion. “Huh?”

“Theseus,” Technoblade repeated. “I’m going to assume you haven’t.”

“I don’t—”

“Theseus was the king of Athens back in the day. You know what he was known for?”

Dream’s shoulder twitched. “What the hell does this—”

“Killing villains.” Technoblade leaned down, his and Dream’s face mere inches away. “Specifically the Minotaur.”

Tommy glanced from Technoblade to Dream and then back to Technoblade. He’d never seen Dream so stunned, so taken back.

It was exhilarating.

Technoblade smiled, far too many teeth showing to be friendly.

“I am your Ariadne, Dream.”

A shadow from an overhead cloud passed over the lobby, the skylights temporarily blocked. The cloud passed quickly, and sun rays swept through the room once more, but a chill lingered in the air. Nobody had moved, Technoblade still leaning into Dream’s space and Dream frozen in his presence. Dream had stilled like the lobby holding its breath as it watched the scene.

Tommy had no idea who Ariadne was, but whoever they were, he was pretty sure they were a pog person.

He was pretty sure they were on Theseus’s side.

When Technoblade stepped back, Dream’s shoulders fell, and Tommy could almost hear the relieved breath escaping him.

“Nice to meet ya.” Technoblade nodded at Dream before meeting Tommy’s eyes. “See ya around, Theseus.”

Tommy watched Technoblade leave the lobby, a fire burning through his heart. Technoblade had looked Dream in the eye—had metaphorically spat in his face—and walked away. The adrenaline rushing through his veins made him giddy, almost ecstatic, like he could take the fire in his soul and dive into lava.

Even when Dream’s attention returned to him, Tommy felt bravery dancing on his tongue.

The magician turned to the rabbit, but the rabbit didn’t flinch. As Tommy locked eyes with Dream, he determined, if even for only a brief moment, that he’d stand up for himself. Just this once.

Just for a little while longer.

“Tommy,” the magician growled.

“Dream,” Tommy breathed.

Before he could blink, Dream grabbed his wrist, yanking him to the backstage stairs. He tripped over his feet as he stumbled behind him. His wrist burned under Dream’s grip, but he didn’t make a noise. He was brave. He was strong. Even when every step of Dream’s echoed through the backstage. Even when Sam ignored the way Dream shoved Tommy up the stairs. He bit down on his tongue, pain strengthening his resolve. He wasn’t going to falter, he’d stand up, he’d—

Instead of climbing the second flight of stairs to the roof, Dream pushed Tommy into his office, Tommy’s knees hitting the carpet with a jolt. He scrambled around to face him, only now realizing how hard he was breathing. Tommy inhaled and exhaled slowly, but fear still wrapped around his lungs.

Tommy always hated Dream’s office. Situated right above the stage, the room had no windows and ugly wallpaper that had probably been around since the eighties. The carpet scratched his palms and swirling, random patterns stung his eyes, so he tried not to look at it. He knew from memory that a large wooden desk was behind him with scattered papers, an ugly green lamp, a pair of white sunglasses, which Dream never wore, and a worn leather chair where Dream spent hours at a time in.

But he wasn’t thinking about the absolute atrocity of a room around him. He was thinking about the closet at the left of the desk with the dark oak and the shallow scratches and the brass knob and the sharp breaths and—

“Are you having fun, Tommy?” Dream tilted his head, no smile in sight. “You enjoying this little game of hide and seek?”

“Dream, I’m not—”

“You sneak behind my back and then have the audacity to do it again! Just a couple hours later!” He stepped forward and Tommy scrambled back.

“He just walked in, I swear!”

“And you stayed to chat,” he sneered. “You didn’t go back to Sam, you didn’t go find me. You didn’t learn a thing!”

Tommy’s back hit the desk and he let out a gasp at the impact. He wanted to protest, to say no, that’s not it at all, but that would be lying. His short-lived bravery was cooling like magma. He could taste the closet’s stale air, feel the sweat-drenched clothes on his back. “I’ll learn, I’ll learn! I promise, Dream, I—"

“Oh, you’ll learn alright.” Dream grabbed the collar of Tommy’s shirt, dragging him to his feet. “A couple hours in the closet will help, hm?”

Tommy grabbed Dream’s wrists. His mind blanked, panic coursing like caffeine through his blood stream. “W-wait!” His voice cracked. “P-please, I’ll l-listen! Not, not the—”

“You don’t get a choice, rabbit,” Dream purred as they neared the closet. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

A choked whimper left his lips, but he didn’t care. He clawed at Dream’s wrists, but he couldn’t stop the steady march to the closet. Screams clawed at his throat, coming out as ragged coughs. He needed to breathe. He had to breathe now, while the yellow light was on his face, while the stained carpet was under his feet, while the door to the closet stayed open.

With another heave, Dream shoved Tommy into the darkness. The wall hit his back and he lunged forward, but the door was already shut, his face slamming into solid oak.

“Pl-please, please!” Tommy begged as he banged on the door. “Let me out, please!”

Silence answered him, but Tommy knew he was there. He knew he was listening.

“I’ll listen, I swear! Dream, please!”

He begged and pleaded, hot tears running down his cheeks. The stuffy air was already squeezing his lungs. Logically, he knew he needed to stop, to take a moment and breathe but he couldn’t think around the buzzing in his brain. If he could see, Tommy was sure he’d see spots dancing across his vision, but even without them, he knew he was passing out.

As he sighed a whine into the door, the last moments before unconsciousness overtook him, Tommy wondered if Technoblade would call him a coward.

He wondered if Technoblade would still call him a person.

Chapter Text

Tommy wanted Tubbo. Maybe even Ranboo at this point.

He was touch-starved, but he’d never admit it.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying on the floor. The hardwood dug into his bones and his cheek was warm from being smooshed into the boards, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t lying on scratchy carpet, curled in on his limbs so he couldn’t feel his feet, the tingling numb feeling having long left them. He wiggled his toes. They could move now, so no, he wasn’t in the closet. He assumed he was in his room. He wasn’t in the basement. If he was, he wouldn’t be lying on the floor. He’d be wrapped in ratty blankets with Ranboo’s long arms wrapped around his chest and Tubbo’s small hands rubbing gentle thumbs over his forehead.

A tired sigh floated into the quiet room.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Yet as the wood grains dug into his arms, Tommy knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve soft touches and kind words. No one wanted to be around a kid who wouldn’t listen, a kid who blatantly disobeyed because he was selfish. Because that’s what he was. Selfish. He had wanted to talk with Wilbur, purposefully sneaking out to the lobby for a ray of attention. He’d had a panic attack in front of Dream’s important guests, in front of a patron (in front of Phil), and then he couldn’t even follow instructions, turning right back around to talk to Technoblade.

He had broken nearly every rule in a span of forty-eight hours.

A sunbeam snaked over Tommy’s face, and he screwed his eyes shut to block out the light.

“Rule one, n-no singing,” he whispered to himself.

He had to remind himself. He had to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of Dream.

“Rule two, don’t talk back.”

The one thing he seemed to be good at—talking back. If only he could stop his mouth before his words escaped.

“Rule three, don’t ask for things I don’t deserve.”

He didn’t deserve this room, this roof over his head. He didn’t deserve Dream’s kindness.

“Rule four, d-don’t complain.”

His voice scratched against his throat, sore from his screaming.

“Rule five, don’t speak to guests unless allowed.”

Water sounded amazing right now, but he wasn’t given water so he wouldn’t complain.

“Rule s-six, be in bed by eleven e-every night.”

Phil’s comforting words echoed in his head. “You’re alright, it’s okay.”

“Rule seven,” his voice cracked, a half-sob sticking to his throat, “remember wh-where I came from.”

Cold alleyways and muddy trash bins had loomed over his under-dressed form, feet bare even as snow had fallen from the sky. His stomach had growled into the night, and he remembered how hard it was to ignore the pain of starvation. That’s where he belonged, Dream had told him. He belonged in the trash and the dark, alone and unnoticed by the racing outside world. Dream had given him a chance at a life he didn’t deserve.

Tommy had thrown his generosity out the window, and for what? Half-hearted conversations with strangers? For he knew, even among all the smiles and laughter he could pull from Wilbur, that the conversations were fake. No one stayed with him for long—no one loved him for long. Conversations dulled and attention waned until he was right back in the lonely alleyway even though he was curled in his cot.

His heart stung, but it needed to feel the sting. He had to remind himself that he didn’t really matter to anyone. Definitely not to Phil or Technoblade. Not to Wilbur who felt like cinnamon and clove on a winter day. Not even to Tubbo and Ranboo who tolerated him more than most.

He wasn’t a person.

He wasn’t an angel.

Pulling his knees closer to his chest, Tommy curled into himself. He swallowed the sobs that demanded to be set free, determined to bury all his ugly emotions away. A rabbit didn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry.

Tommy was tired of crying and listening and not eating and sleeping alone and not talking to Tubbo or Ranboo.

He was so very tired.

The rational part of his mind told him to move to his bed, to at least curl into the thin blanket and squeaky cot for some semblance of comfort, but the other emotional part told him he deserved to suffer on the hard wood. He didn’t think he could move if he wanted to. His eyes shut as a headache squeezing his brain. Anytime he shuffled, his hip bone would dig into the floor and he would stifle a whimper at the pain. Despite the exhaustion that hung on his bones, he couldn’t sleep.

Tears pricked his eyes like tiny daggers. He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes to stop them. The pressure didn’t help. The tears still trickled down his face and Tommy finally let himself cry.

He didn’t bother to wipe his face, letting his tears run messily down his cheeks and down his chin. His shirt collar grew damp against his collarbone. Hiccups broke through his sobs as he sucked in air.

His ears recognized the window creaking and the familiar thump of the pane hitting the frame, but his mind weighed heavy with fog and charcoal.

“Oh. Oh, Tommy.”

A warm hand pushed through his curls while another tucked itself under his chin and softly wiped at his tears. The gentle touch was so much, too much, not enough, and Tommy whined at the overwhelming kindness in those hands. For a moment, fear shot through him at the thought of the hands pulling away, and he leaned forward to chase the contact. Whoever was cradling his face seemed to have no intention of pulling away, instead, they pulled him off the floor and into their lap, pressing his face close to their chest. Tommy burrowed into their arms as he grasped for any sense of comfort.

“It’s alright, dear. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.” Thin fingers carded slowly through his knotted hair. The voice sounded so familiar, like looking out at the ocean and seeing a faint outline of some lighthouse or ship but not being able to distinguish the features. He couldn’t be bothered to figure out who it was—he was just thankful someone was there. He could be grateful.

He tried to tell them how thankful he was, how much he didn’t want him to leave, but fatigue and stress coated his throat like molasses, and he couldn’t get the words out of his throat. A sorry-sounding whine came out instead, startling Tommy into pulling away. He was being needy again, he was—

“Sh, sh, it’s alright. You’re alright. No one’s gonna hurt you. It’s okay. Tech, you have any water? Fuck, I might have some in my bag. Yeah, yeah, in there. Oh, grab that jumper too. Hey, hey. Follow my breathing, okay angel? Deep breaths for me.”

Buried back in a tender embrace, soothing scratches against his scalp, Tommy focused on the steady rise and fall of the chest in front of him. Breathing pinched his lungs, but he struggled through them. He could make them proud. He could follow directions if he tried hard enough. Deep, shaky inhales and exhales left his chest as the pressure slowly eased out of his body.

“Good job, Tommy. You’re doing so well, angel. You’re doing so very well.”

The praise stabbed him in the heart, and he was crying all over again. He was doing well? Doing well while he cried out the ugliest parts of himself, snot and tears running down his face? The voice seemed to think so with kind words clearer than diamond. How could he not believe the one calling him angel?

Angel.

Angel?

Tommy shuffled in his arms, peering up at Wilbur through matted lashes.

“Bur?” He squinted at freckled gold and chocolate eyes. “When di’ you ge’ here?”

“Just a bit ago, angel,” Wilbur murmured, a sad smile dancing across his face. His glasses caught the midday sun on the lenses. “Techno was worried so we came to say hi.”

“Tech?” Tommy leaned his head against Wilbur’s shoulder to find Technoblade, sitting on his heels, hands hovering awkwardly.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was deeper than the last time, but maybe that was because he was practically whispering into the room. “How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? For the first time in minutes, maybe hours, he felt more aware than he had all day. Or night. He wasn’t sure what time it was, or even how long he had been in—there. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. Tired? He was definitely that. Scared? He thought he was, but Wilbur’s arms around him seemed to chase away fears like a knight chases away a dragon. He couldn’t think of an answer, head spinning with the concern laced in Techno and Wilbur’s voices. He decided on giving them a half-hearted shrug.

“What happened, Tommy?” Wilbur cupped his face in his hand, Tommy sinking into his palms. “What happened?”

His heart beat faster, and he dragged in a sharp breath. The dark swirled around his ankles and wrists, and the air thinned in his lungs, and the warmth of Wilbur’s hands became too much, and he couldn’t see, and—

“Alright, alright, it’s okay. It’s alright, breathe. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell us. It’s alright.”

Tommy fell into Wilbur’s arms and nodded weakly. He wanted to tell them, to tell them about Dream and the rules and the closet. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Not yet.

Someone patted his shoulder, a quick look revealing it to be Techno, and then a water bottle was pushed into his hands.

“Careful.” Techno rumbled. “Cap’s unscrewed.”

Tommy nodded, gently taking the bottle from Techno and sipping at the water. It wasn’t cold, but it was cool enough to relieve the burning scratch from the back of his throat. He gulped half the bottle and started to down the second half, but Techno’s large hands slowly pulled the bottle away. Tommy wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t choke yourself, kid. ‘S not going anywhere.”

“Who knows, it might,” he joked.

Judging by Wilbur’s facial expression, it wasn’t a good joke.

“Tommy—”

“You busy tonight?” Techno blurted.

Tommy glanced up at Wilbur and then over at Techno, who was sitting on his heels in a way that looked extremely uncomfortable. Sure, he looked shorter like this, but was it really worth the pain that was very obviously shooting up his calves? Tommy could never. Not worth the effort in his mind.

Wilbur patted his head and Tommy blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“Techno asked if you were busy tonight, Toms.” He tugged at Tommy’s curls, making him fall back into his shoulder.

“Oh yes, very busy. Can’t you see? I’ve got an important date with the floor tonight. Gonna make out and shit.”

Techno snorted and Tommy chuckled when Wilbur shot him a dirty look.

“That’s not really funny,” he said with a pout.

“Techno laughed,” Tommy reasoned. “So it was kinda funny.”

“Techno just has a shit sense of humor.”

“Last time I checked, you were laughing at a video about a piece of bread falling over. If anything, your humor is trash.” Techno grinned, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Really, Bur? Bread?” Tommy’s chuckle sounded thin, even in his own ears, so he knew it sounded weak in Wilbur and Techno’s ears. “I mean, I knew you had issues, but wow.”

“But are you free?” Wilbur ignored the jab by once again repeating the question. “We’re serious, Toms, we want to. . .um. We. . .uh. . .”

“What he’s trying to say is we want to take you out. Like out of the Magic House,” Techno explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “He just can’t stop stuttering to save his life.”

Wilbur shot yet another dirty look at Techno, but Tommy wasn’t paying attention. All he could think about were dancing city lights and old brick buildings, sweet pastries and hot sandwiches from the deli on fifth avenue. He loved the way the sky mirrored itself in puddles while people chatted to themselves, darting in and out of stores he’d spent hours looking through the windows. The feeling of wind on his face and the clacking of his old shoes on uneven pavement filtered through his memories, memories that he had almost forgotten but not quite let go.

Out of the Magic House. Dream didn’t like it when he left, even if it was to walk along brick sidewalks just around the corner. He couldn’t keep an eye on him, he had said, he couldn’t keep him safe if something happened. Tommy had always thought it was ridiculous—he knew how to live on the streets. He had done it for years after all. But Dream was insistent, so Tommy hadn’t left. His only glimpses of the outside world were from high on the roof, night air curling through his hair and around his singing.

The long-buried itch to be out resurfaced, and Tommy shuffled in Wilbur’s hold. He slid out of his arms, far enough for him to think, but close enough for him to collapse again if he needed to.

“Like. . .out out?” he whispered. “Outside the House out?”

“Um, yeah? This place is kinda stuffy. I’m not staying any more than I have to,” Techno said.

“Oh, that’s a lie and you know it,” Wilbur scolded. He reached his hand out, closing the distance between him and Tommy. Tommy wrapped his hand around his. “Tech wants to go to the library. Something about reading Greek myths or something, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Theseus, Tommy’s mind supplied, and his heart skipped.

“You never pay attention to me.” Techno stood up, stretching his arms in a wide circle as his bones cracked in a definitely old man sort of way. “You can rant all you want and I’ll listen to every word, but as soon as I open my mouth—”

“What do you say, Toms?” Wilbur quickly squeezed his hand three times, a warm comfort shooting through him.

He almost let a yes please yes slip past, but he caught himself, sucking in a breath. Not hours after Dream had punished him, he was already thinking about disobeying him. How pathetic was he? Just an ungrateful brat who didn’t care about the man who had saved him.

“I. . .I can’t.” He pulled his knees up to his chest as he let go of Wilbur’s hand. He ignored the pained expression that flashed across Wilbur’s face and burrowed into himself.

“Why?” Techno’s question was blunt, no dancing around with flowery words like Wilbur, but something in Tommy appreciated the sincerity.

“No offense, angel, but you look like you need some fresh air.” Wilbur brushed his knuckles against Tommy’s face.

The bubbling warmth that crept into his cheeks was unbearable. He had suddenly realized that Technoblade had been here the whole time, listening to every “angel” that fell from Wilbur’s mouth, and the embarrassment of grabbing onto the nickname hit him like a brick to the face.

But. . .Wilbur was right. He wanted fresh air after long hours spent in a musty closet with nothing but damp carpet and scratchy wood walls to keep him company. He longed for a breeze against his cheeks and the sun in his hair.

And that was the problem. He wanted those things. But he didn’t need them. He didn’t deserve them.

Wilbur was wrong.

Wasn’t he?

“We won’t force you to go,” Techno said, and Wilbur whined beside him but his brother continued on like nothing happened, “but we would like you to come.” His voice sank, vibrating into the floorboards. “You won’t get in trouble. I swear it.”

Tommy’s head snapped up, eyes impossible large. “You promise? I—”

He stopped.

Too eager, too needy, too—

“Of course, kid. No one messes with me.” He smiled, danger dancing on the edge, but full of truth and something else that made Tommy’s stomach flip.

“Yeah, no one messes with you after you beat that one kid up.” Wilbur leaned closer and Tommy found himself leaning as well. He stage-whispered, “They called him the ‘Blood God’ for a reason.”

Tommy blinked. “They what—”

“That was one time! Eight years ago!” Techno groaned. “I’m trying to have a serious moment here! I can’t take you anywhere.”

Wilbur nodded, his playfulness slipping into seriousness. “He’s right, Tommy. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

He shouldn’t trust them. He shouldn’t, because they could just as easily throw him into Dream’s waiting arms, watching as he once again messes up. But he had seen Dream cower under Techno’s words and struggle to keep up with Wilbur’s wit. Even Tubbo and Ranboo, who he loved dearly and wrapped his soul around theirs, couldn’t get under Dream’s skin like Wilbur and Techno.

If he was going to leave the House with anyone, he’d want to leave with them.

“We promise, Theseus,” Techno said.

“I am your Ariadne, Dream,” Techno had said. A promise of help. A promise that someone is on his side.

“I’m not going to tell Dream,” Wilbur had said. A promise of protection. A promise that he wouldn’t get caught.

“Ok,” Tommy whispered. “Ok,” he said louder as Techno’s eyes sparked and Wilbur’s entire face lit up. “But you better not kidnap me, Tubbo would have my head.”

“Tubbo?” Techno questioned.

“Don’t get on his bad side,” Tommy hummed.

“What are you talking about?” Wilbur chuckled nervously.

“Who is Tubbo?” Techno asked again.

“Nope, don’t make Bee Boy mad.” Tommy nodded, a smile growing on his face, the tightness easing in his chest.

“Bee Boy?” Techno’s voice pitched up in confusion.

“Bee Boy.” Tommy stood up with a nod, and Wilbur choked down a laugh. “Come on then, kings. I want to see the world!”

“Who is Tubbo!?”

Tommy reached a hand down to Wilbur who grabbed it easily, pulling himself up with a huff. An arm wrapped around Tommy, tugging him closer to Wilbur. Wilbur sent him a smile so impossibly soft that he felt like melting into his arms all over again.

“Alright then!” Wilbur tugged him toward the only window of the room, the window Tommy associated with escape and freedom and singing. “Out you go!”

“Is no one going to tell me who the heck Tubbo is?”

“Nope!” Tommy chimed.

Techno grumbled. “Insufferable.”

Wilbur gave out a patronizing tsk before climbing out the window, cursing as his leg caught on the sill. His head disappeared as he stood and then reappeared as he bent over to stick his head through the window. Like clouds floating over the moon, brown curls tumbled across his face.

Uncertainty crept up Tommy’s throat again as he met Wilbur’s eyes. This was a dangerous game he was playing, leaving the safety of his room so soon. But Bur had promised, Techno had promised.

“Come on, Toms.” Wilbur held out his hand. “We’ve got shit to see.”

He nodded, grabbing Wilbur’s hand and climbing out into the sunlight.

The sun felt like heaven on his cheeks and he inhaled the late afternoon air. The roof always had a stronger breeze than the street. Wind tugged at his shirt, and Tommy laughed at the fresh coolness running under his sleeves. He grabbed Wilbur’s wrist, dragging him toward the fire escape.

“Let’s go, bitch!” Tommy tried to sound confident, but his voice still cracked. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing around the roof as if Dream was somehow waiting for him to escape. “Hurry up!”

“We’ve got to wait for Techno, you gremlin!” Wilbur protested but didn’t stop Tommy yanking on his arm. “Impatient child.”

“I’m not a child!”

A thump and Techno appeared, rolling his shoulders from his crawl through the window. As he caught Tommy’s eye, he started looking around the rooftop, a watchful gaze running over every hiding place Tommy could think of. His shoulders drooped and he pulled Wilbur’s arm to his chest.

The trio climbed down the fire escape, Tommy scrambling down to keep up with Wilbur while Techno slowly came behind. Wilbur hopped onto the street and held his arms up.

“What,” Tommy joked, hands shaking from his tight grip on the ladder, “you gonna catch me if I fall?”

“Yes,” Wilbur said simply.

He blinked at the ease of his answer, at the way Wilbur could so easily promise his safety.

Oh.

It wasn’t fair that Wilbur could make complicated things so simple, like he could make everything better with just a word. Tommy glared down at his face.

“What? What did I do?” Wilbur’s face scrunched.

“Bruh, can you move?” Techno swung his foot in front of Tommy’s face. “My legs are starting to give out, and you’re having a friendly chat.”

Tommy pushed his foot and grinned. “Ha, you’re an old man. Weak, old-man legs.”

“Just move already.”

Despite the urge to stay on the ladder just to annoy him, Tommy climbed the rest of the way down, feet landing on the bumpy pavement with a thump. Wilbur wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the alley.

The warmth around him and the steady flow of Wilbur’s conversation wrapped his brain like a blanket. He leaned into Bur’s chest, content to let him lead. His exhaustion weighed down his limbs and muddied his brain. It took everything in him to focus on walking, to keep him from face-planting into concrete. Wrapping his own arm around Wilbur, Tommy melted into the comfort that bombarded him.

“He’s almost asleep,” Techno hummed on his right. “He might not make it to the library, Wil.”

“‘M not asleep,” he muttered.

“Sure, angel.” Wilbur’s hand scratched behind his ear. “Let’s get you in the car and you can nap before we get there.”

“Car?” Tommy shuffled, blinking slowly as he took in his surroundings. In front of him was a blue car sitting low to the ground. It had seen better days, scrapes and scratches littering its surface, but well-loved all the same. Techno opened the back door.

“In ya get, kid.”

Sunlight streaked across the leather seats, and windows let in plenty of light, but Tommy’s heart still clenched at the space. It was small. Too small. Way, way too small for him. He’d go inside and the walls would shrink, shrink, shrink—

“It’s alright, angel, it’s okay.” Wilbur turned his head into his shoulder, and Tommy swung his arms around him, squeezing tightly. His head spun as his thoughts jumbled. He couldn’t go in there, he couldn’t.

“We won’t make you go in.” Techno rubbed a slow circle between his shoulder blades.

Oh, that’s nice. He had been talking out loud.

“We’ll never make you do something you don’t want to do,” Wilbur hummed. “You’re alright, dear, it’s okay.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes closed, listening to the steady beats of Wilbur’s heart under him. He matched his breaths to the pattern Techno was tracing on his back. Comfort flooded him, surrounded him on all sides, sending him back to lazy evenings with Tubbo and Ranboo. The same love that poured from his friends poured from the brothers, and he was confused. He wasn’t supposed to be lovable or endearing, but a pain and a hassle—that’s what Dream had said.

A voice that suspiciously sounded a lot like Tubbo said that Dream was wrong.

Wilbur twisted on one of his curls, not in a harsh way, but a light, gentle tug that had him humming into Wilbur’s sweater. Techno rested his hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing absently.

“Tommy?” Another soft tug against his curls matched Wilbur’s rumbling murmur. “You alright, angel?”

He nodded slowly. If he was tired before, he was exhausted now, every muscle aching with the need to just sit down and sleep.

“Right okay, listen, dear. Are you listening?”

He nodded again.

“Good. You’re doing so good.”

Warmth blossomed over his cheeks and he burrowed further into the knitted stitches of the sweater.

“We don’t want you to rest here, you understand? We want to take you out of that House for a while. But we have to get in the car to get there.”

He let out an involuntary whine, causing Techno to rub his shoulders again.

“I know, dear, I know.” Wilbur spoke like he was the one hurting and not Tommy. “I’ll sit with you the entire time, and we’ll be there before you know it. I won’t hurt you, Tommy. I promise.”

“I know.” He whispered raspily. Pulling on Wilbur’s sweater, he buried himself into his shoulder. “‘M so tired, Bur.”

“Then come sleep for a while, angel. I’ll keep you safe.”

Tommy let Wilbur drag him into the back seat, the two tumbling over each other’s feet as they tried to settle. The walls loomed over them, but before panic could seep into Tommy’s head, Wilbur pulled him back to his chest and covered his eyes. With the light gone, and the car hidden, he sunk into the hold. Exhaustion was back, gripping his bones and luring him to sleep.

“You got him?”

Tommy could only barely register the new voice, too tired to do anything but fall into Wilbur’s arms.

“Yeah, we got him,” Techno answered, passenger door closing. “Take us to Beloved’s Books, Sneeg.”

“I got you.”

The car hummed as the driver started the vehicle. Cold air gently blew on Tommy’s neck, thin fingers carded through his curls, and Tommy let himself fall asleep knowing that for once he was safe.

—

Wilbur had hoped, had prayed, that he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

Usually, he would boast in Techno’s face about his win, but now, with Tommy curled in his lap and breathing smoothly for the first time in an hour, he only felt a sickening guilt in his gut. He buried his nose into Tommy’s hair and sighed.

When Techno had came home with a distressed look in his eye and saying that Dream was definitely manipulating Tommy, Wilbur had almost dashed out the front door just to scoop his boy up into his arms and give Dream a good kick to the groin. Both Techno and Dad had to pin him to the chair to keep him calm. He’d apologize, but all he had seen was white anger. Wilbur had had his suspicions. He wanted to be wrong. Oh, how desperately he wanted to be wrong.

The ride was quiet, Tommy’s gentle breaths and Techno’s random humming filled the empty space. Even Sneeg kept his witty comments to himself. He was a chatty dude, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. The silence ate at Wilbur’s thoughts. His fingers tapped sporadically against his leg.

“What are we gonna do, Tech?” he finally asked, voice coming out softer than he meant. “We can’t let him go back there.”

Techno kept his eyes on the road. “We can’t kidnap the kid—”

“We could!” Wilbur leaned forward, careful not to jostle Tommy. “I can’t—Tech, we can’t!”

“No, we can’t,” agreed Techno. His eyes reflected in the rearview mirror to make contact with Wilbur’s. “But we can’t kidnap him either. We’ll. . .we’ll think of something, Wil. But something ethical.”

“Kidnapping is probably not a good option,” Sneeg inputted.

“You don’t say,” Techno droned. “Lookie there, Wil, someone else with sense.”

Wilbur stuck out his lip. “I didn’t say it was a good option, I’m just saying it’s an option.”

Techno sighed. “We’ll figure out something, but we can’t do anything rash for his sake.”

Wilbur leaned against the seat and settled his hands in Tommy’s curls, twirling the strands absently.

“No, we can’t,” he agreed quietly. Sneeg turned the car down a familiar road, the new tea shop nestled on Wilbur’s right and the antique store on his left. The bookstore was up ahead, and the thought of waking Tommy up already made Wilbur uneasy.

His attention shifted to Tommy. The kid’s forehead was creased even as he slept and Wilbur gently rubbed the wrinkles out with his thumb. Tommy melted into the touch and sighed in his sleep. The car’s rumbled slowed as Sneeg parked the car in front of the library. Swinging gently, the sign outside read “Beloved’s Books.” Wilbur pressed himself closer to Tommy.

“Wil?”

He looked up. Techno had turned in his seat, eyes furrowed in a familiar worry that made him smile.

“I’m fine. Really. Just. . .wished we could do something more.”

Techno nodded as understanding replaced worry. “We will. It might take some time, but we will.”

“Try and just enjoy some time together at least.” Sneeg turned around to look at Wilbur and Tommy. “Even if it’s just for a bit.”

Techno unbuckled his seatbelt. “We’ll try. I’m at least not gonna spend the next couple hours cramped in this seat, even if the kid’s sleeping.”

Wilbur puffed his cheeks out. If he had to wake Tommy up, he’d better do it now before he chickened out.

“Tommy.” Shaking his shoulder, Wilbur pulled him up to a half-sitting position. “Come on, wake up. We’re here.”

Tommy brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“We’re here,” Wilbur repeated. “There are couches inside. Much more comfortable than the car. Come on.” He poked his shoulder a couple times, Tommy muttering curses before climbing out of the backseat.

He and Techno had debated where to take Tommy—because they both agreed that he needed to get out of the House—and they eventually settled on Beloved’s. It was a simple choice at the end of it, a quiet place that wasn’t ever too crowded and run by a bookkeeper who always knew when to push and when to back off. Niki was an unexpected but welcome friend, one that Wilbur had met while looking for a place to study. Beloved’s Books had been quiet and Niki had offered her help when Wilbur was struggling amidst a pile of sources. They ended up chatting, and Wilbur found himself attached to her sweet smile and pleasant optimism. She was the perfect mix of sweet and savage, and Wilbur had a gut feeling that she and Tommy would get along fine.

Wilbur waited for Tommy to climb out of the car. The poor kid was swaying on his feet as he stood, eyes red and puffy as he blinked at his surroundings.

“Where—what’s happening?”

“It’s a bookstore.” Techno came around the back of the car and held an arm out. Instead of taking it to hold on to, Tommy slumped against his side, leaving Techno’s arm awkwardly dangling mid-air. “It’s, uh, where we’re gonna hang out for a bit.” He glanced at Wilbur who gave him a fond smile before letting his arm wrap around Tommy.

“Mmm, sounds good,” he slurred, his lips turning up in a small smile.

Wilbur opened his mouth to tease Techno, but his brother sent him a look that made him chuckle.

“Soft,” he mumbled before opening the door to the bookstore.

The smell of vanilla and new books filled Wilbur’s breath as they entered. The little bells on the door jingled as Techno shut it behind them. Tommy looked up at them.

“Bells.” He pointed.

Techno blinked, and Wilbur turned away to hide his laughter.

“You’re really tired, aren’t you, kid?” Techno said.

“Not a kid.” Tommy slumped back down.

“Well, hello there.”

Wilbur met Niki’s eyes, a soft smile stretched across her face as she took in the scene. “This is certainly a surprise. Haven’t seen you boys in a while. And with a friend too?”

“Hey, Niki.” Wilbur pulled her into a half-hug with his arm draped over her shoulder. “Can we use the back study room for a bit? We just, uh, need a couple minutes, yeah?”

Niki glanced between him and Techno who was already leading Tommy to the back. A look of understanding passed over her face. “Of course, Wil. Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks, you’re awesome.” Wilbur slipped into the back room without another word.

The back room wasn’t really a room, more like a back corner with the comfiest couch he had ever sat on. The signature oak bookshelves lined the walls and a well-worn coffee table sat in the middle, pen and highlighter marks decorating the surface. A singular window sat behind the couch and let the afternoon rays dance across the carpeted floor.

Relief swept over him when he saw Tommy curled into Techno’s side, already comfortable on the couch. Plopping on the other side, Wilbur ruffled Tommy’s hair with a sigh.

“He’s ok, Wil.” Techno’s voice rumbled through his chest. “We’ve got him.”

Tommy’s head popped up. “Huh? What’s Bur whining about?”

“I’m not whining about anything. Go back to sleep, gremlin.” Wilbur pushed his head gently down.

Tommy fussed but his eyes fluttered shut as Wilbur pulled and tugged at his curls. His face unwrinkled slowly. Wilbur let his own tension leak out, resting farther and farther on Techno’s shoulder. He could hear Niki hum from the front of the store. The outside world faded further away. No performances or portfolios or art shows looming over a stressed out home, but three brothers nestled together in peace.

Cause that’s what Tommy was, right? Someone they’d protect and love just like he was one of their own. Just like he was actually their brother. Techno wrapped his arms around them both and rubbed circles into Wil’s shoulder.

“We’re gonna be o-kay,” Techno mumbled. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Wilbur wanted to argue, but it was hard to disagree when everything was alright.

At least, for the moment.

Chapter Text

Tommy wished he could remember a bit more of last night.

He remembered enough, the warm touches and gentle words that urged him to sleep. The promises made by the brothers still rang in his head even as he blinked wearily at his ceiling. His attic cot squeaked under his weight, nothing like the couch at the bookstore. His scalp tingled with phantom scratches. He ran his hands through his hair, but it didn’t feel the same.

Coming back to the Magic House had been torture as he had to tear himself away from Techno. The last hug he had given Wilbur had lasted at least five minutes, and Tommy had clung to him like a koala bear. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but his curfew had hung over his head and he had sleepily begged the brothers to take them back. He could tell they didn’t want to by the way Wilbur opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish and by the way Techno’s jaw clenched and released. Neither of them were mad, just disappointed that he was leaving, at least from what Tommy could tell.

