Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tommy lets out a quiet hum from his mouth, a familiar tune slipping from his mouth as his knees press against the cold, smooth stone he placed down block by block, acting as his floor. Tommy reached his hand forward, the edge of his cardigan’s sleeve getting caught onto the edges of the sharp edge before Tommy carefully moved his arm to unsnag the material from the enclosure’s edge. Tommy laid his hand onto a familiar coat of fur, thin yet bristly, the fur lay on top of a smooth black exoskeleton. Tommy smiled softly at the spider beneath his hand, staring into the eight red eyes of his pet. 

“Good morning...”

Tommy murmurs, the soft tone in his voice the same as he always used when speaking to Shroud. With Tommy’s left hand, the one not gently stroking the top of Shroud’s head, he opens his inventory, moving a piece of raw mutton into his hot bar, his hand enclosing the soft yet firm slab of meat.

“Got your breakfast, Shroud-y!”

Tommy chirps happily, earning a pleased rumble from the spider. Tommy carefully placed the mutton inside Shroud’s enclosure, to the arachnid’s evident excitement, shown through his pedipalps clicking together and the way his legs tapped rapidly against the false dirt ground of his enclosure. As the meat touches the dirt, Shroud darts forward, extending his fangs and piercing through the slab of meat, letting out a joyful purr as his fangs sink into the meat, sending the last remnants of fluid in the mutton into the air. Tommy chuckled fondly at the spider’s joy.

Tommy watches as his beloved spider tears apart the meat with his pedipalps and scarfs down the flesh of a recently killed sheep with glee and gluttony. Typically, feeding a spider almost a pound of raw meat would not go well, but Shroud was no ordinary spider, as a Mob, he didn’t act like the more common version of his species, small arachnids that strung up webs in corners and waited for their prey to come to them, Shroud was a hunter, who feasted on the flesh of creatures much bigger than himself, the magic that flowed to his veins and gave birth to the spider causing huge differences between the gigantic spider as opposed to his smaller cousins.

Of course, a Mob Spider’s favorite and preferred prey was Tommy and his fellow players, but Shroud did not harm players, or, well, he didn’t hurt a player. While Shroud did not attack Tommy, he considered other players fair game, only not attempting to rip a fellow player apart at Tommy's request. This made introducing Shroud to others a problematic task. At Shroud’s and Tubbo’s first meeting, Tommy had to hold the abnormally large spider back from attacking his Ram Hybrid friend. It took a few minutes for Shroud to calm down and multiple assurances from Tommy that Tubbo was a friend.

Tommy smiles as Shroud clicks his pedipalps together, the spider letting out what Tommy considers an adorable growl. Tommy let out a very, very, manly giggle, reaching forward one more time and running his hand over the spider's head, careful to avoid his many eyes.

“Good boy, good boy, you’re a good boy, aren’t you, Shroud? Oh yes, you are!

Tommy runs his hands affectionately over Shroud’s body, to the spider’s obvious pleasure shown through the constant clicks of his pedipalps and the purring rumbling from his entire frame. Tommy smiles fondly at Shroud. Shroud was Tommy’s most recent pet, one who crawled over to him and never left, one who chose Tommy and loved him. Tommy… Tommy knew that was rare; he knew that his loud nature, his playful jokes and jabs, his laugh bigger than his small frame, Tommy, in the whole of himself, did not attract others. Perhaps at first, it would make others curious, but eventually Tommy scared them off, his nature being incompatible with others. Very few were able to tolerate him, and even fewer liked him. Tommy knew that it was what Dre-

Tommy’s breath stutters, no, no, he wasn’t annoying, he wasn’t… unloveable, he wasn’t, he wouldn’t believe those lies, they were lies, Puffy assured him, she promised. Tommy let his hand run over Shroud for one more act of affection, taking a deep breath and smiling at the smaller creature. Tommy leaned over, planting a kiss on the top of the spider’s head, an act that had earned him looks of horror and disgust from Tubbo in the past few times they had both been at Tommy’s home.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Tommy promised, standing up from where he crouched next to Shroud’s enclosure and heading towards his bedroom door. Tommy pushes open the wooden door separating the main room of his home from his bedroom, glancing around the more spacious room, he sighs at its condition. Tommy’s hands were still sore, his fingers giving an occasional twitch at the strenuous effort he put them through the day before, clutching matching large needles in each of his hands, yarn on both of their ends, the needles' clicks echoing throughout the night, the evidence of such the uncleaned half-finished sewing products strewn on the ground.

Tommy shuffles around the room, picking up loose yarn of different lengths, thicknesses, and colours, carefully placing and sorting them into the wicker baskets he kept next to the rocking chair he kept in the corner of the room, one Tubbo made for him after learning of Tommy recent knitting hobby, though not after calling Tommy a Grandmother for picking up such an activity. Right bastard. Tommy smiles as he picks up the nearly finished bee plushie he was carefully crafting for Tubbo; all that was left were its light blue wings, ready to be sewn on once Tommy’s hands stopped shaking.

Tommy places the nearly finished plushie into one of his wicker baskets, grabbing another unfinished product, one that was taking him more time than the plush, a purple and black sweater, the two colours swirling together similar to the swirls one would see as they stared into a Nether Portal, its sleeves, even as Tommy lifted it from the ground, touched the ground its extra long sleeves dragging, extra long sleeves to accommodate his dangly half Enderman friend Ranboo, it took a while to take his measurements without the Hybrid’s knowledge, eventually, Tommy did have to go to Tubbo for assistance, but… whatever.

Tommy then picks up his last in-progress project, a beanie, striped with the colours of Las Nevadas’ flag, red, light yellow, and blue, a replacement for Las Nevadas’ leader after his last beanie was torn to shreds by a very rambunctious raccoon, one that Tommy absolutely, did not, lure into Quackity’s office to scare him, no, absolutely not. Tommy was not sewing this new beanie out of guilt; no, he was just being a good and considerate friend. Tommy claps his hands together, gazing at the now cleaned-up mess, all strands of yarn, all the small segments of snipped strings, all unfinished projects placed deftly back into his home-made wicker baskets. Tommy strolls over to the two chests he keeps next to each other at the end of his room, next to the same number of furnaces and a singular crafting table. Tommy opened the left chest with a resounding click, his singular eye flicking through its many slots, the same gray boxes as the ones that made up his inventory.

Tommy taps one near the middle, smiling as the worn stone hoe falls onto his hand, curling his fingers around its handles. Tommy twists around the tool in his hand, feeling the rough edges of the wooden stick he used to make the hoe’s handles against his calloused hands. Tommy walks over to the entrance of his home, opening the two oak doors that kept his home separated from the outdoors, watching the white smooth stone blocks of his inner walls turn into the dirt and grass blocks he layered on the outside of his home, giving his house a hobbit-like appearance. 

Tommy’s feet hit the carved-out dirt path outside his home, letting out a low whistle, a tune of a song long lost, Tommy followed his path to a lowered part of his yard, one he painstakingly carved one block deep hollows into the dirt and poured water into, water that seeped into the surrounding blocks, letting the hoed dirt surrounding the water to turn a dark brown with the moisture it absorbed from the nearby water blocks. Tommy crouched down next to his garden, gazing at the wheat and carrots he had planted there a few days prior, they seemed almost ready to harvest, but not quite, the wheat still a sickly yellow colour instead of light yellow and the carrot leaves not quite long, only letting the tiniest of the tops of the carrots poke through the ground, Tommy used to grow potatoes next to the carrots, but… Tommy wasn’t fond of potatoes anymore, not ever again.

Tommy grabs the edges of his cardigan’s sleeves, pushing them up to his elbows. Tommy’s shaking fingers dig into the moist dirt, pulling out the small weeds that were attempting to overtake his crops, tossing the little green sprouts behind him. Tommy lets out a puff of air as the last unwelcome small green plant is pulled from the soil and tossed aside. Tommy stands up from his crouched position, hearing his knees pop as he does, he gently hits the end of his lower back with his fist, sighing and wiping his dirt-covered hands on his khaki pants, Tommy turns around. Gaze falling onto an old wooden bench, its oak planks rough and splintered, its armrests barely holding onto the main body, two Ts carved onto its back, scratched onto the oak wood long ago by two giggling children.

Tommy sighed as he plopped down onto the oak bench, leaning back and letting his head fall back, staring at the sun peeking through the clouds, its position high in the sky, indicating the time, almost noon. Tommy squints, staring into the burning star, he knows you aren’t supposed to look at the sun directly, something about burning your retinas, but it wasn’t like anyone was there to stop him, besides, Tommy only had one retina to burn, his right eye covered by a cow patterned eyepatch, covering a milky white eye that had lost its vision long ago. 

“Hey, Tommy!”

Tommy startles, his head snapping back into an upright position at the sudden greeting, feeling his blood run cold as he took in his first glimpse of who was speaking, his one eye going wide, a green cloak, its hood wrapped around a porcelain mask, two black dots for eye,s and a-... a curved line mimicking the mouth of a cat.

“Drista. Hey”

Tommy choked out as the Goddess of mischief and chaos tilted her mask to the side, her straw-like hair falling to the side.

“You good?”

Tommy nods.

