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Tommy remembers when he was younger, they ate a lot of potatoes. Techno had a little patch in the garden where he grew them amongst their other crops, and the flowers Tommy may or may not have convinced Phil to let him plant. Not because he thought they were pretty or anything— just because they were… Practical. Like the potatoes!
The potato patch was always impressive too, (but definitely not as impressive as his definitely practical flowers), but certainly much, much more impressive than their other crop yields. It’s not to say that they were bad, but Techno had thrown himself into caring for their potatoes. Always researching how to grow them best, for a bigger and bigger yield, until their cupboards were piled high with stacks and stacks of potatoes.
It’s needless to say, that they ate a lot of potatoes but Tommy wasn’t complaining! Not only was Techno good at growing potatoes, but he was great at cooking them too! He always seemed to know just how to cook them, and just how to season them to make them fluffy and flavourful— perfect. He always seemed to find new and creative ways to cook them up so they didn’t get bored of eating potato everything. Tommy was always excited to see what Techno would do with them, wether it be crisps, chips, croquettes or just a simple jacket potato.
But at some point, Techno stopped coming home as much, busy on longer and longer trips with Phil until they barely saw them anymore. At some point, the potato patch withered away without Techno’s skilled hands to sew them.
Wilbur tried once but it wasn’t the same. They haven’t touched it since. Techno and Phil speak nothing of it on the occasions they do see them, so neither do they. Wilbur, as he often does when it comes to matters involving Phil and Techno, pretends that he doesn’t care, stating that they’re not worth the time being upset over. Especially if they can’t even find the time to stick around. He swears off potatoes and Tommy agrees. Even if he longs for just the reminder of home and what it once was, but… Wilbur’s all he has now, and when has Wilbur ever led him wrong?
Surprisingly, it lasts until Pogtopia because unsurprisingly, one of the first things Techno does upon his arrival is make a new, low maintenance potato farm.
Tommy tries to pretend it’s the same but it’s not.
Techno’s still not really around that much. Tommy’s generally aware of his presence sure, especially when he leaves a small modicum of evidence of his existence but it’s not enough. He’s still a rare sight compared to before, when he spends all day out gathering supplies or whatever it is that he’s doing.
Wilbur was never quite as good at cooking as Techno or Phil but they made do like always. They had to. Tommy wasn’t great at cooking either, but he tried his best when the task fell on his shoulder which was… More often than not.
But it’s fine because everyone’s just busy and that makes sense! Revolution waits for no man, or so they tell him.
And it’s fine, because at the very least he has Wilbur— and Tubbo when he’s not in Manberg. Sure, maybe it’s not quite reminiscent of what once was, (a comfort he’d foolishly, desperately hoped for), but it was at least reminiscent of after and of L’Manberg. The country they’d founded. That they were kicked out of. Still fighting tooth and nail for.
And it had to count for something. It had to— even if it wasn’t the same, it had to count for something.
And it… That was fine. It was fine.
Or, it was, until he suddenly finds Wilbur making himself more and more scarce. Eventually, he starts ignoring Tommy’s pleas to just come out and eat with him altogether. Eventually, he just resigns himself to knocking on Wil’s door and leaving his dinner on the floor. He sits there and waits as he eats his own, hoping that maybe today will be different and he’ll actually come out, but he never does. In fact, more often than not, he still finds the bowl there in the morning, untouched. His concerns are always brushed off.
It leaves Tommy alone more often than not, what with Tubbo off spying, and Techno getting materials and Wilbur… And it was fine! He got that they were busy, it's just— it wasn’t the same. Not when he’s sat in a dark, dingy, damp ravine that would of course not even come close to replicating their old family dinners, or the meals they shared in the Camarvan. Especially when, even as their rebellion grows, he still often finds himself alone. Alone with his frantic thoughts, free to wander. To worry, sometimes to the point that just the thought of eating his poorly cooked potatoes makes him feel nauseous.
And it certainly wasn’t the same when Tubbo finds himself with a firework through his skull at Techno’s own hands, and certainly not when Tommy finds himself bloodied and bruised by Techno’s own hands in the aftermath, Wilbur egging them on all too eagerly in the background. It stays in the pit— yeah, right! Tubbo’s gonna carry those scars for the rest of his life— Nether, he’d lost a life! But apparently, he’d lost the right to complain when he lost a fight with Technoblade. Wronguns, the both of them!