But as he heard the familiar steps of Dream climbing up the ladder, he knew he had made the right choice.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Tommy rubbed his eyes with a groan. The lingering effects of yesterday’s mental breakdown were floating around in the corners of his brain, and the last person he wanted to see was Dream.

Dream swung the door open and climbed out with a grin.

“Good morning, Tommy! How’s my rabbit today?”

“Fine, thank you,” he mumbled. Dream’s chipper tone rang through his head and amplified his headache.

Be polite, be polite, he reminded himself. Dream was usually in a good mood after a “lesson,” but he was very strict on the rules. Tommy couldn’t break a single one today.

“Good, good.” Dream shuffled through Tommy’s chest and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. “We’ve got a lot to do today, and I’m sure you’re ready to be moving a bit, huh?”

Tommy thought back to the bookstore and the fresh air of the city. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m thinking about adding your dance to the show,” he continued absently, throwing the outfit at Tommy and digging through the chest for his shoes. “We had so many lovely comments from your last performance, it only seems right.”

Nausea settled in his stomach. Appearing through the portal was bad enough, but dancing on stage afterwards? Tommy already knew he wouldn’t last long on his feet. A retort sat on his tongue. He swallowed it. Dream wouldn’t take a snarky response kindly.

He wasn’t going to mess up again.

“To do that though, you’ll need some training, hm?” Dream handed him his shoes. “Can’t have you passing out on stage, now can we?”

The way he talked about him passing out so nonchalantly only made him sicker.

“N-no,” Tommy stammered.

“No what?” Dream’s green eye stared at him.

“No, sir.”

Dream nodded and opened the trap door. “Meet me downstairs when you’re changed.” His eye sparkled with a manic energy. Tommy gripped his sheets. “We’ve got work to do, rabbit.”

—

When Dream had said work, Tommy should have known that he meant practicing with no stops or breaks until he could hardly think straight. The morning was warmer than most, stuffy in the music practice room, and the constant moving meant he had worked up a good sweat. The arches of his feet ached, and yet they still practiced. Tommy was sure it was lunch time by now by the way the room was incredibly warm and the sun was no longer visible from the one window. Tommy winced as sweat trickled down his spine.

“You’re too slow! Keep your steps steady, you’re getting off rhythm!”

He was going to shove Dream’s face into the piano. Sure, Tubbo would hate him, probably not speak to him for weeks, but he wouldn’t have to listen to Dream’s constant nagging and criticism.

Yeah, totally worth it.

“Pay attention, Tommy!” Dream shouted and Tommy’s gaze snapped back to his feet.

He counted the steps in his head. Weariness settled in his ankles and Tommy really had to focus on his footing. Every step felt like he was pulling his leg out of mud, the piano muddling together in a weird symphony of ups and downs that pounded into his head. Even his usual method of imagining Ranboo guiding him through the waltz wasn’t helping.

“One, two, three,” Tommy murmured low enough for Dream not to catch. He tripped over the last step, his heart tripping with him.

“Stop, Tubbo.”

Dream stormed toward him, his feet thudding on the hardwood like raindrops in a thunderstorm. Tommy involuntarily took a step back.

Tubbo’s head peaked over the piano, and Tommy could see his eyebrows furrowing. Distracted by Tubbo and his very furrowed eyebrows, Tommy wasn’t prepared to have Dream looming over his shoulder. He shoved the yelp of surprise down his throat. Dream had that look. The one that confused Tommy because he didn’t know if he had done something bad or something wonderful. Tommy straightened and held his hands as still as he could behind him. Dream tilted his head.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, Tommy hated these questions. He never could answer them right, too many possibilities in his answer. But he had to answer quickly. Dream hated it when he stalled.

“I’m, uh, dancing?” He held back a wince from how weak his voice sounded.

Dream’s visible eyebrow raised, and Tommy shivered. “Dancing. And?”

Tommy thought back through what he had been doing. He had been dancing, right? That’s all. He was watching his steps, and counting the the beat, and—

Oh.

Oh.

Surely he hadn’t counted out loud, had he?

“C-counting? The, the beat. To the waltz,” Tommy said, forcing the shake from his voice. “I didn’t know—”

“Don’t talk back to me, rabbit,” Dream snapped. He stepped closer, mask leaning into his face. “What? You think you know better than me? Still?”

“N-no! No, sir!” Tommy dug his nails into his palm. “I don’t!”

“You say that, and I can’t tell if you’re lying to me or not!” Dream pushed him back with his hand. “How can I trust you? Do you even know that you’re disobeying me?”

“I do! I swear, I do!” Tommy stumbled back as he tried to remember when Dream had ever told him to be quiet while dancing. He supposed he had never danced for so long before. He should have known. He should have been good. “I’m sorry! Really, Dream, I am!”

Dream stared at him. “Prove it.”

Tommy blinked. “What?”

“Prove you’re sorry. Beg.”

Tommy’s face burned, the first thought entering his mind was that Tubbo was right there. He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t stop Dream, couldn’t keep him from embarrassing him. He swallowed and shifted. “I—”

“Beg, Tommy,” Dream growled, “or you can spend another night in the closet.”

Tommy’s eyes darted around the room. He couldn’t escape this. He felt like Tubbo’s eyes were crawling up his spine. The room was shrinking and the ache in his feet was shooting up into his knees. Dream tapped his foot impatiently.

And Tommy dropped to the floor, something that should have been a relief, but only made red crawl up to his scalp. “P-please Dream. I-I’m listening to you, I swear. I’ll t-try harder. I’m sorry, please.”

Dream stopped tapping his foot as the air conditioner started whirring overhead. The hardwood creaked outside the music room, and Tommy could hear Fundy’s obnoxious laughter echo down the hall. Tubbo shifted, the piano bench squeaking underneath him.

“I don’t trust you,” Dream finally said. “But I suppose it’ll do. Get the fuck up.”

Tommy scrambled to his feet. “Yes sir. Sorry, I—”

“Just shut up.” Dream let out a long sigh, rubbing his hand down his face. “We’re done today.” He turned and left, slamming the door so hard the rafters and Tommy shook with the force.

A gnawing disappointment clawed at his throat and he shut his eyes tightly. If he hadn’t messed up, if he had just listened, Dream would be proud of him. Dream wouldn’t have left. But he was a failure and this was his punishment. He rubbed at his face, sighing shakily.

“That mother fucker.”

Tommy jumped, whirling around. Tubbo was standing at the piano with his shoulders to his ears. Even from across the room, he could feel the rage rolling off Tubbo in waves, like someone had left the oven open. Tommy cowered instinctively even though he knew Tubbo would never be angry at him.

“Tub—”

“No! No, you don’t get to ‘defend’ him or whatever the fuck is running through your head!” Tubbo marched over to him, finger waving in his face. “Dream doesn’t deserve the fucking time of day! Did you see? Tommy, didn’t you fucking see what he did to you!? He treated you like, like you were some kind of dog! Like a pet! Like, like—”

“A rabbit.” Tommy watched Tubbo pant. His shoulders were tense, raised to his ears as if he were going to explode. “It’s fine, Tubbo. It happens. I messed up anyways.”

“But you didn’t—” Tubbo inhaled shakily, running his hands through his blond roots. “You didn’t do anything, Tommy! You were just fucking counting!”

“I can’t count on stage,” he countered. “If people see me—”

“Who fucking cares?” Tubbo threw his hands up. “You’re a fucking person, just because you were keeping time doesn’t mean you have to get on your fucking knees and beg!”

Tommy winced. “Tubbo, please, I—”

“You’re not some kind of fucking animal, Tommy! You’re a person! A wonderful, beautiful fucking person, and Dream can’t do this to you! He doesn’t care, Tommy, don’t you get it!? He doesn’t fucking care!” Tubbo swung his arms.

And Tommy flinched.

A full-body flinch almost never happened, but here he was. Flinching like some kind of child. Tubbo stopped, hands frozen out in the air. He dropped them slowly with a look of such pure terror. Tommy hated seeing that look on Tubbo’s face. He hated that he had flinched. He hated that this was even happening. He knew that Tubbo would never hurt him, but his brain had reacted anyway.

Tommy lowered his head. “Sorry, Tub, I’m—”

“If you say sorry one more time, I swear,” Tubbo threatened softly, his voice drastically different in tone from two seconds ago. His hair was messed up, and for once, Tommy could see his eyes. Tubbo always hated them. He hated the scarring around his forehead and the way his eyes sat too low on his face. Tommy always thought they were so expressive, like Tubbo was carrying all his emotions and thoughts inside. Maybe that was why he hid them under his bangs.

“I hate seeing you hurt, Tommy.” Tubbo looked up at the skylights. Tommy watched the golden light dance in his irises. “You deserve so much more than him. I wish I could give it to you.”

Tommy followed his gaze. The sky was a lovely royal blue, piercing through even the clouds. Warm light danced through the rafters. “I know, Tubs.”

“Do you, Tommy?” Tubbo lowered his head, bangs covering his face once again. “I don’t think you realize just how special you are.”

He found he didn’t have an answer to that. The clouds rolled lazily over them, shadows passing over his face. He closed his eyes. Tommy didn’t know that he believed that. Because honestly, was he really special? What did he have that Tubbo or Ranboo didn’t? He was just Tommy.

That was all he needed to be.

He shrugged. “Okay, Tubbo. Alright.”

“No, no ‘alright.’” Tubbo punched his shoulder. “I mean it, idiot.”

Tommy grabbed his wrist and twisted it a bit. “If you mean it, then maybe you shouldn’t punch people, huh?” Despite it all, a smile crept up his face. No matter what happened, no matter what Dream did, Tubbo was there. He had been there from the beginning, and he was here now, smiling and passionate and protective.

“I punch you because you need it.” Tubbo slung an arm over Tommy’s shoulders which forced him to bend over to Tubbo’s height. Tommy let out a loud, drawn-out groan. “Oh, shut up! You and Ranboo are too fucking tall.”

“Maybe you were just born a midget. Ever thought about that, bee boy?” Tommy didn’t move, just leaned in closer to Tubbo and rested his head on the top of Tubbo’s. He closed his eyes. His head was pounding, now that he stopped and took a breath. His feet ached, his ankles ached, hell, his fucking heart ached. Everything ached. And he wanted nothing more than to crawl down to the basement and wrap Ranboo’s arms around him and keep Tubbo under his chin.

“I’ve got to go, Tubs.” Tommy’s whisper barely reached the rafters. He was sure Tubbo could hear his reluctance.

“You don’t have to.” Tubbo did hear it. The displeasure was back in his voice. Tommy knew that one of these days he wouldn’t be able to hold Tubbo back. He’d say something rash, or worse do something rash, and Dream would turn his anger to him instead of Tommy. But as long as Tommy could breathe and walk and run and cry, he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d never let that happen to his brother.

“I do.” Tommy pulled away, his soul reaching for Tubbo’s like a sunflower in the shade. He smiled tiredly. “I’ll see you around, big man. I’ll just—”

“Really? Just as I get here?”

Tommy’s heart soared as he whipped around to find Ranboo leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He shook his head and sighed. “It’s always Tubbo this and Tubbo that, but no one ever waits for Ranboo.”

“Oi, shut up, bitch!” Tubbo shouted behind him. “You are always appearing and disappearing like some kind of teleporter and then you blame us for never being there when you’re being clingy? Oh, please.”

Tommy wasn’t listening to Tubbo’s rant, instead, he flung himself into Ranboo’s arms and buried his face into the sweater that smelled of crisp laundry detergent. He muttered Ranboo’s name.

“Woah there. Okay. Uh.” Ranboo shifted under him before his arms wrapped around Tommy’s chest. “Are you alright, dandelion? What happened?”

Tommy shook his head. Fuck, now he really didn't want to go. He didn't want to go up in that drafty ass room that creaked and was so fucking quiet. He hated hearing Dream's footsteps climb up the ladder. He hated not knowing what would happen next.

“Alright, okay uh.” Ranboo shuffled, one hand resting in Tommy's hair and the other shuffling in his pocket. “I brought some granola bars, if you want one? I wasn't sure if Dream was uh…you know.”

Tommy snorted and pulled back. “You can say it. Fucking starving me? Just gimme the bar, boob boy.”

“Don't call me that,” Ranboo sighed, handing the granola bar to him. Tommy stared at the wrapper and smiled. Blueberry. His favorite.

“Do I get one too?” Tubbo hooked his chin over Tommy's shoulder.

“No, you get the moldy tater tot I found under the couch.” Ranboo tossed another granola bar to Tubbo. “Stop your whining, you big baby.”

“If I'm a baby, then what is Tommy?”

“You’re a bitch!” Tommy smacked Tubbo's forehead, the boy groaning as he rubbed his face. “Everyone knows I'm a Big Man!”

“A big baby man,” Tubbo mocked, sticking his tongue out, then yelped as Tommy swung at him again. “Boo! Boo, he's hitting me! Stop him!”

Ranboo shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Yeah, bitch!” Tommy lunged at Tubbo, and the two boys fell to the floor in a brawl.

Even after their bickering was over, after the insults and the shoves, the rolling of eyes and corny nicknames, it was still them. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo to the end. Tommy lived for the moments of life. He breathed them, these precious moments of how life was supposed to be. He knew this is what life was. Not rules, or begging, or gnawing at his stomach. Just laughter and bruised hips.

Just them.

—

Tommy slid down the wall and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wasn't crying. No, Big Men didn't cry. He was resting, far away from pianos and waltzes and Tubbo's protective eye before being sent up to his room. Dream had dismissed him but hadn't said where to go, and Tommy jumped on the opportunity. He just wanted out of that stupid attic. He just wanted a moment where his life wasn't in shambles. His feet ached, his shoulders stiff and rigid from the non-stop training. He'd never danced so hard in his life, never danced so well, and still Dream pushed him.

Still, he failed.

The backstage of the music room was loud and Tommy loved how he could blend into the back. He couldn't blend often, his hair too bright and his eyes too bold, but he loved it when he could just sit and watch the Magic House work. Fundy twirled his hoops, sparks of orange and purple jumping between the rings. Tommy could hear Skeppy making Bad whine from the stage, and Puffy was creating small clouds that drifted around the backstage. Callahan slid down a staircase, a rope coiled over his shoulder as he wiped sweat off his brow. Even Jack was busy, though Tommy had no idea what doing push-ups in the corner was all about.

It was nice to sit and watch for once instead of being watched.

The floorboards creaked beside him, and Tommy looked up to see Ranboo. His friend looked out over the backstage, arms overflowing with red, blue, purple, and orange fabrics that shimmered in the light. Even with his half-mask on, Tommy knew he was frowning.

“You look like someone killed your dog,” Tommy joked. His voice scratched against his throat and he suddenly realized he hadn't drank anything all day.

Ranboo didn't answer, just tilted his head down to Tommy and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Tommy squinted. “Do I have something on my face?”

He sighed and slid down to the floor, fabrics abandoned next to him. Buttons clattered on the ground, and Tommy stared at some of the sequins sewed on the sleeve of some garment.

“You need to leave, Tom.” Ranboo stared straight ahead. “There's nothing for you here.”

Tommy blinked, before letting out a loud groan. “We've been through this, Ran! I'm not leaving you and Tubbo. I don't have anywhere to go. I can't—”

“No,” Ranboo shook his head. “No, you won't leave because of Dream. Not us. Don't lie to me. You've always been stubborn.”

Tommy grumbled and crossed his arms, head resting on his knees. “I'm not being stubborn.”

“You are being stubborn. You don't want to leave me and Tubbo, sure, but you also like Dream.” His voice lowered, close to pity but so far from it that Tommy's heart melted. “You need a family. And this isn't it. We aren't it. And Dream certainly isn't it. I mean—” Ranboo gestured to Tommy. “You look miserable. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then don't look,” Tommy muttered.

“You know I can't do that.”

Tommy fell silent. The Magic House's music washed over him. There was nothing organized about it, no rhythm or reason, just noise. His shoulders raised involuntarily at the scratchings and short pops of magic being used.

“You can't stand it here, Tom. And I can't stand you not standing it.” Ranboo held out his hand, palm up, waiting for Tommy to take it. He did and laced their fingers together. “I just want you to be happy. Tubbo does too.”

“I know.” Tommy leaned his head back on the wall and shut his eyes. The waltz bounced about in his brain and he could see himself dancing along to the music. The whole thing had been brainwashed into him, he felt like. “I want this performance to be over.”

Ranboo and Tommy both knew he wasn't just talking about the dance.

“It's almost over,” Ranboo promised.

Tommy laughed. “Sure, Boo. Sure.”

—

Phil looked up at the Magic House's sign, bright lights flashing in the evening. Conversations floated around him, and he breathed in the warm air. The House was just as bright, just as alluring as it had been that first night. He rolled his shoulders with a sigh.

“And this is the place that's captivated my boys.” Kristin stood at his side, eyeing the sign with him. There was no judgment in her tone. Just a curiosity and a gentle teasing that Phil had come to love.

“It's not the place,” Phil corrected. “It's the person.”

He could feel Kristin's eyes drift to his face and could partially see the softening understanding even from the corner of his eye.

“Of course, love,” she said softly.

Phil would be the first to admit that he was a worrier. Kristin knew it, Techno knew it, and Wilbur loved to remind him of how much of a mother hen he was. So excuse him if he was feeling a bit on edge.

The Tommy Situation was slowly getting more troublesome. Phil had dismissed Wilbur's frantic ravings at first but gave them more credit when he actually met the kid. White-blond hair, blue eyes, a smile that charmed but didn't quite reach his eyes: Tommy was a mystery. He didn't think anything was really wrong until the panic attack.

He knew something was up when he met Dream.

If Kristin was right (and she usually was), Phil was a rather smooth gentleman with a quick wit. But Dream? It had been a long time since Phil had met such a calculated, put-together man. And that was the issue. Dream wasn't unpleasant or ugly like some villain from a fairytale. He was charming, elegant and poised in a way that dripped with confidence and status. He was everything Phil hated wrapped up into a confident package.

Which was why he didn't think he could face him alone.

Which was why he brought Kristin.

Looking at the Magic House made his skin crawl just like it had the first time he had visited. He wondered if it was because of the remnants of magic that lingered inside. It was almost as if the building itself breathed magic, small pieces of old powers still clinging to dilapidated walls. Phil inhaled slowly and reached for Kristin’s hand.

“You feel it too?” Kristin grabbed his hand back, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

“It’s practically floating in the air,” Phil mumbled. “It’s worse inside.”

“I’m sure. But that’s why we’re here, hm?” Kristin spun around and started walking backwards to the House’s entrance. “You and me.” She smiled, lights dancing off her face and jewelry as she laughed. Greens and golds reflected the mischief in her eyes, and Phil couldn’t help but smile back. She always looked beautiful, but he liked seeing her dressed up in her flowy black dress and plotting chaos the best.

“Yeah. You and me,” he sighed.

Phil followed his wife into the House, greeted once again by the familiar lobby. This time, however, the crowd was thinner, choosing to go inside to the main auditorium rather than gather in the lobby. Phil walked up to the main desk to buy their tickets from a bored looking kid in a bright purple button up when Kristin elbowed him.

“Does everyone here always look like their dog died?” she whispered.

Phil barked out a laugh, and the kid at the desk raised an eyebrow. Phil shut his mouth, feeling the condescending stares of the guests around him.

“Whoops,” he smiled sheepishly at the kid.

“Fifty-three, ninety nine,” he deadpanned.

“Right.” Phil handed the kid the money and took the tickets. He turned quickly to see Kristin covering her mouth with her hand, her laughter poorly contained. He ignored the heat in his cheeks. “You can shut.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Kristin said, looking very not sorry. “You are much too loud.”

“And you’re much too annoying,” Phil quipped. “I’m literally trying to be professional, dear.”

“Then maybe you should stop laughing like a maniac.” She booped his nose, grabbed his hand, and pulled Phil into the auditorium.

Phil apparently hadn’t been into the auditorium yet, because once he stepped inside, he had to pause. Rich wood archways stretched towards the sky, intertwining with each other in a spiderweb pattern that held expensive chandeliers. Theatre booths overlooked the audience, upheld by the same type of archway that was scattered throughout the building. Red velvet lined the seats and floors like the inside of an elegant waistcoat, and intricate patterns were carved in the backs of the seats. The whole room dripped with grace in the style of architecture that Phil loved.

But despite the magnificence of the auditorium, it felt empty. Men and women pushed around them to their seats with an air of hurried indifference. Phil squeezed Kristin’s hand and stepped closer to her side. The archways loomed over his head like a guillotine. Exhaling through his mouth, he pushed in front of Kristin and looked for their seats.

He needed to sit down.

Kristin seemed to be enjoying herself, occasionally leaning over and pointing out a ridiculous dress or a stage hand moving the curtain. Phil had found their seats just as the lights began to dim.

“If they take volunteers, can I go up?” Kristin stage-whispered, the crowd quiet enough to her hear and a couple turned to give them an odd look. Phil gave them an odd look back.

“If you want, I guess.” Phil watched the curtain slide back to reveal the man himself, green suit and all. Dream spread his arms dramatically, the crowd cheering as he took center stage. Phil nodded toward the stage. “You’d have to deal with that bastard though.”

Kristin scrunched her nose. “Who’s the green fool?”

“Dream.” Phil let his anger curl around the name. Dream waltzed on stage, arms wide as he greeted the audience with an attractive tilt to his voice. The crowd cheered, some people throwing popcorn kernels at the stage. “Apparently he runs this show. Hires everyone who works here.”

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Dream’s voice echoed across the sound system and sent shivers down Phil’s spine, “to the most magical place in the world!”

“Including Tommy, I suppose,” she muttered, eyes watching the magician’s movements. Dream bowed with a flourish and disappeared backstage as the curtain rose.

“Including Tommy,” he repeated. A tall man with demon horns and a tail replaced Dream onstage, a smaller man with blue box on his head, skipping along behind him. Dream seemed to be good at locating, or rather collecting, people with the remnants of magic lacing their systems. It didn’t sit right on his stomach, something about a man as smooth and calculating as Dream coercing anyone with the slightest bit of magic into his show. And for what? For money. And fame, he supposed, as Phil looked around the auditorium to see many of his fellow colleagues and competition enjoying the show.

Wilbur had said that the show was awful, but Phil always took what Wil said with a grain of salt, considering his son had the slightest tendency to over-exaggerate. But for once, he seemed to be right. The show was flamboyant and flashy, colored lights and music almost over powering the actual acts and leaving no room for interpretation of what the hell was actually happening. Kristin was rubbing at her eyes, a sure sign that she was going to have a headache later, and Phil had the sudden urge to grab her by the hand and just leave.

And, just like Wilbur said, Tommy was the last act.

Phil had understood the gist of what the act was, but it was hard to understand Wilbur through his stumbled ramblings and bright eyes.

He was not at all prepared for a full on portal to appear on stage, bathed in green and blue lights. The eerie purple danced like waves behind Dream as he once again appeared on stage, but the only thought that ran through Phil’s head was “there’s no fucking way—”

“We hope you have enjoyed our show!” Dream gestured to the stage, an odd light in his eyes.

“Are we finally done?” Kristin whispered in Phil’s ear. “I thought Tommy was supposed to be here?”

“He is,” Phil whispered back, pointedly keeping his gaze on the stage. “I think—”

“But oh, my dear friends! We are not quite done!” Dream announced loudly.

Kristin turned to stare at Phil. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You can’t put a person through a fucking magic portal!” she hissed before turning her eyes to the stage. “It’s not possible, it’s—”

“After all,” Dream stared down at Phil, his green eye twinkling, “what’s a magician without his rabbit?”

Kristin inhaled sharply and grabbed Phil’s hand, but he hardly noticed. All he could see was the portal warbling, flickering its mesmerizing purples, and Tommy stepping out of the frame and onto the stage. But this Tommy looked so different from the one shaking under Kristin’s painting, arms covered in sequins and shiny stitching. This Tommy was fake. His smile was too wide, eyes too bright in the blinking lights, and posture too straight as he took his place by Dream’s side with a practiced bow. The fabric rabbit ears flopped on either side of his head, his faux fur boots leaving a trail of white fluff as he walked. Everything felt mechanical and wrong, and Phil wanted nothing more than to scoop him off stage and dump him into the back of his car with promises of McDonald’s.

He glanced at Kristin and was pleased to see she was just as shocked and horrified as he was. Her dark eyes wide as she took in the scene, she squeezed his hand tighter.

“And this is the boy you’ve all been begging me to meet,” she said softly.

Phil looked back at the stage, at the way Dream’s hand interlocked with Tommy’s as they bowed toward the audience. Even in the lighting, Phil could tell the boy looked sick, almost as if he were going to throw up. He nodded.

Kristin’s hand squeezed his even tighter, her rings digging into his hands. “We’re adopting him, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think the boys will give us a choice,” Phil admitted with a short laugh.

Dream held a hand up to silence the roars of the astonished crowd. Phil blinked in confusion, looking down at his program and back at the stage. “I thought we were done?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are in luck tonight!” The magician stepped in front of Tommy with a giddy smile on his face. “Tonight, we have a special performance planned, just for you! Never before seen, never before witnessed, and only here!” He motioned to Tommy behind him. “The House’s rabbit has prepared a special waltz for you tonight!”

“The House’s rabbit?” Kristin hissed, rings digging even further into Phil’s hand. If she squeezed any harder, she was going to draw blood, Phil thought idly, but he didn’t pull away. His own anger was chewing at his heart, and he squeezed her hand back just as hard.

“That’s so fucking humiliating.” Phil felt like he was going to jump out of his seat. “Kristin—”

“Sit back, Phil, you’re attracting attention,” Kristin murmured. Phil blinked and sat down, unaware that he had even risen from his seat until his wife had said something. He leaned closer to Kristin and exhaled shakily, reluctantly turning his eyes back to the stage.

Dream had left, leaving Tommy alone in front of the portal. He was perfectly still, his eyes screwed shut, as the music began to play, and just like the other night, he slipped into a dance that stuck to his skin like glue. And though Phil knew Tommy hated it, knew he was slowly being torn apart from the inside—

He had to admit, it was beautiful.

Tommy’s feet seemed to naturally follow the rhythm, no thought passing through his head as he twirled and twisted across the stage. Each step lined perfectly with the music, each bend and bow blending with the notes. He was enchanting, like a spell luring him in, and yet. . .

Every step, Phil could see him holding back a wince. Phil could see his movements stutter from time to time, and the exhaustion under his eyes was visible from here. Phil’s stomach churned, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull Tommy off the stage right then.

The boy ended the waltz with a practiced bow, bending low to the floor as the applause filled the room. People stood up around them, and Phil looked at Kristin, uncertainty and rage mixing together. She gently pulled him to his feet, but she kept her hand tightly wrapped around his.

Neither of them clapped.

Dream came on stage one last time as the magician and the rabbit bowed, exiting the stage. The lights in the auditorium came back on, but Phil had his eyes still glued to the stage. He knew things weren’t great. He knew Tommy wasn’t in a good spot, but this? Tommy’s abuse was on exhibition, on full display in front of hundreds of people, and the only help he received was the money that flowed in from the audience’s pockets.

Phil knew it was bad, but he had no idea it was torture.

He turned to his wife, “Kris, we need—”

—only to find she wasn’t there.

Phil whipped around frantically, trying to find any flash of dark curls among the crowd (which wasn’t exactly an easy task). Finally, he spotted her leaving the auditorium. . .through one of the backstage entrances?

“Fuck, Kris,” Phil murmured, resisting the urge to slap himself. Kristin always thought with her feet first and her head later, and by Death, if Phil wasn’t always the one to pull her out of trouble. He pushed through the crowd and to the door at the side of the stage.

Unsurprisingly, backstage was a bustle of people moving props and shouting instructions in the aftermath of the show. A man with green hair was moving one of two portals (Two portals? Phil’s mind screamed, unease and wrongness clawing at his mind) into the back. He looked up, and the two made eye contact. Phil sent him the coldest glare he could muster, not bothering to be civil. Afterall, there was no doubt that this man didn’t know what was happening. And yet he watched just like the audience outside. The man looked away, obvious embarrassment coating his cheeks, and Phil pressed on into the House.

He heard Kristin before he saw her.

“You did wonderful tonight, starlight!”

Phil turned the corner and, sure enough, his wife was talking with Dream himself and Tommy, whose eyes were wider than full moons. Phil would have chuckled if it was under any circumstances.

“How did you get back here?” Dream asked exasperated. He pushed Tommy behind him, sticking a finger in Kristin’s face. “You can’t just—”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d step back from my wife,” Phil interrupted cooly. He stepped beside her and grabbed her hand.

Dream froze, his hand slowly returning to his side. An easy-going grin spread across his face, all irritation vanishing in an instant, almost as if it wasn’t there before. “Mr. Craft! My apologies. I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

Tommy shifted behind the magician, his gaze pointedly downward. What Phil wouldn’t do to just go over and wrap the boy in his arms. But Kristin was squeezing his hand, a gentle reminder to don’t be stupid.

“We came on our boys’ recommendation.” Kristin smiled, something that looked kind and inviting, but Phil knew better. Kristin had perfected the customer service face back when she worked fast food, and she’d kept the skill to appease frustrated customers and prideful critics. Dream was no different. “They praised the Magic House so highly, I couldn’t stay away. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Oh yes.” Phil looked Dream in the eye. “Wil and Tech like this place a lot. Guess it’s becoming a family hangout spot.”

Dream and Tommy both stiffened at the mention of Techno and Wilbur, though Tommy had stiffened in a hopeful confusion and Dream in a barely contained rage. To his credit, the magician didn’t break form, merely smiling stiffly. “Is that so? Well, I definitely appreciate your interest. But I would ask that you keep your family from coming backstage. This is the third time this has happened.”

“Third time?” Kristin looked at Phil. “That sounds like Wilbur.”

“It was Technoblade too,” Dream insisted.

“Techno?” she laughed, a hand coming to her mouth. “Oh, now that’s funny. I’m sure he was quite a sight, especially if you weren’t expecting him.”

Tommy’s lips curled up in a half-smile before he schooled his expression. He still hadn’t looked up, but Phil counted the smile as a win. He took a breath. He had an idea, a hope, but he wasn’t sure what would happen.

He wasn’t going to let the unknown stop him.

“Well, we don’t want to interrupt your busy schedule, but we did want to ask you something.” Phil could feel Kristin’s gaze into the side of his head, but he kept pushing. He smiled at Tommy, sending as much warmth and comfort the boy’s way as he could. “Do you want to come over for dinner one night, Tommy? We’d love to talk to you more.” Especially away from the Magic House, he left out.

Tommy’s blue eyes widened, his breath hitching as if he were shocked. Blond curls bounced against his forehead and he looked from Phil to Kristin with a hope so bright Phil felt like he would go blind. Tommy was a spotlight, spreading light and clarity to those around him, even when most of the time he was dimmed. He smiled, a real smile, and opened his mouth to speak—

“Tommy doesn’t have time for dinner parties.” Dream’s voice was like a bucket of ice dumped on Phil’s head. He shuddered at the cold tone, locking eyes with the magician, sharp blue meeting poisonous green. “We have a lot of practicing to do before the next performance, don’t we, rabbit?”

Kristin flinched, rage flashing over her face, and Tommy immediately cowered, all light and hope disappearing in an instant. Phil wanted to stab something.

“Yes sir,” Tommy answered dully.

“See!” Dream’s smile returned, but this time, Phil could see the absolute giddiness in the man as if he were overjoyed that he had taken a boy’s dreams and crushed them in his palm. “Though we do appreciate your offer, Mr. Craft. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, we understand perfectly.” Kristin moved quickly, stepping past Dream and towards Tommy before either Phil or the magician could do anything about it. She placed a hand gently on Tommy’s shoulder, leaning down and whispering something in his ear. Dream sputtered and reached his hand up to pull her back, but Phil shot him a deathly look that had him freezing in his tracks.

Yeah, stay right there, you bastard, Phil cursed inwardly.

Kristin straightened, a soft smile on her face, and patted Tommy’s shoulder. She twirled back around. “Well, I think it’s time to go home, dear!” Grabbing Phil’s hand, she waved at Dream and pulled him toward the door they came in. “We’ll be back later! Be on your best behavior!”

Phil knew she wasn’t talking to Tommy.

Stepping out of the Magic House felt like drinking a large glass of lemonade after mowing the lawn in July. Phil leaned against Kristin, sighing heavily.

“Well,” he laughed breathlessly. “That was certainly something.”

Kristin didn’t say anything, her gaze fixated on something across the street.

“Kristin?” Phil looked down at her. A determination rested on her face, a spark in her eye that always filled him with adoration toward the woman of his dreams. She never ceased to amaze him, and whenever she put her mind to something, she almost always worked it out. “What did you say to Tommy, love?”

She blinked dark eyes and looked up at him. A large grin spread across her face, something dangerous dancing on the edges.

“I told him to be ready for an outing. Cause I’m picking our little golden boy up tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

For once, Tommy wished that Dream would just lock him in his room. At least then, he could have some time to himself.

He’d been on his feet all day, practicing that fucking stupid waltz for hours. And when Dream had gotten tired of him literally stumbling over his own feet, he pulled him from the music room (and in turn, from Tubbo) and forced him to work with Sam. From general maintenance to changing light bulbs, Sam would drag him through the House and have him do whatever he said. Foolish needed help replacing a spotlight, and Ponk and Jack were having trouble securing the new backdrop to the stage. The auditorium needed to be vacuumed and the lobby needed to be mopped.

And it was Tommy’s job to do it all.

The mop sloshed against the hardwood, soap suds spilling out over the floor. Tommy lifted his foot to let the water slide under him. The blue sky from above reflected in the soap bubbles. Tommy sighed. His hands numbly gripped the mop handle as he began to push the water across the floor. Every swing of the mop caused his arms to burn. His feet ached, and he had to pay special attention to where his feet were so he wouldn’t slip.

He sort of wanted to slip. If he knew it wouldn’t going to hurt.

One of Ranboo’s granola bars sat in his pocket, and Tommy hoped the chocolate chips hadn’t melted. Of course he hadn’t eaten today. Dream hadn’t deemed him worthy of food apparently. On top of all the work he was doing, Tommy’s stomach was empty, leftover bits of nausea floating around his stomach. Fuck, he hated the portal and the way it left him weak and shaky the next day. All he wanted to do was fall into his bed and forget the world for a couple months.