“Yeah, yeah, just fucking-, you fucking startled me, man! You can’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

Drista laughs, the sound echoing throughout the area, floating closer to Tommy and placing herself next to him on the bench, the wooden body of the mannequin she used as her own when in the mortal realm, laying awkwardly on the bench, the two extra arms she kept floating around the Goddess and the… almost human boy.

“So, how has my favorite mortal been doing? Causing any chaos in my name?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Not much chaos to cause lately, I did open a hotel recently, milkin’ the old capitalism cow.”

Tommy gestures at the tall, grey, and red building he was referring to. He held fond memories of its creation, of running around to collect materials for a machine version of a busy creeper hybrid, of the happy chittering from both himself and the machine at the hotel’s construction site. Drista hums in acknowledgment. The two sit in silence for a few moments, the gentle breeze of the SMP flowing through their hair. Tommy closed his singular eye, leaning against the bench's headrest and sighing.

“Are you happy?”

Tommy startles, staring at the white porcelain of Drista’s mask.

“What?”

“Are you happy, Tommy?”

Drista asks again, leaning forward, the porcelain mask she used to cover the blank face of her wooden body inches away from Tommy’s.

“I’m…”

Tommy hesitates, taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know.”

Drista cocks her head to the side.

“Don’t know?”

She parrots, Tommy sighs.

“It’s… It’s complicated! Sometimes, some days, everything, everything, will be shit, it will feel like… like I’m fucking dying, like all I can do is die, but other days… other days it’s better, the aches can fade, but it’s just… it never goes away, I always… I feel like I’m dying all over again, Drista. Even on the good days, even when I’m supposed to be happy, when I’m with Tubbo and Ranboo, I’m supposed to be happy, I just… I can’t.”

Drista hums.

“... You cannot be happy?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Basically. I try, but...”

Drista shakes her head.

“That is not right. I do not like that.”

She states plainly, Tommy laughs.

“Not a big fan of it myself, big ‘D’.”

The two dots on Drista’s porcelain mask turn into two short lines, her cat-like mouth turning into a flat line, she leans away from Tommy, pressing two of her wooden hands together in front of her, as if she were praying, though a God had no one to pray to. A small light emanates from within her hands, its shade, Tommy can’t name, something indescribable, a mixture of everything, a mixture of nothing. Drista opens her hands, her once empty palms now cradling a pendant the same shade as the light she had produced a moment before; it hangs from a silver chain. Drista turns back to Tommy, her face returning to a cat-like smile and two dotted eyes, and she holds out the pendant. Tommy raises an eyebrow, but takes the offering.

“Tommy. You are my friend.”

Tommy smiles at Drista’s words.

“I want you to live, I want… I want you to be happy, but you aren’t happy. You.. You are dying.”

Tommy sighs.

“Well, that’s just life, innit?”

Drista shakes her head.

“No. Mortals are meant to be happy; they are meant to laugh and cause mischief. That is what you used to do; you used to be happy. I liked it when you were happy; it made me happy.”

Drista pokes Tommy’s forehead, and Tommy furrows his eyebrows in response.

“I will let you be happy.”

And then, there was only a God on that bench, the almost human boy disappearing in the blink of an eye, exiting this world and entering another world and entering another.

Chapter Text

“Ugghh…”

Tommy groans, his one uncovered eye squinting as he groggily sits up from where he was prone. His thin elbows knock against the shiny black plastic of the bags he was just previously laying upon, the combination of the softness and hardness of the objects within the bags making Tommy feel sick, as well as the smell that permeated from each of them, one of rancid food, rotten fruit, and stained cardboard. 

Tommy scrunched his nose in disgust. Fucking gross. He’d smelled worse, far worse, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten used to the burn that entered his nose at the smell of rot. Tommy blinks, glancing around. Two tall walls cornered him in a small corridor, open at the ends and with an open sky, a sky filled with the pitch black night and a shining crescent moon, the stars twinkling behind her, an alleyway, one Tommy didn’t recognize. Tommy squints at the crescent in the sky, the moon’s shape filling him with confusion. The night before, the moon was half full, split between light and darkness; now, it was a simple sliver. That wasn’t right, that crescent, that shape, was not meant to be in the sky. Speaking of things that were not where they were supposed to be, Tommy sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be lying on trash bags in an alleyway.

“Drista, the fuck did you do?”

Tommy grumbles, stumbling to his feet. Shoving the amulet he still had clutched between his fingers into his inventory, near the top left. Tommy sighs. Drista had teleported him far distances before, to faraway villagers and tall mountains, but those were as chaotic pranks, Drista laughing next to him as Tommy whipped around his head in confusion and annoyance. This time, there was no giggling God beside him. Tommy sighs. He didn’t know why the hell Drista decided to teleport him to an unfamiliar place, but he couldn’t figure out why the God of Chaos did most of the things she did.

( Drista’s final words ring in Tommy’s head, “I will let you be happy.”, be happy… be happy… That wasn’t possible for Tommy, not anymore, the childish joy he once felt, the soft giggles of mischief, the boisterous laugh that caused others to roll their eyes in annoyance, the wide smiles that shone with the joy he felt, the love he felt, had been shattered, broken into pieces, pieces too scattered, too small to repair, no matter how hard Tommy tried. )

Tommy’s rough, torn shoes slapped against the gray concrete that made up the floor of the alley Drista had dropped him into, exiting through one of the entrances that stood on both sides of the alley, entering the streets of an unfamiliar city. The road was dark, the only lighting tall metal poles with what Tommy assumed were Redstone-powered lights at their tops. Some of the lights flickered rapidly, as if barely having enough energy to continue to glow, a shitty job with the Redstone, then, Redstone never ran out of power as long as a block or torch was nearby.

Speaking of shitty… Tommy glanced around at the buildings surrounding him. Well, the word shitty didn’t even begin to describe the state they were in. Glass windows cracked down the middle, bricks that were supposed to combine to make walls fallen to the ground, the wear and tear ripping the strong structure apart. Plants sprouted from the cracks in the gray concrete that lined a large black path in the middle with a spotted yellow line at the centre of the black. The buildings around Tommy were tall, towering above him, made mostly of brick and stone, no cobblestone, which was a shame; cobblestone always added to a build, in Tommy’s opinion, even if others disagreed, they were just fucking idiots, it was not an ugly block.

Some of the smaller buildings, lower and seemingly made of concrete had signs placed on their roofs, or hanging from their sides, but, Tommy, squinted, the language in which they were written was unregoizable to his singular eye, the familiar lines and dots of Galactic there were swirls and islands, twists and turns, Tommy takes a step closer to one, staring up at the sign above him, he knew there were languages other than Galactic, Galactic was just an across server standards, the most common of all written languages, but this language, one with a combination of swirls and lines, was one Tommy could not regonize.

“Late?! What the hell do you mean it’s gonna be late? The Bosses don’t like delays, and I ain’t getting in trouble for your damn incompetence!”

Tommy startles at the shout that came from the alley beside the building he was examining the sign of, tilting his head in its direction, he had kinda thought whatever city Drista had decided to drop him in was abandoned, the ruined streets and buildings told of that kind of story, but guess not.

“Listen, dude, I’m sorry, i-it ain’t my fault, I swear! Jeremy-”

Tommy crept closer to the voices, peeking his head into the alleyway where the voices were spilling out of.

“I don’t give a fuck whose fault it is, fix this shit now. I don’t care how you have to do it, get the shipment to our warehouse by morning or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

Tommy winced silently, while he wanted to know where he was and how far away he was from spawn, if he was even still in the same server. Something told him these guys weren’t the type to give out directions and free information. Tommy took a step back, aiming to leave when-

Crunch!

Tommy startles, looking down at his feet. A small metal can lies beneath his feet, its thin layers crushed under his foot, the cause of the loud noise. A noise that… Tommy looks up, finding the two faces that belonged to the voices coming from the alley staring at him, yep, a noise that had alerted the two alleyway dwellers. Tommy cleared his throat.

“Ayup.”

The two blink at him before the one on the right narrows his eyes, the one who held the furious and demanding voice.

“How much you hear?”

He seethes, Tommy shrugs.

“Nothin’.”

The man huffs, reaching for his back pocket and pulling out a small iron pipe, hollowed out on the inside, a wooden handle melded onto it, allowing the man to hold it up with the pipe pointed straight at Tommy’s face, a small click resonating throughout the silent air, causing the other man to startle.

“Jesus, Rob’! Put down the gun, there ain’t no reason to hurt him, he’s just a damn kid for fucks’ sake!”

Tommy bristles.

“Oi! Not a kid, asshole!”

The man, ‘Rob’, apparently, though Tommy suspected it was short for Robert, turned to the man next to him, though the metal pipe was still trained on Tommy.

“He’s a damn witness, John, what if he tells the cops?!”

The other man, ‘John’, hesitates before shaking his head.

“No way, this ain’t a line I’ll cross, we don’t hurt kids.”

“Not a kid.”

Tommy interjects, making both men face him once more, ‘Rob’, rolling his eyes, then smirking.

“See? He ain’t a kid, listen to him, huh?”

‘John’ scoffs.

“C’mon, man, fucking look at him!”

Tommy glares at the two as ‘Rob’ huffs.

“You wanna get caught? What if he goes to the cops?”

The other guy sighs.

“Listen, man, we’ve gotta have at least some morals, we both know this ain’t right.”

