Chapter Text
Tommy woke up in some dirty alleyway in a server he’d never seen before.
His whole body was electric with pain — it felt like all of his molecules had been ripped apart and put back together again, but wrong. Fuck. It felt like — he groaned, low in his throat, but his ears were ringing so much he felt it more in his throat than heard it.
His head pounded so hard he thought it might explode right off his shoulders. Fragments of memory assaulted him. Dream. Shit, Dream, and the prison — he felt like he couldn’t breathe through all the fear and pain and the death —
When he came back to himself next, he wasn’t getting pummeled to death on some dirty prison floor. Instead, he was just wheezing on some sidestreet, curled up on the ground like an idiot. Swiping definitely-not-tears off his face, Tommy wobbled to his feet on unsteady legs. His hand came away spotted with red. Grimacing, Tommy wiped the blood off into his dirty, matted hair. Well, at least he wasn’t dead.
Sensory details filtered in: the dim light of evening, the dull murmur of people in the distance, the smell of damp pavement. He was alone.
It seemed like he was safe, right now. No one was attacking him. But even if he could clearly use his eyeballs, his brain wasn’t getting the memo, sending trembles all over his limbs and clenching his chest tight-tight-tight like a vice. Stupid lungs. Do your job.
He was supposed to be in the prison, but he wasn’t in the prison. He was in some alleyway, surrounded on all sides by unfamiliar, looming concrete buildings. It didn’t look like the Dream SMP.
Okay, so if he wasn’t in the prison, where was he? There was this odd sense he had, like he was forgetting something. Well, that wasn’t too strange, since he didn’t remember getting here, but more unnerving was the sensation of emptiness. Like there was something there, but instead of seeing it, he just drew a big blank. It was like he was trying to remember back to what got him here and instead he just hit a big wall.
Even his most recent recollection of events was spotty. He was in the prison, Dream was attacking him, then what?
It definitely felt like he’d just got out of the prison, though. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and he could feel the layer of grime coating his skin and clothing. He’d definitely smelled better. Patting himself down, he noted the lack of anything on his person. Just his regular clothing.
Notably, though, was the lack of major injuries. Some bumps and bruises, sure, a little blood stained around his temple, but none of the brutal injuries he remembered getting. He’d had a healing potion, then? His jaw and ribs were tender with some nasty bruising, and his arms were a little scraped, but that seemed to be the worst of it. Strangely, though, there was a new scar at his temple: when he ran his fingers over the skin, there was a starburst of scar tissue, but no open wound. Just the tackiness of dried blood.
Shrugging, Tommy shook at his arms. Okay, someone had used some glitch, or weird admin bullshit, and he was wherever this was. Fine. He’d find the closest admin and make his way back. Tubbo was definitely freakin’ out, wherever he was.
Tommy ignored the pit in his stomach, and the part of him that didn’t believe that. People were waiting for him. They had to be.
Once he’d gotten on his feet, Tommy decided to wander around and figure out where the hell he was. First stop was the large trash bin he’d woken up next to. It had been a while since his last raccoon-Innit days, but he’s gotten the name for a reason, and there didn’t seem to be any farms close by from what he could tell. Even if there were, there would likely be witnesses around. After he’d gotten a meal, second order of business was to figure out where the hell he was.
All around him stretched a denser cityscape than he’d ever dared to imagine. Remembering his compass, he pulled it out from under his shirt, but the hand was spinning in circles. He frowned. Either is was broken, or a different server it was.
He was pretty sure it was a different server.
Wandering the streets was overwhelming. The sky was dim with early night, but the streets were still awash with light, decorated with lamps in a design Tommy had never seen before. Everything looked to be in an odd industrial style; most of the buildings were towering gray or white concrete structures, although at the street level the roads were lines with colorful shops and signs. The signs made his head feel weird and fuzzy — the letters looked all weird, but when he read them, he somehow felt like he knew their meanings.