He doesn’t leave Tubbo’s side. At some point, Niki appears to check up on him and tries to patch him up as best as she can. Tommy pretends that his hands don’t shake as he thinks of Tubbo, staring at the bandages adorning a large majority of his right side. Pretends they don’t shake as he thinks about how Technoblade had caused it. As he thinks of how his gut wrenching fear had returned full force when he realised in the aftermath that he didn’t know where Wilbur was. He’d been so sure he was going to follow in Techno’s footsteps and blow the festival sky high, but he hadn’t— at least, not yet he hadn’t. He’d been granted one small, merciful reprieve and he was unsure why— and it’s not that he’s complaining! He’d rather Wilbur not blow up L’Manberg, but he’d made it quite clear that he wants to, but maybe it meant that Wilbur could still be persuaded— that there was still hope!
Niki offers him some kind of soup, or something which of course basically just consists of potatoes. He thanks her and shovels it down in a rage, still pretending that his hands aren’t shaking. Pretending that it doesn’t taste bitter on his tongue, like smoke and gunpowder and another betrayal. Another war. It was never meant to be.
He pretends that it’s fine.
It’s not.
It’s certainly not fine when only a few days later, L’Manberg finally falls at Wilbur’s hands, Technoblade needlessly aiding in the destruction with Withers…
It’s certainly not fine when he sees Phil for the first time in years, holding a sword through his sons— Tommy’s brother’s chest…
Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, it doesn’t get much better from there.
He swears off potatoes again. A silent homage to Wilbur and all that they lost. A silent protest, to the rest of his family and the role they played in it—… Or something like that, anyway. He doesn’t really care, as long as he doesn’t have to eat any more of the disgusting things ever again.
He probably has more important things to worry about anyway. Like the fact that Tubbo fucking exiled him!
Ghostbur doesn’t seem to understand Tommy’s aversion to potatoes, or understand much of anything really. He thinks they’re on holiday, for Prime’s sake! And he won’t stop talking about their good old family dinners with much the same rose tinted glasses as he views everything. More often than not, Tommy finds himself subjected to Ghostbur’s rants about it as he mines aimlessly for supplies that he knows Dream will inevitably destroy but— it’s okay! They’re lads on tour after all and some company is certainly better than nothing… And Dream…
But that not fair! Dream’s just trying to teach him to be better, like any good friend would!
Tommy doesn’t eat much of anything in Logsted, it turns out. There’s not really all that much that’s edible around. He does have Mushroom Henry he supposes, but he’d rather not bother him. And besides, in the morning, he’s usually feeling too sick from exhaustion, the cold, another nightmare, waking up drowning for the third time this week, the loneliness— in the afternoon, he’s usually too busy mining, or in the Nether, or napping or hanging out with Dream. By nightfall, he’s too exhausted to even consider it, all too ready for another busy day to be over and done with. Most days, he doesn’t see the point in collecting food anyway, if Dream’s just gonna show up and destroy it the next day.
But because Dream is such a great friend, he brings Tommy food sometimes when he’s been good! Sometimes, he even does it just to be nice like when he brought cake to the Beach Party!
It seems too that Dream had caught on to Ghostbur’s ramblings at some point. He— he doesn’t actually know where Ghostbur’s gone, but he’s sure that it’s fine because he has Dream and that should be enough. It would be selfish of him to demand all of Ghostbur’s time and attention, and well— he deserves to be at peace, doesn’t he?
Tommy’s not worthy of his attention or love. He’d rather Ghostbur be allowed to move on peacefully than have to put up with him on their ‘endless vacation.’ That’s why he needs Dream to help fix him. Make him worthy. Make anyone want to stick around.
He still remembers Ghostbur’s retelling of his death. Wilbur wanted it. Was happy. He seemingly found some semblance of peace in his final moments.
Tommy wonders if maybe he would be happy too.
Regardless, one day, Dream shows up and seems pleased with Tommy’s swift disposal of his meagre belongings, because he’s getting better— he is! So, Dream offers him something that takes him by surprise.
It’s… A jacket potato, but it’s so much more in the way that Dream hands it to him uncaring.
