Chapter Text
Tommy Innit is... not doing very well. In fact, he’s doing quite fucking terribly, thank you very much. He can feel Dream’s hands on him still- can still feel Dream breathing down his neck, can still feel Dream hurting him again, just like he always does. He always, always hurts Tommy. But, for once, there might be one or two people who believe him. People who don’t think Tommy’s crazy are rare, but apparently, they exist.
At least, it seems like Phil believes him. And it seems like Jack had actually been worried for him. And Sam. And Quackity. And, well, does Ghostboo quite count? Regardless, that’s at least four people. More allies than he’s had since L’Manburg. It’s certainly a comfort to have some people (at least somewhat) in his corner.
Phil had walked him home, Quackity had given him an uncomplicated, unpolitical hand in friendship, even Jack had sounded significantly relieved when he realized that Tommy was alright, as had Sam. Tommy knows Sam significantly underpriced the stacks of obsidian he gave Tommy, but he appreciates it anyway. It feels less like pity somehow, when he had to give something in return.
So, yeah, Tommy isn’t doing well, but he’s... coping. Sort of. Until the sun starts to set and Ranboo drifts away somewhere, still rambling happily to himself, absently twirling a dandelion between his fingers and Phil starts glancing back at the path to his and Technoblade’s houses. “Phil, Phil, Phil,” Tommy calls hastily, “Do you- do you have any more yellow concrete?”
”I’m all out, mate,” Phil says, sounding almost apologetic, “Besides, it’s getting dark.” His wings twitch, though Tommy knows he can’t fly home. His left wing is still tattered and limp, rendering him incapable of flight. Tommy is selfishly glad of it right now. It means Phil can’t just take off and leave him alone to face the night (and Dream) alone.
”Oh,” he laughs nervously, “I didn’t- I didn’t even notice. The grind never stops for us big strong, men, eh?”
Phil laughs loudly, rolling his eyes. “Sure, Tommy,” he agrees indulgently, “Well, this big, strong man should probably get home soon.”
”No, no, no, wait, wait, wait,” Tommy stutters through his words, trying to force his tongue around rational language, “At least finish this last layer with me, yeah?” When Phil’s silent for a moment, Tommy surges forward, pressing some obsidian into Phil’s hands. ”Please, man,” he says lowly, voice bordering on desperate.
”Alright,” Phil sighs, looking almost sympathetic, “One last layer and then I have to go.” Tommy looks away. “Got that, Tommy?” Tommy doesn’t respond, instead striding over to the wall and determinedly placing obsidian. Phil doesn’t try again, instead just working around from the other side. Tommy works deliberately slowly, but they’re done much too quickly anyway.
”I’ve got to go, Tommy,” Phil says, jumping down from the wall, fluttering his wings a bit to slow the fall, “Techno will be wondering where I am.”
”But, it- it- it’s already dark as it is,” Tommy says, in what is an attempt at a persuasive tone, “Maybe you should just stay here for the night, Phil.”
”Tommy...” Phil sighs, looking just a bit trapped. Tommy, for his part, can feel himself starting to hyperventilate. The bit of him that had started to settle building the L’Man Walls with Phil and Ghostboo is rapidly deteriorating again. Tommy clutches at his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, certain that he can already hear Dream coming.
”Phil, please, please, please don’t leave,” he begs, throwing aside all pretenses, “I can’t do this- I can’t do this, I can’t be alone again. He’ll find me, Phil. He’ll find me and- and- and he’ll hurt me and he’ll revive me and kill me and torture me and hurt me and I can’t do this again Phil. Everything hurts, Phil, everything.” Tommy has to sit down heavily on the Prime Path, pressing his forehead against his knees and breathing deeply in an attempt to not pass out.
There’s suddenly a hand on his arm and he yelps, terrified, throwing himself away from the hand. “Woah, easy, mate.” Oh. Right. It’s Phil. Phil’s here. Phil wants to leave. Phil’s going to leave him all alone again. Tommy glares at the ground. He should be less selfish for once. What did he ever do to deserve Phil’s comfort?
When he glances up, rubbing at his stinging eyes like a ridiculous child throwing a tantrum, Phil is sitting on the ground next to him, waiting patiently for a rational response. “Sorry,” Tommy mumbles, playing anxiously with his fingers, “I’m sorry, you should- you should go. I’m bein’ stupid. The ol’ brain’s acting up, I suppose.”
”Yeah, no. That’s what we’re not going to do,” Phil says flatly and Tommy’s head shoots upm startled.
”We’re... what? What’d I do?” He asks, looking around as if the answer was somewhere on the Prime Path.
”Well, first of all, you’re not going to call yourself stupid for nearly having a panic attack. That’s a no. And second, there is no way I’m going to leave you, after that,” Phil’s unbroken wing reaches out cautiously. When there’s no protest, it wraps gently around Tommy like a feathery blanket. Tommy can’t remember the last time he felt protected. Sometime with Sam, while they were building the hotel, probably.
