Chapter Text
Tommy has one chance.
He tells himself this over and over again. During breakfast, sitting outside in the backyard of this prison he once called a home, or tucked in the arms of someone he once trusted, or in the early dregs of dawn during the painful nights he can’t fall asleep. He reminds himself, digs the words into his brain and scratches the promise into his skin with blunt, clipped nails.
He has once chance to escape this cabin, this family, this future he had no part in choosing.
If he fails, everything falls apart.
-
At the ripe age of five Tommy was zooming around the bustling streets of Hypixel, grabbing what he could from unsuspecting travelers and citizens. In a world as intense and bright as Hypixel, nobody stopped to look at the blond kid bumping into them. Nobody checked to notice if their wallet was gone, either. This is the life Tommy knew- nothing before that was really memorable. He doesn’t remember his parents if he had any, nor a life that he didn’t have to fend for tooth and nail.
It’s a normal day when he meets his family. Accidentally bumping into a tall brunette, snatching a golden watch from the man’s wrist and getting maybe twenty feet away before the victim screetches and spots his dirty blonde hair in the crowd. He remembers running, his tiny frame trying to carry him as far as he could away from being caught before being lifted up into the air. He flails frantically, caught in the grip of a large, muscular man with light pink hair holding him above the ground.
“Let’s have a quick chat, yeah?” The older man to the left of the brute said with a smile.
It’s framed like a question, but it doesn’t feel like one. He does give the brunet his watch back, snarling and glaring the entire time like a rabid dog. He doesn’t like the way they look at him. He’s used to the glares, the condescending sneer of the others when they spot any other street urchin. He understands that. But these people, they stare at him like he’s a puzzle. Like there’s something he hasn’t realized yet. They ask him questions, they tell him their names, like he deserves to know. Like anyone would want a scrawny homeless kid to be calling them their first names.
They give him food. The pink hair one-
Techno,
he learns, even compliments his stealth. LIke that’s just a normal fucking thing people do when a thief steals your shit. The worst offender of them all is the one he stole the watch from,Wilbur, (shit fucking name if you ask Tommy) because he barely even talks. He just keeps
staring
and
smiling.
When Phil stares back at him, light blue eyes wrinkled with a smile, and asks him “Why don’t you come back with us, mate?”, every single alarm bell goes off in his head simultaneously. You don’t talk to strangers. Not rich strangers. You don’t stick around rich, dangerous people and you don’t let them bring you home.
But there’s the feeling again. The feeling that this is not a question, not a choice. Not with the way Techno has been running his fingers through Tommy’s hair this entire chat, not with the way Phil seems to be constantly on edge, as if poised for him to run. Not with the way Wilbur has been acting this entire goddamn time.
He sees the way Techno’s shoulders line with tension when Phil asks the question. How Wilbur’s smile grows too big.
That there’s only one way this ends, and that the quickest way there is easiest.
When they bring him home, to a small, private server the three call a home, he’s half expecting to become the newest sacrifice for a blood cult demon or friendly monster. Tommy’s not a fool, either- he notices how the server portal out of this world dims down and evaporates, blocking his exit out. They lead him back to their house, a large wooden cabin in the middle of the woods. He’s jumpy and angry and he curses them out at least five times every hour, waiting for them to show their real intentions, because nobody just picks up a kid from off the street and brings them home with no ulterior motive. So he waits, and he picks fights, and he anticipates the reveal of their true colors.
And it’s infuriating. Because it never happens.
They never snap. They never yell. Wilbur plays guitar, and Tommy watches him. Philza cooks the youngest pancakes with chocolate chips and Techno reads.
Tommy mumbles something under his breath one day about wishing he could read, and Techno spends weeks after helping to teach him. Phil busts out an old sewing machine and together him and Tommy create a potholder. Wilbur brings Tommy outside and they draw together in the backyard.
Growing up in such a volatile environment, then placed into such a secure one, it gives him whiplash. He’s so confused. He doesn’t understand, because there’s no reason they should be doing this. There’s no logic to follow, no way this makes sense. It feels like his entire life, he’s been struggling to keep afloat, to resist the pressure of the waves threatening to pull him under, and suddenly he just became weightless. Like the water had disappeared around him, and now there was nothing.
It didn’t occur to him that he felt weightless because he was being pulled down.