“I’m tripping balls. Am I tripping balls?” he muttered. “No. They must just be cosmetics.” A passerby gave him a quizzical look, as if Tommy was the weird one.
A parting gift, floated through his mind.
“Mom?!” He stopped in the middle of the street. She didn’t talk back. Fuck, was he hallucinating again?
Well, he had bigger things to deal with. There were so many people. Tommy could barely keep from running into them, the crowds were so dense.
The people here were strange. Sure, he was used to seeing hybrids around at least somewhat, but they didn’t typically have animal heads. Or skin that looks like rubber, or six arms, or — no, it was fine. Tommy was tolerant. People could have personal taste, or whatever. Even if it was weird.
Not sure why someone would want to look like a walking octopus, but Tommy had seen stranger things. Probably. There was Skeppy and Foolish, he reminded himself. They both had metallic skin.
None of them seemed to bear the scars of war. Meanwhile, Tommy knew it intimately. Some people gave him strange looks as he walked past — though for what reason, he couldn’t be exactly sure. Maybe it was because he was unfamiliar, but with this large of a server, it was probably just because he was all smelly and shit. Judgmental pricks.
Maybe it was also the warped scars he had peppering his face and exposed hands, but that seemed less likely. They were gory, sure, but respawn enough times and anyone would come out like him. I mean, look at Tubbo. While Tommy might have some shiny burn scars singing his jaw and arms from Dream’s TNT addiction, it wasn’t exactly an extreme case. Plus, most of his neck was covered by his bandana, anyway.
But maybe this was a server like Hypixel, where the rich came to just play silly games all day. Who knew.
After a while of wandering the streets, Tommy found what looked to be a small park. Flopping down on the bench, he let out a long groan.
“Fuck me,” he cursed. Blinking, he opened his eyes to see a boy around his age looking down at him with a nearly blank expression.
“The hell are you looking at?” Tommy snapped.
The boy’s expression didn’t change. “I was wondering if you were alright.”
He paused. Of course he was alright, he was Tommyinnit, but he bit back the instinctual yell back. This could be a good chance to ask some questions.
This kid was the most normal person Tommy had seen since he woke up. Similar to Ranboo, his hair was split-colored, as were his eyes. The burn scar on one side of his face could almost rival Tubbo. Dangling from one of his hands was an odd-looking bag made of some semi transparent white material Tommy didn’t recognize.
“I’m always alright. I’m great!” Tommy paused. His brain must still be scrambled, because he was usually smoother than this. He didn’t really know what to ask. Maybe his injuries were getting to him. Even though it wasn’t particularly cold outside, a chill felt like it had seeped into his bones, and his whole body ached with an odd pain.
“You look a bit injured,” the boy said. “Are any of them serious?”
Tommy huffed. “I’ll show you serious. I guess if you think a couple bruises are serious, then sure, I’m at death’s fucking door.”
“How did you get them?”
“A fucking piece of shit bastard. Wanker. Evil–I hope he rots in that—” Tommy griped, shuddering, before catching himself. He looked at the kid sharply. “Doesn’t matter. None of your business.” Tommy stood and stretched. Spreading his wings as far as he could, he rocked from side to side, then touched his toes. Shit, he was sore. Flicking his wings, he scrunched his nose. All the feathers were out of alignment and uncomfortable. Too bad he couldn’t reach his back.
The boy was still looking at him calmly. Sitting down on the bench next to Tommy, he rifled through the bag he was holding. “Would you like a drink?”
“Ayy, now you’re speaking my language. Is it poisoned? If you try to kill me, I’ll kill you first, you know.”
“It’s not poisoned.” Damn, this guy was good. He was nearly better at keeping a blank face that Techno.
The boy pulled a couple of weird bottles out of the bag he was carrying. Tommy squinted suspiciously. He passed him one—it was cool and smooth to the touch, and coated in a thin layer of condensation. Seeming to sense his hesitation, he pulled out another one as well, twisted off the top and began to drink.