And heaven forbid if he thought about Wilbur’s laugh or Techno’s hugs. Heaven forbid if he remembered Phil’s smile and gentle touches, or Phil’s wife—

Phil’s wife.

Tommy hadn’t even caught her name and he already knew she was the greatest woman to ever exist. Ever. Her easy smile warmed him to his core, and her eyes looked at him, at him, with such love and care that Tommy felt like he was going to explode. The urge to break form and push Dream out of the way had never been stronger.

And then Tommy didn’t even have to. Phil’s wife had moved before he could, setting a warm hand on his shoulders and whispering words he wished he had recorded.

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should hang out anyways.” She laughed breathlessly, smile wide. “I’ll come get you, don’t worry about it, sundrop.”

So maybe Tommy hadn’t gone to sleep last night, instead staying up late and wondering when Phil’s wife would come back. Sue him, he couldn’t help it that she was the best woman of all time. Anyone who stood up to Dream was a poggers person in his book. And she was a woman? Instant hero.

A voice in his head, the one that sounded too much like Dream, said that she was never coming back. That the Crafts were just pitying him, a charity case child who begged for attention, only to be abandoned. Again. Tommy shuddered at the thought.

He didn’t know if he could take that again, didn’t know if he would be able to last another heartbreak, another abandonment.

He didn’t want to find out.

His brain went on autopilot, the sun reaching midafternoon as he finished about half of the lobby floor. The water in the mop bucket had been slowly depleted, leaving Tommy with only suds. He stared at the bubbles that popped and fizzed on top of murky brown water.

“Gross,” he muttered.

The front door to the lobby swung open and Tommy jumped, spinning around. “Hey, dickhead, we’re—”

“Closed, I know, but that hasn’t stopped literally anyone else from coming in. Honestly, if Dream doesn’t want you talking to people, then he should lock the doors.”

Tommy froze. There was no way. There was no way.

Phil’s wife smiled at him, something warm and mischievous all in one, and looking all too much like Wilbur. “Hi, kid.”

“Y-you—you’re—” Tommy stammered. He couldn’t gather his words for once in his life. “You’re—”

“Kristin, dear.” Phil’s wife—Kristin apparently—held out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Tommy took her hand and shook it slowly. “T-Tommy. What the fuck. What the actual fuck? What are you doing here?” Because there was no way she actually came. And yet she was standing right in front of him as living proof.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Kristin let go of his hand and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Taking you out. Now come on, time is wasting and I know you don’t want to be in here mopping floors.”

Tommy looked down at the mop in his other hand and back up at Kristin. Excitement and fear mingled together in his chest, something light and airy and hopeful springing up after a day of failure after failure. Kristin had kept her promise, hadn’t bailed or ditched or forgotten. She had come the next day like it was nothing to drop everything and come visit the lonely theatre boy with no grace or poise. It was like his own fairy godmother came to dress him up and sweep him away before midnight.

But there was still an evil stepmother.

“I-I can’t.” Tommy looked down at the floor, the constant pain in his feet reminding him of exactly why he was in this situation in the first place.

Kristin hummed. “Yeah? And why is that?”

Tommy rubbed his thumb along the mop’s handle. He looked back over his shoulder as if he expected Dream to come bursting through them. He’d deserve it. He should have run as soon as Kristin entered the room.

“I just shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to upset Dream,” Kristin supplied. Nothing about her tone was harsh or critical, just a gentle understanding that had something that sounded too much like sadness in it. Tommy shuffled in place, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed for being so scared.

“I’m sorry, I know, I just—”

“Then why don’t I go talk to him?”

Tommy looked up at her with wide eyes. An uneasy panic shot through him. “No, no, you don’t have to! I don’t think he’d like that!”

“But he wouldn’t like me just taking you either, hm?” Something dark flashed in the woman’s eyes, and she was brushing past Tommy before he could object. “Then I say we fix the issue. I’ll just get his permission and we’ll be back before dinner.”

He hastily dropped the mop in the bucket, tumbling after Kristin with a mix of awe and terror in his chest. “You can’t get his permission for this kind of stuff! Trust me, lady, I’ve asked.”

Kristin stopped so suddenly that Tommy almost ran into her, freezing a couple inches from her face. He was much taller than her, probably a couple inches, but even looking down on her, he felt incredibly small. A sharp determination was etched onto her face, brown eyes shining with the same kind of passion that always followed Wilbur.

“Oh, I’m not asking, sundrop.”

Tommy blushed as Kristin pushed open one of the side doors. He raced after her and he couldn’t help but feel like he was a little like a duckling following after their mother. “Kristin, Kris! Can I call you Kris? Big K. You can’t just do this!” Kristin turned down the hall, looking both ways and turning left as Tommy kept rambling. “You can’t just walk in here and demand to talk to Dream! I get it, you’re a fucking force of nature, but he’ll tear you to shreds! Kris, you can’t—”

“Tommy?”

Tommy immediately hid behind Kristin, face paling. Dream had been talking to Sam, and now the two were turned toward them with full attention. Tommy swallowed. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Hello, Mrs. Craft,” Dream said slowly, walking up to them with easy strides. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“No, I don’t suppose you were,” Kristin answered coolly. “I just wanted to ask you a question and then I’ll get out of your way. I know how much of a busy man you are.”

Sam widened his eyes and looked at Dream as if he was expecting him to combust from the backhanded comment. But Dream just smiled and tilted his head. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“This shouldn’t be too much of an issue for you.” Kristin pulled out her phone, and from over her shoulder, Tommy could see a picture of her and Phil on her lockscreen with what looked like the Eiffel tower behind them. Several notifications were on the screen, including one from someone named “starshine.” She turned it off. “It’s a little after two, so this shouldn’t take too long. We’ll be back around, hm let’s say five. That should be plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Dream glanced from Kristin to Tommy, and his heart skipped a beat. The piercing green of the magician’s gaze shot to his heart, anxiety rocketing through him, and suddenly Tommy wanted to sink into the floor. He shouldn’t be here. He should have run the second he saw Kristin, he should have—

“Time for me to take Tommy out for a bit.” Kristin didn’t flinch as Dream’s attention turned back to her. “It won’t be long. I just thought I’d take him out for a little field trip.”

Sam started coughing into his elbow, turning away from them so Tommy couldn’t see his face. “I’m—I’m gonna go see if I can find that flathead screwdriver,” he muttered before slipping past Tommy and Kristin. His face was pale, and Tommy bit his tongue so he would stick it out at Sam.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Dream ignored Sam and maintained eye contact with Kristin, “but Tommy’s busy today. We have a show to run, and we don’t have time—”

“Oh, but you have so many workers here,” Kristin interrupted. “Surely you won’t miss him for a couple hours. It’ll be a learning experience. A chance to stretch his legs.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Craft.” Dream stepped forward as his voice dipped. Tommy involuntarily reached for the strap on Kristin’s bag. He forced a shiver down. “But he doesn’t want to go, right Tommy?”

It was a trick question, one that only had one right answer. But getting the answer out of his mouth was torture, like pulling teeth, slow and painful. Tommy’s mouth felt as if it were glued shut, and even under Dream’s gaze, he couldn’t speak. He had to speak. He had to say something, say anything, because being silent was worse than speaking incorrectly, but he just couldn’t—

“Oh, he already told me he wanted to go.” Kristin placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and his heart skipped a beat. He could feel Dream’s wrath from here. “So we’ll just be off.”

“You’re technically trespassing and kidnapping my employee,” Dream hissed, taking a step forward. “I could have you sued—”

“And I could have the lawsuit nullified and voided before you could hire a lawyer,” Kristin drawled. “I know you don’t want to waste the funds or the time on that. Not to imagine the publicity that would center around the House. Because you definitely don’t want people snooping into the inner workings of your ‘organization,’ do you?”

Dream had frozen in place, green eye wide in shock. Tommy probably mirrored his expression, his own face staring at Kristin with an excited surprise. Without another word, she grabbed his hand and spun around, waving a hand behind her. “We’ll see you soon! Have fun!”

Tommy stumbled after Kristin, lobby and Magic House left behind as she pulled him out the front doors and into the sun. He blinked a couple times, willing the tears that had sprung up to go away. He blocked the sun with his hand. “Wha-what the fuck was that!”

Kristin let go of his hand (and Tommy didn’t miss the contact, no, not at all) and turned to smile at him. “Just me getting you a free afternoon.”

Tommy stared at her, disbelief filling him. He felt like he was moving too fast, like he couldn’t catch his breath. What was with this stupid family and they’re willingness to drop everything and hang out with him? He looked back to the front door of the House. Even outside the walls, he could feel Dream’s rage. If he were wiser, he’d go back in.

But was it really so wrong to want a moment, a brief fleeting moment, to live in a world he’d never have? To be with someone who seemed to genuinely care?

Dream would say it was.

Tubbo and Ranboo would disagree with him.

And it was no brainer who Tommy trusted more.

He turned back to Kristin and nodded, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Lead the way, Big K.”

—

When Tommy asked Kristin to lead the way, he was expecting her to lead him to the literal Art Gallery of L’Manberg.

He had never seen it in person before. He had seen countless images of the Art Gallery, saved them and plastered them to his walls. He took every advertisement out of the trash and every flier off of brick walls just to get a glimpse. Because the art? Oh, the art. It was like Clementine and Henry but better, paintings from the best artists in the world all in one place. Tommy had always wanted to go, but Dream had laughed in his face when he had asked.

“You? Go to the Art Gallery?” Dream brushed a piece of hair out of his eye with a wheeze. “You really think they’ll let a dirty kid like you in a place like that? The only reason I let you even be seen in public here is because I’m generous. A place like the Art Gallery is prestigious. It’s not meant for a dirty street rat like you.”

And Dream was right, the Art Gallery wasn’t a place for a street kid like him.

And yet—

“I take it by your face that you’re excited.” Kristin looked up at him with a grin.

Tommy stood awestruck on the front steps of the Gallery, his mouth hanging open. If Dream was here, he’d probably tell him to shut his mouth, that it was unbecoming.

Kristin hadn’t said a word, only chuckled at his enthusiasm.

Tommy peeled his eyes from the front doors to look down at the most wonderful woman in the world. He opened his mouth to excitedly thank her, but. . .

He looked back at the entrance, his heart sinking in him. Because he didn’t deserve this, did he? That’s what Dream had said. But Kristin had taken him here without a second thought.

“I don’t know if I can go in there,” he said quietly.

Kristin went very still. “What do you mean, Tommy?”

“I’m not—I’m not really dressed for this, innit?” He looked down and dug his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t wearing his performance wear (that stupid rabbit costume made him itch just thinking about it) and he didn’t have anything that was as nice as that. Especially when he was standing right next to Kristin who was all put together in her nice sundress and wide-brimmed hat.

“You don’t have to be dressed up,” Kristin said. “In fact, there isn’t even a show today.”

Tommy’s head shot up. “What? Then why are we here? They’re not going to let us in!”

Her grin split into a wide smile, as she grabbed his hand and walked to the front doors. “Oh? Watch this.”

Tommy grabbed her hand with both of his and dug his heels into the ground. “Woah woah woah, Big K! Kristin! We can’t just break and enter! I’m all for breaking the law but—”

Kristin put her hand on the doorknob and swung the door open with ease. She pulled Tommy inside, shooting him a grin over her shoulder. “Oh, come on, Tommy! Look!”

He was going to protest, but he looked up—

—to find a room filled with art.

Tall paintings that touched the border of the ceiling, small paintings that looked like windows into another world, long paintings that opened like scrolls of wise words. Colors and shapes that twisted and melted together into beautiful stories on canvases. Sunlight blended with the colors, brushstrokes precise and smooth, intertwining like twine forming a rope. Blues and greens and violets dripped down yellows and oranges and reds.

Tommy was rooted to the floor, inspiration crashing against his brain like waves on the shore. He was sure his eyes were wider than sand dollars, but he couldn’t help it. It was everything he had dreamed it would be, but better because it was real. Henries and Clementines surrounded him and Tommy felt alive.

“It’s not ready yet.” Kristin walked up beside him, pushing her hat off her head to lay on her back. “Half of the paintings aren’t on the walls yet, but we’re getting there. It’s a pain getting these things on the road,” she chuckled. Grabbing his hand, Kristin pulled him deeper into the Gallery. It was—soft, so unlike Dream’s dragging and pulling that Tommy found himself staring at where their hands met, intertwining together. “Come on, let me show you my favorite.”

Kristin led Tommy through the Gallery, dodging people carrying paintings and twisting around boxes and frames. The smell of sawdust and floor cleaner filled his nose as his head swiveled to look at everything before he passed. A picture of a dog passed on his left, and he was pretty sure there was a painting of the Queen of England on one of the back walls. But Kristin kept going, and Tommy couldn’t help but wonder how she knew the Gallery so well.

She rounded another corner and led them into a large empty room painted in light blue and flooded with crisp yellow sunlight. Most of the walls were bare, aside from some stray hooks and frames.

Except for one painting.

Tommy slowly let go of Kristin’s hand as he walked closer. The large painting almost covered the entire half wall, a delicate frame wrapping around its edges to let the massive work shine. Four dark pillars rose from a landscape covered in pinks and purples, sharp blues and greens rising from the top of each pillar. Strange plants curled around the bases of the pillars, some shaped like lopsided mushrooms or jagged shrubbery cut to odd shapes with no decipherable meaning. In the middle of the great pillars lay a fossil, a skeleton of bones with giant wings sunk into the dark sand. A dragon. Thousands of questions raced through his mind as he stared at the painting, each brush stroke telling a story that he didn’t know the beginning of.

He felt like he was looking into a portal, a gateway into another world of excitement and adventure. All he had to do was take a step.

“I take it you like it?” Kristin stepped up beside him, looking at the painting.

“It’s fucking poggers,” Tommy whispered.

She laughed, like bells tolling across an open field. “I’m glad I have your approval. The colors are my favorite part.”

Tommy walked to the side of the painting, taking in every small flower, every detailed bone. He stopped at the edge to look at the painting’s tag.

Endlantis, 20XX. An unfamiliar plane, one of battles long fought. Misstrixtin.

His eyes widened. It was a Misstrixin painting? Tommy had only ever seen Clementine in person, and now he got to see another one? He hadn’t even seen this one before! He kept up with Misstrixin’s paintings as much as he could (which wasn’t much with Dream’s controlling nature). Why hadn’t he heard of this one? It was fucking gorgeous, something he could keep staring at forever.

“I think,” Kristin said softly, “this might be one of my favorites. It reminds me of Phil.”

Tommy’s head snapped to her as she smiled fondly at him, eyes crinkling. He looked at the painting and back. Kristin had gotten him into a closed art show, at The Art Gallery no less, had pulled him into a back room, and showed him a never-before-seen Misstrixin art.

“You’re—” Tommy pointed at her, mouth hanging open.

“Misstrixin,” Kristin agreed. “Surprise, dear!”

“Y-you—oh my primes, it’s you! You’re fucking Misstrixin!” He ran up and grabbed Kristin’s forearm, excitement lining the blue of his eyes. “You—shit, I’ve looked at Clementine for hours just admiring the colors—”

“Clementine?” Amusement laced Kristin’s tone.

“Yes, Clementine, the lovely little moth that hangs in the hallway! She’s such an absolute queen, you know? Keeps me company and just looks bloody gorgeous all the time! She’s a beauty, Kris! I—you—you painted her. You—” Tommy realized where his hands were and quickly pulled away. Fuck, he was being clingy again. Dream always said he was too touchy. His cheeks flushed as he looked up at Kristin. “I-I’m so sorry! I just—I’m a big fan, and I thought—”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Tommy.” Kristin grabbed his hands and held them to her chest. “Your eyes light up when you’re passionate. I figured you would like something like this.” She tilted her head back up at the painting.

“It-it’s wonderful.” Tommy followed her gaze. “It feels like I’m looking into a story book. Does it mean anything?”

Kristin hummed softly. “I don’t know. Phil’s always liked dragons and we were talking about Greek myths one night, Techno started that conversation of course, and I just—had inspiration, you know? I remembered running from the kitchen just to find my sketchbook.” She laughed. “Phil had thought something was wrong.”

Tommy stared at the brushstrokes that swept up one of the pillars. “And you just made a whole story from it?”

“Yeah. I suppose my family is my biggest inspiration. I take so much creativity from them.”

And Tommy—

Tommy wanted to be that inspiration.

He wanted to be a part of that kitchen table, of the laughter and the banter. He wanted to watch Kristin’s eyes light up as she thought of a new painting. He wanted to watch Wilbur write new songs and listen to Techno tell stories late into the night. He wanted Phil to wrap his arm around his shoulders and hold him close. He wanted—

Death, he wanted. And that was his biggest fault.

Tommy wanted, and no one wanted in return. He was undesirable in all the worst ways: clingy and loud and so, so selfish.

“You know, Tommy,” Kristin interrupted his thoughts, “you’re like a painting.”

He blinked, confusion spreading over his features. “A what?”

“A painting. You’re unique, a beautiful portrait, admired by all.”

Tommy snorted. “I am not ‘admired,’ Big K. No one admires me.”

“Some do,” she said softly. Her face softened into something sad but still kind. He couldn’t find any pity hidden in her dark eyes, only love, warm and full that he didn’t know what to do.

His heart twisted inside him like a knife was being plunged into his chest. He looked away from Kristin and down at his hands. He didn’t think he could bear to look at her any more.

“Oh,” he said at a loss.

“Oh,” Kristin repeated with a chuckle.

Tommy looked back up at the painting, keeping Kristin’s hands in his as he looked back at Endlantis. The dragon’s bones stretched across the sand like a majestic bird which fought bravely and yet still was defeated. He didn’t want to leave it. He didn’t want to leave this.

“I could probably get you a print, if you’d like.” Kristin squeezed his hands. “It would take a bit, but then you could have a copy of your own.”

Tommy looked down at her, eyes wide. “You’d do that?”

She smiled. “I would, sundrop. For you, anything.”

His face grew very warm and he let go of her hands to tuck his hands into his armpits. “Y-yeah, yeah, Big K, whatever you say.”

The door to the room banged open causing both Tommy and Kristin to jump, whipping around to see a shorter lady with long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Her heels clicked frantically against the floor as she waved a clipboard in the air.

“Kristin!” the lady shouted, exasperation leaking from her tone. Her face was all scrunched up and very, very pink. Tommy bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making fun of her. “Where have you been?! Do you know how many phone calls I’ve had to take for you?!”

Kristin nudged Tommy with her elbow, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Uh oh, I think Shubble is in a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘tizzy!’” Shubble snapped as she ran a hand through her hair. “We have three, count ‘em, three days until the show opens, and you disappear on me?” She looked at Tommy and made an ‘o’ shape with her mouth. “Is that—you’re that kid from the theatre, right? The one Phil won’t shut up about?”

Tommy could feel his face turning red again. “Phil fucking—”

“Yup! This is Tommy.” Kristin wrapped her arm around Tommy’s shoulders, having to stand on her toes and drag him down. “Just giving him a little sneak peak!”

“You—” Shubble dragged a hand down her face and groaned. “Kris, I get it, okay, you’ve got a new kid—”

“I am not her kid!” Tommy protested over the warm feeling in his gut.

“—but you have an art show opening in a week, and Phil still hasn’t finished his last painting, and the media is breathing down my neck!”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Kristin said sagely and Tommy burst out laughing.

“It’s—” Shubble groaned. “Sure. Sure! It’s a personal problem. But it’s fixing to be your personal problem if you don’t get your act together and help me set this show up! Please contact your husband and tell him to hurry up!”

“You’re pushing him too hard.” Kristin started walking, keeping her arm around Tommy as the three of them left the room. “He’ll get his painting done when he’s good and ready.”

Tommy looked down at her. “Phil paints too?”

Shubble sighed and pushed a piece of hair out of her face. “He’s supposed to be. But apparently he’s been in an art block for the past couple of days.”

“He said he was getting out of it,” Kristin remarked lightly. “Someone is giving him inspiration.”

“Well, I hope for the sake of this show, they are.” Lizzie stopped in the middle of the main room from earlier, staff bustling about as they still carted paintings from place to place. “We have a week. A week, Kristin, to get this show in order, and I really need Phil to pick up the pace.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. Don’t worry so much, Shub, everything will work out just fine.” Kristin unraveled her arm from Tommy’s shoulder and patted Shubble’s arm. “My last painting is almost done as well, so don’t worry about that either. I’ll get it to you by tomorrow, yeah?”

Shubble opened her mouth, probably to protest or whine or some shit, but Kristin just interrupted her with a raise of her hand. “I appreciate all you’re doing to keep this show afloat, but I’m hanging out with Tommy right now, yeah? If you have anything important, come find me, but other than that, I’m going to be busy.”

The manager puffed her cheeks out but she turned with a wave of her hand. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when the show falls apart.”

Tommy and Kristin watched Shubble leave and Kristin turned to Tommy with a smile. “Crazy, isn’t she?”

“Fucking loonie,” Tommy agreed, nodding. “Can’t believe you let a woman bully you, the Woman above all women.”

Kristin laughed loudly as she pulled away and grabbed his hand. Tommy’s brain stuttered, but she didn’t skip a beat, only dragging him back to the front of The Gallery. This time, they strolled through half-hung paintings and scattered art supplies, Kristin rambling about the history behind some of her and Phil’s paintings. She had no fear, stopping any worker who came across their path and asking random questions about the art pieces. She even let Tommy ask some of his own questions as he marveled at the brush strokes up close. Not all of the paintings were Kristin’s or Phil’s. Some of them were painted by whimsical Scott Major or even the meticulous Grian. Tommy had questions about them all, soaking up any information he was able to gleam.

He had barely even realized that time was passing, content and satisfied at Kristin’s side. Several times throughout the tour, he caught her looking at him, something fond and familiar in her eyes that made his heart skip. It was the same look that Wilbur, Techno, and Phil gave him whenever they would talk. Maybe that was a family trait. Maybe it meant something more. Tommy always looked away when he noticed, unable to comprehend the sheer affection dripping from her expression. There was nothing fake about it.

It was nothing like Dream.

But like every other day in his life, Tommy was always brought back to Dream. All too soon, Kristin wrapped her arm in his and the two slid back into the Craft family car, Sneeg smiling crookedly in the driver’s seat. Every turn weighed Tommy’s body down like anchors taped to his feet, but there was nothing he could do about it. The drive was quiet, silent, only broken by Kristin’s gentle humming, a song that sounded suspiciously like one of Wilbur’s. Tommy would never admit it, but he held tightly to Kristin’s arm, anxiety pooling in his stomach as they neared the Magic House.

They had barely rounded the last corner before the Magic House when Tommy spotted Dream leaning against the opening, green eye finding him immediately. The car rolled to a stop as Tommy squeezed Kristin’s arm subconsciously and bit his lip.

“You don’t have to go back to him,” Kristin said softly. “I can take you back home with me—”

“No,” Tommy interrupted sternly, more grown-up sounding than he had expected. Even amidst the dread, he knew that he had to go back. Because Dream was still his guardian, and he owed it to him to return. He had promised to go back.

The promise tasted like poison on his tongue.

“I promised I’d go back.” He held eye contact with Dream.

“I think this might be one promise you want to break,” she replied.

Dream pushed himself off the door, coming further into view. Tommy could practically feel the annoyance rolling off him. He swallowed and tore himself out of Kristin’s hold, opening the car door. “Sorry,” he apologized, ignoring the way his voice cracked. He turned and smiled weakly. “Th-thanks for today, Big K!”

Tommy didn’t wait for a reply before he dashed out of the car and back to the Magic House. Dream didn’t stop him when he stumbled inside, clumsily coming to a stop just inside the lobby. He took in a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

The Magic House’s doors clicked behind him, Dream’s footsteps echoing through the room like the toll of a bell.

“Welcome back, rabbit,” Dream said lowly. “Hope you had your fun, because it’s time to come back to the real world.” Tommy jumped as the magician placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Dream leaned over down to his ear, a large grin sitting just below the mask. Tommy shuddered.

“You’re going to wish you never disobeyed me,” he growled.

Chapter Text

Tommy knew he was in trouble. He knew this was probably the angriest he had ever seen Dream, and he was angry over something that wasn’t even Tommy’s fault. And yet, as Dream threw him into his office and shut the door with the familiar click of the lock, Tommy felt like this anger was worse than any he had faced before.

Tommy whirled around as Dream stayed hunched over the door, hand gripping the doorknob so hard it was probably going to fall off. He didn’t dare say anything, only watching Dream inhale and exhale deeply. Part of Tommy followed his example, but his breaths were counted by a voice in his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Techno. Tommy swallowed.

After an eternity, Dream stood up, straightening the cuffs of his collared shirt and pushing a stray piece of hair out of his face. He turned to Tommy and the cool neutrality of his face sent a shiver down his spine. Dream crossed the room in three strides, pausing to loom over Tommy. A thoughtful expression passed over his face, and Tommy was about to say something, to once again stick his foot in his mouth, when the magician’s hands came up to his face and pulled his mask off.

Tommy could remember when he saw Dream’s face a lot. That was years ago, when he was just a child, huddled in the corner of an alley, smelling like trash and looking like something that someone had thrown out. When his hair was stringy and his eyes were gray, Dream was there. The first one who had ever looked at him, who had acknowledged him as an actual human being, was Dream. The man, or the teenager at the time, had knelt in front of him, a cautious tilt to his head as he took in Tommy’s ragged state. Tommy had no idea what Dream had seen that day, but those green eyes had lit up, sparkled like a shooting star sparking across the sky.

It was as if the universe had pulled them together, wrapping their two lives together, blue and green intertwining like the red string of fate.

But Tommy wondered if that string had wrapped around his throat instead of his ring finger.

Dream had been kind at first. Loving and tender and everything that Tommy thought a brother would be. They were inseparable, Tommy always trailing at Dream’s heels like a puppy dog, earning coos and awes from those visiting the House.

Then something had changed. Something in the way that Dream looked at him shifted as the guests’ gazes started lingering longer on Tommy. Instead of tender love sparkling, it was something darker, something scary, and Tommy hadn’t known what to do. Soft hair tussles became restricting and heavy, conversations became scarce and critical. And it was his fault, wasn’t it? Dream had been kind before, had been gentle and soft, and now he was harsh, quick to react and faster to punish. So Tommy had adjusted, leaning into Dream even more to try and get his favor back.

That was around the time Dream started pushing him onstage.

Dream had commissioned Sam to make the portal, the mechanic being recommended by Dream’s partner, Punz, who Tommy never saw. After several weeks, Sam had it up and running, so of course Dream wanted to show it to his audience. He had been acting strange all that week, constantly looking Tommy over and making him squirm. So when he had suggested that Tommy be the one to go through the portal, Tommy hadn’t even batted an eye. He could win Dream’s favor and help in the Magic House after doing nothing for so long.

Now, with Dream staring into his soul with poisonous green eyes, Tommy wondered if he had ever won his favor back. He didn’t think he did.

“I thought you knew better than this, rabbit,” Dream said slowly, carefully, full of something that Tommy couldn’t decipher. “I thought you knew the rules.”

“I do, I do know the rules,” Tommy interrupted without thinking. “But it wasn’t—”

“It was your fault.” Dream’s face hardened. “It was your fault because you didn’t do anything to stop her. You could have declined or stepped away from her, but you didn’t. I trusted you, Tommy.”

And Tommy flinched, because Dream rarely called him by his name any more, and what used to cause comfort now only sent warnings through his brain.

“I’m sorry, Dream,” he muttered and looked down at his feet. “I didn’t—”

“But you did.” Dream grabbed Tommy’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes. Swirling green pierced through him. “You did, and you looked fucking happy about it. You wanted to go. You wanted to disobey me the moment you had the chance!”

What could he say to that? Because he did want to go, so desperately that it hurt him in his very bones. The guilt that Tommy had become such good friends with wasn’t even there, and that was the scariest part. Tommy wasn’t remorseful. He had no regrets. He enjoyed it.

And he hated that he did.

“You can’t even argue.” The magician’s voice sunk, all anger falling from his tone. With the mask gone, Tommy could see. He could see the betrayal lingering in Dream’s eyes, the sadness that touched the edges of his mouth. It all felt so real, and finally guilt wrecked through Tommy’s gut. “You left me. For a family that doesn’t even care about you. Do I mean nothing to you, Tommy?”

Oh.

Tommy leaned into Dream’s hand and shut his eyes tightly. Dream kept using his name. His real, actual name. No ‘rabbit’ or sickening pet names, just Tommy. The hand on his chin hurt, bruising pain pinching his skin, but he couldn’t pull away.

“Have you forgotten? Do you just not care anymore?” Dream’s voice echoed in his ears. “I love you, kid. I pulled you off the streets, poured my heart into you.”

Tommy’s eyes burned under his eyelids, but he refused to open them. “N-no, I don’t—”

“Don’t you? Don’t you?” The hand gripped his face, pulling him closer. “You don’t. You don’t care. You’re ungrateful and selfish. I thought I raised you better than that, Tommy. I thought you cared for me, Tommy.”

“I do!” He choked. “I do care, I swear! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“But you did. You did hurt me, Tommy, and I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Tommy swallowed a sob. He hated crying, but he especially hated crying in front of Dream. That didn’t stop the tears rolling down his face. He shouldn’t be crying, not when he was the one who hurt Dream in the first place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tommy cried. He didn’t move from Dream’s grasp, didn’t dare give him any more reason to hate him.

“Look at me. Look at me, Tommy,” Dream snapped.

Tommy opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust his vision through his tears. He could vaguely see angry green staring at him.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you back out into the street,” he snarled.

Tommy’s heart leapt into his throat, and panic flooded his brain. It had been so long since he had been alone, since he had been cold and neglected. Going back on the street meant no place to stay, no one to care, nowhere to go. No more Ranboo, no more Tubbo, no more Dream.

And no more Wilbur or Techno or Phil or Kristin.

Just him.

How it should be.

How it was supposed to be.

He had to convince Dream to keep him, had to find a way to stay here with his guardian, his friend, his brother. He couldn’t function without him. He couldn’t breathe. His vision darkened, his ears rang. Tommy scrambled for something to keep himself from falling. The walls were closing in as the carpet dug into his shoes, encasing him like a human corpse, buried alive in his own actions.

Warm hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him against a warm, steady chest. Soft breaths tickled his ears and Tommy buried himself into the embrace. His body was alight, almost as if he was on fire. His fingers tingled, his hands scrambling to take a hold on the person in front of him. Firm, strong hands ran along his back, drawing soothing circles in between his shoulders, and Tommy let out a shaky sigh.

“Oh, rabbit,” Dream hummed, voice rumbling in Tommy’s ear. “Don’t you see how useless you are without me? You can’t just cast me aside because you think you know what you want. Because you don’t know what you want, do you? You say you want to be with Kristin and Wilbur, but you come crawling back to me. It’s pathetic, Tommy.”

Tommy whined and hid his face even further into Dream’s sweater. It was pathetic and needy and clingy. He was always too much, even now, he was inconveniencing Dream, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“’M sorry,” he muttered.

Dream tsked, moving one of his hands to cradle the nape of Tommy’s neck. He scratched gently at his hairline, and Tommy sighed.

“I know, rabbit, I know,” Dream mumbled into his curls. “But that doesn’t fix things, does it?” His grip tightened, pulling at Tommy’s hair and causing him to yelp. “You’ve still messed up. You still deserve to be punished.”

Tommy could only nod in panicked agreement. His soul warred within him, longing to make Dream happy but terrified of a punishment he deserved.

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this, a voice that sounded like Wilbur whispered. But what else was he to do?

Dream pushed Tommy away and grasped the sides of his face, forcing him to make eye contact. “What should I do, Tommy? What can I do to make you listen to me?”

He stared into sharp, green eyes, throat bobbing. “I-I don’t know.”

Dream hummed. His eyebrows furrowed in thought, but Tommy was almost positive that it was fake. Dream always had a plan, he was always in charge. And Tommy was just pulled along for the ride.

“Forbidding you to talk to guests apparently doesn’t work,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along Tommy’s cheek. “And taking away your food only does so much. You’ve forgotten that you’re mine. You’ve forgotten that you belong to me. So let’s fix that.” Both of his hands gripped the sides of Tommy’s face, and the magician held eye contact with the rabbit. “You talk to me and me alone. No guests, no Wilbur or Technoblade or whoever else comes in those front doors. And because you can’t follow that simple rule, no talking to the rest of the staff either. That includes Tubbo and Ranboo.”

Tommy jerked out of Dream’s hold, eyes wide. “But—no, you can’t—”

“Do you want me to lock you in the closet?” Dream snapped. “You’re on my last nerve, Tommy, and I have half a mind to let you starve for the next week! I’m being gracious! I’m going to be cutting time out of my schedule just to spend time with you! And what? You can only think about yourself? About those stupid friends of yours in the basement?”

“N-no, I’m not—”

“Maybe I should just get rid of them completely!” The magician laughed. “Maybe I should kick them out into the streets! Will that teach you to stay with me? To not get involved with other people?”

“Dream, please,” Tommy begged. His eyes were burning. The Crafts he could do without. He had done without for months. And though the thought of ignoring them, of leaving them, left a bitter taste in his mouth, the thought of losing Ranboo and Tubbo broke him from the inside. They had been there for him since the beginning, the first real friends he had ever had. Even now, they loved him more than Dream did. Tommy knew they did. He had no proof from the Crafts, as kind as they had been, but he did have proof from his friends, his brothers in everything but blood.

“Please what? Are you going to listen to me? Or do I have to kick them out?”

“I’ll listen, I swear, don’t send them away, please. ” Tommy rubbed at his face. He felt like a small child, getting in trouble for something that wasn’t even wrong.

“Swear to me.” Dream grabbed Tommy’s chin. “Swear that you’ll only talk to me.”

“I-I swear,” he cried.

“Say it,” Dream ordered.

“I’ll only talk to you!”

Dream let go of his chin and Tommy stumbled back, wiping at the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

“Pathetic,” Dream mumbled. “Fucking pathetic. Crying over doing the bare minimum for someone who has given everything for you.”

Tommy kept his eyes trained on the ground. His eyes watered, burned, but he held back more tears. He hated crying. There was no good reason for it anyways. It was childish and foolish just like himself.

A long sigh came from Dream’s direction, and Tommy flinched, waiting for him to do something worse.