Tommy lashed out. He yelled, he screamed, he knocked things over. He tested their reactions, their patience. He looked for ways to run, and of course found none. Weeks pass by with no luck, no secret weapon, no anything.
And the three of them are still kind. Even when he is not. After a life of fighting to breathe, it’s so much easier to let yourself drown.
Tommy lets his guard down, and becomes part of the family. He still yells, still swears on days where he’s so angry for an inexplicable reason. Still testing to see if they lash out, to see if they’ve finally had enough. It never works. They just smile and coo at him, ruffling his hair and holding him close.
And it’s so much easier to just drown.
The only damning, real evidence he ever had that this was not okay was when he’d accidentally gone too far into the forest at around seven years old. Wilbur had been the one to drag him back, the grip on his wrists so tight it had left angry red marks that had formed into light purple bruising.
Wilbur had left after seeing the marks, apparently too distraught at the sight. He’d come back later that evening, after Phil had tenderly wrapped them up with clean white cotton and thoroughly lectured Tommy about staying close. Wilbur had fussed over the bandages for several minutes, holding one of the wrists up to his cheek.
“I’m sorry.” He had told the trembling child. “You just scared me so so much. I was so worried about you, sunshine.”
And Tommy had accepted it. Because his parents were an unknown factor, and he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t on the streets. Because this strange, foreign flavor of affection was so much easier to sink into, to accept without deliberating on the consequences.
Everything changed once Phil and Techno left on a six month long mission. When Tommy excitedly received Dream’s letter to Technoblade, offering him an invite to Dream’s new SMP. When Tommy had gone in his place, sneaking out from the house under Wilbur’s nose.
He remembers that day. Showing up in a world he had never known- a place outside of his home in Hypixel. It was so strange. All he knew was that this world, this area of grass and trees and no rules tasted like freedom and it was addicting. Not the false kind of freedom he had on the server- sweet smiles and knowing glances and the way he always felt like the trio was hiding something. This was real, here. There was nobody looming over his shoulder, no phantom grip on his wrist anymore. So he begged the sandy-haired admin to let him stay, promising to not be a nuisance.
“Are you sure, kid?” Dream had asked. “This is just a basic survival world. There’s not a lot to it.” It’s true- Dream SMP was practically nothing at that point. Nothing like Hypixel, or even Mineplex. “ Are you sure your family won’t be worried about you?” Dream tacked on.
“ No.” Tommy answered confidently. “They’re fine. And yeah, I’m sure.” Maybe this world was simple, even somewhat empty- but that was relieving in and of itself. It was empty, and Tommy was alone for the first time in eleven years.
It had taken 4 months for Wilbur to find him in Dream’s SMP, but he was too late. Tommy’s rose-colored glasses had been cracked, though not entirely shattered- through interacting with real, other people . He met Awesamdude and Sapnap and even Dream was pretty cool. He even met Tubbo- bubbly, happy Tubbo who indulged every last quip and joke and rambling rant from the other. Tubbo, who didn’t try to keep him still. These were people who cared about him, and not in the way that left him sobbing and shaking from the intensity of it all.
The day Wilbur arrived, he expected to find Toms, Starlight, Sunshine.
The day Wilbur arrived, he met Tommy instead.
Just as rowdy, just as happy. With the same bright blue eyes and soft, blonde hair, logically, this should be the same person. They both knew different, though.
Tommy had escaped, in his own way.
The rest of the events that brought Tommy here blurred together. There was the sound of someone running, the smell of gunpowder, the taste of blood. The L’manburg war, fought in freedom. Wilbur, so excited to have Tommy back, his newly-appointed right hand man.
Nobody knows that after Tommy’s first death that Wilbur had tried to bring him back. That after Tommy had so proudly announced that L’manburg was free, that Wilbur had brought him aside and splashed him with a weakness potion.
He remembers it so vividly.
The confusion, the draining of energy, the lethargic movements as his brain tries to process what it cannot keep up with. His legs buckle, being unable to hold his own weight, falling into Wilbur’s arms. Tommy tries to move out of Wilbur’s grasp, away from the mockery of a hug the older has him in now, but once the brunet senses his struggle he lifts Tommy up, so he’s laying in Wilbur’s arm bridal-style. He panics, as much as his incapacitated body will allow him to- it is not enough to escape.