“Ghostbur mentioned you used to eat these a lot as a kid, so I thought you might like it. Especially seeing as you’ve been missing L’Manberg so much— and you’ve been doing so good lately! You’re finally learning!” He says, breaking off with a chuckle. “Although, I will admit, it’s a little hard to imagine Technoblade being so obsessed with these things. I mean, really— it’s a bit of an odd hobby for the Blood God, don’t you think?”
“Thank you, Dream.” He says, simply for lack of a better response. Dream doesn’t like being ignored, nor does he like his generosity being refused, so Tommy takes the light jab for what it is and eats. He should be used to it by now, and he doesn’t think he’s in the place to be refusing food right now, even if it is potatoes. He tries not to feel bad about breaking his silent, perhaps childish, vow. He pretends that the taste still doesn’t remind him of bitter betrayals. Of broken families, and ash and smoke. The crumbling rubble beneath his feet. Of loneliness and the biting cold, and a forever smiling mask that watches him silently, as it does most days.
He pretends it’s the same. It’s not— never could be when he’s sat in the middle of nowhere with Dream, eating his shitty potatoes that aren’t even half as good as Techno’s— but it has to be. It has to be the same because Tommy doesn’t know what else he’d do without Dream. He was only the one who stayed— who cared and that had to be enough, it had to!
But it wasn’t enough when Tommy woke up drowning, nor was it enough when he stared from his screaming post in Nether or thought about how his family had taken everything he loved away from him. How Tubbo had followed in their footsteps. It wasn’t enough when he thought about how no one even cared— aside from Dream, and Tommy was supposed to hate him. Yet he was his only friend and he cared… Even if it didn’t always feel like it. It wasn’t enough when he kept seeing Tubbo at the corners of his vision when he wasn’t really there, and other times where seemingly let the pain, and the thirst and the hunger get to him. It wasn’t enough when he was slowly losing himself to a dull, miserable monotony and numb apathy. It wasn’t enough when the illusion snapped and he was deathly afraid of setting Dream off and desperately seeking his approval, only to let out a sigh of relief when he left. Then, the loneliness would once again creep in and Tommy would desperately await his return, and the cycle would repeat. It’s wasn’t the same— but it reminds him of Pogtopia in a way and even of before, strangely enough.
Dream discovers his bunker— his last hope and blows it all to smithereens. Tommy doesn’t know when he’s coming back— when anyone’s coming back. Not when Dream’s so angry, and deems that destroying the entirety of Logsted wasn’t enough of a punishment. Not when his Nether portal lies destroyed alongside it. Not when Tommy’s heart lays ripped out and smeared around the rubble in shattered pieces all over again.
He builds a tower sky high and realises that it wasn’t the same and never will be. Not like this. Not with Dream. He was only there to watch him. To keep him in line.
He refuses to die because of it, so he picks up the broken remains of his heart and tries vainly to lodge them into a shape with a spark and some hope, and resolutely storms into the woods despite knowing the consequences.
If Dream finds him out here, then at least he’ll die knowing that he tried. One final stand.
Technoblade ends up finding him in the end, because he’d unknowingly hidden in his cabin. He should’ve guessed really, because who else would hoard so many Gapples? In his defense, he wasn’t in the best place to question it after once again finding himself in the direct firing line of an explosion, and walking miles in a blizzard.
Of course it doesn’t take Techno long to find him and whilst he does incessantly ask about why Tommy’s in his house, he doesn’t ask a whole lot else, to his surprise. He’s not complaining though! He doesn’t think he really wants to try and explain… All that to Techno anyway.
He’s surprised Techno doesn’t want to kill him, and he’s even more surprised that Techno lets him stay. Dream had made it seem like he was pretty mad at him and well, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised considering. He’s surprised too that when Techno finds him, he looks almost as tired as he is and looks a little worse for wear in a way that is odd for Techno. Tommy doesn’t bother to try and pry either, a little nervous of pushing this tenuous… Alliance.
He’s admittedly even more surprised that Techno’s willing to keep him away from Dream without question, and he’s grateful, he is! He doesn’t know what he’d do if he ended up back in exile— doesn’t want to know. So he tries his best to make himself useful, so they can both get to their goals. Even if the idea of blowing up L’Manberg is ever conflicting to Tommy. He does really want his discs back and he sees what Techno’s saying about the whole revenge thing. He gets it, he thinks. It doesn’t really matter what he thinks though, because he’s not really sure where the line is with Techno— not anymore and he really doesn’t want to push it. Not when, for the first time in a while, things are at least okay. There’s seemingly some hope— an ally by his side, something. Something real.
