Chapter Text
Tommy wasn’t nervous to start at a new college. It was just something he grew used to over time. Maybe due to the constant movement he had at age sixteen or how normal anxieties fell flat compared to an ancient curse and literal immortality.
Either way, he sat downstairs, eating cereal before he’d walk to school later. Phil offered to drive him but Tommy overheard his business calls earlier this morning so he thought he’d give the man time to deal with that. Something stressful about a missing museum artefact.
As he shovelled another spoon of frosted flakes into his mouth, stomping came from upstairs. Wilbur ran down, looking more disgruntled than usual. He had Roose in his arms, who hissed at him.
Wilbur put her down on the dinner table. “Watch her for me, she’s pissed at Techno. Be right back,” he said and ran back upstairs, Tommy vaguely hearing, “Technoblade, get the fuck out of bed!” then a crashing sound afterwards.
He paused mid-bite to stare at the calico cat. Roose nosed at his breakfast bowl, her whiskers edging too close to the milk.
“This isn’t for you,” he said. Her eyes slit at him, almost daringly. She moved closer. “Roose, no.” And then closer. “Roose!” She stopped and meowed. “Fine!”
He got up and grabbed a bowl of dry food. Then placed it in front of her, glaring at the cat as she practically dove into the bowl.
Tommy kept a small smile to himself as the two ate their breakfast together. He stroked her back with his free hand and surprisingly, she let him.
His bonding with Roose got interrupted by Techno walking down the stairs. His footsteps were light despite the grumpy look on his face. Techno groaned at the brightness of the kitchen lights and shuffled over to the coffee machine.
"What's up with you?" Tommy asked with a mouth full of cereal."
"I woke up to being threatened with my own swords," Techno grumbled. "Ignore Wilbur's black eye when he comes down."
Tommy stopped petting Roose.
"You gave him a black eye?"
"No, funnily enough, he bumped into my bookshelf. For real this time," Techno said as his coffee finished pouring into his mug. "Okay, maybe I chased him but he tried to kill me."
“Sounds fair enough.”
“Exactly, you get me.”
Techno dumped an unhealthy amount of sugar into his coffee. An amount that should worry your dental hygiene and glucose levels. But, something else then caught Tommy's eye.
"You have your earring back," he stated. The dangling emerald peaked out between the pink strands.
"Phil got me a new one," Techno said. A look flushed over him, a redness almost matching his hair. "Uh, sorry about being cryptic about it last time. I didn't mean to interrupt you and Dad."
Tommy's jaw clenched.
"It's fine," he muttered, meaning I'm over it.
He couldn't deal with another thing to bundle up inside. Another explosive element other than the heat in his soul. Sure, it bothered him a bit, it seethed under the smoke, that this house wasn't upfront with him despite their speeches of transparency. Though, he needed these twinges of hurt to go away. He didn't want another open flame.
His thoughts broke by a phone ringing. Techno's phone vibrated on the table, the screen projecting a caller contact saying, Sophie - Uni. The ringing tune continued and Tommy's eyes flickered up to Techno, gesturing him to answer it. But Techno stared down blankly at his phone. He took another sip of his coffee, watching as the call stopped ringing.
"Never go to university, Tommy," Techno said, breaking his silence. "If you do, take the loan and run. Then drop out after your first semester. Never stay until the third year."
Before he could question Techno's advice, loud footsteps echoed. Intrusive thumps, demanding attention. Wilbur trampled over to the kitchen. His hair was messier than how it looked when he first came down with Roose. Yet, there was no injury on his face. No redness around either of his eyes, zero evidence of a pre-forming bruise.
“I thought you said you injured his eye,” Tommy said to Techno.
Wilbur froze in his next step. He promptly twisted round, his back facing Tommy. His hand came up to rub at his eye and Tommy swore there was a blue spark. Then, Wilbur turned back around. His left eye was red, a pinkish line underneath it as if he had walked straight into a hard shelf.
"It's there," Wilbur said.
Tommy frowned. "It wasn't like that before—"
"Must be the kitchen's weird lightning," Techno interrupted.
"Yep," Wilbur easily agreed. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, snatched Roose from the table, and turned to leave. "Anyway, have fun at school you two!"
