Chapter Text
The straw that broke the camel's back was a phone. It wasn’t even a good phone, just a cheap burner he’d managed to get his hands on. He wasn’t even doing anything bad with it, he’d just been using it to message a few people from school.
Tommy wasn’t allowed to have a phone. He knew he wasn’t allowed to have a phone. It was one of the few (many) rules Dream had put in place. It was so stupid of him to buy a phone, he’d betrayed Dream’s trust by doing so.
Maybe he deserved what happened to him. No, no, he didn’t. He just wanted to talk to his friends. But Dream had made it so clear that--
It was hard to think. His thoughts were jumbled together, like a string, all tangled up with no hope of being straightened out.
It was so much easier when he lived with his family.
Back when he was a kid, it wasn’t him and Dream. No, no, it was him and Phil and Wilbur and Technoblade, and it was great. He was so energetic and loud and just happy. Sure, he was the only kid on the block, but he had his brothers, Will and Techno, who were only about twelve years older than him. And, sure, he annoyed them to no end, but that was what family was for.
It got harder to think clearly when Phil and Techno left for… He couldn’t remember why they left. He was six, and Wilbur, though only eighteen, ended up raising him. Tommy was so excited. He loved his older brother, and he loved living with him.
Their personalities worked well together, and even when they were annoying each other, they always made up at the end of the day, unlike with Techno and Phil.
He wished it could’ve stayed that way. That Wilbur could’ve raised him until he went off to some University somewhere, till Tommy was old enough to live on his own.
Wilbur died four years later. He was twenty-two, and way too young to die. It was a car crash, an unavoidable incident, and there was nothing anyone could have done to change what had happened.
Wilbur’s funeral was the first time he’d seen Phil and Techno since they had left him with Wilbur. Technoblade was huge, then, towering over Tommy. Tommy was equally impressed by and terrified of him. Phil was a little more comforting to be around, but overall, more of a stranger than a father.
It wasn’t a surprise that neither men wanted to take care of Tommy after that. He couldn’t blame them, either. They were grieving, the loss of losing a son and brother much more important than taking in a new one. Even at ten years old, Tommy knew that.
What was a surprise was when Dream had stepped up to the plate, saying he’d be happy to take full custody of Tommy. Tommy didn’t even know Dream that well. When they were younger, Dream and Technoblade would fight (sometimes with words, sometimes with fists), but apparently they got along well enough at that point for Phil to sign over the adoption to him.
Every moment after that had been hell.
At ten years old, Tommy walked into a living nightmare. Daydream. No, not daydream- not nightmare- he-
His head hurt.
Living with Dream came with a lot of unspoken rules that Tommy was apparently supposed to know from the minute he moved in. The first rule, and the one Dream enforced the most, was that he wasn’t allowed to keep everything he owned.
The night he moved into Dream’s house, everything changed. Dream took away most of his belongings, saying he “didn’t need all this crap”, referring to his toys, his clothes, his pictures of Wilbur. Tommy refused to let go of the pictures, though he gave everything else to Dream.
After that night, the things Dream took seemed random. Candy that Tommy had gotten from school, a toy Tommy had bought with his own money, the blanket Dream had given him (only for him to replace it a week later). It was weird. It was confusing.
Secondly, he wasn’t supposed to talk back.
Wilbur had raised him to be as loud as he liked. Yelling at the tv, complaining about school, rambling about his interests and hobbies. He also would have regular shouting matches with his brother, rarely actual fighting but what they liked to call “loud discussions”. Dream preferred the silence, and he hated when Tommy argued with him. It didn’t take long for Tommy to learn it was easier to be quiet, even if he hated it.
Third, he couldn’t have many friends.
Not that he couldn’t talk to people, he could. Dream encouraged it, actually, to talk to the kids at school. But then he would come home and Dream would remind him that they weren’t real friends, that they didn’t care about him as much as Dream did. That they would drop him in a second for a simple reward. He was right about that, probably.
Finally, he couldn’t leave the house.