Though the material of the bottle was strange—Tommy had expected it to be glass, since it was partially clear, but it was odd and light—the drink seemed like it could be normal. It was green and had a melon logo on the front. It looked closest to a night vision potion.
Tommy took a sip.
“Holy shit! What the hell?!”
“Hm?”
“This is fuckin’ delicious,” Tommy stared at the drink in amazement. It tasted sort of like a potion, but better, fizzing across his tongue with a rush of sweetness but without any added status effect. “How the hell did you make this? What sort of potion is it?”
“I bought it. My sister likes them.” He rummaged in his bag, passing Tommy another. “If you like, you can have this one, as well.”
Tommy took it eagerly. With a small flex of his magic, the bottle disappeared into his inventory. Perfect. He’d save it for later.
The boy startled, wide eyed. “Where did it go?”
Tommy gave him a funny look. “My inventory? You doing alright?”
Speaking of inventory… his was meant to be empty, but just now it hadn’t felt empty. Frowning, Tommy cast his thoughts inwards.
What the hell?
Last he remembered, he’d cleared his inventory and put it in the prison locker, but his inventory wasn’t empty. He had an odd mix of his ender chest and regular items: a set of used iron armor, a couple ender pearls, a healing potion, and then a set of netherite tools. The sword he had was Nightmare and the axe was The Axe of Peace. He frowned. Other than that, he had a water bucket, a half stack of dirt, and almost a stack of cooked beef. The dumpster-diving earlier had been a bit silly, then.
When he came back to himself, the boy was reaching out a hand towards him. Tommy flinched to his feet so fast he spilled a little of his drink over his hand.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouted. “The hell is wrong with you?! Don’t— fucking — hit me!” Tommy exploded, forgetting for a moment where he was, panic rising in his chest.
The boy also jerked back, cradling his hand to his chest. His eyes were wide. “I’m… I’m sorry. You weren’t responding.”
“What, and that means you can just fucking touch people? You’re gonna make me all panicky and shit!”
“No.” He looked upset, now, his eyebrows pressed together in a sad little frown. “I won’t do it again.” Then, more quietly, “I wasn’t going to hit you.”
“You better not. Try and grab me and I’ll chop your fucking arm off.” God, Tommy was tense. It was all Dream’s fault. The dick. Spending weeks locked up with that guy was enough to make anyone go a bit crazy.
The boy nodded. He glanced at Tommy’s back, seeming deep in thought himself.
“Your wings. Are they your quirk?” The boy asked.
“Huh? You never seen a hybrid before?” Tommy asked testily. He didn’t like being reminded of his stunted wings. They’d never been especially impressive — he was only ever able to glide, they weren’t large enough for real flight — but after Dream had bound them in exile they were basically unusable. His only mercy was that Dream hadn’t just cut them off. He’d definitely threatened it. “And who the hell are you?”
“I’m Todoroki,” the boy said.
“Toad Roki?” Tommy repeated. Wouldn’t be the worst player tag he’d ever heard. He’d met BadBoyHalo. Toad didn’t have any frog-themed elements to his skin, though. Seemed he hadn’t committed to the theme. All he was rocking was the typical heterochromatic edgelord look.
“What’s yours?”
“Tommy.” He yawned. “Anything make you quirky, big man?”
“My quirk is fire and ice.” Toad paused. There was some sort of expectation on his face—was this supposed to have some sort of significance? Tommy, having not seen anything yet, was not impressed.
“Well? Can I see it, big man?”
Raising his arm, Toad sent a wave of crackling ice across the sleeve of his sweater. Tommy watched in amazement as it crept up his hand. Just as quickly, it receded away as if it were never there.
“Quirked up white boy with the sauce,” Tommy muttered. Toad looked bewildered. Tommy added, “Though you’re not white, are you. My apologies. Can you teach me how to do that?”