"Okay, unemployed dropout," Techno called back, grinning.
"Shut the fuck up!"
A frown still furrowed Tommy's face because what had just happened? Wilbur's eye wasn't like that before. But maybe he wasn't looking in the right place to find the mark from the shelf.
Tommy shrugged and finished his cereal.
“Am I driving you to college?” Techno suddenly asked.
“Uh, I was gonna walk.”
Techno hummed, then shook his head. “I’m driving you. You got lunch?”
“No, but there’s a cafeteria—”
“And waste money on that? No, I’m packing you lunch.” Techno stood up.
“You don't have to.”
“This could be just an excuse for me to poison your food, don’t take this as kindness.”
Tommy sighed as Techno scavenged around the kitchen to make him lunch in one of those plastic containers the bio kids in past houses had for school. He was always given a disposable bag, something temporary.
Just watching Techno butter a sandwich made Tommy's head feel weird. It was a nice weird but unwelcome. It wasn’t something he wanted to feel, to relish in and find relief in. Yet, that relief was there. Ease following in this storm of solace.
Finally, Techno had pushed the lunch box in front of him and gestured for him to get his stuff to leave. Yet as Tommy opened the door, Techno stopped him.
“It’s cold out.”
“Yeah?”
“Dad needs to get you a new coat,” Techno muttered under his breath as he grabbed his own coat from the rack and shoved it at Tommy.
It was the same coat he wore before when he explored the nature reserve. The fluffy hood and soft interior. It smelled like Techno too—the cologne he used.
“Wear this for now.”
He stilled. This morning alone was just too much of everything. Domesticity with having breakfast in a kitchen, confusion with whatever Wilbur did, and then this softness in his chest because of Techno. With him making him lunch, his offer—his demand—to drive him to school. And for him to wear his coat so he didn't get cold.
Tommy slid on the coat, arms warming up almost immediately. It seemed he failed to hide his smile as Techno grinned back at him, lips twitched into something comforting to receive.
But then that smile dropped as soon as they entered the car and Techno said, “I’m not insured to drive Phil’s car by the way,” before speeding off.
The rest of the day was dull. When he found his buildings for his classes, met his teachers and avoided eye contact with practically everyone.
It wasn’t until he opened up that lunch box that the smile returned. There was a note over the sandwich that was cut into two pieces diagonally. The note said: one of these is poisoned. Pick wisely. He picked up the one on the right side and ate it.
Tommy had gone to college for a couple of days now and nothing really had changed. There were hiccups at the house, the issues of someone acting weird and Tommy not really understanding. But college stayed the same. He had a schedule, a routine. He stuck to himself.
But that was until some random guy approached him during his free period. He was minding his own business, sketching stuff for his coursework and portfolio. Then someone towered over him.
He glanced up. They were wearing a face mask and had a haircut that somehow looked like every member of a conventional boy band combined.
“Are you an artist?” the boy asked. It was more of a demand soaked in desperation, an unsurfaced, please say yes, please, please.
“I do art.”
“Okay, so hypothetically, what would happen if someone ingested a medium-sized amount of paint?”
“What counts as medium-sized and what paint?”
“Uh, like a big blob of latex paint.”
Tommy nodded, thinking. “Well, from experience—”
“From experience?” the boy squawked out.
“—latex paint is fine to eat, so your friend won’t be poisoned.”
The boy gaped at him. “You’ve eaten latex paint?”
“There was a lack of judgement, somewhere.”
“Okay, okay,” the boy muttered to himself, the panic seemingly back. “Alright, I’m Ranboo and I need your help.”
The next thing Tommy knew this boy, Ranboo, pulled him across the college grounds until they reached the outside courtyard. Two other students stood beside a badly painted brick wall with spilt paint buckets beside them.
The person in question who ate paint was obvious. The yellow liquid was still around the brown-haired boy's mouth.
Before he could even ask what happened, the boy yelled out, “Aimsey called me a bitch and made me eat paint.”
The person beside him scoffed, “My response was perfectly reasonable.”
Tommy glanced between the two. “You seem proud of what you did."
“Last round, it was my turn and Tubbo dared me to go home. This was the only way to retaliate.”
“Obviously," Tommy agreed.