Not without asking permission, at least. He’d snuck out once when he was eleven and Dream had screamed at him for what felt like hours afterwards. He’d been beaten black and blue and locked in his room for the next three days with no food. He stopped sneaking out after that.
That wasn’t normal. Tommy knew it wasn’t normal. Guardians aren’t supposed to hurt you, they’re not supposed to starve you, you’re not supposed to be afraid of them. But what was he supposed to do about it? He was a kid, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.
He’d emailed Phil about it once, when he’d first moved with Dream. He’d never gotten a response.
Tommy was fourteen years old. He’d lived with Dream for four years now, and he hated to think it was the same amount of time he’d lived alone with Wilbur.
It was Wilbur’s death-iversary, as Tommy called it. It was crude, but Tommy liked to think Wilbur would have laughed if he heard it referred to as that.
The burner phone was something a kid from school had suggested, after everyone was exchanging numbers and Tommy sheepishly explained that Dream didn’t let him have a phone.
“Just get a burner.” The other boy said. “They’re, like, twenty dollars.”
“That’s so stupid. He’d find out.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Just don’t tell him. Look, I’ll even pay half.” The kid pulled ten dollars out of his pocket and handed it to Tommy like it was nothing.
Dream very rarely let him keep money. But Tommy had been keeping a small stash in his school backpack (which Dream rarely checked), and so…
He bought the phone after school. He’d holed up in his bedroom afterwards, plugging his friends numbers into the device and texting them. It was difficult to do- the buttons were small and he kept pressing the wrong things. Nothing like sending emails on the desktop in the living room.
He scoffed. Nobody sent emails anymore, texting was the way to go. The small buttons were annoying, but he’d get used to it.
Dream got home early that day. Quiety too, apparently, considering Tommy didn’t realize he was there till his bedroom door opened, and-
“Tommy, what are you doing?” To anyone else, it would’ve sounded calm and collected, but Tommy could hear the anger bubbling underneath.
He tried to hide the phone behind his back, even though Dream had already seen it. “Nothing! I’m not doing anything!” His voice was loud. Too loud. Dream preferred the quiet.
The man had already crossed the room, grabbed Tommy by the wrist, and pulled him to his feet.
“Where did you even get a phone?” With his free hand, Dream grabbed the phone, examining it.
“I-” Every instinct in him told him to lie. But Dream would know, and it was better to tell the truth than get caught with a lie. “My friend gave me money for a burner.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
“Who?” He repeated, more forcefully.
“...Freddie.” He couldn’t look Dream in the eyes, electing to stare at the floor instead.
The phone was dropped to the floor. He watched as Dream stomped on it, the screen shattering, the insides probably breaking, too.
A hand grabbed his chin roughly, and Dream moved it to force Tommy to meet his eyes.
“You’re not allowed to have a phone, Tommy. You know this.” He said it all sweet-like, and Tommy knew he was right. Dream had given him that rule, and he’d broken it. He only had himself to blame.
“I’m s-” He didn’t get the chance to finish his apology as the hand moved off his chin, and then Dream slapped him. Hard.
He didn’t stop at the slap. Dream’s shouts went in one ear and out the other, but Tommy felt everything. Punches to his face, his arms, his stomach. Over and over and harder and harder. Dream was berating him at the same time, he was pretty sure, but he’d stopped listening.
In all honesty, he’d detached himself from it as much as he could. Dissociating, he thought it was called. Techno had mentioned something like that once, said it was feeling like you weren’t in your body even though you were.
A sharp kick to his ribs brought him back. When had he ended on the floor? Why was his head bleeding? How was Dream still yelling?
“You know what, Tommy? I’m done.” Dream took a step back, crossed his arms, and stared down at the boy beneath him. “I’ve tried so hard to be the nice guy. I’ve given you everything you needed, and you still go behind my back.” He found himself agreeing with Dream. Staring as Dream crossed the room again, before grabbing a picture frame off of Tommy’s dresser.
His eyes widened.
“No, no, Dream! Not that one, please it’s the only one I have left of-” Dream tossed it onto the floor, stepping on it much like he did to the phone. The glass shattered with a painfully loud crack. He watched in horror as Dream pulled the photo of the frame, ripping two of the corners off in the process.