“You still have your chores to do.” He moved behind Tommy and to his desk, sitting down and pulling out something from the desk. “I expect you to keep up with those without reminder. Sam and Punz will keep an eye on you when I’m not there. If, and that’s a large if, you do good today, I’ll bring you dinner to your room. Oh, and if you need something from the basement, get in and out. I don’t want you staying down there but I also can’t have you bothering me, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Tommy nodded before finding his voice. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Dream waved his hand. “Now get, I don’t want to see you unless it’s you working.”

Tommy took the dismissal gladly, scrambling out of the office as quickly as he could. He was careful not to slam the door, but he couldn’t stop his heart from slamming into his chest. Everything was so loud, reeling from Dream’s flipping personality and the fear that was still spiking through his body. Like a switch had been flipped, Tommy felt drained, a water bottle emptied into the sink leaving only useless plastic behind. He shivered.

He had done this before. He had relied solely on Dream before. But how was he supposed to function without Tubbo and Ranboo?

Why did a spark of his old self, the fire that wanted to punch Dream in the face, well up inside him?

He shoved the rebellion down. He would make it. He could survive.

He had to.

—

Tommy didn’t know how much he loved to talk until he wasn’t allowed to.

It was torture, passing people every day and not being able to say a single word. At first, Tommy would wave, smile, do anything to show that he still cared and that he was happy to see people, but Punz (that fucking bitch) had tattled on him. Dream had immediately smacked Tommy across the face and threatened to throw him, not in the closet, but in there, and Tommy immediately clammed up, all fight draining from his body. He wouldn’t go back there. Not ever.

So he resumed his normal schedule, except this time it was worse. He didn’t even dare to look at the others, keeping his gaze low and his head lower. Every time someone would come up to ask him something, he would slip out of the way, using techniques he hadn’t had to use since the adoption center. Tommy had been the master of staying out of the way, of staying invisible. It was as if none of that had left him, old habits coming back like putting on an old shirt.

It would have been easy, if Tubbo and Ranboo hadn’t been so persistent.

Their perseverance warmed his heart (how could it not?) and sometimes Tommy almost slipped up by opening his mouth, on the verge of cracking one of his old jokes. But then Sam would round the corner and he would remember his place. Dream was his friend, he told himself, quickly getting out of Tubbo’s sight. He deserved this punishment, he said, running to the bathroom to avoid Ranboo. And every retreating step felt like failure, pulling ropes around his neck and choking him out.

Tommy’s methods weren’t working either. Tubbo would shout at him from across the room or Ranboo would ask him a gentle question, neither of them taking the hint that Tommy couldn’t speak to them. It made the torture all the more real, because his best friends didn’t even know what was happening.

And the worst part of it all, was Dream himself wasn’t even talking to him.

Tommy had thought that Dream would be spending more time with him. It made sense, right? Don’t talk to anyone else and Dream would inevitably talk to him more. But that wasn’t the case. It was almost as if Dream was ignoring him completely, barely acknowledging his hard work and leaving Tommy even more alone. The only times Tommy even saw the man was when he would bring him food in the evenings, slipping the plate into the attic and descending down the stairs without a word. Tommy almost, almost, called out for him, begged him to stay.

But the look of betrayal on Dream’s face shut all his thoughts down.

Tommy stayed silent, invisible, hidden from the Magic House. Because that was what Dream wanted.

That, however, was not what Tubbo wanted.

It happened about a week later, Tommy scrubbing the halls with a mop late in the afternoon, when Tubbo, along with a timid Ranboo, came storming up to him. Anger flashed in Tubbo’s eyes and Tommy quickly plopped the mop in the bucket, ready to run. He wasn’t fast enough, however, Tubbo grabbing his wrist and pulling him back to face his two friends.

“No, you’re not fucking running away, Tom!” Tubbo snapped, grip tight. “Not after what you’ve been pulling this week! What the actual fuck? What are you doing? You won’t even fucking look at us, man!”

“Tubbo,” Ranboo said lowly. He grabbed Tubbo’s forearm, gray eyes locked on Tommy. “Don’t shout, it’s—”

“It’s not fucking okay, Boo!” Tubbo jerked away from Ranboo’s hold and pulled Tommy closer. “Not when he’s fucking abandoned us! Not when he’s acted like we don’t even exist!”

Tommy could feel his arm begin to shake in Tubbo’s hold. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t.

“This is so not like you, Tommy!” Tubbo shouted, pleaded, and Tommy felt like he was being split apart. “You look like death, man, and you won’t even let us help! What did Dream do? Why won’t you say anything?!”

Ranboo was saying something, but all of the noise around Tommy faded, replaced by a ringing in his ears. The shaking in his hands grew, and he thought he heard Tubbo say something in alarm. All of it faded from his ears, leaving him in the dark, drowning in himself. He brought his hands to his hair and let his fingers pull at his hair. The pain grounded him. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t look them in the eye. He couldn’t break Dream’s trust. He just couldn’t.

His wrists were grabbed and yanked away from his hair, and Tommy yelped. He tried to move back, but someone had put their hands on his shoulders, grounding him to the floor. It should have been restrictive, but the pressure buzzed around his shoulders and thumbs rubbed circles on his palms. Someone was speaking, murmuring soft, kind words that jumbled about in his brain. He tipped forward and the hands on his shoulders squeezed lightly.

“—ommy. Tommy, it’s okay. You’re alright. I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got you, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Tubbo. That was Tubbo. His warm hands wrapped around Tommy’s, gentle nothings whispered into the space between them. Tommy leaned forward and let his forehead rest against his friend’s, his brother’s.

“There you are, Tom. There you go, I’m right here. I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay,” Tubbo repeated, humming truth into Tommy’s brain. “I didn’t mean to shout, honest. I’m sorry.”

Tommy shook his head rapidly because no, no, it wasn’t Tubbo’s fault, how could it ever be his fault? It was always Tommy’s, stupid, needy Tommy that pushed people away and—

“Hey.” Tubbo cupped Tommy’s face and bonked their foreheads together. “Stop that. I can hear your thoughts whirling.”

“Tub—” His voice was rough, scratching at his throat as he tried to talk, but he ended up coughing instead.

Shuffling behind him, Ranboo moved his hands and handed a water bottle to Tommy. “Here.”

Tubbo let out a surprised laugh. “What the fuck? Where did you even get that?”

“Magic.” Ranboo shook his hands and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tubbo huffed lightly.

Tommy had taken the bottle and slowly started sipping at it, but it didn’t help as much as he wanted it to. His heartbeat was still in his ears. He hadn’t talked to them yet. He didn’t have to. He could just get up and leave, he could avoid Dream’s wrath easy. He shuffled to get up, but Tubbo’s hands were on his shoulders and pushing him down before he could protest.

“Hey, no, you’re not going anywhere. You haven’t told us what the hell is going on.” Tubbo frowned and Tommy looked at the floor. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He was going to disappoint them and they had already done so much for him. Selfish brat, echoed in his head.

“Ease off, Bo,” Ranboo said calmly. He took the water bottle from Tommy’s hands, frowning at how little he drank but not saying anything. “He just had a panic attack. Don’t push.”

“I’m not pushing!” Tubbo said although he was definitely pushing. “He’s just—come on, Tommy, what’s wrong? You can tell us!”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

All three boys jumped at the sound of Dream’s voice echoing through the hall. Tubbo whirled around and Tommy got a clear view of the magician standing with his arms crossed, his face blank. Tommy wished that there was anger or something because the stoic stillness was worse than any furry the man held.

“Tommy just doesn’t feel like talking right now,” Dream monotoned, green eye glaring at Tubbo. “He hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Hasn’t been—yeah, no fucking shit, bitch!” Tubbo snapped, shouted, and Tommy’s breath hitched. He was too loud, too obnoxious. He was going to make Dream angry. Tommy reached out to grab Tubbo’s arm—

“Tommy.”

Dream’s voice cut crisp and sharp through the air. He froze. “Come on, I need you to do something for me.”

“No.” Tubbo stood to his feet, squaring his shoulders as he blocked Dream from Tommy and Ranboo. A shudder ran down Tommy’s spine and Ranboo wrapped an arm around his shoulders. But he couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t, because Dream would get angry and Tubbo would get in trouble and it was all his fault.

Tommy pulled himself out of Ranboo’s hold and pushed past Tubbo, ignoring the boy’s protest. Dream’s posture eased slightly as Tommy came to his side, but he couldn’t look the magician in the eye. He could feel the gazes of Tubbo and Ranboo along his back. Was this betrayal? It tasted bitter on his tongue, like nausea in his stomach. And even now, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Because something in his heart said he was doing the right thing.

It was quiet, barely there among Tommy’s racing thoughts, but there nonetheless. Dream was, had always been, his friend. He had been the one to pull him out from the gutter, to give him a warm place to sleep, a place to stay. Dream had been the first person to look at him like he was a person and not a menace. He’d been Tommy’s friend at one point. He was still Tommy’s friend, he reminded himself. He was still trying to help.

Right?

Dream placed a hand, warm and heavy, on his shoulder pulling him closer. “I don’t believe you have a say in this, Tubbo. Do you really want to test me? I could fire you in an instant.”

Tommy could hear the sharp inhale of surprise from Ranboo. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” Dream bantered. “Go on, Tubbo. Do something.”

For once, Tommy was glad he couldn’t see Tubbo’s face, but he could imagine the furry burning in his gaze. He could hold the weighty silence in his palms. Tommy took the smallest step closer to Dream.

“Tommy,” Tubbo pleaded, his broken request tapering off like he knew that Tommy wouldn’t answer. Tommy’s shoulders raised to his ears.

Tommy listened to the scattering of the other House members backstage. Equipment scraped against the wood floor, and the curtains squeaked on their hinges as they were pulled open. Puffy was shouting stage instructions again. Fundy swore, Bad chittered in response.

He shuffled.

“I think you should go find Slimecicle, Tubbo,” Dream said dully. “He’s getting the orchestra ready for tonight.”

“You fucking piece of—”

“Right, we’ll do that,” Ranboo interrupted quickly as he grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder and pushed him backwards. “I’ve—I’ve got to go get some costumes ready.”

“You do that,” Dream muttered absently. He turned to wrap an arm around Tommy’s shoulder, guiding him toward backstage. Tommy looked over his shoulder to find Ranboo holding Tubbo against his chest, an arm held firmly over his chest to keep him from running after them. Tubbo’s red face was visible from under his bangs, and even from this distance, Tommy could see the distress on Ranboo’s face.

Tommy turned back around, heat climbing in his face. He had done the right thing. He had. He just had to believe he had made the right choice and that would make it true. Dream certainly seemed to think so at least.

“You did so well, my little rabbit,” Dream cooed in his ear, pleased. “You only messed up once and even then, you didn’t really say a word, so I’ll let it slide.” Tommy shivered. Dream had been watching them. Of course he had. “I honestly didn’t think you could do it. I’m very surprised.”

He led Tommy past Foolish and Ponk who were murmuring about something as they walked by. Tommy looked away.

“Now we just have to see how you fare tonight,” Dream hummed to himself.

“Tonight?” Tommy asked, quietly, unsure. “What—what do you mean?”

“After the performance, of course,” Dream explained. “I want to see how you’ll respond to Wilbur.”

Tommy would have stumbled if he hadn’t caught himself. “What?” he croaked.

Dream stopped and sighed, turning to Tommy with a hand on his hip. “After the service, you’re going to stick around until Wilbur inevitably comes to find you. And then you’re going to ignore him, aren’t you?”

“I—wh-what?” His eyes frantically scanned Dream’s face. “Dream, you—”

“You’re going to ignore him, aren’t you,” he asked again. His voice lowered as he placed a heavy hand on top of Tommy’s hair. Tommy had to bite his tongue to keep from jerking away.

“Y-yes sir,” he replied through gritted teeth.

Dream nodded once and took his hand off Tommy’s head. He resisted the urge to shake like a dog, to try and get the pressure of Dream’s hand out of his system. “Good. Now go get changed. Show starts in a couple hours.”

Something about the twinkling in Dream’s eye told Tommy he wasn’t talking about the House’s production.

—

The stage lights burned his eyes, the roar of the crowd rang in his ears. And on top of it all, the nausea crawled up his throat, threatening to empty his embarrassingly bare stomach in front of the audience. Tommy stood up from his bow, hands shaking at his sides, but he hid it. He always did. He wondered, briefly, if Wilbur was in the crowd. If Phil had brought Kristin again. Or maybe even if Techno had decided to see him for the first time.

He wondered if they thought of him less.

Dream had thankfully rushed him off stage without much fanfare, though the nausea in his stomach didn’t settle in the change of scenery. Tommy wanted nothing more than to collapse on his creaky cot, to let the bliss of sleep take him away from the harsh reality that floated around him. Ever since leaving Tubbo and Ranboo in the hall, he had felt hollow, vaguely coherent to the world around him, but still unable to forget about the day. The fabric of his costume scratched his arms. He wanted out.

But instead of guiding him back to the room as he had started to do, Dream guided him to the lobby and placed him in the far corner opposite the front desk. Tommy watched Purpled wave at people half-heartedly as they left the House.

“I’ll be back,” Dream promised, rolling up the cuffs of his costume. “I’m going to tell people goodbye. You’re not going to move, not going to speak, do you understand?”

Tommy looked past Dream’s ear and nodded. Purpled flipped off a young lady. She gasped.

“I asked if you understood, rabbit.”

Tommy’s gaze snapped to Dream’s at the change of his tone. “Yes sir.”

He didn’t watch Dream leave, only staring at the wood floor as his footsteps got quieter. He let out a slow huff of air. He wasn’t exactly sure what Dream was expecting. Wilbur wasn’t going to be here. He hoped, at least, that he wasn’t going to be here. Tommy didn’t know what he’d do if he was here.

But the universe liked to laugh at Tommy’s misfortunes, and Tommy could see Wilbur’s dark trench coat from his corner, a yellow turtleneck peeking out from the collar. Dread curled in his stomach as Wilbur turned. Brown eyes met blue, and a spark of excitement shot through Wilbur’s face.

Tommy was going to be sick.

Wilbur made a beeline to Tommy, face practically glowing as he pushed through the crowd. Tommy had already seen what had happened to Tubbo and Ranboo, how betrayed they had felt, and he wondered if Wilbur would be just as hurt. Tommy seemed to be good at hurting people, driving them away.

“Tommy!” Wilbur greeted cheerily, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Fancy seeing you off stage! A pleasant surprise.”

His gaze snapped down to his shoes. The fur from his costume almost covered them, like fluffy leg warmers wrapped around his ankles. When he shifted, the fur would move in the breeze. It was nice.

“Tommy?” Confusion ran in Wilbur’s voice, and Tommy could almost imagine him tilting his head to the side. “What’s up, man? You doing alright? You don’t look too good.”

He fought back the urge to shrug. He wasn’t sure if that counted as talking, but he wasn’t in the mood to push his luck in front of so many people.

“Okay, this isn’t really funny, Toms.” Wilbur’s black boots came into his vision, his left foot tapping and moving as if he needed to move. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” He leaned down so Tommy could see the curls of his fringe hanging in his face.

Tommy opened his mouth to say something. He shut it just as fast.

Wilbur straightened, his hair disappearing from Tommy’s sight, and the silence from his end echoed through Tommy’s ears. Fuck. Fuck, he had messed up, but he couldn’t fix it this time, because he had to obey Dream, but Wilbur was upset and—

Warm hands cupped his face, not like Dream’s bruising squeeze, but something light and gentle. Wilbur lifted Tommy’s face up and he was once again met with honeyed brown eyes, reflecting the House’s golden lighting. Wilbur searched his face frantically, like he was missing something. “Oh what has happened to you, my angel?”

My rabbit.

Tommy choked.

Wilbur’s touch burned and Tommy slapped the man’s hands away from his face. The soft feeling of his palms lingered, warm and tender and full of lies. Tommy rubbed his face to try and rid his cheeks of the feeling. His breath came in short bursts. The tension of the night was creeping up on him, curling around him like a dragon, hot breath fanning his anxiety as the danger drooled over his head.

“Tommy?” Wilbur’s hands fluttered in the air, worry plastered on his face. “What—”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he breathed. He took a step back, rabbit ears flopping against his back. “Don’t—don’t call me that.”

“What?” Wilbur inhaled. His eyes scanned over Tommy quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t call me yours,” he snapped, raged. “I’m not your fucking pet! Or—or your angel or whatever the fuck you think I am!”

“What?”

He could feel eyes on him, the Magic House turning to watch him scream. Yet he didn’t care. Wilbur was supposed to be different. He wasn’t supposed to be like Dream. He was supposed to be kind, guitar on his lap and stupid killer whale socks peeking from under his pants. He was safety wrapped in a clear container of mac and cheese. Creative, kind, caring Wilbur. He wasn’t supposed to be like Dream. He wasn’t supposed to claim him, to call him his own. Tommy didn’t belong to anyone, not Dream, not Wilbur.

“I’m not—” Tommy couldn’t breathe, could barely think, the buzzing nausea curling in his stomach stabbing at his lungs. “Don’t act—I’m not yours! I’m not your angel or your friend or your fucking brother!”

Wilbur stepped back like he had been slapped, eyes blown wide. “Tommy, you—you don’t mean that. I didn’t—I wasn’t—I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think! That’s your whole fucking problem!” The dam had been broken, the silence that had been holding back his anger cracking and letting the rolling hurt flood his heart. There was no stopping him now. “You never think about how I fucking feel about this! You never think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to be owned like a fucking pet! I’m not a dog that you can call to your side just because you’re fucking kind!”

“I’m not—I don’t treat you like a dog, Tommy,” Wilbur insisted.

“No?” Tommy’s eyes burned. “You bring me food and tell me how good I’ve been and then expect me to tell you everything about myself! Sounds like a fucking dog to me, Craft!”

“I never meant it like that, angel—”

“Will you cut it out with the fucking nicknames!” Tommy snapped. “I’m—just fucking quit it! I’m sick and tired of this!”

“Tommy—”

“Excuse me.”

Dream.

For once, in the past miserable hours of his existence, Tommy felt relieved to feel Dream’s tight grip on his shoulder. He shuffled back behind the magician. He snapped his gaze to the ground and water fell from his face to the floor. He blinked and it happened again. He vaguely realized his hands were shaking.

“Are you intent on distracting my employees?” Dream asked calmly, but even Tommy couldn’t miss the hint of anger on his voice. Tommy swallowed. Fuck, he had not only been talking to Wilbur, he’d been fucking screaming. He shut his eyes.

“You’re—” Wilbur’s face changed from hurt to a confused anger, “You fucking—what did you do?”

“You’re disrupting my House,” Dream said dully. Tommy knew that if he looked up he would be facing a lobby’s worth full of people. A shiver ran down his spine. “Get out before I force you out.”

For once, Wilbur didn’t say anything. When someone who constantly talked and complained and created with his tongue goes silent, Tommy felt like he had been pushed off a cliff, all breath knocked from his lungs.

“Alright,” Wilbur said. Calmly. Rationally. Like he wasn’t just walking out of Tommy’s life without a fight. He hated how his heart hurt. This was all Wilbur’s fault anyway, not his. Tommy had never done anything wrong. It was Wilbur who had planted the seeds of discontentment, begging him to look for something more. “I’ll leave.”

“Maybe it would be best if you didn’t come back,” Dream answered slowly.

Tommy’s heart ached.

“Maybe it would,” Wilbur echoed.

Tommy bit his lip. He wasn’t going to say anything. Dream was here and in control. He was helping. Tommy didn’t need to say anything.

Tommy lifted his head to watch Wilbur’s coat flick out of view, the murmur of the House rising once more to hum in his ears. Dream turned to look at him and Tommy dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Rabbit,” Dream murmured. “You’ve created quite a scene.”

He flinched before nodding. “Yes sir.”

The magician hummed. “Follow me.”

Dream dipped into a back hallway, Tommy following dutifully behind him. His hands shook no matter what he did with them. He tucked them under his arms, shoulders pressed to his ears. If Dream had been mad before, what was he now? A full tremor ran down his back but he couldn’t bring himself to walk out from Dream’s shadow.

The attic felt farther away than normal, the House’s floors creaking under Tommy’s feet as he kept his eyes trained to Dream’s heels. Like a dog, his mind suggested, and Tommy wanted to gag. Dream climbed up into his room, waiting as Tommy pulled himself off the floor. Tommy felt like his knees were going to buckle underneath him because this was it. His body braced for the hit, for the shouting.

He wasn’t expecting the hand in his hair, the gentle combing through his curls. He flinched, but Dream didn’t pull or yank. He continued to stroke his head, and Tommy found himself drifting forward. It could be a trap, his mind hissed, but Tommy was tired. He had been walking on eggshells for days now. There was nothing he could do to stop Dream. He didn’t know if he wanted to. Dream wasn’t shouting or hitting, but gently petting him.

When Dream’s arms wrapped around him, Tommy melted into the hold, letting his head rest against Dream’s shoulder. He should be angry, clawing at Dream, screaming at how unfair it all was. But he let himself slip into the slowly boiling kettle.

“There’s my rabbit,” Dream murmured. His hand continued to stroke Tommy’s hair. He shivered at the word, Wilbur flashing briefly in his mind. “There’s my wonderful, little rabbit. Did so well for me tonight, didn’t you? Stood up for me and everything. I’m so proud of you.”

This. . .was not what he was expecting.

He made a confused noise and tried to pull away, but Dream kept him close, warm and gentle and safe.

“Dream?” he asked. This felt so familiar, so like the Dream of old that he felt his guard dropping. When was the last time Dream held him like this?

The magician hushed him as he pulled Tommy to the cot, both of them coming to sit on the squeaky mattress. Dream scooted against the wall and Tommy followed. He had no idea when this was going to end, when Dream was going to snap and hit or kick or scream, and Tommy needed this. He needed this soft comfort. He hadn’t been able to get it from Tubbo, from Ranboo, from Wilbur. The world around him fell apart, and yet Dream was still here, still by his side even through it all. Even when Tommy disobeyed and messed up, Dream was always there.

“My rabbit.” Dream hummed into his hair.

“You’re not mad?” Tommy whispered.

“No, rabbit. How can I be mad when you did so well?” he praised and that warm feeling flooded his heart.

“But I talked.”

“You defended,” Dream corrected gently, ever so gently. “You stood up for me. That was doing what I asked, in a round-a-bout way. I wouldn’t be mad about that.”

Tommy nodded, not understanding, but agreeing anyway. Dream was happy, so he was happy He refused to think about Wilbur and the betrayal, he refused to think about his brothers, floors below him.

“I know this is hard for you. But I had to punish you, and you had to learn a lesson. Don’t you see what happens when you obey, when you do right? We can have this. You can be good when you want to, but I expect you to be good all the time. Do you understand?”

Tommy nodded again. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving him limp and exhausted, and all he wanted to do was to curl up into Dream and slip into sleep.

Dream’s voice hardened. “Words, rabbit.”

“Yes sir,” Tommy mumbled hurriedly. “Sorry, sorry—”

Dream hushed him again, bringing him closer to his chest. Tommy could hear his heart beating in his ear. “I forgive you. I know you’re tired, aren’t you? So easily worn down. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you. I won’t be like them. You are mine, and no one will take you from me.”

His words wrapped around Tommy’s ankles like fetters, binding him to the attic, binding him to Dream. He couldn’t unpack Dream’s words in his foggy state, and while exhaustion dragged at him as much as the possessiveness, Tommy found himself too tired to care. He knew, he knew, in his heart that this wasn’t real. He would wake up and Dream would be aloof, or angry, or upset, and the dream would be over. So he let himself drift in the false comfort and fell asleep in the lion’s lap.

Chapter Text

Wilbur knew he constantly made mistakes. He was emotion-driven, and let his heart lead before his head, something that constantly got him into trouble, even when he was kid. Dad thought it was endearing, though trying at times, when Wilbur would get so worked up he’d trip over himself in excitement. Sometimes it worried him with Wilbur so prone to depression, the smallest change out of his control pulling him apart at the seams. Techno didn’t understand, being level-headed and steady, but he had never bullied him for it. He’d more than not pull Wilbur out of his highs and lows, keeping him grounded in reality.

Except Wilbur hadn’t been careful this time. He hadn’t listened to Techno’s light-hearted teasing veiled in a quiet warning, and now he had messed up. Really messed up.

Death below, he had ruined everything.

Anything he could get his hands on turned to gold, beautiful and ruined with a single touch, marred beyond belief. He always wanted more, never satisfied, never happy with what he had, and it always cost more than he was willing to pay.

And he had been doing so well.

Wilbur couldn’t remember anything about the drive back to his house couldn’t remember talking to Sneeg, his mind painfully blank as he took his coat off in the entryway. He was just trying to help. He was trying to make sure Tommy was alright but Tommy hadn’t said anything, hadn’t reacted until—

He shut his eyes, blocking out the sheer betrayal and anger in Tommy’s eyes. How was Wilbur supposed to know? How was he supposed to realize that Tommy was being suffocated, forced to be someone’s plaything? He knew it was bad, he knew it, he knew it, he knew it, and yet he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t realized Tommy felt restricted, suffocated. He had only seen his sunshine as someone he could love and protect, but Tommy clearly didn’t think the same.

He didn’t think the same.

Wilbur’s breath hitched, and he braced himself against the wall, hands clenched over his head. Had he misunderstood? Was this all a game to Tommy? Had Wilbur been too much? He was always too much, always pushing for something that wasn’t his, and now his greed had shot his angel out of the sky.

“Wilbur?” Dad’s voice echoed through his trembling thoughts and his head whipped up to look at him. He wasn’t painting, apparently, from the lack of apron and paint splotches on his face, but dressed in a more formal wear. He carried a large black bag, one he used to transport his paintings. He was probably going to check on the art show to finish the final touches, Wilbur thought numbly.

He pulled himself off the wall, smiling shakily. “Hey, Dad. Off to the show, huh? Well, good luck and all that shit.”

Dad didn’t answer, looking at him thoughtfully. “What happened?”

Wilbur laughed shortly. He shouldn’t be surprised; Dad always seemed to know when something was bothering him, but he couldn’t admit it, not now. This wasn’t just a slip up, this was a failure that would haunt him for the rest of his life. “Nothing. Nothing happened, I’m fine. Go on to your show or whatever. Sorry, I’m in the way.”

“You’re never in the way, songbird.” Dad put the bag down, leaning it gently against the wall, before coming to get a closer look at him. As much as he wanted to hide, Wilbur couldn’t look away from his dad’s worried face. “Something did happen. You look awful. Are you alright?”

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something, maybe to prove his innocence and say that he had done nothing wrong, but the only argument that came out of his mouth was a defeated groan. He had fucked everything over and now he couldn’t even hold himself together. He rubbed at his face, pushing the tears back. Nope, he wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t. Even if he was a fuck-up, he wasn’t going to cry about it.

Dad’s eyebrows raised in alarm, hands reaching out as if he was going to grab Wilbur but pausing just out of reach. Wilbur didn’t know if he appreciated the gesture or not.

“What happened?” Dad asked. “You were fine just a couple hours ago. I thought you were going to see Tommy?”

“I did go to see Tommy,” Wilbur spat, though it felt half-hearted and more pointed at himself than Tommy. “And he wouldn’t fucking talk to me. Would barely even look at me and he—he said I wasn’t his fucking—” He choked on his emotions, unsure if he wanted to scream or sob. He clamped his mouth shut and spun around, hands finding purchase in his curls so he could ground himself.

“Let go of your hair, Wil.” Dad grabbed his wrists and gently pulled them away from his head. “Calm down, you—”

“How can I be fucking calm when this was all my fucking fault!” Wilbur pushed away from Dad but couldn’t get his arms free. “I always go too far and ruin fucking everything! He hates me, Dad, he fucking hates me, and it’s all my fault. I wouldn’t shut up, and he got overwhelmed, and he was so fucking hurt.”

“Tommy?” Dad held his wrists firmly, bringing them to his chest and rubbing circles into them. “Did he get upset? I don’t understand.”

“He fucking—” How could he explain it? The hurt shining in his boy’s eyes, the sneer curling his lip? It looked like how a stab wound felt, piercing through him like a blade. “He just started shouting at me. Screaming. I don’t know, I called him mine and he just went off. He acted like I was treating him like some kind of pet. He didn’t even look like himself, Dad. And I left, Dream came up and told me to never come back and I just. . .I gave up.” Somehow, that was the worst of it. Even though Tommy’s harsh words stung, Wilbur hadn’t tried to stand up, to push. But pushing was what had got him into this position in the first place, wasn’t it?

“Okay, alright, Wil, take a breath.” Dad’s eyes skimmed over his face, smiling sadly. “It’s going to be alright, okay? Things like this happen. And it sounds like something else is happening. Tommy’s never lashed out before, has he?”

“No, and that’s what hurts,” Wilbur whined. “He’s never been uncomfortable around me before.” His brain replayed the scenario. “He only responded when I said. . .when I said he was my angel. Like he didn’t like that.”

“Then maybe that was too much for him. Being on stage seems to be a lot for him to handle anyways, right? He could have just been having a bad day,” Dad soothed.

Wilbur shook his head. “No, you didn’t see his face, Dad. He looked so hurt. Like he’d been thinking about this for a long time. I haven’t even known him for that long, but it looks like something he’s wanted to say for ages. What. . .what do I do? Dad, what do I do? Do I go back? Do I say anything? Dream unofficially banned me from the Magic House, I don’t—”

“You’re thinking too fast, mate.” Dad reached up to cup his cheek and Wilbur sighed. Sure, the action was childish, meant for someone much younger than himself, but it was comforting all the same. A reminder that he didn’t have to have everything handled. Dad was here. “Here’s what we’re going to do, alright? Give Tommy a break. We’ve been hounding him, and from what Mum said, Dream hasn’t been too happy about that. We need to give him some space.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to protest, but guilt curled in his gut, and he slowly shut it. No, it would probably be better if he did stay away from Tommy. Dad was right, even though it hurt.

“Hey.” Dad tapped his cheek and Wilbur’s eyes snapped up to his. “You didn’t know, Wil. You had no idea Tommy would be upset by that. You’ve gotten attached, and that’s okay, but he’s a kid who hasn’t gotten a lot of love and he doesn’t know how to handle that.” He smiled. “You know a lot about that, don’t you?”

Wilbur smiled weakly. “Yeah, I suppose so,” he croaked.

“No, no supposing. You remember when I told you I loved you for the first time and you ran away?”

Wilbur snorted at the memory, of the soggy shoes he had received from splashing into a puddle, of the weird nostalgia of being back on the streets after so long. He hadn’t remembered at the time how horrible it was to live on your own, relying on un-reliant meals. He had thought it would be better than dealing with the lie that Dad (Phil at that time) had said.

“Was a stupid thing to do,” he admitted.

“Fucking stupid,” Dad agreed. “But we worked it out. I gave you space, and I was patient. I relied on the truth to shine through, the truth that I did love you. I do love you, Wil. And from what I can see, Tommy loves you too. He’s a large-hearted kid, but he doesn’t want to be hurt. You have to be patient. Let him come back to you, just like you came back to me.”

“You say that like we’re going to adopt him,” Wilbur joked, trying to lighten the mood. But when Dad didn’t immediately disagree with him, Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Dad—”

“That’s a discussion for another day.” Dad picked up his bag and flung it back over his shoulder. “I do have to go now though, songbird. Go practice with your band or talk to Techno, okay? Don’t go wallowing alone, and I will be asking Techno what you did this evening, so don’t bullshit me.”

Wilbur scoffed, but a reluctant ease washed over him. He wasn’t happy, wasn’t at peace with the whole situation, and Tommy’s cold blue eyes still flashed in his memory, but he felt a little better. He felt like he could manage. “Alright, Dad, I won’t do anything stupid.”

Dad smiled and pulled Wilbur down to kiss him on the forehead. “Good. Be patient, mate. Everything will work out alright in the end.”

“If I don’t screw it up before then,” he joked.

“Ah.” Dad pointed his finger in his face. “None of that. I’ll smack you.”

“Oh, I’m so scared.”

“You better be.” Dad opened the door and waved. “If you need anything, call me or your mother.”

“Just go already, old man!” Wilbur shouted and Dad shut the door with a laugh.

Left alone in the entryway, a silent weight draped over his heart, but he took a deep breath. It would work out, he told himself. He could fix this. He wouldn’t let Tommy feel the same uncertainty that he had all those years ago.

Tommy deserved that at least.

—

Dream was talking to him. Dream was talking to him.

Him. Him! Tommy Innit himself. It almost made him dizzy with the amount of times Dream would talk to him or pull him aside to ruffle his hair. Soft smiles, praises, positive reactions from the one that Tommy thought he would never be able to please.

Sure, Dream would still send him glances that made shivers run down his spine or speak in harsh warnings, but those only happened when Tommy was messing up. He would get too comfortable, too relaxed with the staff that Dream had to remind him his place. And Tommy remembered faster too. He talked less and ignored people more. In turn, Dream would be happier. More hugs, more praises. It was good. For once, everything was working out.

Tommy wanted to know why he still felt so empty.

His outburst towards Wilbur kept coming to his mind, plaguing him in quiet moments. He meant every word, he’d say them all again, but the hurt in his eyes wouldn’t leave his memory. Sure, it was true, but he shouldn’t have yelled. He should have been kinder, or just not answered or something.

He had ended everything through his words. Tommy had no doubt in his mind that Wilbur hated him now. He had left without a fight, and Tommy didn’t blame. Why fight for someone who shouted and cursed you out when all you had been was nice? Because Wilbur had been nice, so nice and genuine that Tommy had almost fallen for it. He had almost forgotten that he was unlovable.

Dream fixed that.

(Dream didn’t fix that, because Tommy longed for Wilbur, for the Crafts, for Tubbo and Ranboo, and he still felt so alone. Even the fake, gentle comfort from his guardian felt like nothing more than falling into a bear trap. But at least Dream didn’t lie to him. Dream didn’t say he was loveable, but told him the truth. And Tommy respected him for that.)

To keep the thoughts away and to help himself be on his best behavior, Tommy stayed close to Dream whenever possible. He did his chores based on whatever room Dream was in, and he did them quickly to avoid Dream leaving him behind. It happened a couple times at first, and Tubbo had almost caught him. Tommy couldn’t risk another breakdown so he learned to do his chores as quickly as he could.

Apparently, Tubbo hadn’t liked that.

Tommy pulled another music stand from the closet and dragged it to the orchestra pit. He had just vacuumed the carpet and was resetting the pit while Dream was talking to Slimecicle about arrangements or something that Tommy hadn’t really paid attention to. He was more focused on setting the stands up in the exact positions they were before.

