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It was dark but Tommy had his blanket. The floorboards above him creak and dust sprinkles down at Dream goes about his day. He buries his face into the blanket to avoid it getting into his nose or eyes.
He breathes crackily and Tommy, through the dull throb in his head, thinks it shouldn’t do that, shouldn’t feel so tight. He bites back a whimper.
He doesn’t really remember why he was here, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to leave. Dream made sure to punish him when Tommy tried. He doesn’t know why he tried because it was all a bit fuzzy.
Dream said this was where he belonged since he wasn’t useful and only useful boys get the privilege of freedom.
The fuzzy feeling makes it hard for Tommy to focus, only soothed by the darkness of his nest, even if the light creeps through the tiny gaps in the floor above him.
There’s a fire going, and it brings warmth to his hole, but Tommy can’t stop shaking.
His whine—lost—help—hurt—is muffled in his blanket. He doesn’t understand, it hurts when Tommy tried to pick at the flashes of pink, of blonde and of brown. A longing that spills over like an overfilled cup. Desperate and aching.
Tommy doesn’t know why he sees it, why he longs for something he doesn’t know—maybe it was something beyond the fuzz because his heart spasms and his gut churns, his instinct crying out.
Lost—hurt—where are you?
He had been with Dream for as long as he could remember, why do they cry out for people Tommy had never met?
The day starts like every other. Dream drops a piece of bread and a bottle of water into his hole and Tommy savours it knowing it will be all he gets for the day. It sits heavy in his stomach, but Tommy refused to throw up. It hurts, his belly churns and protests, he’s too hot then too cold. He feels breathless.
It was normal.
Until it wasn’t.
A knock at the door. A voice—a voice so tantalisingly familiar—that Tommy’s ears flicker, desperate for more. His tail swishes. The fuzz fizzles painfully.
He can’t make out the words, but that voice is all Tommy can hear.
Protector—gaze—help—here!
He cheeped.
Everything fell silent.
Did Protector leave?!?!
He whined—protector—help!—here!—hurt!
A snarl, a stutter of words, the swoosh and squelch, a gurgle.
A croon—where?—mine—runt—where is baby?
He mewled, a whine tugging at the edge of the sound.
The was a thump above, dust rained down and he whined, coughing which made his ribs burn.
He cried—hurts—hurts—help—hurts!
I’m here—here!—runt—where-is-my-runt? A beat as Tommy cries. Found-you—mine—I’m here.
A swoosh fills the air again, and then the blade of an axe pierced the wood above him, splinters of wood raining down on him.
Protector found him.
Protector found him!
Tommy continued to mewl and whine and chitter, the sounds falling out of his mouth in his desperation, all he wanted was his protector!
As the axe is brought down a second time, the glint from above becomes a beam of light, he reaches up, hands opening and closing, he chitters, mewls, a wordless beg.
Tommy squeals happily as the axe slams down for the third and finally rips away a floorboard, cooing when he sees pink.
The light makes it all fuzzy, but Tommy can see two red eyes peering down at him. Protector croons back, prying more floorboards up.
He makes grabby hands again—protector—up—up!
Protector scoops him up and everything is right in the world. Tommy is boneless, he’s become a worm, as Protector cradles and bows over him.
Chuff—chuff—mine—found-you—safe—mine.
He mewled.
Oh yes, Tommy is merely a wet noodle. Limb and pliable against Protector. He nuzzles Protector’s shoulder, feeling his fingers again as he clenched them into Protector’s soft shirt.
Mine—mine—found-you-at-last—runt-safe.
Yessss, Tommy is safe.
“I’ve gotch ya.” Protector rumbles. “I’ve got you, Tommy.”
Oh! Protector knew Tommy? How? Was that why Tommy remembered pink?
It took him a lot of effort to raise his heavy head, it lulls, and Protector quickly tucked a hand behind Tommy’s neck, supporting him.
How thoughtful! Protector is so kind.
Tommy blinks up at him, tired, exhausted but longing. There’s an itch, just behind his eyes, a dull throb—like something was trying to get through. He squints up at Protector as the man stroked his cheek. The warmth of his palm on his neck and his thumb gentle as can be on his cheek has Tommy purring.
“You’re so tiny,” Protector whispers, his tone distraught and angry and— “I should have made it hurt more.”
Tommy knows Protector isn’t talking about him, but yes, Tommy certainly felt tiny in Protector’s arms.
But Tommy really takes in Protector’s face and memorizes it. Then, everything fell into place, like a dam had given way and he whined wordlessly at the pain in his head.
“Baby,” Technoblade crooned, bringing Tommy close again, tucking his head beneath his chin. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”
“Papa,” he sobbed, it felt so good to let it out. It had been building and building and now his papa was here, and Tommy had forgotten!
Technoblade purred, the sound rumbling and shaking his bones and Tommy melts, sobbing as he buried his face into his papa’s neck. The hand was back on his neck, solid and warm and grounding and Tommy never wanted the moment to end but Technoblade was standing, curling his cape over Tommy, blacking out every inch of light and it was so soothing, so much like their nest.
Tommy lets himself float. He was going home.