“I don’t want to do this, you know. But I don’t think I have a choice, none of my other punishments have worked.”
“Dream, no, please, don’t do it. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good. Please, I can’t lose that, it’s all I have left of him!” His voice was more desperate towards the end of the sentence, and he was crying before he even started it.
Dream ripped the photo in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor.
Tommy wanted to curse him out. He wanted to sob and apologize for everything he’d ever done. He wanted to punch Dream and make him regret breaking the photo. He wanted to curl up in a ball and never be seen again.
It was Tommy’s fault. He knew that. He shouldn’t have bought the phone, but he did, and now he was paying the price. Dream had been so kind to him and he had to go screw it up.
“I need some air.” Dream said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Clean this mess up before I’m back.” He turned on his heel and walked out the room. Shortly after, Tommy heard him grab his keys, then heard the front door open and close.
Tommy laid on the floor for at least half an hour longer before he convinced himself to sit up.
This was one of the worst beatings he’d had in a long while. Everything hurt so badly, and moving only made it worse.
He had to move, though. Dream wanted him to clean the mess up, and maybe if he did it, Dream wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe Dream would be nicer then. Dream always liked it when Tommy did what he was told.
He grabbed the smashed phone and threw it into the trash, then did the same with the picture frame and the biggest pieces of glass.
His hand hovered over the (now ripped) photograph.
It was of him and Wilbur. Tommy was around ten when the picture was taken, too big for Wilbur to be giving him a piggyback ride, though the picture showed otherwise. Tommy was holding cotton candy bigger than his head and grinning widely at the camera. Wilbur had a similar expression, though was grinning at Tommy instead of the camera. He remembered that day well. Wilbur had taken in to the state fair as a reward for getting good grades, and they’d spent the whole time eating food and going on rides and pranking people. Tommy hadn’t been to a fair since.
The photo was in two pieces now, split right across where Will’s eyes were, and the disfiguration of the face brought Tommy to tears again. This was the only picture he’d had left of Will, and now it was ruined.
Dream had ruined his last picture of Wilbur.
He let that thought sink in for a moment, before making his decision and stuffing the pieces of the picture in his pocket.
He didn’t bother picking up the rest of the glass. Instead he grabbed his school bag, and dumped out the contents.
Tomorrow’s homework isn't important anyway, was it? No, not when he wouldn’t be there.
He should’ve stuffed clothes inside, but he didn’t have very many anyway. Instead, he stuffed his most important belongings. A few scratched cd’s, a compass he’d found on the road, a bee plush Phil had bought for him forever ago.
He raided the kitchen next, though it was already almost bare. Dream never gave him enough food to eat (maybe he just needed to eat less). He dumped a box of granola bars in. A bag of chips. Three water bottles. Their kitchen was practically empty now, despite the fact he’d taken so little.
After that, Tommy stood in the kitchen for a moment, considering his decisions.
Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream was taking care of him.
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.
If his head was just a little clearer, maybe he would’ve realized he should’ve used an incognito tab, because it would only take one look at his history for Dream to know where he was headed.
This was a bad idea. This was an awful idea.
The name Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.
“Screw you.” He whispered to the bar, and pressed search.
A few seconds later, his screen was filled with pictures of his brother, and he almost teared up at the sight, because that was Wilbur’s face. They were all Wilbur’s face, in unfamiliar pictures. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t Wilbur- not actually. Wilbur was dead. This was just Techno, and it was so obvious thanks to the glasses and, more obviously, the long pink hair, pulled back in a bun in almost every picture.
Scrolling past the pictures, he searched for actual information.
Technoblade Watson had a masters degree. Technoblade Watson had a PhD in literature. Technoblade Watson was currently teaching at a university only a state away from Tommy, in South Dakota.
He scribbled down the university address on a sticky note. He tried to find a room number or anything, but couldn’t. That was fine. He could find it once he got there.
This was a mistake. He shouldn’t be doing this. Dream would be so mad, and Dream was his only friend, and Technoblade hated him.