Tubbo stormed down into the pit, Ranboo following closely at his heels with a determined, worried look in his eyes. Tubbo didn’t even look at him as he passed, but Ranboo did, a worried smile lingering in his eyes. Tommy would have asked what was happening if he could.

And then Tubbo suddenly grabbed Dream by his collar, yanking him away from a shocked Slime. Ranboo squawked and Tommy took a step forward, a shout of warning on his tongue. He held it in.

“You listen here and you listen closely, you motherfucking bastard,” Tubbo snarled. Tommy’s eyes widened as he waited for Dream to smack Tubbo across the face. Nothing happened. “I’m sick and tired of whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull, and I won’t let you treat Tommy like this. No one else in this death-forsaken house will do anything, but I will. You leave him the fuck alone! I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s not acting like himself and he’s been fucking miserable for weeks! Just because you’re his guardian or whatever the fuck doesn’t mean you can manipulate him like he’s some kind of, kind of, magician’s rabbit! So stop it!”

Tommy’s heart jumped in his chest, hands shaking as he watched for Dream’s reaction. Holy fuck. Holy fuck, Tubbo was standing up to Dream. He was going to be murdered! Killed! He wanted to grab Tubbo by the arm, but his feet were rooted to the floor. Ranboo seemed to be in a similar position, but he was at least able to move.

“Tubbo,” he said in a hushed whisper of awe and terror.

“I said what I fucking said,” Tubbo snapped. He kept steady eye contact with Dream even with the hair over his face. With a tug, he pulled Dream so close that his nose was brushing Dream’s mask. “What are you going to fucking do about it, Dream? You can’t control Tommy!”

“And neither can you,” Dream replied evenly.

Tubbo paused, his grip loosening. “What?”

In a quick move, Dream yanked Tubbo’s hands away from his shirt, pulling them away from his body. Tubbo yelped and Ranboo took a step forward, Tubbo’s name on his lips.

“You can’t control Tommy,” Dream snarled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Tommy’s family. I’m his only friend, not you imposters.”

Tubbo’s face twisted. “You fucking—”

“And if you had any self-preservation left in you, you’d know not to mess with me.” Dream shoved Tubbo back and Ranboo caught him before he could fall to the floor.

“You think you scare me?!” Tubbo struggled against Ranboo’s arms but couldn’t get out.

“You’re fired.”

The whole room froze. A sharp inhale from Slime, the creaking of the floor underneath Ranboo’s feet. Tubbo’s labored panting, the shuffling of people moving onstage. Every sound crescendoed around them, waiting for the first move. Tubbo was the first to snap, pushing against Ranboo with a shout that sounded more like a growl as he tried to attack Dream. Tommy’s breath caught in his lungs and he was stepping in between Tubbo and Dream before he could stop himself.

“Stop! You can’t fire him!” Tommy pleaded. He hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for talking, but he wasn’t going to stand by and watch his best friend get banished. “Dream, you can’t—”

“Shut up, Tommy!” Dream snapped, and he flinched. Pushing him out of the way, Dream leaned down in Tubbo’s face. “You are fucking fired. And if I even see you in this House, I won’t be afraid to call the cops. Grab your stuff and leave.”

“You’re a fucking bastard and a coward!” Tubbo spat.

Ranboo readjusted his grip on the struggling boy. “Stop, Tubbo! You’re not helping anything! Just stop!”

“Let me go, Boo!” Tubbo clawed at Ranboo’s arms.

Tommy felt like he was watching everything outside his own body, unable to change anything, unable to do anything. He watched Dream say something to Tubbo, watched as Ranboo sent him a broken glance before dragging Tubbo out of the orchestra pit. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder that he realized he had zoned out.

“You alright, man?”

Tommy looked up at Slime, blinking away the tears that had somehow formed in his eyes. He rubbed his face. “Y-yeah, I’m good, big man. Just—”

“Tommy.”

He shut his mouth as Dream walked over, arms crossed. Slime stepped back, silently watching the two of them.

“Go to your room,” Dream said shortly. Tommy could practically see the steam rising from his ears. He nodded in answer and didn’t wait to hear the confused question that Slime asked Dream. He scrambled up the stairs, taking two at a time. The only thought in his brain was how badly he wanted to be out of here, to be in his room and just rest. He didn’t even know if he was in trouble or not. Dream was angry, and Tubbo—

Tubbo was fired.

Tommy swallowed the sob that climbed out of his chest and continued running. Tubbo would leave. Tommy wouldn’t know where he would go, or if he could see him again. He wouldn’t have random hugs or hear Tubbo shout in annoyance. He’d never see Tubbo smile or laugh. This was it. After all these years, Tubbo would be gone. It’d just be him and Ranboo.

If he’d ever be able to talk to Ranboo again.

Tommy covered his mouth, warm tears spilling over his hand as he stumbled into his room, his tower high above the House. He let the trap door slam behind him before launching into his bed. It was all his fault. From the very beginning, he was only a mess-up, a mistake. He shouldn’t have tried to be normal, shouldn’t have tried to have friends and family and a life that he could enjoy and love and live.

He was tired of this, tired of this rollercoaster of emotions and the draining of his soul. He could never fix anything and he was doomed to repeat the past, forever stuck in a loop that ended with only him and Dream.

And the worst of it all was Tommy couldn’t find himself to hate him. He still loved Dream, deep down inside. His Achilles’ heel, his cliff’s edge that called to him like a siren, that he couldn’t escape. Dream had a piece of him, even if Tommy didn’t have a piece of Dream. He was fractured beyond repair.

And who could love a fractured person?

Tommy curled into his cot and drifted into a world where he was free of love’s harsh shackles that bound him to the stage and instead bound to warm arms and pleasant whispers in his ear.

—

Ranboo tried to go with him (because of course he did, he had a part of Tubbo’s soul after all), but Tubbo wouldn’t let him. Sure, Boo was worried that Tubbo would go off and do something irresponsible, but he was too angry to be irresponsible. This wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment anger, but something that had been festering for a long time.

If Tubbo had his way, he would have smashed Dream’s face into the pavement. He had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well, despite how desperately he wanted to. He hated the feeling of helplessness, the feeling that no matter what he did, it would only make things worse for Tommy. At this point, he didn’t care what happened to him. He just wanted Tommy to be happy.

The Crafts wanted Tommy to be happy too.

Tubbo could tell that Wilbur cared. And not in the normal way of people caring for Tommy because, face it, everyone liked Tommy, it was impossible not to. But Wilbur cared in a weighty way, a way that Tommy needed so desperately. The entire Craft family had something magnetic about them, and even though Tubbo hadn’t met them yet, he could tell. He could tell from the hope in Tommy’s eyes, the genuine light in his steps. As much as Tubbo hated it, he and Ranboo weren’t enough for Tommy. He wished they were, but he couldn’t escape the longing in his brother’s eyes, the wishing for something better than what he had. And he deserved something better. Ranboo and Tubbo had told him time and time again how much better he deserved. Tommy never believed them.

Until Wilbur started coming around.

Now, Tubbo could see the cracks, the hope for a possibility that was once given up on. Tubbo couldn’t do anything for Tommy.

But the Crafts sure as hell could.

He wasn’t stalking the Crafts. Absolutely not. He got their home address from Niki, lovely wonderful Niki, and wasn’t surprised to find out they lived in the classy district of L’Manberg. They were rich bastards so of course they would. Tubbo may have looked a little odd and out of place, marching up to the Craft’s front door in his tattered overalls and fraying sweater, but he never had been one for appearance. He knocked on the door rapidly as he tried to peer through the windows on either side. Even through the frosted panes, he could see the expensive furniture and decorative rugs. He fake-gagged and knocked again, more insistently this time.

Finally, he heard someone coming and he knocked louder, just to be annoying.

The door opened slowly as brown eyes blinked back at him in surprise. Pink hair hung in his face, and Tubbo frowned a bit because he didn’t want to talk to Techno. He wanted to talk to Wilbur. Plus the man looked very awkward, shifting in place as confusion crossed his face.

“Can I, uh, help you?” Techno said slowly.

“If you care a flying fuck about Tommy, then you’d better let me the fuck in, pretentious pink-haired fuck,” Tubbo snapped, pushing his way past Techno, completely unintimidated by the man’s height.

Techno sputtered, following Tubbo as he barged into the Craft house without a care. He spun around, taking in the high ceilings and big windows and wrinkled his nose. “Wow, you are rich fucks, aren’t you?”

“Heh? What are you doing in my house?!” Techno asked frantically. “You can’t—Dad! DAD!”

“Don’t worry about it, boss man.” Tubbo plopped on one of the couches, propping his feet up on the armrest. He sunk into the cushions. This thing was softer than his entire mattress. He wondered if he could somehow sneak it out of their house and bring it back to Ranboo.

“You can’t just crash someone’s home, say something about Tommy, and then just insult me in my own home! Dad! There’s a child in here!” Techno called up the stairs, completely exasperated by Tubbo’s antics. “Dad! I don’t—”

“Well, I need fucking help, so can you stop screaming and listen for a couple seconds?” Tubbo propped himself up on his elbows and raised an eyebrow.

Techno paused at that, turning to him with a worried expression crossing over his face. “You keep saying that. And you mentioned Tommy. What happened?”

“Got fired,” he said simply. “Because Dream’s a fucking asshole and I need someone to take him out or take Tommy away, because I know the damn fool won’t leave himself.”

Techno shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes watching Tubbo as if he were evaluating his facial expressions and tone of voice. Tubbo didn’t flinch, just giving Techno a deadpanned look in return. He wasn’t leaving until the Craft’s did something, or by Death below, he was going to break Tommy out of the Magic House himself.

“Techno?! What—”

At that moment, Phil came running down the stairs, paint splattered on his cheeks. Red and gold were splattered on his forehead as he stopped, looking from Techno to Tubbo. He blinked. “Who’s that?”

“A friend of Tommy’s, I guess,” Techno answered. “Just barged in without introducing himself.”

“Tubbo,” he said shortly. “But I don’t matter right now. I need you to help Tommy or I’m going to end up committing a crime that will land me in prison for the next thirty years.”

Techno and Phil looked at each other, sharing something silent that Tubbo couldn’t decipher, but he still recognized all the same. It was a look shared between someone trusted, someone loved.

Phil walked the rest of the way down the stairs, smile strained but in a way that Tubbo knew wasn’t meant for him. “Why don’t you come sit in the kitchen, mate?”

Tubbo grinned.

Chapter Text

It was no surprise that Dream didn’t show up that night or the following morning. Tommy wouldn’t have shown up either to see a kid who didn’t follow directions and made friends with people who made problems. He decided the best way to deal with the continual abandonment was to just shut down. He had already cried all of his emotions out; he had nothing left to lose. Something in the back of his head said this was familiar, but he couldn’t bring himself to figure out why.

That was, until the window creaked open, and Tommy was suddenly reminded of soft words, warm hugs, gentle love—

He shot up from the cot and stared at the window, a head of bubblegum hair poking through the opening.

“Hullo,” Techno greeted.

“You—” Tommy glanced around the room as if he expected the trap door to fly open at the sound of voices. He licked his lips. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Coming to get you.” He stuck a leg through the window and swung inside, standing with a stretch so big his back popped several times. “Heard you needed a break. Plus, this place sucks, so.”

Tommy blinked at him, a giddy excitement mixing with his terrified paranoia. “But how—who told you? How are you here? Dream’s—” His voice hitched at the thought of the magician, and he suddenly realized he was talking, talking more than he had in several days and he hadn’t even hesitated. It was Techno, how could he not talk to him? Only a couple of meetings had Tommy trusting a man he barely knew.

It must be a Craft thing.

“Your short, angry friend broke into my house,” Techno explained, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Tommy paused before paling. “Tubbo?!”

“Little concerned with how he knew where we lived, but ya know.”

Tommy rubbed his face with a groan. “He’s going to be the death of me. He’s actually going to kill me. He’s going to go too far and then he’s going to get fucking arrested.”

Techno shrugged. “Worked out for him so far. He’s worried about ya, kid.”

He knew that, Tommy knew Tubbo was worried, but hearing it from someone else felt different, felt real. The fact that Tubbo had found the Craft’s address just to get someone to help him made Tommy’s heart warm. It also made him a bit terrified to see how far Tubbo would go for him. He’d never admit that same fear made him love Tubbo more.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same.” Techno’s low voice echoed in the room. “I worry about you, Theseus.”

Tommy looked down at his feet. The longing was back, the intense need to belong rocketing through him and begging to be loved. Even with all of Dream’s attention and affection, Tommy still felt empty. His ‘love’ didn’t linger like Techno’s, like Wilbur’s, Phil’s, Kristin’s. Their love felt like home.

Their love felt like poison.

Wilbur’s words still grated against his mind, and the fear of being owned shot through Tommy. He couldn’t go from one cage to another. He didn’t know what he would do if the people—the family—he was beginning to love turned out to be just another Dream.

“Don’t,” Tommy whispered. “Don’t, don’t make me choose.”

“I won’t make you do anything,” Techno replied softly. “I just want you to be safe. We all do. Wilbur. . .has been miserable.”

Tommy tensed as he heard Techno walk in front of him. Techno’s shoes were pink which shouldn’t have surprised Tommy. He was so expressive, not caring what other people thought, just doing what he liked. Tommy wished he could be like that.

A warm hand cupped his chin and lifted his head. Techno looked at him with loving eyes that scanned his face, making Tommy feel so loved and seen, he thought he was going to melt into the floor.

“You know Wilbur cares, don’t you?” Techno whispered. “He loves you a lot. Wilbur doesn’t love easy.”

“You’re lying,” Tommy argued weakly. “He just wants to manipulate me.”

“He wants to love you,” Techno corrected. “You fight so hard. You’re brave and bull-headed, and so stubborn. Let us help. Let me be your Ariadne, Theseus.”

And Tommy broke.

He fell into Techno’s arms, letting out short, breathless sobs as he finally let himself break. Maybe it was overdramatic but Tommy was tired. He was tired of putting up a front, tired of worrying. And for once, someone was here to catch him. Tubbo and Ranboo tried—by Death did they try—but they couldn’t protect him like Techno. They didn’t love him the same way the Crafts did, no matter how hard they tried.

That thought stuck: the Crafts loved him. He had no doubt in his mind. Maybe he had just ignored the truth, forced himself to live in his doomed reality rather than look forward to a hopeful future. They loved him. Tommy knew they did.

And in that same thought Tommy realized that Dream never loved him.

He sobbed louder, clutching to Techno’s shirt like it would disappear. Techno wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest, and buried his face in Tommy’s hair. Tommy shuddered at the touch, but he loved every moment of it. There were no hidden motives in Techno’s hands, no fake promises, no lies. Just Techno.

“It’s alright, Tommy,” Techno murmured into his ear, and Tommy whined. “You’re alright. I’m here. You’re here with me, and we won’t ever let you go.”

Tommy sniffed, completely sure he had smeared snot all over Techno’s red sweater, but Techno hadn’t said a word. If anything, he had pulled Tommy closer, wrapping him so near to his chest that Tommy felt like his very being was being torn apart.

“Come home.” Techno pressed a kiss to Tommy’s forehead. Tommy’s breath hitched with another sob. “Come home and rest a while.”

Tommy nodded frantically, stifling his cries. Who was he to say no? He briefly thought about Dream, but even the fear of being caught was stifled by the desire to be out.

“Alright,” Techno hummed. In a smooth movement, he scooped Tommy into his arms with ease. “Alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you.”

Tommy didn’t doubt it for a moment.

—

Tommy stood in front of the Craft’s house and shivered, though it didn’t have anything to do with the chill in his bones. This was their house. This was way different from the back of a bookstore or the familiarity of his own room. This was their residence, and Tommy was about to intrude.

“Yer thinking too loud,” Techno huffed from behind him, his free hand settling on Tommy’s shoulder. “We’re the same people at home that came to the House.”

“Obviously,” Tommy scoffed. He was known for his loud bravado, so he just had to pull on whatever brashness he had left. “You don’t have to fucking hover.”

“You’re shaking,” Techno said bluntly. “You’re not fooling me, Thes.”

“And you’re a bitch,” he shot back. A triumphant smile spread across his face as Techno sighed.

“Just come inside, brat.” Techno unlocked the front door and stepped inside, leaving the door open and kicking off his shoes.

The doorway reminded Tommy of another portal. No magic curled in its middle, but he still felt as if he were seeing into a different world. Cozy furniture draped with well-loved blankets sat in the middle of a warm living room, light from the windows spilling onto the floor. It looked like a place he had dreamed of once, one that he thought didn’t exist. Techno was waiting for him, watching with a patient eye in the entryway. His pink hair looked like flowers with the lighting from behind. Tommy inhaled shakily.

He stepped inside.

Following Techno’s lead, he took off his sneakers and placed them next to Techno’s loafers. Tommy had half-expected him to take off into the house, but Techno waited for Tommy to stand by his side before walking into the living room. It was exactly how he had imagined it, maybe more, because this living room didn’t have the wary possibility of bad people sitting on the couches, but the certainty of a loving family.

He didn’t like thinking about the Crafts as family. It made this whole situation all too real and wonderful, so Tommy pushed the thought away.

“You need anything to eat?” Techno walked to the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, grabbing a basket of various wrapped snacks. Tommy’s stomach ached at the sight, and he almost said yes before remembering. He was breaking a rule. Fuck, he was breaking so many rules. He shouldn’t even be here, what was he doing? He—

“Tommy?”

Wilbur’s voice cut through his incoming panic like a knife, freezing all of thoughts. Tommy turned and his face paled. Wilbur stood at the edge of the stairs, eyes wide and full of confusion and uncertainty and. . .love? Hope? He couldn’t tell over his buzzing thoughts. He could only remember the cruel words shouted and the utter hatred he had felt towards Wilbur from a couple nights ago. His cheek burned. No, he wouldn’t be embarrassed about it. Wilbur was the one who had treated him wrong, who’d called him just a thing.

Right? That didn’t sound right. Tommy felt like his thoughts were twisting. In all honesty, he had no idea what had happened in the between times, now that he thought about it. He really only remembered Dream, remembered cold loneliness. Surely Wilbur didn’t mean to say those things. Or maybe that was his wishful thinking.

“Tommy’s here,” Techno said into the silence, making Tommy tense. He hadn’t even realized how silent he had become.

“I can see that,” Wilbur breathed. It was as if he was frozen at the foot of the stairs, eyes racing around the room, but always landing back to Tommy. “He’s—you’re—hey. You’re—you’re here?”

Tommy nodded. He inhaled through his nose, suddenly aware that he had stopped breathing for a moment. He tried to relax his shoulders, but this entire situation was just weird and wrong and—well, wrong.

“Right.” Wilbur took another step down the stairs, closer to Tommy, and stopped as if he were intruding on Tommy’s personal space. Which was stupid, since this wasn’t even Tommy’s house. It was Wilbur’s. Why didn’t he just come closer?

Because he screamed in his face. Tommy bit his lip.

“Wilbur has something to tell you, Tommy.” Techno held the snack basket in his hands as he crossed between the two to sit on one of the living room armchairs. He swung one leg over the other and raised an eyebrow at Wilbur.

“I—” Wilbur’s voice caught in his throat as Tommy looked back to him, wide blue eyes tracing every movement.

This was it. This was the final straw, the part where Wilbur told him how he really felt. Who would want to hang around a teenager like him, anyways? Tommy knew he was unlovable (despite what Technoblade liked to say), and why would Wilbur forgive him after all the horrible things he had said? The sour bitterness with which Tommy had said ‘brother’ still clung to his mouth. There was no forgiveness for a crime like that.

“Toms—Tommy.” Wilbur stepped closer, eyes trained to Tommy’s face. Tommy couldn’t look in those dark eyes and quickly broke eye contact. If Wilbur was going to rip his heart to shreds, Tommy didn’t want to see.

“I—I wanted to apologize.”

Tommy’s eyes snapped to Wilbur’s.

“I shouldn’t have—” Wilbur took a deep breath. “I was wrong. You’re right. You’re not mine, you’re not anybody’s: you’re your own person. I got carried away. Let my emotions get the better of me. I never meant to, to hurt you like that. I just thought it would help you see how much—how much you mean to me. To us. I know you don’t see me as a brother, that’s fine, it is, and I shouldn’t have pushed that onto you.”

That—

That was an apology.

Wilbur apologized.

Tommy blinked, brain racing. He knew Wilbur didn’t really mean it, knew that from the start. But he never thought that Wilbur would actually apologize for it. He thought he would have just brushed over it and moved on, trying to go back to the way things were.

(Part of him felt hurt that Wilbur took it all back, that he wanted to be seen as his, not Dream’s, but those emotions were heavy, and Tommy didn’t want to unpack that.)

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Wilbur hurried, eyes cast down to the ground. “I get it, but—”

Tommy was moving before he really thought about it, crashing into Wilbur with too much force and causing the two of them to stumble back. Wilbur squawked as Tommy wrapped him in his arm as tightly as he could, one thought repeating in his head: Dream never apologized.

For a moment, Wilbur’s hands hovered over Tommy, not returning the embrace, and his heart sunk. He was being too much again. He hadn’t even thought that maybe Wilbur didn’t actually want to be forgiven, or—

Wilbur’s arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling Tommy closer. One of his hands pressed his head into his shoulder, and Wilbur buried his head in Tommy’s curls.

Oh.

Tommy let himself be held. He clung so tightly, he felt like his hands were going to fall off, but he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go. All the fears and worries and lies Dream had fed into his brain felt so far away in Wilbur’s arms. He felt like he was home.

“I’m sorry, Toms, I won’t do it again,” Wilbur muttered. “Don’t—please don’t leave me again.”

Tommy’s heart skipped. He nodded against Wilbur’s sweater but couldn’t speak. His heart was too full, head too busy to really understand what Wilbur could mean. Because how could someone be so broken over not seeing him?

Wilbur sighed, gently swaying with Tommy in his arms. “I never—I never meant to hurt you. I promise you that. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t ever do that. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, dickhead,” Tommy mumbled. “I already forgave you.”

“Oh.” Wilbur’s grip tightened. “I—”

“No.” Tommy pulled back, though it felt like he was ripping a piece of himself off. He kept his hands latched to Wilbur’s sleeves. “No—whatever the fuck you’re doing. You didn’t, didn’t do anything, okay? I was being a dick, so I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. That was wrong. I didn’t—I didn’t mean anything I said.” His emotions rubbed him raw, eyes burning as his own echoing words bounced around in his head.

Warm hands cupped his cheeks and guided his gaze to Wilbur’s face. Wilbur smiled sadly. “I know. I know.”

Tommy leaned forward, shutting his eyes with a hum. Warmth washed over him, the first warmth he’d felt in days, months even. Heck, maybe he had never felt this level of love before, the forgiveness from another human being that was so foreign and oh so welcome.

“Right, are ya good now?”

Tommy looked over Wilbur’s shoulder at Techno who was sitting in the armchair, eating some kind of chip. Techno waved a chip in their direction. “I’m sick and tired of watching Wil mope over something that could be easily fixed if you communicated.”

Wilbur scoffed and Tommy snuck his hand out to flip Techno off.

“Fuck you, man,” Tommy mumbled.

“I’m just saying, you were both being ridiculous.” Techno raised an eyebrow, but Tommy could see a smile tugging at his lips. “Now that we’re all on the same page, Tommy, would you like to get cleaned up?”

“Huh?” Tommy tried to lean back, but Wilbur held him tighter, a hand coming to curl into his hair. He wanted to grumble, but he actually liked the gentle carding. Techno’s question, however, was confusing him. “I don’t. . .what are you talking about?”

“Cleaned, Tommy. You know, like a bath?” Wilbur mumbled with a chuckle.

“I know what a fucking bath is,” Tommy snorted. “You calling me dirty or something?”

“Fucking filthy.”

Tommy squirmed out of Wilbur’s grasp, pushing at him lightly. “Let go of me! You’re harassing me! Harassing, Bur, let me go!”

“Now why would I let go of you?” Wilbur cooed. “You’re such a sweetheart, and kind, and cute—”

“I will slaughter your entire family,” Tommy gasped, face flushing. “You can’t say that stuff.”

“No?” Wilbur let go a bit but only to cup Tommy’s face and press a kiss to his forehead. Tommy didn’t think he could get any redder. He tried to pull away and Wilbur had the audacity to laugh at him. “Oh, don’t, I know you like the attention.”

“I don’t,” he denied. “I don’t, you’re just a bitch and a wrong-un and I hate you!”

Wilbur hummed, a smug look resting on his face. “Sure you do. Your face says everything.”

“Let him take a shower, Wil,” Techno groaned. “Let him clean off and then you can smother him like a mother cat.”

Wilbur sputtered as Tommy let out a startled laugh.

“You are like a cat!” Tommy teased. “You’re annoying and hairy—”

“I’m not hairy!”

“—and you cough up fur balls!”

“I do literally none of those things,” Wilbur protested, poking Tommy in the forehead. “Just follow me, child.”

“I’m not a child!”

But Wilbur wasn’t listening, only dragging Tommy upstairs. Wilbur opened a door to the side to reveal a bathroom and shoved him inside. “Use whatever soap is in there, I don’t care, and Techno can get over it. Towels and washcloths are in the cupboard. I’ll bring you some clothes. We are not watching movies if you’re not wearing comfy clothes.”

Tommy spun around and looked up at Wilbur with wide eyes. “What—”

The door was shut before he could come up with a sarcastic remark and Tommy was left alone in the Craft’s guest bathroom.

Though they joked about it, Wilbur and Techno were unfortunately right. He did need a shower. Not that he smelled bad, but that he just felt like ick, the lingering feather-light touches of Dream clinging to his skin. Even his clothes felt like spider’s silk, wrapped to his very being in an attempt to remind him where he’d been. He yanked his shirt off, discarding his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor before hopping into the shower.

The warm water pelted his back, but it was comforting. Tommy let himself sink into it. He realized, after a long moment, that he didn’t have to shower quickly, didn’t have to worry about Dream pounding on the door, shouting at him to hurry up, to come with him, to keep his head down—

Tommy looked down and let the water run off his hair and into his eyes, He squeezed them shut, rubbing his face vigorously. He wasn’t there. He was here. At the Craft’s. He was at the Craft’s.

He still didn’t know what to think of that.

Tommy grabbed a random shampoo and conditioner, rubbing it into his hair without much thought. The shower felt too good, too nice, and Tommy suddenly wanted out. He washed his body quickly before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

A piece of paper stuck out from under the door and Tommy frowned, leaning down to pick it up.

“Clothes are outside the door, gremlin. They are required in this house. - Bur”

He scoffed before opening the door and grabbing the clothes. A pair of sweatpants that were a little too big on him and a sweater that was obviously well-worn and loved were included in the pile. They were soft, warm like being constantly hugged. He vaguely thought about how Dream would always pick out his clothes, but this was different. This wasn’t a show of power or a covering to hide his freckled arms, this was love. Love in a pair of clothes.

That was a funny thought.

As Tommy left the bathroom, dirty clothes in his arms, he could hear voices downstairs. He stood at the top of the stairs, listening and waiting. Was he welcomed? Was this really where he was supposed to be?

“I can take those for you.”

Tommy turned quickly to find Kristin behind him, a gentle smile on her face.

“H-hey!” Tommy choked, startled. “I didn’t—I mean, I—”

“You’re fine, sundrop.” Kristin took the clothes from Tommy’s arms before he could stop her. “I’ll wash these for you, yeah?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he insisted, but Kristin just shook her head.

“I know I don’t. But I want to. Is that okay?”

Tommy blinked. “I. . .I guess so.” That wasn’t a job people wanted to do, especially for Tommy. Ranboo usually did his laundry, but he had told him it’s because Tommy couldn’t wash and Tubbo would blow the washing machine up. But even that wasn’t because Ranboo wanted to. Tommy felt dizzy.

Kristin nodded, that same soft smile on her face. “Alright, I’ll wash them, okay? Don’t worry about it. I think Techno ordered pizza if you’re hungry.”

His eyes widened. “What kind?”

“Something that has too many veggies for Wil’s liking,” she joked and started downstairs. “I’m sure he got a pepperoni or something for you, though. I’d hurry before Wilbur eats it all.”

Tommy didn’t have to be told twice.

He followed Kristin downstairs, fidgeting with the bottom of his borrowed sweater. Sure, he was hungry, but the whole absurdity of him being in the Craft’s house was still sitting heavily in his stomach. He wasn’t even sure if he could eat anything. Kristin’s presence, however, was soothing, a calming balm over his anxious heart. Tommy brushed his shoulder against hers and gained a loving smile in return.

He was pretty sure his heart couldn’t take much more of this.

As the two of them walked into the kitchen, Tommy had to pause as he watched Techno dangle a pizza box behind him and out of Wilbur’s reach. Wilbur flailed his arms in vain, unable to grab the pizza, and he let out a frustrated shout.

“Technooo,” he whined. “Just one piece, Tommy won’t even know—”

“You’re not eating until he’s down,” Techno deadpanned. “Stop trying.”

“Daaad!” Wilbur wiggled his hands and Techno moved the pizza box further back. “Tell Techno he’s being a bitch!”

“You’re being a bitch, Wilbur.” Phil set a stack of paper plates on the table. “Be patient.”

“I hate being patient!” Wilbur stepped back and flung an arm over his eyes. “This is torture!”

“You couldn’t wait thirty minutes? You really are a bitch,” Tommy snorted, drawing every eye in the room to him. He shuffled a bit. “Sorry I took so long—”

“Tommy!” Wilbur pushed himself between Tommy and Kristin, wrapping an arm around his neck. “I am fucking starving, sit your ass down and then maybe Techno will let me fucking eat!”

“You’re a pain.” Techno put the pizza box on the table, looking at Tommy and rolling his eyes playfully. Tommy grinned back at him.

“Let the kid sit down, Wil,” Phil said with a sigh before smiling at Tommy. “It’s good to see you, Toms.”

Tommy slipped under Wilbur’s arm, ignoring his protest, and slid into the chair next to Phil, grinning up at him. “You too, old man.”

Phil sputtered, but Tommy was already reaching for the box of pizza. Before Wilbur could snatch the box, he had put several pieces on his plastic plate, turning to stick his tongue out at him.

“Pizza’s for me, bitch!”

“You motherfucker, you’re going to eat it all, and then I’m going to be stuck with Techno’s stupid ass veggie pizza,” Wilbur complained.

Techno looked up from his pizza, eyebrows raised. “Just because I appreciate vegetables doesn’t mean—”

The table descended into friendly bickering, and Tommy ate his pizza slowly, savoring the taste of real food, not granola bars. Kristen came to sit beside Phil and joined Techno in teasing Wilbur. Tommy hadn’t even seen her leave, but he assumed she went to do his laundry. He refused to admit that he blushed a bit at the thought. Phil’s contagious laughter had Tommy laughing along with the rest of them. His stomach was full, his heart was light, and the exhaustion from the past couple of days finally washed over him. He started to miss bits of the conversation and ended up leaning on his palm, half-listening to the family.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and Tommy’s eyes flew open to see Wilbur standing behind him. “Come on, Toms. Let’s move to the couch.”

Tommy looked around and saw that the table had been cleared, the clattering of dishes in the kitchen mixed with Phil and Kristin’s voices. Techno was nowhere to be seen, and he frowned at being suddenly alone.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he stood on unsteady feet. His hands gripped the dining table to keep him from falling. “I should’ve helped with the dishes.”

Wilbur wrapped an arm around him and pulled close. Slowly, he led them back to the living room. “Nonsense. You’re our guest. And we’re supposed to be taking care of you.”

Tommy could only nod as Wilbur maneuvered him to the living room couch. He plopped down onto the cushions and sighed, bringing his legs up to his chest. To Tommy’s surprise though, Wilbur flopped down beside him and held an arm up for him to crawl into.

“Just in case you wanted a hug,” he said casually, like he wasn’t offering all the love in the world to Tommy. He was too tired to say no, he didn’t want to say no, and Tommy fell into Wilbur’s embrace as if he were meant to be there. Maybe he was, a piece of himself forever intertwined with someone who loved him.

Techno entered the living room with about forty blankets and threw them onto the coffee table. “Grab a blanket, I’m not passing them out.”

“Technooo.” Wilbur brought a hand around to scratch at Tommy’s curls and Tommy sunk further into his chest. “You really want to make me, me—the one holding precious cargo—to get up and get a blanket? You’re more cruel than you look.”

A blanket fell over Tommy’s head and he laughed at the sudden darkness. Wilbur yanked it down to glare at Techno. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Should have been clearer.” Techno sat down on the other side of Tommy with his own blanket, grabbing the TV remotes next to him. “Also, we’re starting the movie whether Dad and Mom are here or not, I do not care.”

Wilbur looked down at Tommy, and Tommy stalled a bit at how much awe was in his eyes. “What do you want to watch, sun—Tommy?” he stammered, face turning red for a brief moment before disappearing. Tommy’s own face burned. A part of him felt guilty because he had a gut feeling Wilbur was going to call him some kind of nickname. But he had shut Wilbur down. Tommy didn’t blame him for stopping himself. He pushed his face into a blanket.

“I don’t care,” he sighed. “As long as it’s not some boring history shit.”

“You heard the man,” Wilbur said to Techno. “No boring history shit.”

“Wasn’t planning on watching any of that, but since you insist.” Techno scrolled through the list of movies and landed on something entitled ‘Kings of England.’

“Techno, I will kill your entire family if you play that,” Tommy threatened.

“That means you’d kill Wil,” Techno said slowly. “Not that I care—”

“Hey!”

“I said what I said.” Tommy nodded sagely. “I will kill him.”

“Does that include me?” Kristin leaned over the couch with a playful smile on her face.

Tommy’s face warmed. “No, no, I—”

“I’m kidding, sundrop,” she laughed.

“She’s dead serious.” Phil sat down on the loveseat and patted the spot behind him, which Kristin gladly took. “She’d be so offended if you tried to kill her.”

Kristin whacked the back of his head and Phil yelped.

“Can we please pick something?” Techno groaned. “Or I will watch the documentary.”

Kristin suggested an animated film Tommy had never heard of before, and a chorus of agreements filled the room. Techno put it on, but Tommy already felt half-asleep by the time the main character was introduced, a long-forgotten girl locked in a tower by her mother. Exhaustion begged him to sleep as the girl sang about floating lights and adventures in the great unknown. Tommy closed his eyes, feeling safe next to Wilbur’s beating heart.