‘Rob’ narrows his eyes.

“That’s where you and I differ, John, I don’t care what’s right.”

‘Rob’ turns back to Tommy, a hardened look in his eyes as he steadies the metal tube in his grasp. Tommy reaches towards his inventory, hands hovering over the gray squares.

“Jesus, Rob, don’t-”

BOOM!

A bright explosion erupts above the three. Tommy stumbles back, his eye slamming shut as he covers his ears, squeezing his palms against his head. No-, it wasn’t, no, it-, L’Manburg, no, it wasn’t-, Tubbo, no he was-, Exile. Tommy gulped for air, feeling as if the very air he so desperately wanted, so desperately needed, had disappeared. He needed to breathe, he knew he needed to breathe, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t, he was safe, Dre-, he wasn’t here. He wasn’t, he wasn’t, HE WASN’T-

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Tommy breathed, feeling his panicked breaths slowly stabilize, following the pattern of the breathing beside him. Tommy blinked, looking up from where he was staring at the ground, crouched against the concrete. He didn’t remember sitting down. The breathing Tommy was copying, following, and using to calm himself down was, of course, coming from a person, one who sat in front of him, kneeling on the ground next to Tommy’s curled-up position. A mask covered the lower half of their face, split straight down the middle, one side a pitch black, the other side a pure pristine white. On the upper half of their face rested a pair of large goggles, mimicking the split nature of their mask, similarly split down the middle. They wore a long-tailed suit, buttoned up the middle with silver buttons, dress pants paired with a high-collared shirt and suit jacket, also split down the middle into two separate shades. A tail flickered behind them, one that ended in a sharp triangle, horns rested on the head, one white, one black, sprouting from their hair that copied the rest of them, black and white as the rest. Tommy nearly smiled at the familiar colours, a reminder of a friend.

“Hey, are you… Are you alright?”

Tommy could hear the soft smile in their voice, knowing that the eyes behind their goggles were crinkling, looking at him in a mix of worry and relief. Tommy scowled; he never liked those looks, that tone, one of patronizing pity, pity for the boy who flinched at loud noises, for the boy who burned at every touch.

“I’m fucking-, I’m fine, jackass.”

Tommy stumbles to his feet, glaring at the man split into two different shades, who hurriedly copies Tommy, rushing to his feet.

“Oh, um-, okay, that-that’s good, yep. Good.”

Tommy rolls his eye, glancing behind the black and white man, the two men, ‘John’ and ‘Rob’ were on the floor, ‘Rob’ being held by the scuff of his shirt by a short figure, ‘John’ lying flat on his back, seemingly unconscious. The short figure wore a thick brown coat that engulfed the entire upper half of his body, the coat was lined with a tanish-white fur, curling around their neck, waist, and wrists, their pants were thick, ones someone would wear if they were trecking through the snow, lined with too many pockets to count, a gray mask covered the entirety of their face, two holes allowing his green eyes to shine through, two horns sprouted from his head, small and ending in a soft point, a small tail protruded from their back, almost covered by the fur that lined his coat. ‘Rob’s voice was covered in panic, obviously frightened by the smaller figure who held him by the scruff.

“Woah, hey, hey-, let’s calm down, yeah? I wasn’t-, I wasn’t actually gonna shoot the kid, just wanted to scare him, y’know?”

The figure holding ‘Rob’ shook him slightly, anger tinting his voice, barely restrained.

“Really? Cause to me it looked like you were seconds away from pulling the fucking trigger.”

‘Rob’ shook his head frantically.

“No, no! You’ve got it all wrong, I would never-”

“Cut the shit, now, you’re gonna tell me why exactly what you and your buddy were doing out here so late at night, what you would go so far as to kill someone to hide.”

‘Rob’ started to respond to the threat, but Tommy tuned him out; he didn’t really care about ‘Rob’s business. Turning back to the two-toned individual, Tommy scratched the back of his head.

“Thanks for the help, I guess, could’ve handled it myself. Here, I’ll-”

Tommy reached into his pocket, intending to reach into his inventory and pull out a semi-valuable item, he didn’t like being in debt, and, while he easily could’ve handled whatever ‘Rob’ was trying to do to him with that metal and wooden object, probably, the two figures did help him, and Tommy hated to be in debt, debt made you vunerable, it was unpredictable, it trapped you, attached you to someone, someone who could call in repayment at any time they pleased. The two-toned figure shook their head, holding both their hands up in a panic.

“No, no, we don’t, we don’t take payment.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously? What, you just go around helping people for nothing?”

At the other person’s nod, Tommy sighed.

“Fine, fucking, whatever.”

Tommy took a step back, raising his hand in a small wave.

“I’ll see ya, maybe.”

The other responded with a wave as Tommy exited the alley. Tommy tilted his head towards the open sky, the few clouds illuminated by the crescent moon and the stars that surrounded it. Tommy should probably find a place to rest, sleep through the night, and into the morning; he had skipped the two nights before, too focused on his knitting projects, only stopping once his fingers lost their feeling. If Tommy skipped this night as well, he’d attract Phantoms, who were always annoying to deal with, their diving attacks hard to dodge, and their flight speed making them hard to shoot out of the sky.

Tommy follows the concrete path, his eye roaming around him, trying to find a good place to rest for the night. A shade of green revealed itself, entering his rendering distance; the green stuck out from the grays and blacks of the buildings that surrounded Tommy. Tommy hurries his pace, his feet soon hitting the soft grass, Tommy looked around at what he assumed to be a park of some kind, winding paths cut through the plot of land, oak trees stood tall all around the park, a lake layed in the middle, its water tinted a light green, coloured by the algea the floated on its surface. Tommy’s feet followed one of the winding paths, his worn and untied shoes kicking up the dirt path, spreading tiny particles in the air. A wooden bench, one made of polished oak, soon enters Tommy’s sight. He stops in his tracks before letting out a small sigh. Well, a bench was better than the ground. Tommy plops onto the oak wood, taking off his blue cardigan, resting his head on one of the bench’s handles. Tommy drapes his blue cardigan over himself, creating a makeshift blanket. Tommy stares into the sky above him, his eye tracing the constellations in the sky, having memorized their placements long ago.

Slowly, but surely, Tommy’s eye shuts, his vision turning dark as he fades from consciousness.

…

Tommy blinks awake, groaning at the bright light from the burning sun hitting his eye, causing his singular exposed pupil to shrink to a dot. Tommy let out a loud yawn, throwing his hands above his head in a stretching, groaning as his joints popped. Tommy sat up from his previous lying position, grabbing his cardigan from his lap and placing it back onto his shoulders. Tommy hops off the oak bench he had chosen as his temporary bed the night before. 

( Tommy hadn’t had a nightmare during his rest, his mind empty, not filled with screams of pain, both his and others, empty of explosions loud enough to rattle his bones, of blood spilling onto the floor, staining his skin, his hands, his face, his nightmares were frequent, often causing him to be incapable of sleep, purely out of fear of the images his mind constructed for him. )

Tommy steps back onto the dugout path winding through the park, his feet following it to its edge. Unlike hours earlier, many players roamed the concrete streets, a variety of all kinds of different players, tails and horns poking out through the crowd, wings fluttering along backs, extra arms and legs extending from torsos. Tommy wades through the crowds, making sure his body does not brush against any other players, not wanting to feel the burn of their touches, no matter how minor. 

His one eye wanders the now sun-filled streets, peering into clear-glass windows displaying things as familiar to Tommy as clothes to things so unfamiliar his brain could not find the words to describe them. Tommy squints at one of the signs placed atop one of the buildings surrounding him; the words upon it, as they were the night before, were completely unreadable to him, written in a language Tommy could not recognize. Tommy sighed. If he were able to read the words, perhaps he could figure out where he was, or at the very least, what the buildings surrounding him were. Tommy's hand twitched, pulling up his inventory without his conscious decision, hovering over the pendant given to him by a God of chaos.

Tommy blinked in surprise at his own movements, taking the pendant out of his inventory. He stared into the gem within it, twisting the silver chain it hung on between his fingers. He wanted to put it on, no, he did not want to, he needed to. Tommy carefully placed the chain over his head, letting the pendant rest upon his sternum. Tommy glanced back up at the sign that his gaze had fixed on moments before, a small (and very manly) gasp leaving his mouth as he did.

‘Cellbit’s Cellulars!’

Tommy rereads the two, now understandable words on the sign. He glances down at the pendant he is now wearing. Was it responsible for his newfound knowledge? But how the hell could a pendant around his neck allow him to understand a foreign language? It didn’t- 

Tommy hissed in pain as a fellow player shoved past him, the feeling of another person touching him, even so briefly, causing his skin to feel as if it were burned by lava from the Nether itself. Tommy shot them a glare.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Tommy called out behind him. The asshole didn’t even turn their head to look in Tommy’s direction, Tommy scoffed. He looked back at the pendant and shrugged. Well, best not to think about it too much; learning the language of the area was a win, not a loss. Tommy’s gaze flickered across the signs on the other buildings; based on the excess of the words ‘Sale’ and ‘Deal’, Tommy could finally make a guess at where he was. Some sort of shopping centre, which, considering Tommy’s limited funds, was not ideal for him. Tommy stops suddenly at a familiar word, or more accurately, a familiar name.