“Obviously, of course,” she repeated, nodding.
Tommy then turned to Ranboo. “So instead of going to medical, you hunted the cafeteria for an art student?”
Ranboo scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I asked someone before you because they were scribbling down something. Turns out it was their school schedule and they’re dropping out tomorrow.”
“I’m guessing they were no help then.”
“He told me to go away,” Ranboo hesitated to say.
Tommy gave him a look. “You were told to go fuck yourself, weren’t you?”
“Yeah...”
Tommy let out a laugh. Then helped the rest of them bring Tubbo to the bathroom to get the paint off his face.
Tubbo leaned against the sink. “I feel like my throat is a lazy river but it’s not lazy and is drowning me.”
“So not a lazy river?” Tommy offered.
“Pretty much.”
“Drink more,” he said as he practically forced the bottle of water into Tubbo’s hands. Tubbo slammed his head against the wall with a groan.
Tommy awkwardly patted his back. “There, there. It could be a lava pool inside your throat instead.”
“You’re not helping.”
“You get this or nothing.”
Tubbo began to laugh but then gagged again. It wasn't until Tubbo started to talk in more metaphors about how disgusting and painfully revolting latex paint that Tommy walked away.
Ranboo stopped him before he exited the bathroom.
“Wait, I didn't say thank you."
“All I did was admit to you I’d eaten paint in the past and rub Tubbo’s back as he cried.”
“I didn’t cry!” Tubbo protested from behind them.
“I could see your tears," Tommy called back.
“What is your name, by the way? Sorry, I never asked," Ranboo asked.
He blinked. He wasn’t used to people asking that.
“Tommy.”
“Hm, well, Tommy have you got any free periods on Monday?”
“I have one right before lunch.”
Ranboo's eyebrows raised. “Oh? That so happens to be when Tubbo has a free too.”
“You know his schedule?”
“I know everyone’s schedules except my own.”
“Sounds efficient.”
Ranboo glared light-heartedly. “If you want after that free, you can hang out with us at lunch.”
He blanked for a moment. He wasn't used to things being this simple. Everything was always unknown, a mystery wrapped in his own death. But he liked this. The simplicity and innocence of a budding friendship over potential paint-poisoning.
“Sure.”
“At least try to sound enthusiastic.”
“This is my enthusiastic voice,” Tommy deadpanned, trying to sound as Techno-like as possible.
Ranboo smiled. “Then I’ll see you on Monday.”
Later, when Phil picked him up, there was a different air in the car. It was lighter, or maybe it was because Tommy felt lighter. He didn’t realise how much he hated that routine he had in college of just doing the work and not talking to anyone.
“Good day?” Phil asked.
“Yeah,” Tommy mumbled with an inkling of a smile just thinking about it. “Made a couple friends, I think.”
“Nice,” Phil said as he started up the car. “Y’know I never clarified but you’re fine to go round other people’s houses and for them to come round here if you ask first.”
Tommy hadn’t even thought about that. He'd never been in a situation before with past houses. He either stayed their not long enough to have friendships like that or didn't click with anyone in the area.
“What if these people actively eat paint?”
Phil spared a look over at him. “What?”
“Like, indigestion of—”
“So I did hear you right,” Phil muttered. “Well, Wilbur used to eat Play-Doh.”
That somehow made sense with how Wilbur turned out.
“I am so glad to not be biologically related to you.”
Phil laughed dryly. “Well, there is a curse somewhere in these genes.” Though his laughter faded as soon as those words left him, his mouth twitching downwards. “Uh, anyway, eaters of paint are welcome in my house as long as I’m not liable for their health.”
“You won’t get sued, don’t worry Phil.”
A moment passed.
“It’s Friday today, so we’re getting takeout. Do you have any preferences?”
He paused. Thinking for a moment. He didn't really know. He had Indian that one time which he liked but then pizza was also—
Tommy stopped. Fuck. He could slap himself right now. It was stupid, he was stupid. The fact that he didn't immediately think, what would the others want? For a slipping moment, he thought for himself, he considered what he would prefer. He was so stupid for diverting from what he had tried so hard throughout the years to ingrain in himself.
He cleared his throat. “What does everyone else like?”