Dare he even say, something familiar. Safe.
He hasn’t seen Techno or Phil for a long time. Techno visited once, at the start of exile to taunt him which wasn’t really appreciated, but Tommy’s long since got over being mad about it. Phil visited a few times as well, probably dragged along begrudgingly by Ghostbur, considering he didn't even bother to show up to his Beach Party. Even had the nerve to ask him how it was, like an asshole. But just as Tommy is surprised by Techno, he’s surprised at the shock on Phil’s face when he finds him in his cabin.
“L’Manberg thinks you’re dead.” He tells him, just like Ranboo. Tommy thinks he might be relieved, from the way he watches his wings slump slightly behind him, but he could very well be wrong. He doesn’t want to be tricked into thinking people care about him. Not again. Not after before.
Unsure of what to say to that, he gives Phil a typical, witty reply, assures him that he's fine, and that Dream’s just a dramatic lying bitch, because he is and he sends him off on his way to find Technoblade.
They predictably eat a lot of potatoes, and it’s nice. Maybe still not the same, but nice. Much more homely than he’s used to them being.
He shouldn’t have fooled himself into thinking that it would last.
Tommy chooses Tubbo and a nation falls despite their best efforts, but he had to. He wouldn’t work with Dream, especially not to destroy his home and he couldn’t let Tubbo down any further. Despite everything, he was his best friend and he missed him. He missed L’Manberg and now it was gone again, turned to rubble at the hands of Dream, and Techno and Phil, seemingly wanting to remove the last physical trace remaining of his brother off the SMP. He shouted at Techno through the chaos, and he spat back with much the same vitriol, and in the end, Tommy always loses.
He swears off potatoes again.
Ghostbur still doesn’t seem to understand, largely forgetting about Doomsday which shouldn’t be surprising at this point. Tommy’s long since given up on trying to explain it to him anyway, just like he refused to explain his distaste for Phil’s plans to revive Wilbur. Apparently, he suddenly regretted the decision or something. He wouldn’t know— he had to force himself to leave, chest tight at the thought.
He’s secretly glad it doesn’t work and how sad is that? Tommy doesn’t think he’s a good brother.
He supposed things were okay otherwise. He had the hotel and Sam Nook to protect him. Sure, he hasn’t seen Tubbo a whole lot, but they finally got the discs back! He just had to ignore the Egg, and Jack and Niki, and the fact that Techno and Phil probably still hated him, and the fact that he wanted to revive Wilbur, and the fact that Tubbo and Ranboo seemed perfectly happy without him and Dream—…
Tommy often finds himself looking at the prison from atop the hotel. Tall and imposing, holding the man he despises so, and yet…
It’s not long before he finds himself in the prison visiting Dream, a desperate attempt for closure. It’s not long before Tommy finds himself stuck in the prison, because damn it he just can’t let anything go!
He cries for Sam. He cries for Phil. No one comes. Dream says he can’t hear him in here, but he doesn’t care. He wants out!
Dream keeps giving him potatoes. Tommy thinks it’s ironic, when Dream says it’ll be just like old times— that they’ll have fun again. He thinks that maybe he could at least use the potatoes to beat Dream up, but he ends up throwing most of them in the lava with everything else. He doesn’t want Dream’s shitty potatoes, he wants out!
Somehow, he lasts the week. He finds it in him somewhere to put up with Dream, and eventually has to force himself to eat the gross, uncooked potatoes that seem to be considered food. And even for all that, Sam still won’t let him out. Won’t even give them anything other than his shitty, raw potatoes because he’s a bitch and Tommy hates him!
He doesn’t last much longer than that, finally pushing Dream over the edge. In the end, Dream ends up the one who uses the potatoes as a weapon instead, and Tommy ends up dead because of it.
He tells him that it was only two days, but it felt like he spent months in limbo with Wilbur. In total darkness. Being alive again is a sudden, stark contrast. Dream pesters him about it whilst Tommy tries to convince him not to revive Wilbur. Typically, Dream won’t listen. Tommy stutters through a half-baked explanation before resorting once again to shouting, and hopes that this time he won’t be killed for it.
He doesn’t want to die. Not again. He— he can’t. He can’t!