For the entire time Tommy had lived there, he’d kept a secret stash in the bottom of his school bag. Considering how often he used it, and the occasional times Dream would find it and take the money, it only added up to about fifty dollars. That wasn’t enough to get a car all the way there. It wasn’t enough for hotel rooms. That was fine, he-
That was not fine. Dream would hate him for leaving, but Dream already hated him anyway. Maybe he should go look for Phil instead, but Phil didn’t want him.
Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?
Tommy swung the backpack over his shoulder, and closed the tab he’d had open. He stuffed the sticky note in his pocket.
“Screw you, Dream.” He whispered as he walked out of the house.
He got two blocks down the street before regretting everything that had led him to this point. Dream loved him, Dream was his only friend, Dream would be so sad to see him gone.
Dream screamed at him, Dream hurt him, Dream took the only thing that mattered to him.
He kept walking, a little faster than before. His ribs ached with every step. He kept walking. It started raining at some point. He kept walking.
The university was about a hundred miles north. He didn’t know the exact location, but he figured he could at least get to South Dakota before asking for directions.
For the next four days, Tommy spent his days walking. He walked whenever he was able to, whether it was night or day, occasionally sleeping on park benches, or under bridges, or even in trees occasionally. It was a miracle he didn’t get kidnapped.
Tommy ran out of food on the fifth day, and honestly his diet of granola bars and chips weren’t doing him many favors to begin with. But he kept going, anyway. He should’ve bought some food, but he was terrified some other emergency would come up, and he’d need money to deal with it when he did.
The closer he got to the university, the colder it got, too. He really wished he had thought to grab a jacket, instead of just the stupid long sleeve shirt he’d left in. Or, at the very least, was wearing something other than shorts and tennis shoes. It was freezing, and even though he was constantly moving, he never seemed to get fully warm.
Two more days of walking passed. It had started snowing halfway through the last day, but it was too late to do anything about it. He ended up in the town of the University, and, after asking a few concerned looking families, he made his way to the university.
To say it was huge was an understatement. It was a whole campus, with huge buildings going at least three stories into the air. Snow covered the ground, and Tommy could feel himself shivering violently. That said, the sidewalks were all shoveled, and there were even lights hanging on some of the buildings. It was… Actually, kind of pretty. He knew he had no chance of ever going to a school like this for himself, so he’d enjoy it while it lasted.
He made his way to the directory, where he met a younger-looking woman sitting behind a receptionist desk. Upon seeing him, she sat up straight, eyes wide.
“Are you alright, hun? Are you lost?” She spoke in that voice people used with little kids. He wanted to gag.
“No, I’m not lost, I-”
“Are you hurt?” Oh. The bruises- had he even cleaned off the blood from Dream’s outburst? He couldn’t remember.
“No, I’m fine. I-”
“Do you need me to call someone for you?”
“No. No, no, I’m actually- I’m looking for a teacher- professor?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Which professor are you looking for?”
“Mister- no, Doctor Watson? Technoblade Watson.”
The receptionist stared at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow.
“And may I ask why you’re looking for him? We usually only give out information to students, and no offense, but you look a little young.” Of course Tommy looked young, he was fourteen and criminally underfed, even if he was taller than most kids his age.
“I… I’m his brother.” Not a lie. “I wanted to surprise him. Like- like a prank. That’s why I look like…” He gestured to himself. The dirt on his face, the rips on his clothes.
For an awful second, he thought she didn’t buy it. That she was going to yell at him to get out. But then, she smiled. “Fair enough. Let me get you a map.”
She grabbed a university map, then circled the building with Techno’s room in it. She wrote the room number, too, explaining it was on the basement floor (apparently some of the rooms were underground? Weird).
He thanked her and practically ran out of the building.
He couldn’t believe how close he was to seeing his brother.
His brother… His brother who hated him, who had glared daggers at him during the funeral, who didn’t want to raise Tommy, who didn’t so much as call him in the last four years.
He should go back to Dream.