“There.” Wilbur whispers into the younger boy’s ear. Tommy can barely make it out with the initial wave of sickness that washes over him with the potion. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was a fool to not realize where this was going.”
Tommy blinks stupidly at the words. He’s so confused. Wasn’t this happy..? Why wasn’t Wilbur celebrating? He traded his discs for L’manburg… Why did Wilbur look upset?
Wilbur begins to take careful steps away from L’Manburg- towards unfamiliar terrain, land he’s never cared to explore.
“Wha?” Tommy slurs out, words garbled by the potion.
He hears the rumble of Wilbur’s voice, and the sound of a deep chuckle.
“The potion did a number on you, hmm? Don’t worry, it’ll wear off once you’re safe and home.”
Tommy’s brows furrow. Home? He was home. He was in L’manburg.
It’s as if Wilbur can read his thoughts, because he tucks a strand of Tommy’s hair behind his ear and smiles. “No, not that one. Not L’Manburg. The real one. With Phil and Tech. I’m sorry to disappoint you, sunspot, but that was just a game.”
A game? What game? This wasn’t a game, what was Wilbur talking about? He planned out battle strategy with the rest of the group. He rationed out food with the rest of them, eating less than he wanted and going to bed with an unsatisfied stomach. That was no game.
“You were so scared of me.” Wilbur continues, looking down on Tommy fondly. “So scared of big brother Wilby, when you were the one who betrayed me by escaping here.”
They’re still walking along this path, and Tommy’s more confused and scared than he was in the war. Why is Wilbur doing this?
Why can’t he be free?
“I hope you had fun, but it’s time to go back.” Wilbur says sternly. “You’re in so much trouble for dying, little one. So much trouble.”
Tommy’s head is still reeling from the after-effects of the potion, but it has weakened enough so he can talk, although the words still come out funny. “Why’d you..why lemme in the f’rst plac’?” Tommy tries to inject as much hostility and venom into the words as possible, but it comes out as slightly scared and very slurred.
“What, why did I let you duel him?” Wilbur pauses, as if to consider the motivations of his own actions. “You needed to learn who you’re safest with.”
Wilbur had almost made it to the server’s exit portal when Dream had spotted the two- one being cradled by the other- and walked over to chit-chat, presumably.
Dream may have his discs, but he’s not like Techno or Wilbur or Phil. He doesn’t desire to possess Tommy in the way he’s beginning to realize his so called family wants to. He may have fought a war against Tommy, but he doesn’t pretend. He doesn’t lie, doesn’t try to confuse Tommy like the rest of them. Most importantly, Dream sees through Wilbur.
“Wilbur! Tommy! What’s up?” Dream shouts, moving closer. Wilbur freezes, tensing around Tommy, holding the younger tighter. The admin of the server, now devoid of the netherite armor he wore just hours ago, dons a bright green hoodie with a sloppy smile.
As Dream gets closer, his eyes lock on Tommy. A flash of something- worry, distrust, runs across his features before he smooths it into a neutral facade. “You heading out?”
Tommy stares, wide-eyed at his former enemy. The potion has still made him weak, but it has dwindled since. “N-!” He begins, before Wilbur smushes his face into the older’s shoulder preventing his speech.
“We were just heading to Hypixel.” Wilbur replies, tight smile barely holding back a murderous glare. “I don’t know if we’ll be back.”
Dream all but ignores Wilbur’s words, turning to face Tommy. “You alright, kid?” There’s a sickening note of fondness in his voice that Tommy doesn’t understand. Why would Dream like him? Didn’t he just kill him?
“Dream, I think you should go. Tommy’s quite tired.” Wilbur says tersely.
Dream doesn’t reply for a second, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Then, the portal out of the server evaporates, leaving only an empty frame.
“You do know I control who goes in and who goes out, right Wilbur?” Dream says, a little angrier, more obvious this time. “I think you should set Tommy down now.”
Even in the crook of Wilbur’s neck, where his face is not visible, Tommy can feel the older man’s anger rising. “Are you going to stop me?” He asks harshly.
“Is there a reason I should?” Dream retorts.
Wilbur doesn’t reply for a second. Then, he sets Tommy down gently- he’s regained enough strength to be able to walk by now. “No, of course there isn’t.” An arm is thrown around Tommy’s shoulder. To anyone else, it would look like Wilbur is just trying to keep him steady so he doesn’t fall over.