“Hm, I would’ve asked them if I wanted to consider that,” Phil said. “I asked you, Tommy. Either of them is fine with anything. Wilbur has weird taste buds and Techno will eat anything except pork.”
Tommy gulped. It took a while to let himself have these thoughts seep back in, the selfish ones considering what he would prefer. The ones he reprehended before, all about himself, his own favourites.
“Indian?” he suggested, hesitant in case this was all a test from Phil.
“Fine with me, I like the papadums.”
Relief flooded through him. His ears cleared.
Tommy found himself grinning. “Same. In the other house, I used to make fake burgers with papadums. But the parents would always get so pissed because the rice and meat I’d put inside it would spill everywhere when I bit into it.”
He gushed and gushed, that grin widening before he realised. It all dropped. What if Phil didn’t like him bringing up past houses? Past foster parents? People other than him.
His face paled.
But then there was laughter that wasn’t his own. Laughter coming from Phil. He glanced over from his shaking hands to see Phil smiling at his shared story.
“You can do that tonight but put a napkin over your lap or something so it catches the mess.”
“Will do,” Tommy exhaled, surprised.
A lot of things keep surprising him lately. And weirdly, he didn't hate this one.
Tommy sat in his room about to text Kristin because he liked to bother her. But then there was a knocking at his door. The knocking pattern sounded familiar. He got up off the end of his bed and opened it. In front of him stood Wilbur and Techno.
“It’s been a week, it’s time to test you,” Wilbur said before tugging him downstairs. Tommy frowned but let himself be pulled.
“Test me?” he repeated.
Neither of his foster brothers answered him before they stopped in front of a door downstairs. It was a room he hadn’t entered before, the one opposite Phil’s office. The door to the basement.
“We couldn’t do it to the last foster as she was a literal five-year-old and we’re—” Wilbur stopped himself, looked over to Techno, “—and I’m not mean enough to put a child through this.”
“Don’t give me that look, Belle was a tough one, she would have liked it.”
“She was scared of ladybugs, Technoblade! She’d be petrified!”
“Of what?” Tommy interrupted. “What test?”
The two went silent. Wilbur pushed open the basement door. There was a staircase leading downwards into the dark. A pull-chain light hung beside the staircase.
“It is time to test you against the basement,” Wilbur said, ominously. But then his expression changed, probably noticing Tommy's concern. “We just want to show you it.”
“So it’s not a test?”
Techno shook his head. “Not really. But it’s fun to call it that.”
Tommy sighed before walking down. He did want to see the basement and this was a nice coincidence. He reached to tug on the light and the room brightened.
The basement was cluttered with what seemed to be everything. There were glass cases with artefacts inside; desks filled with scrolls, papyrus and books. Old weapons lay beside them too, daggers and this weird looped symbol item that could be a paperweight. In the middle of the room, there was a golden set of scales. It pulled to him. But a forceful pull, not something akin to gravity or falling. It tugged at his chest, at the kindling heat inside of him.
Besides the scales were clay jars. Each had an animal head and sideways figures carved into the jar's body. A baboon head, then a jackal, a human, and a falcon.
“Is this it?” Tommy called. Techno’s head peeped out from the top of the staircase.
“Be glad the freaky doll isn’t down there!” Techno yelled back, sounding annoyed. Tommy laughed and continued exploring.
As much as he hated the dust, the stuff down here was interesting.
But then he turned the corner and something stuck out to him. Statues. There were statues, maybe even standing coffins or sarcophaguses, with animal heads. The lion looked familiar. Then the realisation hit him. Along with a pounding in his ears and fuzziness in his feet.
These were the statues he saw in corridors before the realm took him.
Air punched from his chest, he couldn't breathe. His lungs wouldn't respire, nothing would move. He stood stuck, staring at these heads. Eyes wide and brimming with wetness.
Yet the floor didn't dissolve into sand, his surroundings didn't fade. He wasn't moving. This wasn’t the realm, this wasn’t a calling. And yet those statues sat there. Staring. Carved eyes, ears and snouts with their endlessly staring.
Just as the feeling regained in his feet, darkness engulfed the room. He twisted around. Someone had tugged the pull-chain light off. But the dangling threat didn't swing, it was as if no one had touched it.