He was not going back to Dream.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the door. The room number was written in a nice gold, with the name “Dr. Watson” underneath. It felt pretentious. Techno wasn’t even a doctor, the PhD was in literature.
How did universities work? Did he knock? Could he just walk in? Was he supposed to make an appointment?
He settled for knocking. And, once he got no response, he knocked again, louder this time. Still, no response.
It wasn’t breaking and entering. It was not breaking and entering, because this was a public university, and the door was already unlocked. This was just entering, and barely so, because Technoblade was his brother, and crimes against family didn’t count.
The room he ended up in wasn’t a classroom, but an office. Did Techno teach somewhere else? He… Had no idea how universities worked, so maybe.
He made himself at home in the office-classroom, starting by looking at the sparse decorations. A PhD was on the wall, a framed photo of Techno and Phil, too. A small picture of a very young Wilbur and Tommy hung underneath.
Huh. He hadn’t seen that picture before. Wilbur couldn’t have been older than Tommy’s age, maybe? He looked fourteen, which would’ve made Tommy about two years old. In the photo Wilbur was teaching him how to ride a bike. They both looked so happy. When was the last time Tommy had been that happy..?
Tommy snatched the picture off the wall and stuffed it in his bag, hiding it underneath a few empty wrappers in case Techno glanced inside.
He went through the drawers next, and- score! He found an apple. Granted, it looked a little old and bruised, but Tommy would take anything at that point. He ate it quickly, barely stopping himself from eating the core.
In another drawer, he found what he assumed to be Technoblade’s jacket. He thanked whatever gods existed that it was there, because he’d been shaking the entire time he was inside, and was pretty sure he was partially ice at this point. He put the jacket on, and even though it was way too big for him and a shade of blue he frankly hated, he couldn't have been more grateful to find it.
He poked around in the room for a few more minutes before he heard someone walking down the halls.
Dream. It had to be Dream- Dream was so mad and-
Dream was going to kill him. Dream was coming right now, probably with a gun or a knife or whatever, and he was going to kill Tommy. He’d already beaten him, this wasn’t too far of a stretch.
Without thinking, he dove under the desk, right as the door opened.
He heard heavy footsteps against the soft carpet floor. Boots. Dream usually didn’t wear boots, opting for tennis shoes. But it had to be Dream, because-
Oh, no.
This wasn’t Dream. This was Techno. Techno, who hated him. Techno, who would also probably kill him.
Tommy’s plan of hiding out with his brother came crashing down around him, because this was a stupid mistake and Techno wanted him dead just as much as Dream did and-
There was a loud thump above him, and the table shook. Technoblade had put something down on his desk.
Don’t move. Don’t move, don’t think, don’t even breathe. He pushed himself back as far as he could underneath the desk.
Techno sat down in the chair. Tommy prayed he wouldn’t put his legs under the desk.
“Hey, Phil.” Techno said. Was Phil there?
“Yeah, no, nothing yet. I’ve been looking, but I don’t even know how he’d find me.” Techno continued, and Tommy realized that, no, Phil wasn’t there. It was just a phone call. “You sure he’s not with you? He’s your son, after all.”
A pause, and then, “Well he hates me, so… Not really sure why he’d come… Yeah, I’m keeping an eye out, but unless he’s hiding from me, then he’s not here.”
He’s your son, Techno had said. Oh. Oh no, did Techno know he was coming? But Tommy hadn’t told anyone, how would he know?
“Of course, you’ll be the first to know. But he’s not coming. I don’t even think-”
The next few seconds happened in slow motion, as Techno moved in his chair and put his legs under the desk. He’d kicked Tommy, not hard, but it was right into existing injuries. Since he was surprised, he cried out, before slapping a hand over his mouth.
He didn’t have anywhere to run or hide when Techno leaned over to look under the desk. He watched as his brother’s expression changed in surprise, as he stopped talking into the phone, still held to his ear.
“Phil... I’ll call you back.” Techno said, before hanging up.
And then Technoblade stood up, grabbed Tommy by his shirt collar, and dragged him out from the desk.