“No.”
Prick, Tommy thought. Maybe it was some sort of upgrade or plugin he’d never heard of.
“Be that way,” he huffed. “So, Where are we? This is the weirdest fuckin’ server I’ve ever been on, that’s for sure.”
“…Musutafu? In the Shizuoka prefecture.”
“Never heard of it.” Tommy swung his legs carelessly. “Who’s the admin around here?” At the boy’s continued blank expression, he said slowly, as if to a child: “You know? The boss around here? Who runs this stupid country?”
“Like the Prime Minister?”
Tommy could have screamed in excitement. Actually, he did. Finally, something that seemed almost normal, for Prime’s sake! He wasn’t sure why the admin called himself a minister—other than that they administered the rules, wasn’t he funny—but Prime
was blessedly familiar.
“Thank Prime! Yes!” Tommy sat forward eagerly. “I don’t have my comm, so I’ll have to borrow one, but could I message him? Then I’ll be able to get out of here.”
Toad seemed ever more confused than ever before. “I don’t have the Prime Minister’s number.”
“Thanks for nothing, then. What good’s a comm for otherwise?” Tommy sighed. Maybe with this many people on one server, it just didn’t make sense to give private messaging permissions. “Is there any way I could talk with him? Friend of a friend?”
“I’m… not sure.”
“Damn.”
“Where are you from, then?” The boy asked slowly.
Tommy grinned. “I was grown in a lab.”
Satisfied with the way the other boy — Toad something — blanched, Tommy swung off the wall and landed on his feet. That had always been Tommy’s go-to answer for these things.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he’d been made: one day he wasn’t around, and the next he was. Considering how Lady Death had sometimes spoken to him as a child, he was pretty sure she’d made him, which was why he’d tried to make a connection with Phil. He was her husband—surely that sort of made them family, right? But Phil had never had any interest in Tommy back. He’d just bombed his country, the right bastard.
Toad didn’t seem to have the answers he needed.
“I’m off.”
“Wait,” Toad said, voice tinged with an odd sort of panic. Tommy sharpened to attention. “You should stay. I’m training to be a hero. If you need help—”
“Fuck off! I don’t need help!” Rapidly backing up, Tommy bared his teeth at Toad, hackles raised.
He never should have talked to this weirdo! What did he want? Clearly, he was bad news. Either he was trying to get something from Tommy, or he was pitying him. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “I bet you’re a fuckin’ pervert or something! Wrong’un!”
“I—”
Seized with an odd panic, Tommy grasped for an ender pearl and then threw it as hard as he could. Landing on some random roof, he dropped down on his back, breathing heavy. What had been his deal? Taking deep breaths, Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, searching for calm. What he wouldn’t do to see Tubbo right now. He didn’t like being alone. He wanted to be home.
Toad’s strange declaration rattled around in his mind. “Training to be a hero”. What exactly did that mean? Was there some weird rp bullshit around here Tommy didn’t know about.
You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!
Tommy shivered. Maybe a part of him had wanted to be a hero—wanted to be accepted with open arms again by the people who now despised his existence. Who exiled him. But more than anything, he’d just wanted back the place he loved, which was now lost to him.
He wouldn’t abandon it, though. Not ever. Even if L’Manberg had been destroyed, he still had people he needed to get back to.
Todoroki, while not the quietest student Aizawa had, was certainly not the most outgoing. That meant as soon as Todoroki had called him, alarm bells had been going off inside his mind. While the whole class had received Aizawa’s work number after the USJ incident, Aizawa had hoped none of them would ever need to use it — and he expected it from Todoroki least of all.
“Todoroki,” he greeted, voice serious. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing with me, sensei,” was the dutiful reply. “I simply had an… issue I felt I should report to you. I wasn’t sure who else to tell.”
Aizawa resisted the urge to sigh, but it was a near thing. He could already tell this was going to be a hassle.