At some point, he gives him more potatoes. Tommy once again thinks about using them to kill Dream, but he can’t bring himself to return what he did in kind. He can’t face being in here alone, even if it means being stuck with him. At some point, he finally has to cave to his hunger, appearing full force after being dead for so long. So, he just resigns himself to eating the potatoes again. He pretends that they still don’t taste like shit— worse than before, in fact. He wonders what Dream did with the one that’s likely covered in his blood, and then decided that that’s exactly what they taste like. Blood. His blood. There’s still a patch on the floor from where it had been spilled. He tries not to gag at the thought.
He pretends it’s fine. It’s not.
It takes about another week before Sam finds them. They think so, anyway. It’s hard to tell the time in a dark, encased box when Tommy threw their clock away. He gave some more potatoes to Dream for whatever reason, and then burnt the rest of those too, along with the other books that he’d been given. They were hungry sure, but he was angry, and tired and he didn’t want to even look at anymore raw fucking potatoes, or Dream’s shitty books he wanted him to write about dying in and the annoying ass clock ticking away in the corner!
Eventually, he doesn’t have to because Sam lets him out. He pretends the stark contrast of the outside doesn’t startle him like every other little thing. Pretends that the memorials littered around his home don’t fill him with discomfort— a constant reminder just like the pitying, confused or blank stares he received from those who saw him.
It’s not the same. It hasn’t been in a long time, but this is seemingly the nail in the coffin.
He needs to kill Dream. He has to. It’s the only way foward.
He tries. Prime, he tries because he can’t leave it alone, and inevitably he fails.
His failure costs Ghostbur’s life.
Wilbur’s revival.
He doesn’t know what to do at first— doesn’t know what to think of it, but… He supposes it could be worse.
He supposes that, in the end, it’s always him and Wilbur.
And then Dream gets out of prison. Tommy tries to get his armour, the Axe of Peace, but Dream of course beats him to it. Chases Tommy the whole night until he reaches Techno’s cabin.
He pretends it’s not familiar. Pretends he didn’t see Techno helping Dream at the prison. Pretends that Ranboo isn’t likely dead because of it.
He doesn’t have much time to think about it anyway because as Phil assures him he doesn’t think he’s crazy— that he’s safe, he’s already passing out exhausted.
His visits to Phil start to become a bit more regular after that. Especially after the trap in his house.
Wilbur starts visiting Phil much more too, seeking advice or whatever. Tommy doesn’t know when they started taking advice from Phil of all people, but he supposes it’s working out well enough for them. And it’s good because Wilbur’s trying to do better, and he’s sure Phil could probably help him if he’s willing, especially seeing as he’s willing to try and help him too.
Naturally, he follows Wilbur there regardless because they stick together, and it’s not like Tommy has anything better to do. It’s not like he’s deathly afraid of being alone when Dream could be lurking around at any corner, just waiting to kill him, or anything.
It’s… Fine. It’s fine!
At least… That’s what he tries to tell himself. To have some faith. The others wouldn’t just hand him over to Dream.
He hopes—.
Sometimes, he finds himself just staring out into the distance expecting— waiting to just see the threatening flash of green, the gleam of Netherite and a permanently shitty, Prime awful smile.
He pretends it doesn’t start to remind him of exile, just waiting desperately for Dream to come back— for him to leave him alone!
Currently, he finds himself hanging around staring into the snowy Tundra as he waits for Wil, busy talking to Phil or whatever it is that he does.
Today however, he gets startled out of his musings by Technoblade.
“Tommy.” He greets, as he vehemently tries to pretend that he didn’t just jump at the sound of his name. No, no— he was just stretching!
“T—Techno!” He stumbles, hoping he doesn’t notice his jumpiness. He really can’t seem to pull himself together today, but he can’t just show all of his weaknesses, to Techno especially!
Thankfully, although he probably definitely noticed, he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t ask.
“You waitin’ for Wilbur?” He asks instead.
“‘Course I’m fucking waiting for Wilbur.” He answers a little snappish, unsure as to where this is going.
“Well, if you’re just gonna sit around staring at nothing, you may as well give me a hand and make yourself useful.”
Tommy just barely suppresses the urge to scoff. He’s plenty useful! He helps Wilbur all the time, and it’s not like he’s wasting it right now. He was using his time very valuably, thank you very much. He was busy thinking about big man shit. Like thinking about all the cool women he’ll get, and checking the perimeter for—.