—

When Tommy woke up, he woke up in the drowsy half-awake state that comes on early Saturday mornings and in the middle of the night. Eyes crusted shut, he shifted against the warmth beneath to try and go back to sleep. He was a little stiff, but pleasantly so, like he had fallen asleep in a comfortable place but forgot to flip over in his sleep. A warm hand rubbed slow circles on his back, drawing him deeper into sleep.

Something vibrated in his ear, low and steady like a radio turned down and playing lazily in the background. Tommy wrinkled his nose and focused on the sound.

“. . .never again. I promise you that, angel, I never want to hurt you,” the raspy voice of Bur hummed in his ear. “You’re my sunshine because you’re so bright, and you’ve brought so much light into my life. You’re my angel because you grace me with your presence, with your life. Dearest gremlin, ray of sunbeams, Tommy. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Tommy thought it was odd that Wilbur kept repeating that, like he had hurt him in the past. Wilbur had been one of the only people who hadn’t hurt him, even when he had been possessive. In comparison to Dream, Wilbur was nowhere near possessive, only loving and cautious, wrapping in him warmth that Tommy didn’t think he deserved. Yet Wilbur kept coming back, kept putting Tommy’s needs above his own.

“I know you don’t like the nicknames,” Wilbur murmured. “I know they make you uncomfortable, so I won’t use them any more. I’d rather have you by my side than lose you. I’d rather stop than have you hate me. So I won’t hurt you again, my angel.”

“Call me tha’ again?” Tommy’s tongue stuck to his mouth, lazy and difficult to move against the sleep surrounding him, but he had to tell Bur. He had to tell him how safe and loved those nicknames made him feel.

Wilbur tensed beside him, hand pausing from where it was rubbing his back. “What?”

“Call me angel,” he mumbled, shifting to latch onto Bur’s sweater.

Wilbur’s breath hitched. Then the hand continued to rub his back and he exhaled softly.

“Angel,” he whispered.

Tommy smiled into the soft fabric. “Again?”

“Angel.”

Tommy held Bur tighter.

“Angel,” Wilbur breathed, gathering Tommy into his arms as if the boy were going to disappear. “My angel of music, my little songbird. My brother.”

If Tommy were awake and coherent enough to understand what he was saying, he would have been red, hotter than a summer’s day on the beach, but in the drowsiness of sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to care. This was his brother holding him, his family that he certainly didn’t deserve, but he wanted nonetheless.

“Brother,” Tommy echoed.

And for once, he believed it.

Chapter Text

Walking along the dark streets reminded Tommy of darker days in colder alleys, of worn sweaters and genuine smiles before they turned restricting. A cold wind sent shivers down his spine and Tommy pulled the borrowed sweater around his arms tighter. He should have grabbed his old clothes; Dream would be so pissed.

But Dream was going to be pissed no matter what.

Tommy repeated the rules softly to himself as his shoes clicked against brick walkways. He had broken rule three by asking to go with the Crafts. He’d broken rule four by not being thankful for all Dream had done for him. He had definitely spoken to guests, and he certainly wasn’t in bed by eleven p.m. It had to be three a. m. at this point. And yet the worst part of it was he had forgotten. Tommy had forgotten all that Dream did for him. He used to live on these streets, these empty, dirty alleys that used to be his home. Tommy would go days without eating, weeks without fresh food. The cold was his friend and the streets were his bed.

And Tommy had forgotten all of it when a single family showed him one ounce of kindness.

Leaving Wilbur’s arms that morning hurt, everything in his soul begging and pleading him to go back and be safe. Phantom murmurs of soft pet names, of love wrapped in words, lingered in his brain, bouncing around like bubbles. Tommy, however, knew. He knew he didn’t deserve this: these tender words, a place at the Craft’s table, fresh clothes, a warm shower. He didn’t deserve it all. He deserved whatever punishment Dream had planned. Bubbles always popped in the end.

Tommy paused as the Magic House’s lights cast the street around him in soft amber light, a low buzz emanating from the lightbulbs. His eyes landed on the door handles, and a funny sense of deja vu washed over him. This time there was no Kristin at his side, no Techno waiting to tell Dream off inside. Tommy shuddered and opened the door.

Moonlight washed over the foyer, shrouding pillars and dark floors in pale blues and navies. Tommy tiptoed across the room, eyes darting over every flickering shadow. His footsteps squeaked on the wood floors, each noise making his heart skip a beat.

Pushing the side door open, he slipped into the House’s halls. Everyone had gone home, something that should have been obvious to Tommy, but his brain was so focused on not getting caught that he wasn’t processing the world around him. He climbed the stairs, each step bringing him closer to Dream’s office, closer to his flat cot. The House was still, quiet rest lingering in the rooms. It was too quiet for Tommy’s liking. The shadows flickered, moonlight playing tricks on his mind. A stray thought begged him to go back, but it was too late for him.

The door to Dream’s office loomed in front of him. Tommy paused and swallowed. He just had to run to his loft. That was all. He was a big man. The distance shouldn’t scare him.

It terrified him.

Tommy’s hand hovered over the doorknob. Cold metal chilled his palm. He turned it and stepped inside.

Darkness met him as his heart pounded like drums in his ears. Tommy stumbled towards the loft ladder, hands flailing in the darkness. He moved quickly, unable to hear anything over the fear roaring inside him.

Then the light clicked on.

Tommy froze, hand inches away from the ladder as he felt like his heart had stopped.

No, no, no. A lump settled in his throat. He couldn’t move, couldn’t turn, couldn’t see straight over his panic. He’d been caught, caught past curfew and in the office of the man who held his life in the palm of his hand and waiting to crush it.

“Rabbit.” Dream’s voice held no emotion. Tommy couldn’t stop his hand from shaking, eyes blown wide as he stared at his fingernails. “What have you been doing?”

Dream knew what he had done. He knew what Tommy was doing: hiding, lying, disobeying. He just wanted to hear Tommy say it.

But Tommy couldn’t say it. Saying where he had been was a death sentence, an admittance that he had broken every single rule Dream had put in place. Because Tommy suddenly realized that he didn’t care for Dream. He didn’t love Dream. Maybe at one point he had, but that love had all but melted away in the fire of Dream’s overbearing wrath.

Footsteps echoed behind him as Dream stood behind Tommy. If Tommy could breathe, he would have choked.

“I asked for an answer.” Dream’s voice shook with rage. “You’re on thin fucking ice, rabbit, so you’d better start talking before I make you.”

“I was out,” Tommy rasped, gripping the ladder rung tightly. “I—”

“Out?” Dream hissed. He grabbed Tommy’s shoulder, ignoring the way he flinched, and whirled him around so they could face each other. “You were out, without my permission? I don’t even have to ask where you’ve been. You were with the Crafts, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were!”

Tommy yelped as Dream grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eye, unbridled fury boiling over in acid green. “Don’t try to fuck with me! I know what you’ve done! You’re an ungrateful brat who thinks he can do whatever he wants! I’ve cared for you! I’ve taken care of you for years, and this is how you repay me?!”

Keeping back sobs was impossible, a lump growing in Tommy’s throat as tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t protest because it was all true. He was ungrateful, unworthy.

But even now, he wanted to go back. He’d do it again.

Tommy blinked.

He’d do it again.

He would, he’d go back to the Craft’s house again and again and again because they cared. Wilbur always cared, even when Tommy messed up and wasn’t perfect. Techno vowed to stay by his side, to protect him. Kristin was kind and Phil was understanding, there to listen and to help. They loved him, truly loved him.

The list of rules and the weight of responsibility weighed on his mind. Dream had told him he didn’t need food or people or freedom. Dream had told him he was worthless. The entire House was built on magic that was slowly fading from society, twisted into something fantastical and beautiful all for the sake of money. Someone was wrong, and for once in his life, Tommy knew it was Dream.

“You’re a psychopath,” he breathed.

Dream’s grip tightened. “What?”

“I said you’re a fucking psychopath!” Tommy shouted through his tears. “You fucking—you think you’re the only one who matters! You don’t love me, you just say all that shit so I won’t leave! You’re a manipulative bastard who only cares about the money that goes into your fucking pocket! You’ve got a god complex the size of the fucking sun—”

A sharp sting slapped his face, causing Tommy to stumble back with wide eyes. Dream glared at him with his hand raised, every muscle tensed as if he were going to hit Tommy again. He couldn’t breathe, the tension so thick in the room that Tommy felt like gagging. That green eye cut through his heart, slicing him open and laying him out in front of a man that didn’t love him, a man that suddenly felt unsafe.

Dream lowered his hand and Tommy flinched violently, his own hand coming up to cup his cheek. The magician stepped forward and the rabbit stepped back. Before Tommy could move, Dream grabbed him by his hair, his other hand roughly wrapped his bicep, and began manhandling out of the office and back down the stairs. Tommy gasped and struggled, but Dream held him tighter.

“You think this is some kind of fucking game?” Dream hissed into his ear, hot breath sticking to his skin. “You think it’s funny? Talking back to me like I’m some kind of dog? After all I’ve done for you?!”

“No, you—you just like to watch me, you don’t actually give a fuck!” Tommy spat back against the terrified thudding of his heart and the sweat slipping between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t give in—he wouldn’t give in. He wasn’t alone now. He knew the truth now. “You’re a huge manipulative bastard! You’re the one who thinks this is a game!”

Dream growled, shoving Tommy down the last couple of stairs and steering him towards the basement. His heart skipped as Dream started walking them both down the stairs.

“Tubbo! Ran! Ranboo! Fucking help! He’s lost his fucking mind!” Tommy shouted, hope surging through him. Tubbo would punch the fuck out of Dream, hell, even Ranboo would do something if he needed help. Every time Tommy tried, Dream shoved him down, twisting his arm in an unusual angle that shot dull pain through his back. He just had to get them to help!

“Go on and scream a little louder, rabbit,” Dream sneered. He pushed Tommy into the basement.

But no one was there.

The couch was empty, only discarded blankets and scattering its cushions. No muffled cursing or shuffling came from the corners. The only thing there was the familiar chill of the stone floor radiating off the ground and a loneliness that Tommy had never felt in this part of the House.

His hope disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

“Tubbo’s fired, remember?” Dream purred, a laugh in his voice. “And where Tubbo goes, Ranboo follows. Haven’t seen either of them since he left. Cowards, both of them.”

“That’s not—” Tommy whined as Dream yanked him forward and towards the back corner of the room. His heart pounded in his head as he realized just exactly what was happening. Dream was going to kill him. Literally, Tommy was going to die in this basement and no one would be able to hear him.

But Dream didn’t start beating him to a pulp as much as Tommy was sure he would. No, Dream squatted on the ground and ran his hands on the baseboards. Tommy could only watch in horror as the magician found what he was looking for: a small divot in the floor that he could curl his fingers in and pull, a small trap door opening.

“No,” Tommy whispered.

Dream straightened to his full height. “What did you think was going to happen, rabbit?” he sneered. “Tell me, what the fuck did you think I was going to do?”

“You can’t.” Tommy stared at the gaping abyss, the same one that haunted his nightmares and followed him through quiet thoughts and peaceful hugs. “I didn’t—”

Dream grabbed Tommy’s shirt and pulled him close, Tommy’s nose almost brushing his theatre mask. “You are mine,” Dream growled. “You’re my kid, my rabbit. You don’t get a say in what you do, you don’t get a say in what happens to you. And I think you’ve forgotten that.” His grin sharpened. “I think you need some help remembering.”

“Dream, wait—!”

Dream didn’t wait and Tommy didn’t have time to catch his breath before he was grabbing Tommy’s shoulder and pushing him down into the hole.

Tommy’s heart jumped as he fell, the weightlessness of the air wrapping around his wrists and ankles and dragging him down, down, down. He hit the concrete faster than he expected, and he cried out sharply. His foot was under him, and the pain radiating from his ankle forced more tears from his eyes. Tommy knew without even looking that he sprained or twisted it. Sobs left his mouth without his permission.

“You’re always so fucking dramatic.” Dream’s voice echoed into the room. “Maybe a couple days in the dark will knock some sense into your empty head.”

No! Tommy wanted to scream, but he couldn’t pull air into his lungs. He suddenly realized that the darkness wasn’t just him almost passing out, but it was the room he was in. A deep panic settled in his gut. He knew this place. Not by sight, but by the intense trapped feeling that choked his life out from his body. This was the room, the room of that fateful night that has snapped the last bit of rebellion in his heart. Apparently, it hadn’t done its job because Tommy was back in the pit, back in the hole of darkness that hollowed him out and left him for dead.

“Pl-please!” he gasped, fumbling for the little bit of light streaming through the only door, his only escape.

“You’ve lost your chance, rabbit. You need to learn not to fuck with me.” Dream’s mask shone in the low light like a low-hanging moon, an omen of death. “Have fun.”

Dream let go of the trap door with a slam.

And Tommy was surrounded in darkness.

His breath hitched into a sob. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t see anything, not even his hand in front of his face. Denial ran through his head on loop. He couldn’t be back here, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. Tommy shrieked, hands flying to his head to try and block out his racing thoughts. He begged and pleaded with the cold stillness, pressing himself against the wall. The firm presence of something brought a brief moment of clarity before Tommy descended back into panic.

Sweat trickled down his back, tears running down his face and onto his borrowed sweater. He grasped the fabric and brought it to his face. His throat ached, his cheeks burned, and his heart broke into thousands of pieces. He was alone. Truly alone this time. Not even Tubbo and Ranboo were here to help him now. He shouldn’t have left, Tommy thought with another cry. He should have stayed wrapped in Wilbur’s arms, with Techno’s promises, Phil’s kindness, Kristin’s smile. He was an idiot for throwing it away, for coming back.

“Please,” Tommy whispered hoarsely into the empty room. To whom, he wasn’t sure. He knew no one would hear him. But his heart ached and he just wanted to be held.

“I want to go home.”

—

Wilbur was cold.

He shifted on the couch with a groan, his bones aching from the stiff cushions. His arms were empty but that wasn’t abnormal, it wasn’t a big deal. But he suddenly felt like it was a big deal, like he was missing something. Wilbur rolled over onto his side and blinked blearily.

Tommy was gone.

He shot up from the couch, mind suddenly awake from the revelation. Tommy wasn’t here. His heart thudded in his chest before Wilbur took a breath and rubbed his face. He was overreacting again. Tommy had probably just gone to the kitchen for breakfast or somewhere else in the house. He cursed himself for panicking so easily, especially when things were finally smoothing out. He brushed his fingers through his fringe and sighed.

Rationality, however, did not dull the ache in his chest. Memories from last night floated in his brain, warming him slightly. Wilbur wasn’t a fool—he knew he had messed up. Tommy was so hungry for love, and Wilbur had been so ready to give it to him that he got too excited, too eager. He didn’t think he was ever going to see Tommy again let alone be able to shower him in verbal love. But Tommy, with his large heart and his eager forgiveness, had accepted him all in one go.

Wilbur didn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness and Tommy had given it. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Wilbur loved him even more for it. His angel of mercy that loved without any hope of being loved in return.

Wilbur couldn’t wait to change that.

He pulled himself off the couch and stretched his arms over his head, vertebrae popping back into place. Wilbur lowered his hands with a sigh before walking into the kitchen.

Techno was staring into his coffee cup, brow furrowed as Dad talked rapidly on the phone in the corner. Mum smiled when he walked in, but even Wilbur could tell it was strained.

“Mum?” Wilbur said slowly, a low feeling of dread pooling in his gut.

“Hey, Wil, would you like some coffee?” Mum started pouring another cup.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He wasn’t going to be deferred, wasn’t going to be distracted from the tense atmosphere. “What’s happening?”

“You should sit down.” Techno put his cup down. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Not going to like fucking what?” Wilbur couldn’t stop himself from snapping. “What’s happened? Where’s Tommy?”

“Sit, moonbeam.” Mum put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him into one of the kitchen chairs. “Listen.”

Wilbur sat, his heart picking up a bit. “Stop scaring me. I don’t like this. Where’s. Tommy.”

“We don’t know,” Mum said bluntly. “He wasn’t here when we were waking up. Phil’s calling Niki to see if she’s seen him.”

Wilbur felt his mind blank, his thoughts swirling in a million different directions. Tommy was gone. And the only thing he could think of was that Tommy must have gone back to Dream. He didn’t know the full extent of their relationship, but every time they interacted, Wilbur felt sick. Dream had spread so many lies into Tommy’s brain, and Tommy believed every one of them. The saddest thing about it was, Tommy truly believed him. Tommy believed that Dream loved him.

But Wilbur knew that Dream didn’t. Love didn’t look like flinches and fear. He could see the war in Tommy’s eyes every time Dream was mentioned, but he could also see how much Tommy craved for love, true love. They were going to give it to him. They were. Why did he leave? Was Wilbur not enough? Had he gone too far again? He must have. He promised he wouldn’t hurt Tommy ever again, but Wilbur was woefully bad at keeping his promises. He thought this time would be different. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he was doomed for failure from the start—

“Breathe, Wil.” Warm hands landed on his shoulders. Pink hair came into Wilbur’s vision, and he stared at Techno, brown eyes scanning his face. “You’re going to be alright. This wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s always my fault,” Wilbur blurted. “I pushed him away before, I pushed him away again—”

“You didn’t push him away.” Mum brushed his hair back from his forehead. “You apologized and he forgave you. Let that go. This is. . .it’s something different. This isn’t the same thing.”

“We don’t know that,” he said miserably.

“And we’re not going to know that if we keep sitting around here.” Techno stood up straight, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m fixing to go looking for him myself.”

“He’ll be at the Magic House. He always goes back to Dream.” Wilbur shivered as Mum rubbed circles between his shoulder blades.

“Niki hasn’t seen him.” Dad walked back into the kitchen, his brow furrowed. “Tubbo and a kid named Ranboo haven’t either. Apparently they all lived together. Though ‘live’ is a loose term. No one’s seen him since Tubbo was fired yesterday. So we’re the last ones who have seen him.”

“Not even at the House?” Wilbur could hear the shake in his voice. He swallowed.

“Apparently.” Dad put a hand to his mouth, covering his frown. “I’m going to go talk to Dream. That’s our first place to go, obviously.”

“I’ll go with you,” Techno volunteered. His jaw was set, eyes glinting. “I want to talk to Dream personally.”

“Just find Tommy first,” Wilbur pleaded. “Just—”

“We’ll find him, Wil.” Dad ruffled his hair and Wilbur looked up at him. Blue eyes full of determination looked back at him, a mischievous smile creeping up Dad’s face. “We’re not letting him go now.”

Wilbur nodded, some of the unease leaving his chest. They would find him. They would find him and they would never let him leave again. Tommy was special, Wilbur knew that from the first note that left his mouth. He just wanted him home.

“Then the two of you better get going.” Mum grabbed her bag. “Wil and I will go and find Tubbo and Ranboo.”

Wilbur perked up. “What?”

“I’m not going to sit around and do nothing,” she said as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “And I haven’t met them yet. Plus, they might know more about what’s happening than we think.”

Wilbur stood with a breathless laugh. “Right—right, I don’t think I could sit still anyways.”

“Yeah, you would have gone to commit some kind of crime,” Techno drawled.

Before Wilbur could stutter a protest, Dad was grabbing Techno by the arm. “Let’s not start a brawl in the kitchen. We’re off to find Tommy! Don’t do anything that would land you in prison!” He kissed Mum on the cheek before ushering Techno out the front door, the only thing that could be heard was Techno’s sputtered “heh?”

Mum linked her arm in Wilbur’s and led him to the door as well. “You’ve grown quite attached to him, haven’t you?” she said, amused.

“Like you haven’t as well.” Wilbur looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “I saw you taking pictures of us on the couch.”

Mum smiled. “Would you like me to send—”

“Yes.”

—

“Let me do the talking.” Dad stood at the front of the Magic House, looking up at the sign. The sky was clear blue, a complete contrast to the growing fall chill that nipped at their bones.

“You say that like I’m going to say something regrettable.” Techno shivered and pulled his sweater closer.

Dad turned to him with an unamused expression plastered to his face. Techno smiled with a grin that was all teeth and no mirth.

“And that’s why I say something,” Dad sighed, but his own smile tugged at his lips. “But I’m serious. Just look out. I have a feeling Dream’s going to try and be a bitch about this.”

“Ya think? I’d be more surprised if he didn’t try to be annoying.” Techno opened the door to the House. “I won’t say anything if you can keep up, old man.”

Dad sputtered behind him, but Techno was already inside the house. The lobby, surprisingly, wasn’t empty. A kid in a purple hoodie was mopping the floors, a scowl on his face as he looked up at Techno. Vividly purple eyes caught his, scanning over him in a quick search. He scrunched his nose, blond hair falling in his face, and leaned against the broom.

“Can I help you?” he asked, tone snipped.

Techno opened his mouth, but Dad placed a hand on his shoulder and shot the kid his best smile. “Hey, mate, we’re actually looking for Dream. Could you point us in his direction?”

“I could point you in the direction of your mom’s house.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “I’m pretty familiar with where that is.”

“Oh great,” Techno mumbled, Dad once again cutting him off with a light elbow to his side.

“We’re here to talk to Dream,” Dad repeated, firmer. “If you can’t take us to him, we’ll go find him ourselves.”

The kid held up his hands. “Geez, alright old man, don’t grow too many gray hairs. I’ll go and try to find him. Might take a bit though. You can’t go wandering around here though—we’re technically closed.”

“We’ll stay right here,” Dad promised.

The kid looked them over and gave a single nod before putting the mop violently into the bucket and slamming the door open to the back of the House.

Techno sighed, shifting on his feet. His feelings about the whole situation were. . .complicated, to say the least. One, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Tommy shouldn’t have had the desire to leave them at all. He thought that they had been doing well. But maybe they had been too pushy.

Two (and Techno would never admit this aloud, not to Wilbur, not to Mom or Dad), Techno missed him. Seeing Tommy truly relaxed was a gift that he didn’t know he needed. Techno knew he was stressed, but he could visibly see that stress roll off Tommy’s shoulders as he smiled and laughed like he was a kid. He was a kid, and Techno had the overwhelming desire to wrap him up and bring him home. He had already promised Tommy to protect him. He was already failing, at least partially. He wanted Tommy to live for once, to not worry about the anger of a man who didn’t care.

And in all honesty, Techno kinda wanted to punch Dream.

Maybe it was a good idea only Dad was talking.

“We’re going to get him back,” Dad murmured to him, eyes focused on the door the kid had left through. “It’s going to be alright.”

“It sure doesn’t feel alright,” Techno huffed. He shifted on his feet, feeling his nerves start to grate on him.

“I know,” Dad mumbled. “Something’s going on here, something bigger than I think we realize. We’re going to settle this.”

Techno opened his mouth just as the door to the lobby opened and Dream stepped in. His stupid, extravagant mask sat on his face, one visible green eye scanning over both Techno and Dad with no expression. His green dress shirt was rumpled, out of order, and something so very unlike that Dream that Techno found himself wondering what they had interrupted. He narrowed his eyes, but Dad shot him a look before turning to the magician with a smile.

“Dream!” he greeted cheerily. “It’s good to see you today.”

Techno swallowed a scoff and crossed his arms instead.

“The same goes to you,” Dream said slowly, coming to a stop in front of them. “It is certainly a surprise to see you two here. How can I help you?”

“We’re actually looking for Tommy.” Dad kept a friendly smile plastered to his face, but as soon as the name ‘Tommy’ left his mouth, the room grew tense, building between the three of them like thick fog. “We haven’t seen him around in a while and we were wondering if you have? Since he lives here and all.”

Techno wasn’t surprised at the lie. If things were as bad as Dad anticipated, then it would be best to play it safe, to keep Tommy from any more danger. Instead he chose to carefully watch Dream’s face and body language. But Dream didn’t budge, just watching them intently.

“Tommy?” He tilted his head, green eye void of emotion. “No, I haven’t seen him in a while. Hasn’t he been with you? He said that’s where he was going to be today.”

Techno shot Dad a look, eyebrows raised. That was not at all what he was expecting, and he could tell Dad was just as confused. They were expecting shouting or something other than acceptance that Tommy was in fact gone. He hadn’t actually told Dream he was going, right? Techno literally nabbed the kid from his bedroom. There was no time for him to tell Dream.

Unless he had a phone or some way to contact him. But Techno would have seen. He barely kept his eyes off the kid all night. Right?

“No,” Dad said slowly. “I mean, yes, he was with us, but we haven’t seen him this morning. We assumed he just came back here.”

Dream’s eyebrow furrowed into something worried, eye flicking from Dad to Techno rapidly. It was as if his emotions kicked in, suddenly bringing life into a dead person, painting with wide strokes that told an incomplete story. “He left your place? He was supposed to at least stay until breakfast. Fuck, no, I haven’t seen him. When did you notice he was gone?”

“This morning before breakfast. But we think he left early morning.” Dad’s own face furrowed now, a similar concern on it. While Techno knew Dad was worried, this was different. These were emotions played up to match Dream’s energy. If there was one thing Dad loved, it was being petty, and Death, he was doing it now. “Can you ask Tubbo or Ranboo? We figured coming here would be the safest bet.”

“No, of course. But Ranboo and Tubbo have been gone for several days now.” Dream ran a hand through his hair. The bastard. Techno hated every moment of this. He was clearly lying and what he wouldn’t give to smack the magician across the face. “I can send some of my people out to look for him. Death, how did this happen?”

Oh, Techno would tell him how it happened, by shoving his ego up his—

Dad grabbed his wrist and squeezed, causing him to look up. Apparently, he had been clenching his fists and inching forward to the point where Dad felt the need to step in. Techno took a breath and forced his hands to relax. Dad knew. He understood. But now wasn’t the time.

Later, he promised himself.

“He’s around here somewhere,” Dad assured kindly, and Techno couldn’t wait to get him alone and hear him absolutely go off. “We’ll look for him as well. He’s a good kid, he couldn’t have gone far.”

Dream laughed, though it sounded more like a scoff than something humorous. “He isn’t as sweet as he may look, Mr. Craft, though I do appreciate your kindness. He can get himself into a lot of trouble.”

Dad’s grin was anything but kind. “Boys will be boys.”

The door behind them creaked open and a man with short, green hair stepped into the lobby, Techno’s attention immediately snapping to him. He looked like one of the workers he saw while receiving a very rude tour of the House. Amber worried eyes flicked across the scene, landing on Techno before quickly looking away, his face becoming even paler. He almost looked sick if Techno had anything to say about it, but maybe it was something else.

Maybe. . .

Dream hummed vaguely, shutting his eyes with a sigh. “Right. I hope so. Thank you for your help, really. I’ll repay you in any way I can if you can find him.”

“There’s no need for that,” Dad insisted. “It’s our pleasure.”

“Uh, Dream.”

Dream turned to look up at the green-haired man, the same emotionless expression crossing him again. “Sam? Is something wrong?”

The man—Sam—shook his head. “No, not—not technically. I just—” He looked at Dad and Techno before looking back at Dream. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam shuffled awkwardly in place when Dream didn’t answer, and Techno looked to the side. He tried looking in the open door that Sam left behind, but there was nothing but wooden hallways. No sounds came from the inner House, and Techno couldn’t tell if that was because of the hour or because of something darker. Dad cleared his throat.

Dream finally moved, turning back to Dad and Techno with that same worried expression. “Thank you for letting me know, I’ll go tell the others. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Techno would have given anything in that moment to say “no” and just not move from his position, but Dad was already nodding and backing away, sending him a sharp look that told him not to mess around. Techno exhaled slowly through his nose and started to follow, but not before pausing once to glare at Dream. Dad held the House’s door open for him, letting Techno storm out onto the sidewalk.

As soon as the door was shut, Techno opened his mouth. “You don’t actually believe that—”

“No, I don’t believe him,” Dad said with a raised eyebrow, incredulous that Techno would even think that. “You know I wouldn’t. If anything, we have more proof that he’s a lying fuckhead who has Tommy stuffed away somewhere.”

“If not worse,” Techno muttered, rubbing his face violently. “He knows what he’s doing! You can see him and his stupid smug face, thinking he has everything in control. Well, I’ll show him control—”

“Not until we get Tommy out.” Dad tapped Techno’s cheek, turning his attention to him. “Remember? Tommy first, then Dream. That’s how this works. He has to be in the House somewhere, now all we have to do is find a way in, okay mate?”

Techno clenched his jaw before releasing it and sighing. “Fine. But I’ll blow the thing up if I have to.”

“You won’t,” Dad promised as he began to walk back to the car, determination in every step. “We’ll have Tommy out of there and home in the next three days.”

“Three—heh” Techno trotted after him. “Dad, how—you can’t just predict that!”

“Yeah? Watch me!” he called over his shoulder, sliding into the front seat.

Techno grinned. Dream had made a fatal mistake.

Chapter Text

Tubbo was furious, and Wilbur didn’t blame him.

The boy had been pacing across the back room of Beloved’s Books for the past thirty minutes, wearing holes in the well-loved carpet while Wilbur and Ranboo watched him. Mum had been talking to Niki in the other room, supposedly getting snacks, but Wilbur was sure Mum was just filling in Niki with all the details, probably instilling her with the same frustrated rage that permeated the Beloved’s household.

“I’m going to kill him,” Tubbo muttered, running frantic hands through his faded dyed hair. “I’m actually going to kill him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ranboo said quietly.

“I do and you can’t change my fucking mind.” Tubbo whirled around, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’m going to kill him! He was literally there. He was literally safe and cared for, and he fucking walked right back to that mind-melting, manipulative piece of horse shit! He was safe!”

“He doesn’t get that yet,” Wilbur responded. He watched the boy turn to him, metaphorical fumes rising from his body. Wilbur didn’t know Tubbo that well, but he could see the fierce loyalty and stubborn passion to fight for Tommy, to knock Tommy’s head in just so he could be happy and safe. But that wasn’t what would help. Tommy needed a gentler kind of love, something that waited and understood, not forced him to join a family that loved him dearly. Love was a foreign concept, and love took time. Time Wilbur was willing to take as long as it didn’t come at the expense of Tommy’s health.

But Tubbo seemed to think that this was the point of no return.

“No, he never gets it!” Tubbo continued his pacing. “He doesn’t understand that we’d all fucking die for him because he doesn’t think he deserves it!”

“That’s not something that changes overnight, Bo.” Ranboo, thankfully, seemed to see Wilbur’s way of thinking. It was almost as if Tubbo and Ranboo were parts of Tommy in different fonts. Tubbo was Tommy’s wild, brashness, his overenthusiastic brashness that endeared him to all, that put his opinion out for all to examine. Ranboo was Tommy’s kind, compassionate side, his love for people and his understanding of how people worked. Wilbur supposed that was why the boys had stuck around each other for so long. “Tommy gets overwhelmed by that kind of thing. It takes—”

“If you say ‘time,’ I’m going to split your face open with a shower rod,” Tubbo threatened, wagging his finger at Ranboo’s mask. “He should know!”

“He doesn’t,” Ranboo replied evenly. “That’s why we’re here. To make this right. We knew this was gonna happen one day, we just. . .didn’t think it’d happen like this.”

Tubbo let out a loud, frustrated groan before flopping onto the couch, arms flailing over his face. “This is so fucking dumb! Can’t we just kick Dream in the balls?”

“No.”

“Eventually.”

Ranboo shot him a look and Wilbur shrugged. “Dream isn’t going to get away with this. We just—we can’t do it wrong. We have to get Tommy out safely first. Then we can give Dream what for.”

“I say we do it all at once,” Tubbo muttered, crossing his arms.

“I’m sure Techno would agree with you, but we can’t risk Dream doing something to Tommy.” Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls every so often.

“If he hasn’t already.” Tubbo pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. Ranboo leaned closer and wrapped his arms around him with a hum.

“We’re gonna get him out,” Ranboo promised. “For good this time.”

Tubbo didn’t answer and a tense, expectant silence settled over them. They were balancing, juggling an act that could fall at any moment, threatening to collapse all the good things they were working to build up. Waiting for Techno and Dad to get back was torture, and Wilbur could practically feel the anxiety crawling up his throat. He did and he didn’t want to know what Dream said, what he did, was Tommy there, was—

Niki opened the door as Mum walked in with a tray of cookies and other small baked goods. Wilbur’s shoulders dropped when Mum looked his way and smiled, bringing the tray to him first. She ruffled his hair and Wilbur made a noise.

“Mum, I’m not a kid anymore,” he whined.

“No? You’re still my boy, so I don’t really see the difference.” Mum placed a cookie on his lap and went to sit by Ranboo, offering the tray. Tubbo reached over and grabbed a cookie and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Wilbur blinked. Alright then.

“Phil said they were on their way back,” Mum said as she sat the tray on the table. “He said he’d explain once they got here.”

“Great,” Tubbo groaned. “Can’t wait to hear the good news.”

Ranboo patted his back. “Don’t say that, Bo.”

“You know Phil.” Niki went to sit down on the floor and Wilbur got up so she could take his seat, but she waved her hand with a smile and crossed her legs under her. “He’s probably already got a plan half formed. That, or Techno already punched Dream.”

“He can’t punch him unless I’m there!” Tubbo stuck out his lip. “I’m not afraid to punch Techno either.”

“You can’t go around punching everyone,” Ranboo sighed.

“You want to try and stop him?” Wilbur asked, feeling slightly amused by the whole interaction. “I feel like once Tubbo sets his mind to something, he always gets what he wants.”

Tubbo looked at Wilbur and grinned, something wide and feral and definitely not terrifying in the slightest. Wilbur laughed nervously.

“You would be right about that,” Ranboo deadpanned with an incredibly unamused look.

At that moment, the door burst open again and Dad barged in with a wild look to his eye. Wilbur jumped off the couch just as Techno entered behind him with a ‘bruh.’

“Can you not break the door down,” Techno groaned. “Like, come on, I get it, but—”

“Tommy’s in the fucking Magic House somewhere,” Dad interrupted, causing the entire room to still. It was eerie how fast the dread swept over them all, and Wilbur found his heart sinking a bit further into his gut.

“What do you mean he’s in the House?” Ranboo asked, voice shaking.

“Dream was being too fucking calm for a man who was missing his kid.” Dad stormed into the living room, Techno trailing slowly behind him. “And he looked very eager for us to leave.”

“And some dude—Sam, I think?—was acting sus.” Techno plopped down beside Wilbur, stretching his arm out on the couch behind him. “He was acting jittery and I didn’t like it.”

“Sam?” Tubbo looked up, face contorting. “Of fucking course. Dream would tell Sam what was happening.”