Tommy closed his eyes tight, and waited for the beating that he was sure to come. He remembered Technoblade learning all different types of fighting when they were kids, too, which meant he knew exactly how to make Tommy hurt.
After ten seconds of nothing, he tentatively opened his eyes.
“Tommy?” Techno was staring at him wide-eyed. His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone outside.
Tommy bit his lip and looked down at the floor. “Hey, Technoblade…”
Tommy was still waiting to be hit. To be screamed at or kicked out or handed back to Dream.
Didn’t he want to go back to Dream, anyway? No, no, he didn’t. He’d rather live on the streets than be with Dream. But Dream was so nice to him…
Techno let go of his shirt, and stared at him for a long moment.
The silence was almost worse than just getting hit.
“Thomas. Theseus. Watson.” Technoblade said. Tommy flinched at the use of his full name- it’d been a while since he’d heard it. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?” It started out quiet, but the words got louder as Techno continued. “Everyone’s been looking for you for a week, you disappeared! We thought you were dead! And now I find out you’re here, under my desk, hiding like some sort of racoon?!”
“I wasn’t hiding!”
“You were under my desk, clearly not wanting to be seen!” There was less anger in Technoblade’s shouts than there was in Dream’s. It made the confrontation less scary.
“Because you scared me! You didn’t even knock- that’s very impolite, you know!”
“I- it’s my office!”
“What are you even doing here?”
“It’s my office!” Techno repeated, more exasperated.
It was painfully clear the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Techno sat back in his chair, and Tommy climbed on top of his desk.
Techno put his head in his hands, shaking slightly. After a long moment, he looked back up at Tommy. He looked… More tired than Tommy remembered. He knew Wilbur’s death had been hard on him, but he thought Techno would look better, not worse, than he did at the funeral. Techno must’ve been looking him up and down, because the man narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You look awful.”
“So do you.”
“Shut up. Is that my jacket?”
“I was cold. You keep your office at like ten degrees.” Tommy swung his legs over the edge of the desk, lightly kicking the chair as he did so.
Techno scoffed. “What are you doing here, Tommy?”
“What, can’t I visit my brother with no ulterior motives?”
“Not when you’re fourteen, can’t drive, and ran away from home to come here.”
Tommy’s face dropped. “He told you?”
“Of course he told me. Told Phil, Niki, everyone he could think of.”
Oh. Dream was looking for him. Dream wanted him back- Dream missed him! Maybe he felt bad about what he did, maybe he wanted to apologize. Maybe Dream finally realized what would happen if Tommy left, and now he was going to make things better.
No, no, no, Dream never rewarded him for going against what he was told. If Dream wanted him back, it wasn’t for good things. It would mean pain for Tommy. Dream- oh, Dream was going to kill him.
He forced the panic off his face. “Huh.”
“You’ve been missing for a week, you know.”
“I know.”
“Did you walk here?”
“Yeah.”
“The whole way? Tommy, that’s, like, a hundred miles.”
“Hundred and two.”
“Hm. So that’s why you’re all beat up.”
He wanted to argue that, no, he didn’t get beat up on the walk. Dream had done it, and he was just still healing. But that would require him to admit Dream had hurt him in the first place, and that felt wrong.
“Can I come home with you?” Tommy asked, looking at his brother intently. His hair was longer than he remembered. He wondered if the man had cut it at all in the last four years. Probably not. He hated people touching his hair.
“No.”
“Techno! That’s so unfair!”
“No, it’s not. You can’t come home with me, I don’t have a place for you to sleep.”
“The couch. Or the floor. Or the bathtub, or backyard, or whatever. I’ll find a place.”
“I don’t have extra blankets.”
“Don’t need ‘em.”
“Or food.”
“I’ll get my own.”
“How?”
“Steal it.”
Techno’s eyes widened. “Theseus-” When they were kids, Techno would call him by his middle name. It had been a long time since then, though. “Theseus you are not stealing. And you’re not staying at my house, either.”
Tommy frowned deeply as Techno turned his phone on, seeming to be typing something.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling Dream and telling him to come pick you up.”