"Wil?" he shouted, voice wavering. "Techno?"
Footsteps echoed from behind him. He turned back. Something crept in the dark corner. More footsteps rang. As did his heart and the throbbing travelling up to his ears.
Red eyes gazed at him.
Narrow red eyes. The beast's eyes.
His breathing suddenly caught up to him, but too fast. He hitched, uncontrollable as he scrambled back to the stairs.
"Get me out!" he screeched. He could breathe yet it was too much, rapid hitches, gasping for it to leave his lungs slowly.
It was after him. It was here. The monster was inside the house, here to kill him, to kill Wilbur and Techno. He was going to die and bring more death around him. He'd wake up minutes later to blood all over him, but not just his own. Wilbur's blood, Techno's shredded limbs. He'd awaken from resurrection to his foster brothers laying dead beside him.
He reached for the door. Hands pressed to open it more. But it slammed shut. It shut. Leaving him in here. To be eaten and ripped apart. To be slaughtered again after each resurrection, continuing the cycle of taking his fire, air, earth and water.
As he thrashed against the door, tears streamed down his face. His chest ached.
"Please, please, Wil, open the door," he cried.
His closed fists began to heat. Channelling the heat from his face, his tears, everything. It burned. It burned so much until that fire burst. Sparks flew off him, swirls of flames heading in any direction. It knocked over a case, shattering the glass.
But the eyes were still there. The red eyes. To claim and kill him.
“Techno, Wilbur, please," he begged. More flames propelled off him. "Please, I don't know what I did, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—” he broke off into sobs.
More pounding, more hitting until his flaming fists split into red at the knuckles.
“Let me out, please, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry!” everything crumbled down. He pressed himself against the door. Shaking, trembling, because he didn’t want to die.
Then brightness pricked at his eyes. The door sprung open, arms grabbed him. He sobbed openly into those arms, burying his face into someone’s chest, and his chest heaved.
“M’sorry, sorry, sorry, don’t do that again, please—” more sobbing wrecked his throat until a soothing voice overtook him.
“Tommy, Tommy, hey, hey it’s okay.” Wilbur. Wilbur’s voice. Hands cupped his chin up, his blurry vision stared at a distressed Wilbur. “I promise you I did not lock that door, I don’t even know how it shut—”
“Wil, let him breathe first.” Techno. The hands on him, hugging him to someone’s chest. It was Techno. Tommy buried his face into Techno's chest. He smelt the same cologne that was on his coat.
Yet, there was the smell of smoke too.
The fire.
“But- but there’s a fire, there’s fire, I’m sorry, there’s—”
Another soothing voice hushed him. “Shh, it’s okay, Wilbur’s gonna sort it out,” then the hands on his shoulders left. Wilbur left. “Focus on breathing right now.”
Tommy let hands rub circle patterns into his back. He rested his head against Techno’s chest, eyes clenched shut to stop more tears from leaving. His lips trembled as he gasped out breaths, fighting so hard to make them even, to match Techno’s own breathing.
He didn't even know if it was real. If those eyes actually were down there. Tommy had never hallucinated the beast before, but it felt so real.
But Techno was here. Arms wrapped around him. A protecting hold. He was safe here.
The rubbing on his back never ceased.
Eventually, Wilbur returned. Sweat dripped on his forehead and he rubbed his hands against his trousers.
“It’s fine,” he said to Techno. Then looked down at Tommy. “Are you alright?” Wilbur asked so carefully. It was a careful glance too. But caring all the same.
“Yeah,” he croaked out, sitting up. “Is the basement okay?”
“It’s fine, there’s no fire. You must have just imagined that bit in the panic,” Wilbur said, smiling tightly. “All fine.”
He nodded. Too clouded in the head and exhausted to even think about it. To remember the flames and heat leaving him, the sparks and burning.
“What if we watch something? Just the three of us to relax,” Wilbur suggested. “Good old bonding after a panic attack and horrible experience with a door.”
“I think he’s had enough of us,” Techno said but Tommy shook his head.
He didn’t want to be alone right now. Because what if the eyes came back? What if when he walked up those stars, glowing red eyes were waiting for him at the end of the hallway? Eyes in his wardrobe, in the reflection of his window, underneath his bed.