“Fine.” He bites, “bitch.” He adds for good measure. He doesn’t want Techno to think he’s at his beck and call, after all. He’s a big man and he does what he wants, it's just…
He’s all too aware of the warnings Techno gave him last time he was here. That he wasn’t welcome after Doomsday. He can’t risk pissing Techno off and getting kicked out, or worse. He’d probably disappoint Phil and Wilbur, and more importantly he doesn’t know what— or who is out there waiting. Prime, he doesn’t want to be left alone out there again for anyone to find him. He needs this sanctuary here where he won’t step. He needs Techno—.
“It’s fucking boring out here anyway, man.” He blurts as they start crossing the divide between Phil and Techno’s house. “Everything looks the same! Snow, snow and even more snow. Boring.” He continues, pretending any sign of movement on the horizon doesn’t make his chest tight.
Techno ignores his comments, but he doesn’t seem annoyed so Tommy takes that as a win.
They end up in Techno’s kitchen, to cook dinner or something. Really, Tommy should’ve seen it coming. It’s Technoblade, after all, but in the end, he’s completely, utterly blindsided.
“Here.” Techno says, offering him a fucking potato. “You still remember how to peel a potato, right?” He jokes and Tommy stares because he has to be kidding. He has to. This has to be some sort of sick, twisted joke and it’s not fucking funny!
Tommy just stares and pretends it doesn’t remind him of prison. Pretends he doesn’t hear Dream’s voice echoing in his head. “We’ll have fun, Tommy! It’ll be just like exile!” He’d said, all too pleased as he offered Tommy a shitty, raw potato as if nothing was wrong. A wholly unwanted extension of friendship, and for what? It’s not like Dream had killed him within the week, or anything.
He scowls, recoiling a little at the thought. Prime, hasn’t he thought about this enough today?
“Uh… Tommy?” Techno asks and he suddenly realises that he’s just been silently staring down a potato. “You good? You’re looking at that potato like it killed someone.” He recoils further at that awful, shitty attempt at a joke and it’s not funny! It’s not but some part of him feels like laughing anyway.
Instead he just stares. He should— he should answer… Take the potato but his fist clenches at his side at thought and refuses to move. A silent protest. He doesn’t need D— Techno’s shitty potatoes and he hasn’t needed them since he stopped cooking for them! He should just turn around, and walk away. Tell Techno to fuck the Nether off so he and Wilbur can go home, and then he won’t ever have to look at these shitty vegetables again— as it should be!
Instead he just stares, rooted to the spot until—
“Tommy?” He questions again, and suddenly a hand is reaching for him, someone trying to get into his space and Tommy, already too tense and out of it, finally snaps.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” He shouts, slapping at the hand and staggering two, three steps back. “I’ll kill you— I will, I’ll— I’ll do it!” He rambles, certain but— if he kills Dream… He’ll be in here all alone, stuck for the rest of eternity because Sam’s not coming back. He left him there to die, and now they were running out of food and he was still stuck here with Dream, who he couldn’t kill in kind because he’d be alone and he can’t, he can’t, he—.
He can’t breathe. Dream’s going to kill him again and he can’t breathe.
He jerks as his back inevitably hits the hard, obsidian wall. The prison cell was small, he thinks as he sinks to the floor, legs shaky and chest still heaving. Too small. He doesn’t think he needs to be reminded of his claustrophobia right now, because it’s only going to tighten the knot in his chest further, but he can’t help but feel as if its walls are already closing in on him further. He should be trying to get away from Dream again, shouldn’t he? It’s not like there was anywhere to run but Prime, he— he didn’t want to die again! He doesn’t want to die!
Not again, he doesn’t—!
“Tommy,” someone— Dream says before repeating. “Tommy, I need you to try and take deep breaths, alright? You’re having a panic attack, but you’re safe. You’re up North at my cabin. Phil and Wilbur are just next door. No ones gonna hurt you. You’re alri—,”
“W— what?” He interrupts confused. Between his heaving breaths, it barely comes out more than a whisper. Up North? Wasn’t he in prison with— with Dream? He was probably playing some sick trick on him before he killed him—.
“Tommy.” Dream, presumably, says again. “How about this; you try to take a deep breath, and tell me five things you can see.” He is admittedly confused by the request— a little pissed considering he can barely breathe, but he tries to take a shuddering breath and forces his eyes open. Maybe if he listens to Dream, he won’t kill him— maybe it’ll at least distract him from the pain.