‘Niki-Chu! Bakery’

Tommy feels a small smile grace his lips at the thought of a woman with black and blond hair, with two pointed foxen ears, before it falls. Niki. A fellow L’Manburgian, a fellow soldier, a sister. And, most recently, his attempted murderer. He missed her. He really did. Her smiles, her laugh, the bread she would bake, soft even when times were hard. It wasn’t Niki’s bakery; it just held her name. Niki’s bakery was no more, turned into rubble and ash with the rest of L’Manburg, though it was gone long before that, abandoned by its creator and void of customers. But… the bakery before his one eye was bustling, even at the distance he was from it, Tommy could almost, almost, hear cheerful laughter, joyful voices… Tommy’s feet moved without his thought, heading towards the bakery, maybe, for even a moment, he could pretend those voices weren’t foreign, but familiar, that he and his friends were hanging out at Niki’s bakery, like they used to, that he and Niki were still… were still..

A bell rings out as Tommy opens the bakery’s door, startling Tommy slightly. Taking in the bakery’s interior. White pillars were pressed against the walls, presumably helping stabilize the building. The colours pink and blue were repeated again and again inside the bakery, pink tablecloths, blue cushions, circular windows were placed along the walls, letting in beams of sunlight that danced across the surfaces inside the bakery. 

“Hi, welcome to Niki-Chu’s bakery! What can I get you?”

Tommy blinks, ripping his gaze away from the decor of the bakery, turning his singular eye to the person who just spoke (with a familiar voice, oh, so familiar). An Axolotl Hybrid stood behind the counter, their pink hair tied up into two buns at the top of their head, revealing the gills that poked out from either side of her head, three on each, their skin, contrasting their light pink hair was a pale blue, only lightly tinged pink at the tips of their body, the ends of their gills, and their webbed-fingers, tubes ran all along their body, some sort of medical equipment Tommy could not regonize, though if he had to guess, it was something to keep them mosturized throughout the day, after all, Axolotls can’t last long out of water, the same being true for their Hybrid siblings. Tommy stared into their black eyes, completely black, lacking a form of sclera, before clearing his throat and shuffling closer to the counter. 

“Um, yes, yeah, hello. I would like a…”

Tommy tilts his head up, his singular eye locking onto the menu above the pink-haired Hybrid. He looks at the readable but unfamiliar words; some things listed on the menu he did recognize (he was incredibly intelligent after all, the most intelligent), but others he did not. Tommy opens his mouth to ask what a ‘Hot Chocolate’ was, but before he could, the bell hung above the entry rang once more, interrupting him.

“Niki!”

A familiar voice called out, 

(Too familiar, Tommy had heard it before, in loud exclamations of pride, in hushed whispered vitriol, in mad mutterings, in screams that shook the walls, of apologies whispered to him in a tight embrace.)

Tommy stiffened, but did not turn his head to face the voice’s owner, his one eye locked ahead, the Axolotl Hybrid, Niki, presumably, but not his Niki, rolled her eyes, though the act seemed more fond than annoyed. Steps quickly sounded across the tile floor, the person who had just entered the bakery rushing up to the counter, standing right beside Tommy, though, on his blind side, meaning Tommy would have to turn his head to see their face, he didn’t. 

A breath is taken beside him, presumably before one meant to come before words, but before any words could form, Niki raised up a singular finger.

“Get in line, Wil, it’s not your turn.”

A huff sounds from beside Tommy. Tommy decides to finally turn at the sound, looking at the person beside him, ‘Wil’, apparently. Tommy feels his body as he looks at the figure’s face. Bluish skin, traced with white lines, lines that continue back into his curly brown hair and embrace his thin face, wings stretch from his back, the same color as his skin, fleshy and featherless, a pair of round blackened glasses lay in front of his eyes, keeping the upper half of his face hidden. It was familiar, as were both of the Hybrid’s names and voices, but it wasn’t the same; They weren’t them, there were no red feathers, no stitches across a miscolored face, no blonde ears flicking from side to side, or tail wagging in annoyance or occasional joy, they were not them. The Phantom Hybrid turns to look at Tommy as well, meeting his singular eye, and smiles a bit ashamedly.

“Oh, my bad, sorry kiddo.”

Tommy blinks at the soft tone, then bristles.

“Not a fucking kid, asshole.”

‘Wil’ chuckles as Tommy huffs, turning back to Niki.

“I want a hot chocolate and a blueberry sco-one!.. Please.”

Niki raises an eyebrow at Tommy’s pronunciation of scone (which was perfect), but nods.

“That’ll be… Thirteen Dollars and fifty Cents, please.”

Tommy blinks.

“What?”

Niki blinks back.

“Your food..? It costs thirteen Dollars and fifty Cents.”

“Dollars? Like… Dolls?”

“... No.”

Tommy nods, reaching into his inventory, he hovers over the various items within before choosing. A pristine, bright blue diamond falls into his hands, and both ‘Wil’ and Niki jump at the sudden appearance, which did not make much sense to Tommy, what? Never see a guy grab something from his inventory, he snorts, placing the diamond on the counter. He wasn’t sure what the hell Doll-ares were, but a diamond should probably be equivalent to ten of them… probably.

“Wha… what is that?”

It was ‘Wil’ that spoke, though based on Niki’s expression, she seemed to also want the answer to ‘Wil’s question. Tommy furrowed his brow.

“A diamond, obviously, what? Never seen one before?”

“I don’t think diamonds are typically bright blue, or… whatever that shape is.”

“What other fucking colour would they be, dipshit?”

“White, mainly.”

Tommy scoffed.

“A white diamond? Are you an idiot? Why would they be white?”

“Why would they be blue?”

“Because they are!”

Tommy takes a deep breath. He would not, he would not, let this jackoff get to him. Diamonds were blue, not white; it wasn’t Tommy’s fault this guy was too big an idiot to understand such a simple fact of life. Niki sighs, causing both Tommy and ‘Wil’ to face her once more.

“It’s fine, it’s.. It’s on the house.”

“What house?”

Niki looks at Tommy, opens her mouth, then closes it once more.

“Never mind, it’s free.”

Tommy smiles.

“Oh, shit, seriously?”

Niki gives a soft smile at Tommy’s reaction.

“Yeah, seriously.”

Tommy fist pumps.

“Pog!”

Tommy shoots his hand forward, taking back the diamond he placed on the counter, shoving it back into his inventory. ‘Wil’ hums.

“Interesting power you’ve got there, some sort of personal sub-space?”

Tommy’s grin falls into a scowl.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

‘Wil’ chuckles at Tommy’s aggressive words.

“You know, your, ah, never mind. The names’ Wilbur, what’s yours, kid?”

Tommy's scowl deepened (whether it was at the familiar name or at being called a kid, he couldn’t, or more accurately, wouldn’t, tell you.)

“Tommy, and I’m not a kid, dickhead.”

Wilbur smiles.

“Tommy… Interesting name.”

Tommy scoffs.

“Yeah, compared to yours, it is. Wilbur, Wil-bur, stupid name.”

Wilbur chuckles, again, apparently, he found Tommy’s aggression amusing.

“I take back what I said.”

Tommy rolls his eye, turning back to face the counter as he hears two objects being placed onto its surface. He looks down at them, a white mug seemingly filled with ‘Hot Chocolate’ and a pastry littered with blueberries, presumably the ordered ‘Blueberry Scone’. Tommy snatches the scone off the counter, shoving the entire thing into his mouth. Tommy slowly chews, and, holy shit, his mouth feels like it's in heaven, the softness of the pastry, the subtle hints of blueberry, the… Everything, honestly, Tommy decided there and then that ‘Blueberry Scones’ were his favorite thing ever.

Tommy gulps, swallowing the pastry, letting out a sigh. He looks up at Niki to find a horrified expression. Turning to the side, he finds Wilbur wearing a matching one. Tommy shrugs, grabbing the mug and quickly scarfing down the liquids inside, which were perhaps a smidge too hot to be comfortably drunk. Tommy places the mug back down onto the counter, giving Niki and Wilbur a nod before turning around and heading towards the door.

“Bye, Niki!”

Tommy calls out as the bell hanging above the door rings, signalling his exit. Tommy tilts his head towards the sky, squinting at the sun’s light. Well, at least that was still the same.

Chapter Text

Wilbur was a Villain.

Wilbur was a Monster.

In the deepest parts of Wilbur’s heart, in the deepest crevices of his mind, he knew this to be true. He was utterly revolting. Wilbur could not say if he was born this way or made this way; was he born with evil within him? Or was it a gift from those around him? Wrapped in a box with a red bow on top? Did it matter? Whether or not it was in his nature to be evil? Perhaps. But Wilbur did not care; he used to, he could remember a day when the word ‘Villain’ screamed at him was seen as an insult and not a title.

They were days long ago, when the wings on his back were too small to grant him flight, when he had to crane his neck to speak with adults, when he was a child. He remembered tears streaming from his eyes as the people who were supposed to care him, love him, looked at him with disgust, and made that disgust known, time and time again, sometimes in different places, sometimes in different places, but the message was always the same: Wilbur was a Monster.