Tommy knew neither Techno nor Wilbur locked the door too or even slammed it shut. There were no hands behind the slamming. It was something to do with the eyes, with the monster and those coffins. The realm.
“No, I want to watch something.”
Techno guided him over to the sofa whilst Wilbur prepared snacks and the film. He sat in the middle of the long sofa. Techno to his left, Wilbur on the right.
Though, Tommy wasn't relaxed. Elbows and arms were nowhere near touching him as the brothers reserved themselves in the far corners of the sofa. Usually, in other houses, they'd crowd around the seats. Tommy hated the touch along with the claustrophobia it brought. There was always someone leaning on or over him. Yet now, he wanted that.
He wanted a gentle pressure resting beside him, to remind him he was here. That Schlatt or Dream wouldn't walk through that front door, crocodile red eyes trailing after them.
Tommy yearned for that reminder. For the film to fill the room with ease so they'd move closer to him in time. That maybe they'd shuffle towards him, arms brushing against his, legs slotting together. Close enough so he could lean his head against one of their shoulders. Perhaps even lay his head in someone's lap and his legs on the other. To sleep surrounded by comfort and a heat he didn't fear for once.
But neither of them moved. Not even an inch. And if they did, it wasn't towards Tommy. It was to grab some snacks from the coffee table.
Tommy sighed and tucked his legs to his chest, arms locked around them. He hugged himself because no one else would.
But then, a slight shuffle of movement from his left.
“You cold?” Techno muttered, leaning closer to be quiet.
“A bit,” he whispered back. It was a lie. he was never cold.
“We don’t have blankets down here, blame Phil,” Techno said and got up, then returned quickly with a jacket. Tommy hadn’t seen this jacket before, not on the coat racks.
Techno draped it over him. He froze for a second, letting Techno lay it. Once he finished, he snuggled into it. He wrapped it more comfortably around himself. For some reason, he found himself smiling into the soft material.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, yawning slightly. Exhausted seeped over him, from the screaming, the tears and yelling.
Techno didn’t move back. He stayed close to Tommy and then he reached over to slap Wilbur’s leg.
“What?” Wilbur bit out.
“Kid’s tired.”
“And?”
“Dumbass, be useful for once,” Techno said as he gave Wilbur a glare, then a shared knowing look between them.
Wilbur nodded and scooted closer to Tommy. Their shoulders touched. A spike of something rushed through Tommy, something that wasn’t heat. It was nice. A dark feeling, but not dark as immoral, but dark as in blanketed. As if a deep night sky had washed over him. Cosy and tranquil. The peace that came with stargazing.
“This okay?” Wilbur whispered, sounding so considerate and patient about a simple touch of their shoulders.
He nodded and Wilbur’s arm then reached out and tucked him into his side. The arm held him there. Safe. His smile widened under the jacket.
This was what he wanted.
As the film continued, Tommy’s head lolled over onto Wilbur’s shoulder, sleep almost taking him. He could feel Techno’s arm brushing against his own.
Then, another whisper, “If this dickhead drools on me Techno, I will kill you.”
“Noted.”
As he was just about to fall asleep, the front door opened. He jumped at the sudden noise but kept his eyes closed. He leaned further into Wilbur’s side.
“Dad! Shh!” Wilbur exclaimed.
Then, “Is that my jacket?” it was Phil’s voice, sounding different. Strained but a good strained.
“You’re the reason all the blankets are upstairs so it’s only fair I use it as a blanket for Tommy,” Techno said.
Wilbur scoffed, “At least try to hide how much you like this, Dad.”
“Shut it, you little shit.”
“Join us, I think Tommy’s asleep though,” Wilbur said and another arm wrapped around Tommy, both hands interlinked around him, properly tucking him into Wilbur’s side. One across his back and the over his front. “Yeah, he’d fucking smack me or something if I did that if he was awake.”
“He wouldn’t smack you,” Phil interjected.
“He’d want to though.”
“Who doesn’t?” Techno said, causing Phil to laugh.
Just as Wilbur began to complain, Tommy drifted off. Maybe because of a new hand that began to play with his hair or because of how warm this all felt.
Regardless, he liked the little braid at the ends of his hair he awoke to have in the morning.