“And Sam knows the layout of the building,” Ranboo said quietly. “If Tommy isn’t in his room. . .”

“Don’t say that,” Tubbo snapped with a force that had Wilbur jolting. Sure, Tubbo had been angry, but never angry at Ranboo. “He has to be in his room, he has to. He—he has to be, Boo, he—”

Ranboo looped an arm over Tubbo’s shoulder and pulled him into his side without saying anything, without flinching at his harsh tone. Tubbo went boneless, burying his face away from the room, shoulders rising and falling in an irregular pattern.

“Why—” Dad looked like he was steadying himself, taking deep breaths to keep himself from breaking into shouts. “Why wouldn’t Tommy be in his room?”

Tubbo stiffened briefly as Ranboo tightened his hold on the smaller boy. His face contorted behind the mask. “I don’t—I don’t know. He never, never told us. It was a while ago now. Two or three years at this point, I think. He. . .was trying to go to the park. To get some fresh air or something. I wasn’t there at the time, just Tubbo. But Dream found out? And he. . .I don’t know, but something happened.”

Tubbo laughed shortly but didn’t say anything as a tightness descended through the room. Wilbur’s gut churned. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What happened?” Techno asked quietly, voicing the question they were all thinking but unwilling to say.

Ranboo curled a hand into Tubbo’s hair, eyebrows drawn tight.

“He locked him up somewhere,” he whispered. “We didn’t see him for a couple days. At first, we thought—we thought Dream had taken Tommy back to his apartment or something like that. But then Sam brought him out a couple days later. He. . .he didn’t even look like himself.”

Wilbur felt like his throat was going to cave in. A warm hand wrapped around his own, and he looked up to see Techno watching him with concerned eyes. Wilbur wasn’t fooled—he could see the anger burning in his gaze for the brother that wasn’t present, but he could also see the love for the brother that was, for him. He took in a breath he didn’t know he was holding and felt his fuzzy thoughts come back to him. He exhaled slowly and shakily and repeated the motions until he felt like he could think again.

“. . .so he decided to, what, lock him away?” Mum’s cold and calm voice said to the room. While Wilbur looked like his mother, Techno definitely took after her calculating gaze, her formulated wrath (funny, how traits passed through the family without even blood to connect them). This was no different, Mum’s rage easily recognizable by everyone in the room. “Is that what he did this time? Shove him away like he was a dog?”

“It’s fucking possible,” Dad muttered, returning to pace about the living room. “So it’s more than likely that Tommy is still in the House.”

“Y-yes,” Ranboo said, his focus more on Tubbo than anything else. Wilbur didn’t blame him. “We’d have to get Sam or Dream to take us to him. Though I bet Dream would rather die.”

“Oh, I’ll make him wish he could die,” Tubbo mumbled fiercely as he pushed away from Ranboo, rubbing at his eyes. Overgrown bangs were pushed out of his face as forest green eyes scanned the room, landing on Dad in the middle. “So what are you gonna fucking do about it?” he challenged. “We’re not just gonna sit here, not when we could be doing something. If you’re not going to help us get Tommy out, then you’re just as bad as Dream.”

“We’re not going to help you,” Dad interjected, getting Wilbur and Techno to both utter protests before he raised a hand, that mischievous, knowing gleam in his eye. “We’re going to get him out as a team. For Tommy.”

Wilbur stood up and Techno followed, their hands still wrapped tightly together and the thought made Wilbur’s heart warm. Soon it would be three of them. Soon, he promised himself.

“For Tommy,” Wilbur swore.

“For Theseus,” Technoblade echoed.

“For Tommy.” Mum moved closer to Dad, wrapping her arm around his.

Tubbo’s eyes were wide, something like disbelief dancing in them, a feeling so familiar that Wilbur couldn’t help but smile as that disbelief turned to hope just like his had all those years ago. Tubbo looked at Ranboo who smiled softly back at him, and the two shared a look.

“For Tommy,” Tubbo swore. “And this time, we’re not letting him go back.”

—

The wonder of the Magic House had worn off. He was tired of it, of its flashing lights and cheerful greeters, the colors and the noise, the laughter of people as rich as himself. The atmosphere left a sour taste on Wilbur’s tongue, and he couldn’t help but compare it to that first night he had stepped in all those weeks ago. There was nothing magic about this house.

Except the magic that Tommy held in his heart.

Wilbur fiddled with his cuffs as his eyes roamed the lobby, watching the flow of people slowly wander into the auditorium. He couldn’t focus on the conversation around him, his thoughts focused on one person and one person only. Had Dream really locked him away somewhere? Was Tommy hurt? Wilbur didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if he was. That just meant they had to hurry up.

“You’re thinking too loud, Wil.” Dad leaned closer to him, sending him a knowing look. Techno was pointing out Dad’s paintings to Mum, and Wilbur could tell they were talking shit about half of the people in the room. Dad cleared his throat and Wilbur glanced down at him. “We’ll find him, songbird. I promise you, it’s going to be alright.”

Wilbur nodded slowly. “I—I know. I just can’t help but think this is my fault.”

“Your fault?” Dad raised an eyebrow before chuckling. “No, Wil, if anything is your fault it’s your inability to give up on people you love. You’re the reason we’ve gotten this far, okay?”

“Ah yes, my inability to stop thinking about some kid singing on a roof, of course,” Wilbur said dryly, though he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Thanks Dad, I feel so much better.”

“You little shit, that’s not what I meant!”

Wilbur burst into laughter, slinging an arm around Dad’s neck. “No, of course, you were talking about my uncanny knack of riling up pissy business men who have sticks up their asses.”

“This is like the third time, Wil—”

“Or how can we forget my charming personality that is the glue to this mismatched family, hm? We just can’t, now can we.”

“Holy shit, you are full of it, aren’t you?” Dad laughed in disbelief. “Wil.”

Wilbur’s smile faded. “I know, Dad. We’ll get him out.”

Dad smiled, something warm and proud dancing across his face. It was a look Wilbur had received several times, and yet sometimes he couldn’t imagine that it was directed towards him. This was his dad, his mom, his brother.

And to think he had gained another one.

“Welp, time to go, nerd.” Techno ran a hand through Wilbur’s hair, purposefully messing up the way he had styled it just to get a reaction. Wilbur cursed at him. “Help me find Sam. Or one of the idiots. Whichever one comes first.”

“You could ask like a normal person instead of being a bitch about it!” Wilbur whined as he followed after him. “I was already coming.”

“Yeah, but you were having a depressive episode, so get over yourself and give me a hand. Stop being dramatic and do something.”

Wilbur sputtered. “I am doing something! I’m following your sorry ass!”

“Have fun, boys!” Mum laughed, looping her arm in Dad’s.

“Don’t scare the poor man!” Dad chimed.

“I make no promises!” Techno said as he stepped over the rope leading to the Employees Only section. Wilbur jumped the rope, rushing to keep up with him.

“Ranboo and Sam should be backstage.” Techno stormed deeper into the house.

Wilbur turned a corner and went left, staying closer to the wall. He could hear people rushing around backstairs, muffled shouts and laughter filling the halls. “What does Sam look like again?”

“Green,” Techno said simply. “You’ll know him when you see him. It’s this next door on the left.”

“I know where the backstage is.” Wilbur paused in front of the door, slowly turning the doorknob and looking inside. The show hadn’t started, judging by the bustle. He recognized a couple of the staff: the one fox themed magician with his hoops, the tall demon-like actor with his friend. There were also a couple that he didn’t recognize: a dark-haired man with his arms full of wires, a lady with white, fluffy hair. He even caught a glimpse of Ranboo, fabric bunched in his arms as he rushed out of view.

“Show’s fixing to start,” Techno whispered. Wilbur turned to see Techno staring at his phone, typing rapidly. “Dad just sat down. He’ll let us know when Dream’s on stage.”

Wilbur nodded, heart hammering in his chest. The plan was to go backstage as soon as Dream left, grab Sam, and force him to bring them to Tommy. They only had so much time and they had to be fast. There was no time for making mistakes. He shut the door slightly, keeping it at a sliver so he could see what was happening. The white-haired lady shouted for people to get into position, and the backstage cleared out, talking dulling to low murmurs. The lights dimmed and Wilbur exhaled slowly.

Techno shifted to beside him. “It’s starting.”

Wilbur pushed the door open and the two brothers entered the backstage. Barely anyone was around, most of the performers huddled near the stairs leading up to the stage. Wilbur was so focused on the group of people huddled in the corner that he didn’t even notice Ranboo approaching until he was right in front of them. He would never admit that he had jumped.

“Sam’s working on the portal,” Ranboo hummed. “Tommy isn’t performing tonight, so he was messing with some things.”

Wilbur’s stomach churned. Right, and Tommy wasn’t performing because Dream had locked him away somewhere. He hated the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Show us,” Techno mumbled.

With a nod, Ranboo was turning and leading them toward a back corner of the backstage, a door cracked open to one of the backrooms. A dull, pulsing purple light, danced across the floor. Wilbur could hear the portal humming, a twisted song floating in between the fanfare of the production feet away. Techno held out a hand to push Ranboo to the side, giving him a short dip of his head. Ranboo backed up, inhaling briefly before giving the two of them a shaky smile. Taking a breath, Wilbur steadied himself, ready to grab Sam if he tried to make a run for it.

Techno grabbed the door and yanked it open, the doorknob hitting the wall with a loud bang. Sam shot to his feet from where he had been crouching, eyes wide as he glanced between Techno and Wilbur. “What the—”

Techno was moving before Sam could say anything else, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting in a way Wilbur knew hurt from personal experience. “You scream and I’ll gag you,” he threatened. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Sam’s mouth shut with a snap. Wilbur had forgotten how scary Techno could be if he wanted.

“Alright, okay, I won’t try anything” Sam rushed, eyes darting from Techno to Wilbur to Ranboo standing back out of the way. “What—what’s happening? What are you doing here?”

“We’re asking the questions here, bitch,” Wilbur snapped, stepping up beside his brother. His patience was wearing thin and now that the answer to Tommy’s location was standing right in front of him, he was ready to snap. “Where’s Tommy?”

Sam blinked. “Tommy? I don’t—”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.” Wilbur grabbed Sam’s collar and pulled him to his eye level. “We know he’s here. Where. Is he.”

The mechanic sucked in a breath, looking at Techno, but he didn’t budge, letting Wilbur handle this however he saw fit. Wilbur grinned wider.

“He’s—I don’t—”

“This isn’t something you can get out of, Sam,” Wilbur sneered. “If you don’t tell us where he is, we’ll tear this building apart from the foundation up.”

“You can’t—can’t get there without help,” Sam bit out.

“Then lead us there.” Wilbur let go of Sam’s collar, pushing him back towards the frame of the portal. Small vroops emitted from the portal as he hit the frame.

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, glaring at Wilbur. “There’s no need to be so harsh. I don’t want Tommy to be hurt any more than you do—”

“Then why has this lasted for so long?” Wilbur snapped. “You say you care, then why is Tommy scared of going to his own ‘home’?”

Sam didn’t answer. He glanced down at his hands, flexing and unflexing his fingers. Guilt was written all over his face, and Wilbur couldn’t bring it in himself to care.

“I don’t want to hear anything,” he sighed. “Get up and bring us to Tommy.”

Sam straightened and rolled his shoulder, wincing a little as he moved. “R-right,” he said quietly. He pushed past Techno and started heading towards the staircase leading down to the basement. Wilbur followed him closely, not willing to take his eyes off Sam for a moment. He vaguely heard Techno say something to Ranboo, but that didn’t matter. Sam was taking him to Tommy, Tommy, and Wilbur wasn’t letting the bastard out of his sight.

They descended into a basement, an old dirty couch filling up most of the space, and Wilbur immediately knew how loved it was. Blankets and a spare hoodie were tossed over the back, something that screamed Tommy and his friends so violently it was enough to get him to smile just a little bit. Techno stepped into the basement a second later and whistled.

“Looks like a kid’s paradise down here,” he commented.

“Should be, considering how much time they spend down here,” Sam muttered. He walked past the couch and to the far wall, crouching to the floorboards and running his fingers along the wood. Wilbur stared at him as he slowly worked his fingers under one of the floorboards.

His heart skipped. That couldn’t be right. Sure, Tommy was supposed to be locked away, but surely he wasn’t—there was no way that he—

Techno must have had the same thought because he was suddenly grabbing Wilbur’s hand, squeezing it so tightly Wilbur felt like his bones were going to snap.

The floorboards creaked as Sam pried them up from the floor, revealing a dark hole. A ladder sat against the side of the small opening, but there was nothing. Nothing but darkness. Sam stood up and stepped back, hands shaking violently.

“He’s—” Sam pointed towards the hole, his words getting caught in his throat.

Wilbur was moving before he could think, ignoring Techno’s worried protest, and fell to his knees at the mouth of the gaping hole. The light from the basement drifted into the hole, barely giving him enough light to see. But he could see. Just barely. A figure was slumped against the back corner, blond curls falling over bare knees that were pulled closely to his chest. Wilbur felt himself shatter.

“Tommy?”

—

Tommy couldn’t tell what was dark anymore.

His hands were numb. He stopped moving a while ago. It was always easier when he didn’t move. He should do it more often. His ears were ringing a couple hours ago, but that had stopped. His throat hurt. His head hurt. His everything hurt. Maybe it was his heart that was hurting most and the pain was just spreading to every other region of his body. Maybe that was it. That had to be it. Tommy could think of no other logical reason.

Just like the last time he was here, his vision never adjusted to the darkness. He found it better to shut his eyes, to at least pretend he was asleep. That way, he didn’t have to focus on the creaking of the floorboards and the thumping from several floors up. He didn’t have to focus on that no matter how hard he screamed and flung himself at the walls no one would hear him. No one had heard him last time, why would they hear him this time? He was stuck in a loop, an endless cycle of his own mistakes.

He had messed up. He always did. That was what Tommy was best at: messing up. He couldn't keep a good thing, couldn’t accept the love that had been given him, the care, the roof, the food, the—

No. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. It was almost as if he was speaking blasphemies, cursing out what he knew to be true.

Because he was loved.

Yes, there was a difference from the last time. Last time, it was just him, lonely little Tommy who disrespected his guardian and had to pay the price. He had deserved that (he hadn’t). But now, now, he had people who cared. People who were looking for him. Wilbur was looking for him, he had to be. His kind smile, soft curls falling into one of the kindest faces he had ever met. Then Techno. Techno had promised him, had promised to protect him and to stand by his side even when things went downhill. Phil had shown him more kindness than he deserved, patient and laughing with that stupid old man laugh of his. And Kristin. Kristin had been the mother he had always dreamed of, her smile haunting his dreams like a ghost.

He had often thought that maybe, just maybe, these thoughts were disrespecting to Tubbo, to Ranboo. But he quickly found out that Tubbo and Ranboo wanted this for him too. He could see it in their eyes, in the way they begged for him to leave. They were his brothers, yes, but they did not possess the same feeling of home that the Craft family had. It was unexplainable, something Tommy couldn’t describe.

All he knew was that thoughts of the Craft family were the only thing keeping him from going insane. They would come. They would. Tommy wouldn’t say he was free, wouldn’t say he had broken free from the cycle of self-doubt and fear of abandonment, but he knew. He knew that Dream had manipulated him, had lied to his face. Had put him here.

So Tommy just had to wait. They’d come for him.

They would.

The hours dragged on, filled with only Tommy’s slowly numbing thoughts. If he wasn’t going to think about the Craft family, he’d rather not think at all. More than one time, he wished he had just stayed at their home. He shouldn’t have left. He should have just stayed. But he hadn’t. And now he was paying the price.

Maybe they weren’t actually coming for him? Maybe they had gotten tired of him and finally decided to leave him alone. Dream always said he was a handful, too much to take care of, so maybe this was it. Maybe this was the last straw. He tried not to think about it. He didn’t want this to end, not like this, alone and cold and so terribly scared.

He tried to sleep, but the cold floor dug into his legs. Even the adrenaline collapse didn’t exhaust him enough to fully rest. He was probably too stressed, too on edge to really sleep. He wondered if Dream would forget about him. He vaguely determined that he’d ditch this entire place if he ever got out of here. Ranboo and Tubbo flashed through his mind, and he bet they’d be willing to help. Considering they had been trying to get him to leave for weeks now. Fuck, Tubbo would never let him hear the end of this.

If you ever see Tubbo again, his thoughts hissed.

Tommy curled even further into himself, his stomach aching from lack of food. He forced himself to breathe deeply as he kept his eyes shut and ignored the creeping darkness around him. He wanted this to end. He wanted to go home.

He wanted Wilbur back.

When the floorboards overhead creaked and groaned, Tommy didn’t move. He kept his face buried in his knees and kept his eyes closed tightly to stop himself from panicking. If he focused on his surroundings, the walls would come in closer and closer, and he couldn’t handle that. He needed to breathe. The creaking of the floorboards could have meant anything. It could have been a member of the House rummaging around for something, and they wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t help him against Dream’s orders. And if it was Dream, Tommy couldn’t do anything against him even if he tried. He was too tired, too exhausted to even think of going against Dream. He just prayed that the man would have a heart. He just wanted to survive long enough to get out of here.

A final creak echoed around him and light flooded the room, making him wince. Tommy looked up as he covered his eyes. The light almost hurt after hours of darkness, but he couldn’t help but try and look at it. His eyes burned and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was scared or if he was overjoyed. He couldn’t see who it was and part of him didn’t want to know. It was better to live in ignorance for a while.

But then a voice said his name and he felt everything inside him shatter.

“Bur—?” he rasped.

“Tommy!”

Wilbur’s voice sounded broken as Tommy heard him slide down the ladder. Cold hands cupped his face and Tommy leaned into the touch. His brain was full of fog, unable to really comprehend what was happening. Was this real?

“Oh, angel, are you alright?” Wilbur whispered as his thumbs stroked Tommy’s cheeks. Tommy let his eyes flutter shut to block the light out and leaned into the touch. It didn’t feel real, but the chill leaking into his face was real and Wilbur’s voice was so close and there was light.

Tommy laughed shakily, relief flooding him. “Bur. . .Bur. You’re—you’re here. You’re—” And then his laughs descended into sobs, and he was unable to stop the tears from rolling down his face as he grasped onto Wilbur’s sweater as hard as he could. Arms wrapped around him and he cried harder. They came. Wilbur came, and the thought made all of his anxieties vanish because he was safe now. He was safe. Even though he felt like he was spiraling out of control, he was safe.

He could vaguely hear Wilbur murmuring wordless reassurances while he rubbed his back in slow, steady circles, a sign that he was here and he had no intention of leaving. The thought made Tommy burst into another wave of tears as the hours of being left alone in a cold, dark room came crashing down on him. Exhaustion pulled at his bones, like they had been broken to let his marrow fall to the ground. But with Wilbur here, he felt like was slowly being stitched back together.

“T-Tech?” Tommy rasped between his sobs. Wilbur had come, but had Techno kept his promise?

“He’s here, angel, he’s here,” Wilbur murmured in his ear, his chin tucked over Tommy’s head. “He’s just up the ladder—fuck, let’s get you out of here.”

Tommy nodded frantically, a fresh breath of air flooding his lungs at the implication of being free. When Wilbur pulled back, Tommy felt like a piece of himself was going to snap, but he only wrapped his arms under Tommy’s and pulled him up with him. Pain immediately shot through his ankle, and the two stumbled under the dead-weight of Tommy as they tried to gather their bearings. But it was real and Wilbur was still here. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around Tommy, allowing him to melt into his brother’s (his brother’s) side. Tommy’s legs buckled a bit, tingling like the static of a television as he tried to straighten himself. Wilbur just adjusted his position to make sure he didn’t fall, and Tommy laughed and sobbed shakily. He was a mess.

“There you go, you’re doing so well,” Wilbur praised softly. “Tech’s at the top of the ladder, alright? We’ll help you get out.”

Tommy looked back up at the light and buried his head back in Wilbur’s sweater. It was still so bright, and he wanted to look, wanted to see, but his eyes only burned harder.

“Don’t look at the light, Toms, it’s okay.” Wilbur guided him toward the ladder, placing his hands on the rungs. “Just one step at a time. Techno will help.”

“I’m right here, kid.” Techno’s voice soothed a part of Tommy that he didn’t know was anxious. Techno was here too, just like he said he would be. Tommy exhaled with a wet sigh, shutting his eyes tight, and slowly began to climb. He bit back a groan of pain, forcing himself to climb the ladder. “You’re doing great. One foot at a time. You’re almost there.”

Wilbur’s hand pressed firmly against Tommy’s back until he was out of his reach, and then his hand was replaced with Techno’s. His much larger, warmer hand rested on his shoulder, sliding to his forearm to help him climb out of the hole. Tommy blinked as his eyes slowly adjusted to the basement’s light. Techno looked back at him, something concerned and tender flashing through his eyes.

“Hey, kid.”

Tommy burst into tears again, collapsing against Techno, his Ariadne. Arms once again wrapped around him, holding him and keeping him safe from the outside world, the darkness beneath him. Techno didn’t mutter like Wilbur, but he did hold him just as tightly, and Tommy clung to the safety being offered like a man dying of thirst.

“F-fuck. What the—” That was Sam’s voice, Tommy registered dully, and maybe that fact should have made him panic, but Techno’s arms tightened around him, quelling any fear he might have had.

“We don’t want to hear your excuses,” Wilbur snapped over his head, finally emerging from. . .that place. Tommy shivered and Techno moved a hand to sit in his hair. He didn’t mess with his hair, just settled it there, unmoving and steady like an anchor weighing him to shore. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sam protested. “I—”

“That’s exactly it.” Techno’s voice rumbled through Tommy’s ear. “You didn’t do anything. You knew what was happening and you stood by like a coward.” He spat the word like it was dirt in his mouth, and Tommy couldn’t help but agree.

“We’re done here,” Wilbur stated firmly. Techno took his words as a sign to stand, taking Tommy with him. He grabbed onto Techno’s arms as they stood, his legs still shaky from not using them. His ankle hurt even no one now that he was standing, and he held on tighter. He just had to push through a bit longer. Sighing, Tommy rested against Techno’s side as Techno wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Can we go home?” he asked softly, voice rough and scratchy against his throat.

Techno looked down at him with a small, sad smile. “Of course, Theseus. Let’s get out of here.”

Wilbur ruffled Tommy’s hair and he leaned into the touch. But as Techno led him towards the stairs, Tommy paused. Wilbur’s face contorted a little, but Tommy looked past him to Sam. The man looked distressed to say the least, jaw clenched tightly in a way that was all too familiar. And Tommy wondered if Sam was hurt the same way he was.

“‘Is okay, Sam.” Tommy smiled weakly. “It’s—not your fault.”

Sam’s face paled. Yeah, Tommy didn’t blame him. Not in the slightest. This was all Dream’s fault, and Sam just got caught in the middle. He smiled at him again, hoping that he understood it wasn’t his fault. He hoped he knew.

Tommy felt suddenly lightheaded. He swayed, flopping against Techno as an arm wrapped around the back of his knees and lifted him to his brother’s chest. With a deep sigh, he let his eyes flutter shut. The adrenaline of being out and free had finally sunk into his bones and Tommy felt his body shut down slowly. Murmuring drifted over his head, the noise washing over him like waves.

“It’s going to be alright, angel,” Wilbur whispered. “We’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

And Tommy believed him, falling asleep with the protection of his brothers keeping him safe.

Chapter Text

Tommy wondered if entering the Craft’s home would ever stop feeling like relief and love. It was incredible that a building of all things could make him feel safe, but it did. The Magic House used to feel that way, but it didn’t anymore, not since Dream had changed. But here, Tommy could relive those feelings all over again, something he thought had been lost to time, never to feel again.

He couldn’t tell if he had fallen asleep on the ride over. Techno had put him in the back seat of the family car as Wilbur had slid next to him. Resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder, Tommy found himself dozing even as Phil and Kristin joined them. Murmured voices and conversations had floated over his head and he didn’t even feel pressured to join in. It was safe, comfortable in the presence of the people he had learned to trust.

As much as Tommy protested, Techno still insisted that he carry him and sat him gently on the living room couch. It seemed like yesterday that Tommy had woken up on this couch, Wilbur whispering apologies and pet names like he was worth something, like he was precious and to be loved. It made his heart flutter with an overabundance of love and belonging. He had never thought he would make it back. Yet here he was, Wilbur once again coming to hold him close with a touch of desperation that made Tommy sigh affectionately. His ankle ached and he was thirsty, but he was safe, and Tommy felt like if he moved from this spot he would burst into tears. And no one wanted that.

Wilbur’s calloused hand ran through his curls, lightly detangling them as they settled against the cushions. “How are you feeling?” he asks quietly, as if he were talking to something sacred. Tommy buried his face into Wilbur’s side.

“Head hurts,” he mumbled. Then after a pause, he added, “ankle too.”

Wilbur squeezed him tighter. “Techno—”

“On it,” he said shortly, and Tommy heard shuffling as Techno left the room.

A cool hand gently grabbed Tommy’s ankle and Tommy leaned into the touch with a sigh. “It’s pretty swollen,” Kristin murmured. “How long were you down there, sundrop?”

Tommy shrugged, thoughts jumbling. “I don’t—I don’t know. I can’t remember. . .”

“Alright, alright,” Kristin hummed. “You don’t have to know, it’s okay.”

Tommy nodded as Wilbur pulled him closer. It was like the two of them were wrapped together, neither of them willing to be without the other for even a brief moment. It felt surreal, being wrapped in Wilbur’s arms, safe. But he was here.

“I just called Niki,” Phil said quietly, the couch dipping at Tommy’s feet. A hand patted his calf. “Tubbo and Ranboo should be over soon. That okay, bluejay?”

Tommy whispered a “yes,” coughing a little at the strain on his throat. They were the only thing he was missing right now. He could imagine the look on their faces when they came through the door, the happiness and shock all rolled into one. He knew he would hear the “I told you so’s,” but he didn’t care. He wanted them back, he wanted them to tell him he was okay, that he was safe. He felt safe in Wilbur’s arms, oddly enough, but he felt like something was missing.

Techno poked his shoulder and Tommy looked up to see Techno handing him a glass of cold water and an ice pack. He sat up and took the glass with a small smile while Techno handed the ice pack to Kristin.

“You’re gonna be okay, Theseus,” Techno said quietly. “You’re not going back there, I promise you.”

Tommy exhaled shakily. “He’s gonna come looking for me,” he mumbled. “He’ll come with the cops or something, I don’t know, he doesn’t like it when I leave, he’ll—”

“Breathe, angel,” Wilbur hushed, rubbing a hand in circles on his back. “It’s alright. He’s not going to come get you.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Phil said firmly. Tommy shuffled to lean his head on Wilbur’s shoulder with a sigh. Phil’s face was set, blue eyes harder than Tommy had ever seen them, but for some reason, it made him feel safer. “Dream isn’t getting a hold on you, not anymore. This is outright child abuse, Tommy. Why didn’t you go to anyone?”

He shrunk a little, heartbeat speeding up. “I don’t know, I never thought about it? He didn’t—he didn’t use to be like that, he used to be nice, I don’t—”

“Breathe,” Wilbur repeated and Tommy listened, taking in slow, deep breaths. Sure, Tubbo and Ranboo suggested he left but that was before. That was before Tommy realized that Dream didn’t care, never cared. He had thought it would be a breach of loyalty.

He didn’t think so anymore.

“I don’t doubt you, Tommy,” Phil said softly. “I know. . .well, I don’t know how you’ve feeling. Has this been happening for a while?”

Tommy hesitated before nodding.

“Right.” Phil ran a hand through his hair.

“This is ridiculous,” Kristin murmured, crossing her arms. “How did no one else in the House notice? How did it get this far?”

“You’ve met Dream.” Tommy shifted closer to Wilbur. “Everybody loves him. It’s hard to think someone so. . .whatever would do. . .” He let his voice trail as his throat closed in. Dark walls and lonely, hungry nights flashed through his memory and he shuddered.

“So we get Dream arrested,” Techno said casually. “Easy.”

“Not easy,” Wilbur spat. “We all know how popular the Magic House is. We can’t just waltz in and arrest the guy without more proof. Even having Tommy’s testimony won’t do anything.”

Tommy shivered again. The thought of Dream being sued made his heart skip, the anger that would follow such a detrimental blow to his popularity would cause so much damage, and he didn’t want to be in the epicenter of it all.

Kristin draped a blanket over his shoulders, a sad smile dancing across her face. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll make sure nothing happens to you, no matter what happens to Dream.”

A question lingered on his tongue, one so heavy it felt like he was going to choke. He let the conversation of the room wash over him for a moment, the murmur of familiar voices filling him with an uneasy peace. He wanted to know the answer and felt damned if he ever found it out.

Tommy’s gaze caught Techno’s, and a soft expression crossed his face. “Whatcha thinking, kid?” he interrupted, stilling the room with his words.

Tommy swallowed, taking a breath. Everything he ever knew was changing, so would one more question really hurt?

“What about—I mean, where—where will I go?” he asked quietly.

“Here,” Wilbur said without hesitation. He gripped Tommy’s shoulder tighter. “You can stay here.”

Tommy felt himself freeze before clinging onto Wilbur tighter, hands shaking. And just like before, Wilbur held him just as tight, like a promise wrapping around all his wounds and encouraging him to hang on, to keep hoping. Living here, staying here, was like a dream, a fairy tale that would never come true. And yet Tommy wanted it so desperately. Hearing it from Wilbur just made the whole situation all the more real, all the more tangible.

Phil’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wil—”

“No, Dad, we can’t call CPS or anything like that, he can stay with us,” Wilbur insisted, grip tightening on Tommy. “He’s practically a Craft anyway, it was just a matter of time.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Phil raised his hands with a placating tone. “I mean that it’s not that simple. We can’t just kidnap him—”

“I can call Eret,” Kristin said suddenly. “Maybe he can work something out. I’m sure he can. He’s worked with CPS long enough, I’m sure he can manage some kind of loophole. We just need a good legal argument to get Tommy away from Dream.”

“I can call in a favor from Q.” Wilbur carded his hand through Tommy’s curls. “He won’t hesitate when he hears the situation. We just need proof.”

“So we need to get Dream to snap.” A grin spread across Techno’s face, something small and viscous that Tommy had never seen before. “We show the world his true colors and collect the evidence.”

Phil sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Right, so we’re going to expose Dream enough so that Tommy has no other option than to come to us. And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“The stage,” Tommy mumbled.

Everyone grew quiet, several eyes now looking at him. He squirmed a bit under their gazes, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, when Wilbur ran a hand through his hair and he sighed.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to be nervous,” Wilbur murmured. “We’re listening. What about the stage?”

Tommy inhaled slowly, warmth filling his chest. “Dream likes everything to be perfect. He’s got a short temper, so when it isn’t perfect. . .” He shrugged. “That’s why he never does anything in public. Because he knows that he can’t keep himself under control. So if we get him angry on stage, he won’t be able to stop himself.”

“Narcissistic bastard,” Wilbur muttered.

“So we play up his ego and he gets himself arrested.” Techno grinned wide. “Oh, I like this idea.”

“I’ll get Eret to come to the show and I can video the performance,” Kristin suggested, her own eyes sparkling. “We can catch Dream in his own act.”

Tommy felt his mind racing, unable to believe that this was actually happening. Because it was, wasn’t it? He was finally going to be free, no longer having to worry about Dream or the House or anything. It felt surreal. It felt unnatural.

It felt like home.

But that still left the thought that they had to do something about Dream. They had to catch him in his actions, and Tommy knew that he would have to go back to accomplish that. There was no other option. He had never seen Dream get angry with any of the other House members, not like he got when he was with Tommy, so he was the only option. He had to be the one to break the spell. The thought sent fear running through his veins and he shivered.

Wilbur seemed to understand his conflicting thoughts and held him closer, not saying anything, just holding and understanding in a way that was so Wilbur Tommy couldn’t help but melt further.

“You know Dream best, Tom,” Phil said, mouth pressed into a thin line. “What do you say we do?”

Tommy reluctantly sat up from Wilbur’s side but grabbed his hand as soon as his arm slipped from his shoulders. Wilbur squeezed his hand three times and courage rushed through him. He grinned, blue eyes twinkling.

“We give Dream a performance he’ll never forget.”

—

Tubbo and Ranboo arrived minutes later with loud shouts of relief as they both slammed into Tommy. Dream’s past lies of abandonment were quickly washed away in the overwhelming support from his brothers and Tommy refused to admit that their comfort made him cry. The Crafts may be family, but Tubbo and Ranboo were parts of his soul wrapped in kindness and loyalty and the brightness of a thousand suns. He never felt cold when he was with them.

The two of them quickly joined Tommy and Wilbur on the couch, the living room now a mess of wide smiles and determined eyes. To say that Tommy hadn’t thought of a way to totally embarrass Dream would be wrong. He’d been thinking about the feeling for months, little calculated revenge tactics that he would unintentionally make up and tell Henry when days got rough. Tommy thought he had gotten rid of those plans when his guilt became too strong, but that didn’t seem to be the case when they popped up so vividly at the mere mention of giving Dream what he deserved.

No one else seemed surprised at his plan, however, Techno least of all, a wide victorious grin crossing his face as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

“That’s my Theseus,” he hummed approvingly, his praise bringing a flush of red to Tommy’s cheeks.

Of course, Tommy’s plan couldn’t be done with just him or even just the Crafts and his brothers. They needed more help, help from the House itself. That was one of the reasons Tommy had let the plan fester. He didn’t know if the other members would actually help him or if they would stand by like Sam and Punz, watching with critical eyes and never lifting a finger. Ranboo was quick to disagree with his fears, however.

“Half the house doesn’t even know what’s happening,” he insisted, eyebrows knitted together. “And I know for a fact that if we told them, they’d be willing to help. We just have to let them know. I can do that, if you want.”

“Then I’ll come too!” Tubbo smacked his thighs and rose to his feet. “I’ll show that bitch ass mother fucker who’s boss!”

“That’s probably not a good idea considering you’re actually fired,” Tommy drawled, sending Tubbo his best glare. “I’d rather you not make Dream any angrier than he has to be before I come back.”

Tubbo looked like he was about to argue back, but Phil placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right. Let Ranboo go, alright? He’ll be the least suspicious out of all of us.”

Tubbo eventually agreed with a great deal of mumbling, and Ranboo left without another word, hard-set determination on his face.