Wilbur hated it, he despised it, he loathed it, he was not a Monster, he used to shout back, he was a person just like them. Wilbur now knew that to be a lie, perhaps the first lie he ever told. It had to be a lie, for Wilbur was a Monster. His songs, which he so adored, made others’ eyes widen in panic as their pupils shrank, as they danced to the tune he chose. Wilbur loved making them dance; he loved being the one in control. Others did not; they hated it when he was the one in control. They screamed after the song ended, then they would toss him aside, back to his case worker, back to the system, far away from them. After all, everyone is scared of Monsters.

But, then, a man with blonde hair came, a silly hat on his head, a wonky smile on his face, and two wings spilling from his back, though, unlike Wilbur’s, his held feathers. Phil. Yes, that was his name, Phil didn’t yell, he did not scream, he did not… he did not think Wilbur a Monster. How foolish, couldn’t he understand? Wilbur was a Monster, couldn’t Phil see? Was Phil unable to see his wretchedly sharp wings? His horrid eyes? His claws and teeth? Perhaps Phil was an idiot, and so was his Wife, Kristen, with dark brown hair and darker eyes, who looked at Wilbur like he wasn’t a Monster, like he was… like he was… They were idiots.

But, perhaps, that was not so bad; perhaps being an idiot wasn’t a bad thing. As Wilbur gazed upon their soft smiles as he sang them a song all his own, he wished more people were idiots.

Soon, another Monster joined them, one with a flat nose, tusks that jutted out from his mouth, and soft pink hair. Wilbur liked the Monster; he liked the flat tone of his voice that matched his nose, the way he growled when Wilbur got too close, his love of gold, and how he would scream and punch when Wilbur touched what was his. Though it seemed his fellow Monster was also an idiot, incapable of understanding what they both were, scrunching up that flat nose of his when Wilbur spoke the truth.

Wilbur liked idiots, he decided. They were far more fun than those smart enough to realize what Wilbur truly was. He smiled as his fellow Monster pressed a golden ring into his hand, he smiled as the Monster wrapped his arms around Wilbur, letting out soft, clear chuffs, he smiled as the Monster told Wilbur that neither he nor Wilbur were Monsters, that they were not the Monsters, but the world they lived, the ‘System’, was the Monster, Wilbur nodded, even though he knew it was all lies. 

Kristin got sick. Really sick. The kind of sick Wilbur only saw through the TV screen or described in books. Her pale skin grew paler, almost matching his own in shade. Her hair thinned, its volume lost, no longer hugging her face but lying beside it limply, like a cheap doll’s hair. Kristin was dying. Wilbur didn’t like it. Kristin should not die. Phil looked at him softly when he said so, wrapping his arms and wings around Wilbur, muttering apologies. Wilbur did not accept them. 

Kristin died. Whatever was inside of her, whatever illness, sickness, it was too strong, strong enough to defeat her, to take away her smile, her laughs, her joy, her life. No hospital, no doctor able to help, no medicine, no treatment, nothing. Wilbur cried, he was… He didn’t know what he was. Monsters did not cry. Why was he crying? It didn’t make sense. His fellow Monster wept beside him, though his tears were few, his eyes burning with an anger so hot it evaporated most of the tears before they had the chance to fall. Phil didn’t cry. 

Phil was sad, his eyes dampened with loss, his hugs tighter than they were before, his laughter softer, quieter, but he did not cry, he did not weep. Perhaps Phil was a Monster, too. 

Wilbur’s fellow Monster, his brother. His anger only grew, greater and greater still, so great it would swallow up his body and mind, for the anger inside him was not his, not fully; in his mind were voices other than his own, calling for blood, violence, and death. Wilbur did not mind this; his fellow Monster was his brother, his kin, his family, even if there were others inside him. His fellow Monster did not see it that way; he thought the voices, the urges, made him a Monster. How silly, couldn’t he tell he already was one?

Phil helped his fellow Monster, whispering assurances and explanations that Wilbur did not care to listen to; they weren’t for him, after all. 

Wilbur did, however, listen to his brother’s rants, his anger at the world, the ‘System’, those in power, those…  Who.. Those who were unable to save Kristin. Wilbur nodded, hummed, and agreed. His brother was so stupid, a real idiot, but Wilbur liked idiots, and he loved his brother. So when his brother donned a cape and carried an axe, Wilbur followed, daggers laced across his belt and a mask shadowing his face.

Wilbur was a Monster.

Wilbur was a Villain.

…

Wilbur let out a low whistle as his boots clicked upon the dark wooden floor beneath his feet. Wilbur places his hands into the pockets of his blue trenchcoat, the most iconic part of his costume, its mass and colour often signalling his arrival or departure from the scene if one only saw its ends as he ran. 

Wilbur raised his hand, tapping lightly on his chin, or more accurately, on the bottom part of his mostly black mask that covered the entirety of Wilbur’s face. His mind wandered as he wandered through the halls of his and the rest of the Syndicate’s base. Tommy. What a strange child he was. Scars littered the little skin that Tommy allowed to be visible, knicks and scratches, and others that were deep and deliberate. Tommy’s Power was interesting, even if Tommy refused Wilbur’s questioning about it. Was it a subspace? A form of Conjuring? Or perhaps, the child created the strange blue diamond from nothing but air, oh, how Wilbur hoped it was the last one, strong Powers like that were always the most fun.

Wilbur could tell there was far more to Tommy, more than met the eye. If Wilbur had to guess, he had not even scratched the surface of that boy. 

(A small voice, an instinct, truly, perhaps with him since he was born, perhaps given to him through life, whispered into his mind as he looked at that boy. Monster. That boy was a Monster, a Monster far greater than Wilbur, a greater Monster than Wilbur had ever known.)

Wilbur sighed, glancing up to look into one of the many lanterns that hung from the ceiling above, the yellow flames bouncing and swaying, even without any kind of wind, as fire never remained still. Wilbur took a deep breath, clearing his mind. He could not let his curiosity overtake his mind; he had plans for tonight.

Though it was not Wilbur’s idea to become a Villain, he embraced it, sowing chaos, fear, and death, as often as he could. Though, for now, Wilbur was not allowed to spread too much chaos, if there were too much destruction, the Heros would be on high alert, something that could counteract the Syndicate’s future Plan, Wilbur had protested at first, but, imaging their Plan reaching its peak, the chaos that it would cause, was enough to make Wilbur… tone down the destruction. 

Wilbur turned, heading towards one of the Base’s many exits and entrances. He couldn’t cause chaos inside the base, after all, or at least, not the chaos he was planning to. Wilbur’s target for tonight was a business building in one of the higher Districts, the second, to be exact. One that was shady, to say the least, one that often betrayed and tricked its ‘Costumers’, and, oh, to be clear, that was not why it was Wilbur’s target; he could not give a rat’s ass about its shady practices. Wilbur was targeting it due to its connections with one of his least favourite people. Shclatt, oh, just imagining his face scrunched up in frustration and fury was enough to make Wilbur smile.

As Wilbur reaches his intended destination, he spots a fellow member of the Syndicate scurrying into the base through Wilbur’s intended exit. Wilbur’s face scrunched up in annoyance as he spotted the figures' loose blue hooded costume covered in zippers and spikes, Blue-Bolt, or, as he was known when he bothered to go civilian, Connor E. Pants. Wilbur was not a fan of him. Though Connor had a strong Power, extremely so, he was also… Odd, and not in the way Wilbur typically enjoyed. Wilbur began to raise his hand in order to give Blue-Bolt a… friendly… wave as he passed, but Blue-Bolt beat him to it, giving him a swift wave Wilbur would’ve read as frantic if he wasn’t aware of Blue-Bolt’s typical speed. 

Wilbur bites back a scoff, climbing out of one of the Syndicate Base’s many exits, popping out near the business area of the Second District, just as Wilbur intended. Wilbut let out a hum, gazing around at the tall, uniform buildings, the only true difference between them being the signs that labelled them. The higher Districts were always so uniform, so neat. Wilbur hated them. What was life without differences, without chaos? It almost made Wilbur glad he grew up in a lower District, almost.

Wilbur reached into one of the inner pockets of his trench coat, pulling out his tool for the task laid before him tonight, a bomb. Made by Wilbur’s hands, it was crude, but a bomb did not need to be neat; it just needed to destroy. That’s why Wilbur loved bombs so; they had one task, one purpose, that they always completed, no matter how shoddily he made them, no matter how crude they were.

Wilbur’s face breaks into a grin as he spots the building he was looking for. Wilbur strolls to the entrance, looking up at the tall building. He tilts his head to the side. Now, where, oh where, should he place his tool, where could cause the most chaos, the most confusion? Nearer the top of the building, so the explosion is seen by even those far from the building, nearer to the bottom, so the ground would shake and rumble, alerting those nearby? Wilbur hummed as he considered. Looking up at the night sky, for the sun had set long ago, Wilbur made his decision; higher was better; he wanted as many people to see the explosion, to see him, as possible.

Wilbur strolled into the alley beside the building. He glances at the smooth, white, clean walls of the building; they would be hard to scale if Wilbur tried. Luckily for him, scaling them was not in his plans; he had a much, much easier way of reaching the roof. Wilbur felt his wings spread out at his command, their flesh creaking, their bones popping. Wilbur smiled. With a single flap of them, he was sent into the air, two more after, and he was able to descend onto the building’s roof.

Wilbur looks around the roof of the building, searching for the optimal place to-

“Nixie!”