His first instinct is to feel relieved. Relieved that he wouldn’t be alone. Relieved that he isn’t going to be abandoned. His second is an intense wave of guilt. Guilt for keeping Phil somewhere he doesn’t want to be. Guilt for ever coming back to life in the first place. He glares down at his scraped up hands. Cut and torn from where he had clawed desperately at Dream’s thorn sharp armor when Dream had been holding him still, keeping him from running. Keeping him still so that Dream could hurt him.
”Come on, Tommy,” Phil’s voice is gentle. When was the last time someone was deliberately gentle with him. “Let’s get you get inside, yeah? It really is getting late.”
Tommy lets Phil help him to his feet, as much as he wants to scream and kick and demand to be treated like a capable adult. He considers it, but really he’s just too tired for it. Too tired to pretend that he’s anything but an exhausted, traumatized, scared teenager. He leans (subtly, he hopes) on Phil, as they walk to Tommy’s trusty, old house. Phil shuts the door behind them and Tommy mumbles, “Lock the door, Phil, please.”
”There’s not much of a lock, if I’m being honest,” Phil says slowly, glancing back at the door.
”Well, there’s a latch, isn’t there?” Tommy demands, feeling discomfort and upset welling up inside him. He feels like he’s going to cry over a stupid fucking lock. Phil pulls the latch shut and Tommy feels like he can breathe a bit easier. “There, that feels safer, doesn’t it?”
”I mean... not much, to be perfectly honest, but I’m glad it makes you feel better,” Phil says, a little awkwardly. Tommy collapses into an old, wooden chair that’s probably one creak away from breaking and buries his face in his hands, trying to calm his breathing. ”Oh, shit, what happened there?” Phil’s hands gently pull Tommy’s away from his face and he examines the sluggishly bleeding cuts, worry etched onto his own face.
”I told you Dream hurt me,” Tommy mumbles, staring at the ground and allowing his hands to go limp in Phil’s hold. He honestly feels like he just can’t hold himself up anymore.
”No wonder you’ve been holding yourself so strangely,” Phil mutters, “I should’ve patched you up earlier.” He lowered Tommy’s hands, before unclipping his ender chest key and unlocking Tommy’s ender chest. Pulling out a healing potion, a roll of bandages, and some kind of ointment, he directs a question to Tommy. “Where else are you hurt?”
Tommy recoils, curling in on himself. “It doesn’t- doesn’t matter, does it?” Phil purses his lips and Tommy kind of wants to scream, because of course he managed to make him angry.
”It does matter,” Phil argues, after a moment, “But you don’t have to tell me. Just... please let me know, if something really hurts.”
Tommy relaxes a little, but doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he just nods a bit and lets Phil press the healing potion into his hands. He drinks it obediently at Phil’s expectant look, wincing at the acrid taste of nether wart, not at all drowned out by the melon. Renewed strength floods into his body and, for a moment, he feels incredibly awake and aware, before the potion fades into his system and he slumps again.
He still feels exhausted, but he feels a little less like he’s about to keel over and die. He lets Phil grab his hands again and blinks sleepily as Phil cleans and bandages his shredded hands. His eyes water as he yawns widely and Phil runs a hand through his hair, almost fondly. Tommy chases the touch subconsciously and a little cooing chirp comes out of Phil. “Fuckin’ bird man,” Tommy mumbles sleepily.
Phil laughs quietly at the comment, “You little shit.”
Tommy smiles weakly, struggling to keep his head up, “You are, though. You’re a- a-“ he cuts himself off with a yawn, “a bird man. With feathers and shit.”
Phil shakes his head in mock disbelief, “Tommy, are you insulting someone for something they can’t control?”
”What?” Tommy plays along, “Me? Tommy Danger Kraken Innit? Never, Philza Minecraft.”
Phil laughs and the conversation quiets down again. “That’s done,” Phil says, after a while, returning Tommy’s hands to him, “You think you’re ready to go to bed, mate?”
Tommy nods sleepily, “I’m going to sleep standing up, or some shit, if I don’t.” He’s a little less embarrassed about leaning on Phil this time. As Phil helps him lower himself onto his bed, Tommy leans down to untie his shoes. That’s something he would not allow Phil to help him with. As his shaking, bandaged fingers struggle to untie the laces, he bites his lip, trying to stop tears from falling. He would not cry, just because he can’t untie his fucking shoelaces.
He’s thankful that Phil doesn’t offer to help. He probably would cry, if that happened. It takes longer than he would like to admit to get both of his shoes off, but, when he does, he flings himself into bed, more than exhausted. “Phil,” he mutters sleepily, “Why did you help let Dream out of prison?”
“It was just business,” Phil says, sounding much more uncomfortable than he had earlier that same day, saying those same words, “I was helping Techno fulfill a favor. That’s all. If I had known that he would hurt you, I never would have helped.”
”Yes you would have,” Tommy mumbles, “You knew well enough what might happen. You just didn’t care.” Hastily, he wipes away a few tears that had slipped past his eyelids.
”I’m sorry,” Phil says, his voice soft and Tommy sighs.
”Okay, Dad,” he whispers and, before either of them can realize what he just said, he’s asleep.