But Tommy’s not naive to WIlbur’s ways anymore. It’s as much of a prison as the server is.
Wilbur spends the next few weeks convincing Tommy that he doesn’t remember the night correctly. He promises Tommy that he’s remembering the story wrong. That Tommy felt sick that night, that he begged Wilbur to go back home. When Tommy recounts what he remembers, Wilbur looks concerned and scared, and hugs Tommy. He promises over and over again that he’d never do that to Tommy- that L’Manburg is their home, of course it is. And it’s so much easier to believe Wilbur. It’s so much easier to ignore the way his eyes twinkle too brightly, and how he’s around more now than ever before, as if he’s waiting for Tommy to escape.
Deep down, Tommy knows he remembers that night correctly.
But that means too many things. That means accepting too much. So Tommy does what Tommy does best, and he forgives.
Pogtopia is the worst side of Wilbur Tommy has ever seen. He is sporadic, and twitchy, and mean. He talks to things that are not there, and he leaves a trail of cigarette smoke wherever he goes. In the darkest days of their exile, Tommy accuses him of being insane. He always has been, It dawns on Tommy. He used to just be better at hiding it.
There’s so much more to the days of Pogtopia that Tommy just plain does not remember, and it frightens him more than anything. There are so many days that he cannot account for, so many subconscious actions he does not understand; The sound of bells frighten him in a way that suggests there is a reason . Tommy cannot taste honey now without panicking, and it would be so much less horrifying if he knew why. But he doesn’t. (He guesses that there’s too much there for his brain to handle, as scary as the idea is.)
One day, he’d been organizing his chests when fucking Technoblade had just casually strolled in. The same poet’s shirt he always wore- light pink hair neatly braided, running down his back. He holds his breath in the same way he did when Wilbur showed up, he waits to be questioned, or perhaps lectured.
Technoblade says nothing. He just stares at Tommy, and it’s worse than if he had started yelling. Because Tommy knows how much trouble he’s in. He knows Technoblade knows he ran away, that he defied Wilbur and refuses to come back home.
He knows he doesn’t stand a chance against Technoblade. That if the piglin brute wants to drag him home, he will.
Tommy turns to meet Technoblade’s eyes, blood red boring into youthful blue. He waits for something, anything to happen, for Techno to make the first offensive move.
“You’re a long way from home.” Technoblade announces. It’s not a question or claim; it’s a fact. It’s a sentence. It’s a crime.
Tommy absently wonders if Techno can hear how fast his heart is thumping. The blond doesn’t bother answering; they both know it’s a sentence he can’t respond to.
They keep up the intense, stifling silence for a few moments longer. And then, to Tommy’s shock, Techno shuts the door to the chest room and walks away.
When Manburg explodes, it feels less like a betrayal and more like something he knew was coming. There’s shock, and Tommy screams, and he feels all the hurt regardless but it feels like a knife in the back he knew was coming.
He’s been waiting so long for the other shoe to drop.
“Do you see now?” Wilbur says from behind him. “Do you see that this is all pointless?” He asks fondly from behind Tommy’s vision. Smoke rises in the distance, and all Tommy can think about is that he hopes Tubbo is okay. He should’ve known the second Technoblade shot Tubbo that he needed to leave and he needed to bring Tubbo with him. He’d entertained the thought of it, back in Pogtopia. To run for the server portal and never come back.
But the ugly, whining, childish part of him wants to stay with his brothers. The sobbing, feeble remnants of the little kid left before war and the realization that his family is not kind. Whispers that his family has changed and that they’ll be nice now and of course they’ll let him leave if he wants to leave just enough doubt that he isn’t sure. So he stays, and seals his fate.
And now he is here. The only good thing he had left is rubble, now. Smells of burning flesh and gunpowder flood his mind, ears still ringing from explosions he tried to stop. He feels so empty. Tommy registers the sturdy hands under his arms and his cheek pressed to a familiar shoulder and the slow, rocking movements of walking.
Amist all the chaos of a destroyed nation, nobody notices four players leave the server.
-
In a small, secluded server in the middle of nowhere there is a large, wooden house with the lights all on. It’s snowing today.
Tommy has one chance to escape.