Wilbur perks up at the sound of his Villain moniker. Turning around, he finds the Viglante, Gumberoo, hopping onto the same roof the Villain himself was standing on. Gumberoo was a newer Vigilante, inexperienced, which was made painfully obvious when he alerted Wilbur to his presence, despite having the perfect opportunity for a sneak attack. Wilbur chuckled. What an idiot. Luckily for him, Wilbur had a soft spot for idiots.

“Gumberoo!”

Wilbur calls out, throwing out his arms, as if in greeting.

“What are you doing here? It’s awfully late, you know? And this isn’t where you normally patrol.”

Gumberoo narrows his eyes, though it’s barely visible due to his mask.

“I think the more important question is what are you doing here, Nixie?”

Wilbur hums.

“Can’t a man take a midnight stroll?”

Gumberoo scoffed.

“Most people don’t take strolls while holding a bomb.”

Wilbur blinked, looking at his right hand, which still held the aforementioned bomb.

“Hm. Suppose not.”

The air itself seemed to still around the two criminals, one breaking the law to protect, the other breaking the law to play. Then suddenly, the stillness gathered around them snapped, with a-

BOOM!

Wilbur grinned even as he had to squint at the bright light of Gumberoo’s summoned explosion, stuffing his soon-to-be explosion into one of the inner pockets of his blue trenchcoat. Leaping back, Wilbur barely dodged Gumberoo’s incoming lunge, the explosion, then, was just a distraction, not an attack within itself, which made sense since it was directed towards the sky, and not at Wilbur himself.

Wilbur cackled, a low melodic sound, he let carry through the air. Gumberoo growled, throwing a punch, one that Wilbur side-stepped with ease. Wilbur snapped a dagger hanging on his belt into his hands, making a swipe at Gumberoo, who shot back at the glint of his blade. Wilbur twirled the blade in his hands, letting his fingers run across its surface, but never giving it enough pressure to slice. Gumberoo glared at him, Gumberoo… was in a complicated situation, he could use his Power, a potent ability, which could allow him to seriously damage Wilbur, but any kind of serious attack would also destroy their enviorment, and the media wasn’t fond of Vigilantes as it was, they would run wild with a story of one acting so… Villainous.

Wilbur did so wish Gumberoo would use his Power, give Wilbur a true fight, go all out; he truly adored Gumberoo’s Power, the ability to bring explosions from nowhere, to destroy with just your body and mind. Why, if Wilbur wasn’t so fond of his own Power, he would be filled with envy. Wilbur blinked. Oh, right.

“Freeze.”

Gumberoo froze, though his eyes went wild, as if he had forgotten about Wilbur’s Power, as did Wilbur himself, but at least he had the excuse of being distracted with playing with his foe; Gumberoo truly was an idiotic amateur. Wilbur let out a hum as he looked at his frozen adversary. He did not want to kill Gumberoo; the Vigilante was just beginning to sprout, he would hate to pick a fruit before it ripened, before it grew enough to have some flavor, but he couldn’t just leave him, or free him, that would be just so… boring.

Wilbur stepped forward, placing the blade held in his hand against the Vigilante’s throat, smirking slightly as he saw the man’s rectangular pupils sharpen into two thin lines, in the way one with circular pupils would shrink.

“Oh… little Vigilante… did you really think this was a good idea?”

Wilbur paused as if waiting for a response, even though he knew one wouldn’t come.

“No, no, you knew it was stupid, didn’t you? You knew it was. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Your little heroic heart couldn’t take not stepping in, huh? Oh, poor little lamb…”

Wilbur chuckled.

“You really-”

Vwoop!

-

Tubbo was an idiot. Tubbo knew that fact was true as one of the greatest Villains in all of L’Manburg held a dagger to his throat. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not on this roof, not in this district. Tubbo only came here because… because he had to. When his eyes caught a glimpse of Nixie’s trenchcoat in that damn camera he shouldn’t even have access to, he had to confront him, to stop him. Tubbo was an idiot, most definitely, but he wasn’t a bastard. He would never, never, turn a blind eye, let people get hurt, let them feel fear, if he had the slimmest, smallest, chance of being able to prevent it.

(He wouldn’t be like him, he would never let people get hurt for his own safety, for his own gain, for his own greed.)

Tubbo took solace in the fact, that he would at least die by his ideals, even as his eyes shook in fear as his body could not, as sweat dripped down his back, as his pupils sharpened, at least he would die by his own choices, his own principles.

So when Tubbo heard that sound, that familiar, glorious sound, the sound of Ranboo’s Power being used in proximity, he was filled with both relief and horror, relief that perhaps tonight was not the night he died and terror at the chance his best friend would die alongside him.

But it wasn’t his best friend that appeared, though it was a familiar face, scarred and marred, with only one eye, the other covered by an eyepatch mimicking the patterns of a cow. The boy, the one that Tubbo and Ranboo had saved the last night. Tubbo wanted to scream, scream for him to run, to get away while he still could, while Ranboo, with his experience as a Vigilante, might, might, have been able to outmanoeuvre Nixie and get him and Tubbo away, a civilian? They wouldn’t stand a damn chance.

The blonde boy’s hand shot out, and-, then-, a sword. A fucking sword. A sword pointed at Nixie’s neck. Nixie raised his hands in the air, slowly turning around to face the blonde boy. Tubbo thought he imagined it; he must’ve imagined it, because why would Nixie’s eyes gleam with delight when they saw the one-eyed boy?

“Get away from him. Now.”

Nixie chuckled then, miraculously, did as the boy commanded, stepping away from Tubbo. If Tubbo was not already frozen by Nixie’s Power, he would’ve frozen in shock at the Villain’s action. The boy scoffed, sword still trained on Nixie as he took the Villain’s place in front of Tubbo. The one-eyed boy wrapped his arms around Tubbo, not in a hug, not even in an embrace, no, it was as if Tubbo was a package, a box so heavy it required two arms to lift. 

A strange… Orb? Appeared in the blonde boy’s hand, the one not holding the sword, still pointed at Nixie, it was bluish-green, glistening in the scarce light of the moon, and for a reason Tubbo couldn’t name, it reminded him of Ranboo. The sword then disappeared, and the arm holding the odd orb raised, tossing the object far away from the Villain, Vigilante, and… Maybe a civilian.

“Fuck you.”

The boy spat, and then-, they weren’t on the roof. Tubbo felt his stomach lurch as he tumbled to the ground. He heaved, bits of saliva dripping onto the inside of his mask; he would have to clean that later, Tubbo, he-, he had a later, he wasn’t-, he wasn’t dead.

“You good?”

Tubbo blinked, looking up he found the one-eyed boy staring at him, an uncomfortable look on his face, his hands awkwardly shoved into the pockets of the cardigan the boy was wearing.

“You… You saved me.”

Tubbo rasped. The boy scoffed.

“Just… Returning the favour. We’re even now.”

Tubbo… Tubbo didn’t know what to do. Tubbo looked around. They were… in a park, one located outside the business area of the Second District, when Tubbo looked back at the boy, he found him standing with another one of those strange orbs in his hands, the blonde boy raised his hand-

“Wait!”

The boy paused.

“Wha-What’s your name?”

The boy blinked (or winked?).

“None of your fucking business.”

Then the boy tossed the orb in his hand, and in the next few moments, he was gone.

.

..

…

Red.

Red.

Red.

Red vines, slithering, wrapping around the room, creeping into the walls, hanging from the ceiling, red eyes danced across the room, the smile beneath them fanged and wide. A clawed hand traces the vines, careful not to harm them, to not harm the Master it served. Long robes dragged across the floor as the man connected to the gentle hand walked forward, closer to the source, to the Egg.

Bad smiled as he approached his life, his purpose, his God. Bad knelt before his God, clasping his clawed hands together so tightly, he almost broke through his own skin.

“Oh, Egg, forgive one such as I for daring to approach one such as yourself, a being far above, far greater than I.”

The vines around the room twitched, pulsed, beat. Bad smiled.

“Oh, thank you, Egg, thank you for allowing me to serve you, to give myself to you, so benevolent, so kind, so caring as to extend yourself into me, one so unworthy…”

Bad gently, oh, so gently, placed his hands upon the Egg’s surface, on top of its majesty, its beauty. He felt his Power rush through his body, pouring into the Egg. What an honour to be able to help such a magnificent being as the Egg, even partially. Bad could not help but tears gather in his eyes, of gratitude, of joy.

(Of pain, of agony, as he was drained, his Power pushed to its limits and-)

Bad fell onto the ground, smile growing wider as he felt the vines in the room pulse once more, though this time it was not in a message, but in growth, in strength. Bad giggled. A figure cleared its voice behind him. Bad blinked, turning his head.

(He couldn’t move, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt-)

Bad’s grin only grew.

“Skeppy!”

He greeted his closest friend. The one he cared for the most, beside the Egg, of course, smiling as he took in his friend’s black hair dipped in red at its tip, his lovely red eyes, and even more beautiful red wings.

(No, no, Skeppy’s wings were blue, blue like his eyes, blue like his hair, he wasn’t-)

Bad’s oldest and closest friend stared at him.

“We shall acquire the Captain and Leaf soon.”

Bad, somehow, brightened.