“Um,” he stutters, trying to find his voice as he blinks rapidly in an attempt to get his blurry eyes to focus. “The floor.” He provides helpfully before forcing himself to look up from where his head had been defensively tucked between his knees. He deliberately does not look in Dream’s direction, not because he’s scared— he just doesn’t want to look at his ugly fucking face.
“Um, me I— I guess.” He forces out, letting his eyes flick frantically around the rest of the room. “The— the wall, um— the counter.” He says as his gaze follows where the countertop meets the wall, a space he’d practically wedged himself into. Above it to his side is a window. He repeats the information aloud and briefly wonders why it looks like it snowed.
“Good, you’re doing great. Now, how about four things you can hear?” He prompts next. He’s still not sure he really gets the point of the game but he strains his ears to answer anyway.
“You— um, me… The wind and— dogs?” He questions eventually, still a little unsure.
“Yep, good. Now, three things you can touch?”
“Uhh, me— my— myself,” he stumbles, suddenly realising he still has an all too tight grip on his arm. He lets go, straightening up slightly as he flexes his stiff hand before placing it on the floor. “The floor and—,” he cuts off again as he considers and realises all too belatedly that Dream doesn’t sound like that.
Still refusing to look up, he tentatively— daringly reaches out a hand. Seems like a sure fire way to figure out if this really is just some sick, twisted trick or if he really is…Up North, or wherever— just as long as it’s away from Dream.
“You want me to hold your hand?” The voice, decidedly not Dream asks despite the gesture. Dream wouldn’t have cared to even ask, nor cared for Tommy's response.
“Yes.” He blurts despite now knowing it’s not Dream, unsure of why he said that. A moment later, a hand ghosts into his own and he grips it tightly on automation. It’s rough and calloused. Hoofed fingertips surround light pink fur, and a small collection of scars from battles fought long ago. They’re warm. Warmer than most humans ever get, which means that this hand can only belong to his brother.
Because he’s in Techno’s cabin, waiting for Wilbur.
He slumps, relieved and clutches his hand all the tighter, as if afraid that he’ll get up and walk away. That Techno’s mad— disappointed. That it’s all just still in his head, like when he thought he saw Tubbo in exile all the time—.
“Tommy? You alright? You with me?” He asks, giving his hand a quick squeeze.
“Technoblade.” He states simply, looking up to meet concerned, crimson tinted eyes.
“Yes?” Tommy considers for a moment before muttering quietly, ducking his head.
“Can I— can I have a hug?” He is answered silently by Techno tugging him closer until he is wrapped in warm, secure arms. His grip is loose enough to not feel restricting, but enough that it makes him feel safe. He knows intrinsically that sitting here with Technoblade on the kitchen floor, no one— not even Dream could hurt him.
It’s been a long time since he’s felt this safe and as much as he’d rather hold it in after all that, the thought makes him begin to cry, as he buries his head in Techno’s chest.
Techno just sits rubbing his back in comforting circles and muttering quiet reassurances. He pretends they aren’t believable. Pretends it doesn’t remind of when they were little. When Tommy would get upset over something small like a scraped knee, but Techno would hug him anyway and make it better with a little plaster, and piece of a Gapple if Phil wasn’t watching. Pretends it doesn’t make him cry all the harder.
He’s not sure how long they sit there, but eventually Tommy stops crying. After checking in with him again, Techno gently guides him towards the couch and then returns a few minutes later with a glass of water.
“Thanks.” He says, wasting no time in downing it as he suddenly realises how thirsty he is.
“That’s okay.” He responds, looking a little awkward as he asks, “do you err— do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.” He answers automatically, because fuck that. He’s had enough thinking about Dream for a lifetime, but then decides to add for good measure, “I just— I don’t wanna eat your shitty fucking potatoes.”
“My cooking’s not that bad, is it?” Techno attempts to joke, but Tommy sees the question for what it really is. Sees the confusion. He tries not to let it piss him off, because he’s not scared that Techno will mock him for it— he’s not! It’s just— it’s just the shaky swag!