The rest of the house was sent into a flurry of activity, from Kristin calling up Eret to Tubbo frantically texting Niki updates. Tommy wrote out the House performance schedule and Phil and Techno argued over what should happen when. Wilbur proceeded to mock every decision they would get to, sending them into another spiral of planning. Tommy couldn’t help but let himself smile at their antics, feeling warm and content that someone else wanted to plan Dream’s downfall just as much as he did.

In the end, they planned to sabotage the last and most popular performance of the week: Saturday night. Tommy would return to the House five minutes before it started, soon enough to be ready for the performance, but too close for Dream to try and pull him aside and hurt him. As much as the idea made Tommy’s skin crawl, Phil and Techno both swore that they’d beat Dream up before he had a chance to touch him. Techno he believed, but Phil was a different story, and Tommy almost burst out into laughter if he hadn’t seen the determined sincerity written on his face.

“He touches you and that son of a bitch won’t leave the hospital for months,” Phil said quietly with something Tommy had never heard in his voice before. He merely swallowed and shook his head. Yeah, best to believe Phil when he made a promise like that.

That didn’t mean that Tommy wasn’t nervous as Saturday approached. Each day felt heavy, even with the presence of Tubbo and Ranboo, of Wilbur’s encouraging smiles and Techno’s dumb jokes. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t let himself become comfortable in his new environment because Saturday loomed overhead like a dragon waiting to consume with blasts of fire.

But Saturday came whether Tommy was ready or not, and the rabbit had to face the magician once more.

—

Tommy forgot how much he hated his stage costume.

The poncho hung around his shoulders, his hair slicked back against his scalp with unruly curls poking out every which way in the back. Freckles were gone, hidden under heavily caked makeup, and his large fur-lined boots made his feet sweat. He was used to wearing this, he was, but now it felt suffocating, clawing at his throat and closing off his airways.

Tommy forced himself to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He was okay. This was only temporary, and if Wilbur had anything to say about it, he’d never see the costume again after tonight. When Ranboo brought the costume into the Craft’s home, the appalled look on Techno’s face almost made Tommy throw the whole thing out. It made the itchy lace twisting around his arms more uncomfortable. It made the ugly rabbit ears mock him more. He shuddered and shut his eyes, unable to look at himself in the car window anymore.

One more night. That’s all he had left. Just one more night.

The car jostled under him, each bump in the road making his anxiety spike. He knew the House would be around the corner, the final show ready to be performed. But Tommy was no performer, no master of the audience, and stage fright was quickly becoming a weight tied to his ankle.

A hand rested on his knee and Tommy opened his eyes to see Wilbur smiling at him.

“Hey.”

Tommy relaxed, smiling weakly back. “Hi.”

“You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I feel like I’m about to vomit,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“We can always go straight to plan B,” Techno suggested from the seats in front of them, waving his hand idly in the air.

Phil lightly smacked the back of Techno’s head. “We’re not beating Dream to a pulp.”

“Yet,” Wilbur chirped.

“Yet,” Techno agreed sagely.

Tommy snorted and leaned over onto Wilbur’s shoulder. “No, he’d find some way to fuck everything up if you did that,” he mumbled. “It’ll be fine.”

Wilbur’s arm automatically wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. “It will be fine,” he promised like he had promised a thousand times before. Tommy believed him, he did, but the unknown still shook him to his core.

“I know,” Tommy said simply. “It will be.”

“Eret, Quackity, and Kristin will be in the audience,” Phil reminded, turning around to smile at Tommy. Such a simple action had him smiling back, feeling warm and brave. “And we’ll be right beside you, alright? You’ll only be alone for a moment.”

“Please let me know if you need any extra backup,” Sneeg said, glancing at Tommy in the rearview mirror.

Tommy snorted. “Well apparently there’s a line, but I’ll let you know.”

Sneeg nodded several times before looking to the road. He rolled the car to a stop outside of the House and Tommy plastered his face to the window. He grimaced as he watched the last audience members file inside with a sigh.

“Welp, we’re here.” Sneeg put the car in park. “Take a good video so I can watch.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the video will be great.” Techno slid out of the car and opened Tommy’s door. “Can’t wait to see Dream lookin’ like a total fool.”

“You would be excited for that.” Tommy punched Techno’s arm as he gingerly pulled himself out of the car. His ankle still hurt, but he promised Phil he’d be careful on it. He wouldn’t have to walk on it after this, and he could make it one more night. As soon as he stood, he couldn’t stop staring at the blaring lights. “So this is it,” he mumbled to himself.

Wilbur wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “Just think,” he stage-whispered, “you won’t have to sleep in that dusty, old attic again.”

Tommy looked up at Wilbur and couldn’t help but smile tentatively. “You’re right,” he huffed. “No more fucking attic.”

“No more fucking attic,” Wilbur agreed with a smile.

Phil came up behind them and ruffled their hair. “We’re running out of time, boys, we’ll celebrate after.”

“Yeah, nerds.” Techno walked past them, slamming the door of the House open. “I’ve got a ticket for mayhem, and I’m not going to be late.

Wilbur tried to fix his hair desperately and Tommy laughed, sticking out his tongue.

The inside of the House was partially empty aside from a couple guests, Purpled sitting idly at the desk, and Kristin standing near the front, several tickets in her hands and two men beside her. One of them had dark sunglasses and dark hair combed back from his face. The second man was much shorter than the first, a sight that was almost comical. His suit was well-pressed and he immediately grinned when Tommy made eye contact with him. The sunglasses man waved as Kristin turned to them, her eyes sparkling. Tommy half-expected Dream to immediately burst out from backstage, rage in his eyes, but it was calm, the music from the main auditorium drifting into the lobby with murmurs of excitement and anticipation.

“There they are,” Kristin said as they walked up. “Honey, you remember Eret, don’t you?”

Phil nodded and shook the sunglasses man’s hand. “Yes, I do. Nice to see you again, mate.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Eret responded. “Good to see you boys again as well, Techno, Wil. And you must be Tommy, right?”

“Yes sir,” Tommy said quickly before Wilbur tapped at his arm and he realized how rigid he had become. He let his shoulders drop with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m Tommy.”

Eret nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Tommy. We’ll get this straightened out, I promise you that.”

“It’ll be over in no time!” the second man chirped, arms crossed over his chest. “Good to see you again, Wilbur.”

“You too, Q.” Wilbur grinned, raising an eyebrow. “You seem to be doing well—”

“Don’t.” Quackity shot Wilbur a look. “I’m not playing this game today.”

Tommy sent Techno a look, grimacing. “What—”

“Don’t ask,” Techno grumbled. “College drama. Ask later.”

Tommy blinked. He suddenly didn’t want to know. Besides, his nervousness was only growing the longer they lingered in the lobby. Everything was running too smoothly, and Tommy knew it wouldn’t last like this forever.

“Excuse me.”

Tommy froze. The group turned to Punz who was dressed in his clean, white suit, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the Crafts and then directly at Tommy. His icy eyes glared into his soul and Tommy found himself shrinking behind Wilbur. Fuck, this was a horrible idea, wasn’t it? He could feel Punz’s glare staring into his very soul.

“Come on, kid, don’t you know it’s almost show time?” Punz said smoothly, stepping closer. He never was as collected as Dream, but most people listened to him out of sheer intimidation rather than actual charm. His grin was thinly stretched and Tommy could tell just how stressed he was from his voice. “We’ve been looking all over for ya. Dream’s been worried sick.”

Tommy felt Techno’s ringed hand rest on his shoulder, tightening ever so slightly. He was half expecting him to grab Punz by his shirt collar, but Kristin stepped out in front, a hardened expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem here?” she said sweetly, a tense smile painted across her face.

Punz’s eyes darted from Tommy to Kristin and his face squinted in confusion. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said slowly, “but Tommy’s a part of our—”

“I know that Tommy’s a part of this trash show you call ‘magic,’” Kristin interrupted. “And quite frankly, that’s going to change after tonight.” She stepped forward and tilted her head. “What’s your name?”

Punz took a step back, eyes widening, almost as if he was surprised. “Uh, Punz.”

“Punz,” Kristin cooed. “How nice to meet you. And what do you do here, hm?”

“I’m the House’s accountant—”

Kristin clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Then you’ll be able to stay out of our way for the remainder of tonight, correct?”

Punz’s face furrowed. “Okay, listen here, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t have the authority to go bossing me around like you run the joint.”

Kristin didn’t answer and the silence between the two was deafening. The last of the guests had filtered out and Tommy heard the familiar bars of the opening music and the applauding of the guests. Punz swallowed, and for the first time in Tommy’s life, he saw him cower, Kristin’s firm gaze holding him in place.

She smiled thinly. “I know I did not just hear you say that, Punz.”

And then Punz began to stammer like Tommy had never even seen before, his tongue tripping over his words faster than he could back away. “No ma'am, I mean, yes ma'am, I mean, I didn't say anything, I swear. I’ll stay out of your way, I promise, I’m sorry, yes ma’am.”

Tommy watched Punz stumble back to the front desk and grab Purpled’s wrist, pulling him out of the front desk. Purpled stared at them with his jaw dropped before bursting into hysterical laughter.

“You just got—”

Punz hissed something before the two disappeared into the back halls.

Phil laughed and wrapped an arm around Kristin’s shoulder before leaning down and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “That’s my wife!”

Tommy let out a nervous chuckle as Techno’s grip loosened on his shoulder, turning into three short pats. “Gosh, Kris, you can’t just scare a guy shitless like that!” he joked.

Kristin shot Tommy a look, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, and it’s perfectly okay that he’s sat by and watched you get hurt? No, that’s not how this works, sundrop.”

Tommy’s mouth snapped shut as he felt his face heat. Wilbur ruffled his hair. “Can’t argue with Mum, not on this one, Toms.”

“Already told you that we weren’t gonna let anything happen to you,” Techno huffed. “You go back when you’re ready and not before.”

“Right.” Tommy pushed Wilbur’s hand off his head and reached forward to grab his face. Wilbur yelped, smacking his hand, and Tommy pulled it back with a huff. “I need to go backstage now, I guess.”

“Tommy.” Phil placed a hand on his shoulder in that same gentle way that Tommy could only describe as parental. Caring touch from anyone let alone an adult was still something Tommy was getting used to, but it was something he wanted to get used to. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You’re a brave kid,” Phil praised softly, a smile resting on his face. “You just need to be brave one more time. And we’ll be here the whole time. You’re not alone.”

Tommy met Phil’s gaze and nodded. “Yeah, if all else fails, I’ll just stick Techno on him.”

Techno let out a low “bruh” behind them and Phil chuckled. “I suppose you will. Just. . .be safe.”

“Phil, Phil. Greatest man ever.” Tommy patted the top of Phil’s hand before adjusting his poncho. “You forget you’re talking to Big Man Tommy Danger Kracken Innit. I could do this in my sleep.”

Phil only smiled wider. “I believe you could.”

A round of applause caught Tommy’s attention, and he broke out from Phil’s grasp to stumble backwards. “I’ll be back,” he called, heart leaping into his throat.

“Break a leg!” Wilbur called with a laugh.

Tommy slipped backstage before he could chicken out, fumbling into the bustle of peak performance time. Fundy yelped as he ducked under his arms and closer to the portal. Tommy received a few surprised looks from some of the staff (he was pretty sure he heard Skeppy shout something to Bad) before skidding into the portal room, right into Sam’s line of sight. The mechanic jumped, eyes wide.

“Tommy?” Sam stared at him. “Where did you come from? Why on earth are you here? You’re not—”

Tommy opened his mouth to answer when Dream’s voice shot through the air.

“Tommy Innit!”

He froze, all of his muscles tensing without his permission. He could hear Dream storming towards him. Tommy took a breath, digging his nails into his hands. He could do this. He had to.

A harsh hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around so his nose was touching the cool plastic of Dream’s mask.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’ve been doing?” Dream hissed as he gripped Tommy’s collar. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Let go of me!” Tommy pushed at Dream’s chest. “I can go wherever I want, dickhead!”

Dream’s green eye flashed. “Don’t talk to me like that, brat. Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you?”

“Maybe I’m just ignoring you,” Tommy snapped.

His grip tightened as Tommy frantically struggled to keep his breathing even and his resolve strong. Dream could threaten all he wanted, but he didn’t have any more power, not any more. Tommy puffed up his chest.

“You’ve gotten fucking cocky, rabbit,” Dream hissed. “Apparently you haven’t learned your lesson, have you?” An involuntary shiver ran down Tommy’s spine.

“Dream, come on,” Sam pleaded, taking a step forward. “He’s just—the show’s going on, right now. You’re fixing to go back on stage—”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dream snapped as he tilted his head to look at the mechanic. “I don’t need your fucking help.” But he did let go of Tommy, pushing him back against the frame of the portal with a thud. Tommy groaned as he rubbed the back of his head, his ankle throbbing. Before he could move, Dream grabbed his chin, his fingers digging into his skin and making him hiss in pain. “You’re not getting away with this. Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing. I know. You’re going to behave. You’re going to stay right here, right next to Sam, and you’re not going to fucking move if you know what’s good for you. And you’d better hit your que. Do you understand me, rabbit?”

Tommy gritted his teeth and held eye contact with the magician. “Yes, sir.”

Dream let go of Tommy’s chin with a huff. “Don’t push your limits. Sam, make sure he doesn’t wander off.”

Tommy saw Sam nod out of the corner of his eye before Dream gave him one last look and stormed off to the stage. He let out a breath of air he hadn’t known he’d been holding, leaning back against the edge of the portal. His heart was hammering in his chest, but it wasn’t a mind-numbing fear, it was adrenaline that was pouring through his veins. A breathless laugh escaped him as Tommy rubbed his face.

“Tommy, I—”

Tommy looked up to see Sam with deep lines of horror and guilt etched across his face.

“I had no idea that—I mean, I just—you—”

He sighed. “Sam, I gave up on you a long time ago. I knew you weren’t going to do anything. It’s. . .fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Sam protested, pulling himself up from his kneeling position so he could stand in front of Tommy. “I should have done something, but I didn’t—I thought you were perfectly fine. I’m sorry.”

Tommy looked Sam in the eye and shrugged. “I don’t blame you, big man. Never did, really. It was normal so I didn’t think anything about it.” Sam made a wounded noise but Tommy kept talking as he saw a flash of Techno’s pink hair from the crack in the door. His brother (his brother) made eye contact with him and grinned. Wilbur poked his head out behind Techno and waved at Tommy, his eyes wide with excitement, Phil following both of them. “And besides, it’s all going to work out in the end, anyway.”

“What?” Confusion crossed Sam’s face. “How—”

“I’ll take that.” Techno grabbed the forgotten wrench in Sam’s hand and gave it a little twirl in his hand. Tommy snorted. Show-off.

Sam’s face paled a little as Phil, Techno, and Wilbur appeared, Techno walking directly to Tommy. Techno reached out to hold his chin and tilted his head as he looked him over. It was so vastly different from what Dream had done mere moments before that Tommy wondered how he had ever doubted that the Crafts really cared.

“You good?” Techno continued to look him over as Tommy groaned and pushed him away.

“I’m fucking fine, you don’t have to be such a mother hen,” Tommy insisted, ignoring just how loved he felt. “Everything’s fine. And Dream is fucking pissed, by the way. It’s not gonna take a lot to rile him up.”

“Oh good, makes it all the more enjoyable,” Wilbur chirped, arms crossed across his chest with a satisfied look in his eye. “When does Tommy go on, Sam?” He turned to Sam, eyebrows raised.

Tommy had to bite his lip from laughing as Sam’s eyes darted from Wilbur to Techno to Phil with a slow realization dawning on him. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You’re—Dream isn’t getting out of here, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” Phil said grimly. He laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, barely contained look of disgust written across his face. “Answer the question.”

“Right.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Tommy goes on in about three minutes.”

Wilbur clapped Sam on the shoulder and the man jumped. “Great! I’m going to stage left to make sure things go well. Can you handle the gremlin, Tech?”

Tommy made a noise of protest before Techno groaned. “Yes, I can handle him. Now get.”

Wilbur only grinned wider as he wrapped an arm around Tommy, leaning his head to rest it on top of his curls. And then, in a voice that only Tommy could hear, he said, “you’re going to do amazing, angel. One last performance. Make it your best.”

He withdrew his arm quickly and, before Tommy could get his spinning thoughts in order, Wilbur was skipping up the steps to peer onto the stage. The warmth in Tommy’s chest spread out into a smile on his face and he laughed breathlessly.

“He’s a right, wrong-un, an idiot, a stupid son of a bitch,” Tommy complained around his laughs. Techno just sent him a disgustingly fond look that made him only laugh harder.

“The more you say that, the less we believe you,” Phil sighed as he ruffled Tommy’s hair.

Sam looked between them, brow furrowing. “You found someone,” he said quietly.

Tommy leaned into Phil’s hand. “Yeah,” he said just as quiet. “I guess I have.”

He could feel the warmth rolling off the Crafts surrounding him. It felt surreal, like he was wading through a dream. It was almost too good, but Tommy clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could keep this forever.

—

The crowd’s applause echoed over the stage, glittering stage lights casting dancing shadows against the curtain and across the tips of Wilbur’s shoes. Foolish, the one in charge of the lights and background, rustled behind him, readying the curtains for the final act. Heat radiated from the stage lights, causing sweat to bead on Wilbur’s forehead. This was the Magic House’s final performance, the last front shown to the public before its true nature was shown to the world.

Wilbur couldn’t wait to see it burn.

He liked it better back here, behind the curtain, behind the lights, the anticipation of running a show crawling up his spine. It was electric, intoxicating, and Wilbur felt drunk on the excitement. The fox performer juggled his rings, twirling them around his arms with ease. He threw a ring up and caught it, bending down into a low bow as the crowd applauded. With a salute, he spun and bounded off stage, rings linked over his arm.

“You must be Wilbur,” he chirped, strolling over to Wilbur and stretching out his hand. “Fundy. Ranboo told us what was happening, and honestly? I’m excited to be a part of this.”

Wilbur shook Fundy’s hand with a surprised laugh. “Well, I’m sure Tommy will be happy you helped.”

Fundy’s grin widened, something mischievous flashing in his eye. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m going to find Skeppy, but you end this show with a bang!” he laughed, skipping past him and patting Foolish’s back before disappearing.

Wilbur stifled a grin with a shake of his head. He watched Foolish push Fundy playfully off and flick a switch to make the lights dim.

“Time for the finale,” Wilbur whispered.

From the other side of the stage, Dream skipped onto the stage, bowing lowly as the audience applauded. His grin peaked out from his mask, visible from even Wilbur’s position to the side. He couldn’t help the twinge of annoyance that flicked through him, but it quickly disappeared.

“We hope you have enjoyed our show!” Dream spread his arms out in a display of dramatics, gesturing at the portal behind him. “Frights and feats have danced before your eyes, all of them more fantastic than the last! But, my dear friends, we are not done. You’ve seen things beyond your wildest dreams, but you haven’t seen the full extent of what I can do! After all—”

Adrenaline rushed through Wilbur as he sucked in a breath.

“What’s a magician without his rabbit?”

The portal hummed steadily, particles floating around the stage like fireflies. Dream didn’t move for a couple seconds, waiting for the portal to shift or warble. Wilbur bit his as the silence awkwardly hung in the air. The audience began to murmur as Dream’s hands shook a little.

The magician cleared his throat and repeated, “What’s a magician without his rabbit?”

Still the portal remained deathly calm, no ripples breaking across its surface. Wilbur could practically see the wheels turning in Dream’s brain as a slow panic started to set in. The crowd grew louder as nothing happened.

Dream laughed nervously, hands falling to his sides. “My apologies,” he said, stepping to the portal. “We seem to be having some technical difficulties—”

Wilbur watched Dream reach for the portal just as a wooden prop sword slowly pierced through the purple, swirling magic. The familiar golden bracelet hung from Techno’s wrist and Wilbur stifled a laugh. With a flick, Techno smacked the sword right on top of Dream’s head.

A noise Wilbur had never heard before came out of Dream’s mouth as the magician flew back from the portal. Shock was scribbled across his face as he tried to process what had happened. The audience burst into laughter, something so sudden and unexpected at outburst that they couldn’t contain themselves. The audience’s laughter had Dream’s attention snapping back to them, and Wilbur watched as red spread across his face. He was going to have to congratulate Techno on that one later because Dream’s reaction had been priceless.

Dream then laughed, something so forced that Wilbur couldn’t stop himself from snorting. The magician turned and Wilbur frantically slid himself out of view. Foolish glanced at him and then at Dream with a shrug and a frown.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be having some problems with our portal,” Dream said breathlessly laughing. “But let’s try again, shall we?” He waved his hand with a flourish and, to Wilbur’s surprise, stuck his hand through the portal.

For some odd reason, Wilbur doubted that Dream would ever get his hands dirty, especially on stage, the fake elegance not allowing him to stoop so low. But desperation clung to the magician as he scrambled to keep his show on track.

As soon as Dream’s hand disappeared in the swirling purple film, the magician flinched with a yelp, yanking his hand back from the portal with a mouse trap clamped onto his fingers. A red flush ran up Dream’s neck as the audience roared with laughter. Dream gritted his teeth and took a stiff bow. He pulled the mouse trap off his hand with a clatter, throwing it off towards where Wilbur was standing. He kicked the trap off to the side with a grin.

Dream cleared his throat, raising his hands to gain the attention of the audience. A giddy silence followed, the unexpected performance creating an air of anticipation.

“My rabbit seems to be a bit shy today,” he laughed, flakes of scorn sprinkled into his voice. Wilbur felt disgust roll in his stomach. Dream turned his back to the crowd, ready to enter the portal himself. A sliver of panic shot through Wilbur, but he didn’t have time to panic before an egg came flying through the portal and right at Dream’s face.

Wilbur watched egg yolk drip down Dream’s half mask, mixing with his perfectly styled hair. A large glop fell from his nose to the stage with a loud splat. Slowly, Dream’s hands came up to wipe the egg off his face, but just as he started to rub it away, another egg flew and hit his face again. Dream sputtered, stepping back and now the audience could see the magician’s ruined appearance. More laughter filled the air, and Wilbur let out a whoop. The utter shock on Dream’s face was priceless.

And before Dream could compose himself, Wilbur watched his own father come out of the portal. Eyes alight with mischief, Dad reached out for the back of Dream’s mask and with a click unclasped the theatre mask and slipped it off the magician’s head.

Dream whipped around faster than anything Wilbur had ever seen before, but Dad had already disappeared into the portal, faint laughter the only evidence he was ever there.

The damage had been done, however, and now Dream’s face, his real face, was on display for an audience of people, egg and shell dripping down his face like broken pottery. Wilbur watched as an expression of horror washed over his face, true panic now crossing his face. Ironic, Wilbur thought to himself, that the magician now felt what the puppet had. Deserved, he scoffed with satisfaction.

Dream made a frustrated, angry noise, frantically trying to rub the egg off his face. He turned to say something—

And made direct eye contact with Wilbur.

Wilbur couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, pleased and excited all wrapped up into a look that told Dream all he needed to know: this was planned. This was it. The finale. Understanding flashed across Dream’s face, anger quickly taking its place as he bristled. Dream’s eyes flashed as he opened his mouth. Wilbur sent the magician a little wave before looking up at the rafters. Skeppy and Fundy both looked down at him with matching grins, a large bucket settled between them. Fundy sent Wilbur a thumbs up.

Wilbur returned the thumbs up and looked down just in time to catch a brief flash of horror wash over Dream’s face.

Then without warning, Skeppy and Fundy dumped the bucket of neon green slime right on top of Dream.

Dream sputtered, slime dripping into his face and ruining his pristine suit with gunk. If Wilbur had thought the crowd was loud before, they were roaring now, laughter and surprise rippling through the auditorium like tidal waves. Then Wilbur heard Foolish rustle behind him and the curtains quickly fell, exposing the entire backstage.

Wilbur could see clearly the second portal that Techno and Dad had shifted to a more prominent place on stage. Tommy’s blue eyes were wide as Techno laughed Wilbur’s favorite laugh, the one that echoed deep from his chest and brought a smile to his face. Dad leaned against the portal with a wide grin of his own, his family taking in the humiliation of the magician. Sam was nowhere to be seen, and Wilbur couldn’t care less.

Tommy’s surprise quickly wore off and a true smile crossed his face as he laughed. Wilbur caught his eye, and that grin just widened, filling Wilbur with warmth. That was his little brother, he thought fondly. That was his ray of sunshine that he was going to be able to take home and love for the rest of time.

Wilbur saw Dream shift, storming up to Tommy and grabbing him by the front of his stupid rabbit outfit. Techno tensed and Dad flew off the portal’s side, hovering right by Dream but waiting.

“You selfish brat!” Dream spat, egg and slime dropping off his head in large globs. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined this entire show!”

“Don’t blame this on me, you sick bastard!” Tommy shouted back. He didn’t fight him, didn’t have to with Techno standing right beside him, but Wilbur could see the way his face flushed a bright red. “The only thing ruined is your lying ass!”

“My lying ass?” Dream laughed breathlessly. “Oh no, Tommy Innit, you’re the one who’s always messing up! You never listen to me, you’re constantly getting into trouble, and you cause more problems than you’re worth! Every rule, every punishment was for you! And you couldn’t even follow those! Don’t you get it, Tommy? You’re. Not. Worth it! You never have been, and you never will be!”

Wilbur sucked in a breath, his body itching to go over and rip the magician away from his boy. But he forced himself to stay still, forced himself to wait.

Tommy puffed out his chest, watery blue eyes shining in the stage lights. “You’re wrong,” he choked. “You’re wrong because I have an entire family who proves me right. You’re done, Dream. You’ve lost.”

The magician and the rabbit stood on stage in the eyes of the House. And it was in that moment that the situation must have clicked in Dream’s brain because he whirled around to face the audience, a look of fear crossing over his face.

“W-wait, this—” Dream sputtered, letting go of Tommy’s poncho slowly and backing away. “It’s not—”

In a blur of pink, Techno punched Dream, the magician stumbling at the impact of the blow. Dream gasped as he looked up at Techno, eyes wide and frantic.

“Keep your filthy hands off my brother!” Techno hissed. “Unless you want to end up in a bloody pulp!”

Dream just stared at him, shocked and unable to move. Tommy let out a breathless laugh as Dad came up and wrapped an arm around him. At that moment, Quackity and the officers from earlier rushed onto the stage, grabbing Dream by the arms and pulling him away from Techno. Wilbur’s ears rang with the House’s surprised chattering, but he didn’t focus on any of them.

He sprinted to the backstage, weaving around the House’s staff that had filled the stage. Knocking him out of Dad’s arms, Wilbur barreled into Tommy as he wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he could. Tommy yelped then laughed, a sound that made Wilbur laugh back. He spun them around in circles, unsteady and uncoordinated as he tripped over his own feet, but uncaring about what was happening around them.

It was over. They’d done it.

“Bur!” Tommy laughed, squeezing him. “Wil, we—we did it! Wilbur!”

Wilbur could only shake with joy as he clung to his brother. It felt surreal, a dream floating in the air, but it was real. Tommy was free.

“You absolute wonderful gremlin!” Wilbur shouted as he spun them around again. “You did it! Don’t you see? You can come home!”

Tommy didn’t say anything and Wilbur pulled back to hold him by his shoulders. “Toms, we—”

Tears were running down Tommy’s face, a crooked smile spread over his face as he hiccupped. “Is—is it over?” he asked through his sobs. “I—I can go—I can go home?”

Wilbur’s heart melted and he pulled Tommy back to his chest, burying his face into his hair. “Yes, yes, you can come home. It’s all over, angel. You did so well, it’s all over.”

And Tommy cried openly, shaking with relief and joy and sorrow all mingling with stress. Wilbur held him just as he always had, keeping him near to his heart while all of his emotions finally came crawling out. A weight draped over him and Tommy, and Wilbur looked up to see Dad pulling them both into his arms. Tommy stiffened before crying harder, leaning into Dad with a half-laugh, half-cry. Wilbur could see Techno hovering nearby just as Mum came up behind him and wrapped her arm in his. They were all here, Wilbur realized as his heart skipped. His entire family was here.

“You did great, Tommy,” Dad praised. “It’s all going to be okay now.”

Tommy nodded wetly against Wilbur’s chest. “I’m never wearing this fucking rabbit costume again.”

Wilbur laughed into Tommy’s hair, caught off guard by the comment. “That’s my gremlin!”

Tommy pulled back, pushing a hand into Wilbur’s face. “F-fuck off! I’m having a moment!”

“Even when you’re crying, you’re a menace!” Wilbur teased. His face was beginning to hurt from how much he was smiling.

“Well, fuck you, Dadza’s my favorite now!” Tommy latched onto Dad, causing him to stumble back a bit. Dad just laughed and held him.

“Little shit,” Dad chuckled as Tommy laid his head on top of his. “Leave Wil alone, we’re having family bonding time.”

“Everyone knows I’m Tommy’s favorite anyways,” Techno deadpanned, walking over to mess up Tommy’s hair, who began to frantically bat his hands away.

“Fuck all of you,” Tommy muttered, a smile lingering on his face. He wiped away his tears with a sniff. “I’m vulnerable and mushy and you all are mocking me.”

“Never, sundrop.” Mum wrapped an arm around Wilbur, causing him to grin wider. “We’re just happy you’re—”

“TOMMY!”

A blur of green rushed past Wilbur as Tubbo threw himself at Dad and Tommy, the three of them tripping over each other. Without warning, Dad’s footing slipped and all of them fell to the floor. Mum made a concerned noise of protest, but Dad just started laughing.

“Motherfucker, get off!” Dad shouted.

“No!” Tubbo wrapped his arms around Tommy’s neck. “You can’t make me! That green bastard is gone and I’m hugging Tommy, so fuck off!”

Tommy let out a loud laugh, throwing his arms around Tubbo. “Clingy,” he shot back but made no indication of moving.

“You’re gonna kill someone, Bo!” Ranboo came to stand beside Wilbur with concern written over his face. “Come on, man!”

“No stopping him, mate,” Dad laughed, picking himself out of the pile of tangled teenagers. “You know you would have done the same thing too.”

Ranboo’s face flushed at the accusation but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he plopped to the floor and pulled both of the boys into a hug. “Bunch of idiots, all of you,” he complained. “Can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“You love us,” Tubbo preened.

“I do.” Ranboo held them tighter. “Very much.”

Wilbur felt his heart swell as he watched the boys fondly. Tommy hadn’t stopped smiling even amidst the tears, the happiness so evident on his face it looked like he was going to burst.

“It’s all fake!”

Tommy flinched as Wilbur turned to see Dream struggling against one of the police officers, a nasty scowl on his face. “They’re all just lying to you, Tommy! I’m the only one who could ever love you, damn it! You know I’m right! No one’s loved you before, no one will love you ever!”

Before Wilbur could even process what was happening, Tubbo was flying towards Dream, untangling himself from Ranboo’s frantic hands, and smacked him across the face. “Shut up, you fucking bitch ass motherfucker!” Tubbo shouted. “I’m tired of your fucking voice! You leave him alone!”

Dream sputtered. “You absolute—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Quackity groaned before motioning to the police officer. Wilbur noted how he hadn’t stopped Tubbo until Dream started getting more heated. “Get him out of here, please. I’m tired of hearing his voice too.”

Punz was waiting as the officers pushed Dream past him, rambling to Quackity as they left. “You can’t do anything without proof! You can’t do anything without our lawyers present!”

The group left through the doors just as Foolish started closing the front curtain, effectively cutting the backstage off from the prying eyes. Tommy had gone quiet, huddling closer to Ranboo as he wiped the tears off his face. He had a look Wilbur was starting to recognize, a look that was way too serious and sad.

Wilbur sighed and crouched down in front of Tommy. “You know whatever that bastard says isn’t true, right?”

Tommy met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’d better know.” Techno reached a hand down for the boys to grab onto, helping Ranboo and Tommy to their feet. Tubbo followed them with a little jump. “Otherwise we’d have to be real annoying and keep reminding you.”

“Fuckers,” Tommy muttered, but a little bit of his real smile was back.

“Eret and Quackity both have enough evidence to start transferring custody over to us,” Mum explained, coming around to pull Tommy to her side. He didn’t protest and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So I say this calls for a celebration!”

Tubbo let out a whoop and spun around, grabbing Ranboo’s hand. “Let’s go get fucking wasted!”

“No?” Dad laughed in confusion. “You are literally a child, we’re not doing that.”

“Tommy, your dad’s a dick!” Tubbo whined. Ranboo looped an arm around his with a sigh.

Tommy didn’t answer for a moment, his face twisted into something thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I guess he is. My dad, I mean.”

Dad’s grin was so wide Wilbur thought it’d split his face. “Tommy,” he cooed. “Mate, I’ll cry.”

“Good,” Tommy said without missing a beat. “Makes you more of a likable person. Everyone likes a dad who cries.”

“Heh? That doesn’t even make any sense,” Techno complained.

“Exactly, bitch.” Tommy’s grin widened.

“We need to go before someone starts an argument and we never leave.” Mum shook her head. “Alright everyone, back to the car!”

As the group moved toward the exit, Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s arm, pulling him aside from everyone else. Tommy’s eyes widened as he moved to Wilbur’s side.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Wilbur shook his head. “No, not at all. I just needed a moment.”

Before Tommy could ask what it was, Wilbur pulled his brother into his arms and held him tightly. The fact that he was safe and that he would be safe was finally sinking into Wilbur’s anxious heart. He wouldn’t have to worry if Tommy wasn’t in his sights. Tommy was here, and right now Wilbur needed that physical reassurance that he was alright.

Tommy melted into Wilbur’s hold, burying his face into his shoulder with a sigh. His shoulders dropped as he held Wilbur back. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“It is,” Wilbur mumbled. He carded a hand through Tommy’s hair. “It’s real, and you never have to worry about being on your own again. I promise.”

“You’re a sappy bastard,” Tommy teased.

Pulling back, Wilbur cupped Tommy’s cheeks, bringing his forehead down to rest on Tommy’s. “Yes, and I won’t ever stop. Not until all the memories of the past fade away.”

“That might be a while,” Tommy admitted.

“Then I’ll wait,” Wilbur said easily. His eyes scanned Tommy’s face, taking in his bright sky eyes and his scattered freckles, adoring every part of his friend, his brother. Tommy’s face flushed at the scrutiny, but he leaned back with a smile. Wilbur knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t expecting it to. But he did know that he’d be by Tommy’s side to the end.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Bur.”