“How wonderful! Oh, Skeppy, I hope the Egg is pleased! With those two enlightened, the Egg’s strength will only grow; isn’t that just incredible?”

Skeppy nodded, his face matching the tone of voice, empty.

(No, that wasn’t right, Skeppy laughed, and giggled, and he smiled, he smiled, why wasn’t he?-)

“It is.”

“... It truly is.”

Chapter Text

Tommy sighs, leaning his head back onto the top of the park’s wooden bench, the same one he had slept on the night he first arrived in this unfamiliar place, a place of tall square buildings, white and pristine, of crowds larger than even the ones found on Servers like Hypixel and even taller walls separating said place into unknown areas. Last night Tommy had attempted to cross through these walls, made of blackstone and with painted yellow stripes, a familiar colour combination, only to be stopped by some asshole in uniform.

‘ID please!’ they shouted, Tommy remembered, thrusting their hand into his face. Refusing to answer his questions, a real twat, wouldn’t let him pass. Tommy knew there were other ways around the walls than the obvious doorways, but he also knew digging under them or towering over them would draw too much attention, especially with all the uniformed fucks he noticed lined up at the walls. So, now, he sat at the same bench he slept on two nights earlier, and the night before, after he successfully repaid a debt he had incurred.

(Sword clutched in his hand, pointed at the neck of the attacker, forcing them to step away, even while a smirk twinkled in their eyes, even as he and the one he owed a debt to were able to pearl away, Tommy could feel those smirking, curious… rotten eyes on him.)

Tommy felt another sigh tumble from his mouth. He was exhausted, confused, and pissed off. First, he showed up in an unrecognizable place filled with an unrecognizable language that he was only able to read due to a damn pendant given to him by a God, the same God that brought him to this unknown place in the first damn place without fucking warning, might he add! And second… Okay, Tommy didn’t really have a second reason; the first reason for his emotions already covered all his bases.

Tommy tilts his head towards the sky, glaring at the sun above him, high in the sky, indicating the time as noon. Tommy stands up, wiping non-existent dirt off his cargo pants. Tommy reached into his inventory, a pork chop appearing in his hands. Tommy raised it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the cooked meat, earning himself a horrified look from an onlooker, probably a vegetarian. Tommy scarfs down the meat, watching as his hunger bar fills to nearly its maximum. 

He could try to cross the walls, again, Tommy thought, this time he could attempt an… unconventional manner of crossing them, they seemed to be blackstone so carving through them shouldn’t be too much trouble, though, as Tommy checked his inventory, he realized the task of mining through might be harder than he thought, considering his lack of a pickaxe. His inventory had some of his tools, his weapons, his sword and axe, which he never felt safe without, some food, a couple of blocks, a few pearls, for a quick escape, a few sentimental items that rarely left his inventory, and, of course, his Communicator. All in all, his inventory wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t exactly full.

Tommy should change that, he decided, while in his own base, filled with supplies and easy-to-grab tools, it was okay for his inventory to be lacking; in an unfamiliar place, he wasn’t so comfortable with a sparse inventory. Now, Tommy wasn’t, as many claimed, an idiot; he knew he couldn’t just go around collecting materials without thought. He was in a city, one he didn’t recognize, but one filled with people, people who would definitely not appreciate Tommy destroying their builds in his quest for materials. 

Which brought Tommy back to an earlier problem of his, getting across the yellow and black walls; being unable to pass through them stopped his quest for materials before it had its chance to begin. Tommy let out a hum. He was… stuck. He couldn’t think of a way to get past the walls without drawing attention; the walls were too tall for him to properly throw a pearl across them, towering over them would create too much visibility, and mining through would be nearly impossible without a pickaxe. There had to be a way, a way Tommy wasn’t seeing.

Tommy’s feet began to move, marching him down the path he stood on. He had to be missing something, not seeing something; Tommy doubted he was the only player ever to attempt to cross those walls without a damn ID, whatever the hell that was! Tommy knew he wasn’t the only one, nor likely to be the first, so, following that line of thought, perhaps, there were already alternative ways to pass through the wall, like a tunn-

“Oof!”

Tommy exclaimed, shoved back by the wall, no, the person, he had just run into, too distracted to notice their approach, how had he not- he should’ve-, Tommy didn’t get distracted, not anymore, not since-

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!”

A familiar voice rang out, causing Tommy’s head to whip upward. Tommy’s eye widened, two-toned skin, one side, dark as night, while the other as white as the stars that appeared within the nightsky. Two horns, matching the two tones of their skin poking out through the top of the equally two-toned hair. It was… Ranboo, but, no, it -, Ranboo’s horns, they were longer, his skin it was-, the two tones were patterned differently, it wasn’t Ranboo, who?-

“Are you okay?”

Tommy blinked, shaking his head, looking into Ranboo?- No, the-, the stranger’s eyes, red and green, but not quite the right shade.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fucking-, I’m fine.”

Tommy mumbles, stumbling up from where he had fallen to the ground after the collision with Ran-, with the stranger, blatantly ignoring the hand the stranger was offering him.

“Oh, um, okay.”

Tommy scowled, folding his arms.

“Yeah…”

Tommy and the stranger stood there in silence, Tommy’s eye flickering to the stranger’s face every few seconds, he’d heard of dopplegangers, of people, unrelated who had never met, being identical, but Ranboo… Tommy would have assumed that with Ranboo’s, well, Ranboo-ness, they wouldn’t have any dopplegangers, but Tommy supposed his assumption would’ve been wrong.

(Though, a little voice in Tommy’s head insisted that though they may look the same, dopplegangers weren’t supposed to sound the same, weren’t supposed to have the same nervous tone, the same inflections.)

“Bye.”

Tommy said, turning away from the stranger.

“Wait!”

The stranger called out, causing Tommy to stop.

“What?”

“Uh…”

The stranger blinked, seeming surprised by their own words, somehow.

“Wanna… hang?”

“What.”

Tommy repeated, turning back around to face the stranger in full. The stranger winced.

“Like, hang out?”

“... Why?”

Tommy questions, and the stranger stumbles across their response.

“Cause-, uh, you’re-, uh… You seem cool… dude.”

Tommy squints.

“I… Seem cool?”

The stranger nods.

“Yeah, uh, super cool! So cool I… wanna hang!”

Tommy nodded back. Tommy was… confused by the strangers' want to, as they put it, ‘hang’. While Tommy himself was pretty damn awesome, that wasn’t something people realized upon first meeting him; in fact, most people found him annoying at first. This stranger’s insistence on them hanging out could only mean two things: either the stranger was extremely perceptive and could sense Tommy’s awesome-ness at first glance, or the stranger had ulterior motives for wanting Tommy to hang out with him.

But what ulterior motives could they have? Were they trying to lure him away to rob and/or kidnap him? Possible, but Tommy did not exactly scream wealth, or as someone valuable enough to kidnap. Maybe… Tommy looked the stranger over again. Maybe this guy was just… really lonely? Based on his proportions, long and lanky, with larger eyes than average, he was likely around Tommy’s age, maybe he just… didn’t have any friends.

“Okay. Sure.”

The stranger perked up.

“Uh-, Really?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t have anything better to do so…”

The stranger smiled.

“Oh, uh-, awesome! Cool… um, I was, uh, actually on my way to get ice cream, w-with my friend-”

Tommy blinked. Okay, so the Really Lonely Hypothesis was now off the table, though, meeting up with an unknown friend definitely made the Robbing/Kidnapping Hypothesis much more likely.

“So, um, you could join us? I-If you want, of course…”

Tommy sighed, wondering if he should give the stranger yet another refusal, but he wasn’t truly lying when he said he had nothing better to do, while there were things he’d much rather be doing, like gathering materials, exploring more of the city he was stuck in, and of course, going fucking home. All of these tasks were currently unattainable for one reason or another, leaving Tommy with, genuinely, nothing better to do. But there was one caveat that stopped Tommy from agreeing, a question left in his mind.

“The fuck is.. ‘Ice Cream'?”

The stranger looked at Tommy in shock, their eyes blown wide open.

“You-You don’t… Have you never heard of ice cream before?”

Tommy shook his head, shrugging at the same time.

“No idea what the hell that is, big man.”

The stranger blinked.

“Um, okay, uh, it’s like, like, um… like frozen milk, and-and cream, and sugar, and s-stuff, all mixed together and frozen, and it tastes really good!”

Tommy tilted his head to the side.

“Huh… Sounds fucking weird. But, uh, guess I won’t know till I try it, huh?”

The stranger blinked once more.

“So, uh, you agree?”

Tommy rolls his eye.

“Yeah, duh.”

The stranger nods.

“Okay, okay, good. Cool.”

A slight pause passed between the two before Tommy lightly scoffed.

“Lead the way, big man.”

The stranger startled.

“Oh, right! Follow me!”

…

It took Tommy and the… Hm. Tommy should know their name by now, probably should’ve known it before agreeing to walk to a secondary location with them. Guess all those ‘Stranger Danger!’ talks Wil and Phil used to give him weren’t as effective as they were supposed to be. Tommy glances up at the sign above the doorway of the building the stranger was guiding him into, ‘Lounging Robins’. The bell hanging above the doorway rings as Tommy and the stranger walk through it, Tommy going first as the stranger holds open the door for him.

A head with fluffy brown hair and two horns poking out, perks up at the sound of the two arrivals.