“No…” He admits, eventually taking a deep breath. “But Sam’s is.” Understanding seems to flash across Techno’s face, and it’s at that moment Tommy remembers that he got stuck in prison too, albeit under different circumstances. He’d gone and let Dream out afterwards, but…
Tommy just didn’t have the energy to be mad about it, especially right now and… Phil and Techno were at least trying to help him. That had to count for something. Especially when their little cabin seems to be the only place that Dream won’t touch.
Techno accepts his answer without a fuss and tells him he’s going to carry on with dinner, taking his cup to back out to the kitchen. He reassures him as he goes that if he needs anything, he can just let him know and then starts reciting some Greek myths as he cooks. Tommy’s decided he’s tired of being surprised at Techno’s hospitality— too much excitement for one day, and is content to just accept it. Accept the way it still reminds him of before when he was little, and their family wasn’t so splintered. He’s content to sit and watch the fire and at some point, Techno’s voice lulls him to sleep much like it did as a child.
And much like when he was a child, he is woken up rather rudely by Wilbur because he’s a little bitch who has no manners. Couldn’t he see Tommy was busy napping? He glares at him and hopes it gets the point across.
He expects that Wilbur’s reappearance means that it’s time for them to leave. The sweet smell of broth hits his nose as he is instead informed that Techno finished making dinner.
It’s been a long time since they’ve sat down and eaten like this, just the four of them. Tommy honestly can’t even remember when they last ate like this, and he pretends it doesn’t remind him of before, even if it’s not quite the same. Where as Wil and Tommy would’ve typically filled the silence at the table with the excited rambles when they were younger, it now seemed that Phil and Techno were quite content to fill in that silence instead. Techo’s stew admittedly does taste the same, from what he remembers, but it doesn’t escape his notice that today, he chose to make it without potatoes. He pretends that this fact, paired with the sudden, odd nostalgia doesn’t make him want to cry all over again.
Instead he ponders— stews, if you will, because… Sure, maybe things are so different now and maybe they still share some irreparable differences but clearly there’s a chance for things to work out this time around. Seemingly, they can put their differences aside and have the same bonds they did before— however different, but clearly that difference doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. This time, the difference doesn’t need to mean that it still can't feel the same. Familiar. Nostalgic.
Because he and Wilbur are still running off together causing chaos— but hopefully with fewer consequences this time and clearly Phil and Techno are still willing to lend them a helping hand, just like before when they were kids. Before everything. When it was okay.
And they were changing. Growing and growing closer again, and things were looking okay, so maybe they could have that again. Maybe it could all be okay again, with Tommy’s family lovingly by his side. Maybe this time he can let himself believe it to be real. To hope however foolishly, and let himself have this moment of calm, even if it doesn’t last. To hold onto that hope and that thought, because as he sits here surrounded by his family eating his potatoless stew, it is real, and it is okay and it’s something he foolishly hopes to have again. Things have changed, yes and it’s not the same, but something is clearly still there and maybe this time, the change will be for the better. So, Tommy resolves to cling to it with all his might and pray that this time it will last. After all, he is nothing if not persistent and after all this time, he still has hope.
And maybe as he watches Phil and Techno argue over some light teasing whilst Wilbur pretends not to laugh, he dares to think that maybe this time the hope will be worth it. That maybe this time, it will last. That this time they will change and grow together, instead of growing apart. That this time, the change and difference will be good.
It ends up being time for them to take their leave once they’ve eaten and Tommy, still tired and now with a full stomach, is quite content to follow Wilbur back to their base so he can go back to sleep.
He does however take pause as Techno sees them to the perimeter, slowing to walk closer beside him.
“Thank you for um— for earlier.” He says after a brief moment of silence, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt.
“That’s okay, and um—,” Techno hesitates too briefly, glancing at the horizon just over his shoulder before finally catching his eyes, “for what it’s worth I’m— sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” He returns in kind, a small, slightly bittersweet smile ghosting his features before he turns to catch up with Wilbur. Stupid bitch and his lanky ass legs.
They walk in relative silence back to where they’ve set up camp, but it’s not uncomfortable. Phil is still in the kitchen washing the dishes, and Techno only turns to join him once they’re out of sight, rising to meet the horizon.
And maybe it isn’t the same, but maybe it can be something similar— and it is clearly something! Something good and that’s all that counts, right?
Despite everything, Tommy finally has something good again and even if it has changed, even if it will change, he’ll let himself have it. He’ll let himself enjoy it whilst it lasts, and he’ll hope with all of it heart that it will.