“Hey man-, wait, who?-, IT’S YOU!”

Tommy’s eye is blown wide, his entire body freezing. Tub-?, no, not him, Tubbo’s face is scarred, forever altered by the execution brought upon by his father and completed by Technoblade, his horns were longer, his hair crept down his neck, this-this wasn’t Tubbo, it was… just someone who looked like him, sounded like him, just… just like the stranger and Ranboo.

(Tommy knew that this wasn’t possible, that such a coincidence could not exist, that it made no sense, but… What else… what else could it possibly be if not a stroke of luck? If not just… What else could it be?)

The brown-haired boy coughs.

“I-I mean, it’s you! M-My good friend Ranboo! Who is… Who is this?”

The stranger startles.

“O-Oh, right, this is… Actually, what is-”

“Wait, hold on.”

Tommy interrupts the stranger, turning to look at the brown-haired boy.

“Did you say ‘Ranboo’?”

The brown-haired boy blinks, and the stranger turns to Tommy.

“Uh, yeah?”

“No fucking way.”

The stranger clears their throat.

“Um, yes, it is?-”

“Seriously?”

The strange-, Ranboo?-, No, no, Tommy was not calling them that, chuckled.

“I-I know it’s a bit of a… weird name, but, I swear it really is my name.”

Tommy narrows his eye. Maybe… Maybe Ranboo was like… a traditional Enderian name? Tommy could tell that the one attempting to claim the name Ranboo was part Enderman, so maybe Ranboo was like the Enderian version of John? Or something.

“Okay, fine.”

Ranboo-, okay, no, Tommy can’t call them that, even if it was their actual name, it was too damn confusing, Boo maybe? No, Tubbo called the real Ranboo that as a nickname. Ran? That was a verb, not a name… Ranny? Yeah. Ranny. Ranny cleared their throat.

“Um, s-speaking of which, what’s your name?”

Tommy blinked.

“Oh, I’m Tommy.”

Ranny smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded.

“Likewise.”

The brown-haired boy cleared his throat.

“I’m Tubbo!”

Tommy blinked, then narrowed his eye.

“Is that short for Tuberculosis?”

“Uh, what? No, it’s short for Tobie?”

Tommy nods. Someone named Tobie shortening their name to Tubbo wasn’t… completely unbelievable.

“Alright.”

Tobie coughs into his hand, then gestures at the counter, behind which a tired-looking teenager is giving the trio an odd look.

“Now, c’mon, I’ve been waiting, forreevveerr, let’s order!”

Ranny chuckles.

“Okay, okay.”

Tobie walks over to the counter, followed by Ranny and Tommy.

“I’ll have… a scoop of chocolate, and, oh! A scoop of honey, also, and please put it all in a waffle cone, thank you!”

The tired teen nods, turning to Ranny.

“O-Oh, uh, can I get a scoop of Mint Chocolate-Chip, i-in a cup, please? A-And thank you.”

The tired teen turns once more to look at Tommy.

“Ah, shit.”

Tommy mutters, turning to Ranny.

“How do I… What do I do?”

Tobie snickers, a small, playful smirk on his face.

“What? Have you never ordered ice cream before?”

Tommy scoffs.

“Well, I’ve never even had ice cream before, so no.”

“What?”

Tobie stares at Tommy, dumbfounded, before his head whips around to face the tired teen, who is also staring at Tommy in shock.

“This is an emergency.”

The tired teen seems a little more awake, turning to meet Tobie’s eyes before nodding in agreement. Tobie replies with his own grim nod.

“I’ll need a Neopoliation sundae, with chocolate sauce.

The tired teen nods.

“That’ll be twenty-one dollars aannddd… fourty-seven cents.”

Tobie nods, taking a leather… pouch? Bundle? Out of his pocket, he took two green slips of paper, one marked with a twenty, the other with a five. Tobie places both on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

The tired teen behind the counter nods. Tobie tucks the leather pouch back into his pocket.

“The hell was that about?”

Tommy asks.

“You’ve never had ice cream.”

Tobie replies.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Tobie stares into Tommy’s eye.

“Yes. It is.”

Tommy slowly nods.

“Oookkaayy…”

“Here you go.”

The tired teen interrupts, handing Ranny a thin, small paper cup, in which rests what Tommy can only assume is ice cream, a small spoon sticking out of the soft mixture.

“And you-”

The tired teen then hands Tobie what seems to be a thin baked pastry, indented with squares, wrapped around itself, and holding presumably ice cream.

“And, finally, you.”

At last, the tired teen hands Tommy his dish, a paper cup similar to Ranny’s, though much larger in nature, and filled with far more ice cream, but also sporting a small spoon, the same as Ranny’s.

“Thanks.”

Tommy notes, picking up the small spoon, glancing around, he sees Tobie licking his ice cream, with much fervour, while Ranny scoops his into his mouth with the small spoon that was placed in his cup. Tommy shrugs, scoops some ice cream from his own dish, and places it in his mouth.

“Oh fuck.”

Tommy mutters.

“It was that big of a fucking deal.”

Tobie chuckles.

“Told ya.”

Tommy quickly scarfs down his ice cream, finishing around the same time as Tobie, even with Tobie’s head start. The trio of Tobie, Ranny, and Tommy had made their way to one of the shop’s tables. Tommy learned back in his chair, smiling.

“Ice cream is the best.”

He declared, Tobie chuckled.

“Truth.”

Tommy glanced at his now full hunger. Ice cream, the best food in the world, wasn’t the most filling, but it made up for it in taste. 

“So, Tommy… what’s your favourite colour?”

Tommy turns to look at Ranny at their question, careful not to look them in the eye.

“Red.”

Ranny nods.

“C-Cool! Mine's purple..”

“I like Yellow.”

Tobie added. Silence passed between the three of them before it was interrupted once more.

“You got a favourite animal?”

Tobie asked, looking at Tommy.

“Cows.”

Tobie blinked.

“Cows?”

Tommy nodded.

“They’re the best damn animal to ever exist, no competition.”

“The best?”

“They have souls, have you ever looked into a cow’s eyes?”

“Uh, no?”

Tommy tsked.

“Then, of course, you wouldn’t understand. But once you do, you will.”

“... Okay, well, my favourite animals are bees.”

Tommy quirks an eyebrow.

“Those are insects, innit?”

Tobie blinked, slowly.

“Incests… are animals.”

“Then… why are they called incests?”

“'Cause, like, it’s a category of animal?”

Tommy rolled his eye.

“Alright, suurreee…”

Tobie furrowed his brow.

“Don’t-, they are animals.”

Tommy shrugged.

“Sure, alright, I believe you.”

“You clearly don’t-”

“Cats.”

Ranny interrupts, causing both Tommy and Tobie to look at him.

“M-My favourite animal.”

Tommy hums.

“Solid choice. And an actual animal.”

“Bees are animals!”

Tommy scoffs.

“Whatever you say, man.”

Tobie stares at Tommy, Tommy stares back. Tobie lets out a small chuckle, and Tommy does as well. The two boys burst out laughing. Ranny looks between the two in confusion.

“You’re cool, man.”

Tommy asserts, Tobie smirks.

“You too.”

The three sit in silence. Ranny looks down at his wrist, rolling up his sleeve slightly to reveal a small flat glass circle strapped to his wrist by aging leather.

‘Uh, Tubbo, we’ve gotta-”

Ranny glanced at Tommy.

“G-Go to our, um, meeting.”

Tobie blinked, then his eyes widened, and he nodded.

“Oh, right, right.”

Tobie cleared his throat, turning to Tommy.

“Ranboo and I gotta leave, we have.. A meeting.. With friends to get to, but this has been really cool, and I’d love to hang out again, so could I get your number?” 

Tommy tilted his head to the side.

“My number? Of what..?”

Tobie blinked.

“No-, your phone number.”

Tommy furrowed his brow.

“My phone number?”

Tobie nods.

“Yeah..? Do you… not have a phone?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Probably. I mean, I don’t even know what the hell a ‘Phone’ even is.”

Tobie squints at Tommy.

“You… You don’t know what a phone is?”

Tommy shakes his head. Tobie flounders for a moment.

“It’s… It’s a device that sends and receives messages through radio waves. These waves-”

“Oh shit, are you talking about a Communicator? Cause, I’ve got one of those.”

Tommy reaches into his inventory, at the same time shoving his hand into his pants’ pocket, dropping his Communicator into his hand before taking said hand out of his pocket, Communicator now held within it. Tobie looks at his Communicator, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

“No, that’s… I actually.. What is that?”

Tommy raises a brow.

“A Communicator? Y’know, what allows Players to communicate across Server?”

“Players..?”

Ranny mutters at the same time Tubbo mutters.

“Server..?”

Tommy rolls his eye, booting up his communicator, surprised to find the server logs completely empty. Tommy furrowed his brow; at least he had confirmation this was a different Server, the DSMP’s logs were filled to the brim with messages. Tommy clicks on his own private messages, opening them, his eye widens, Drista, why-

“What language is that?”

Tommy startles, finding both Tobie and Ranny leaning over the table to inspect his Communicator with wide eyes. Why were they both so… fascinated? Everyone knew what a Communicator was; hell, everyone had a Communicator. Why were the two acting as if this was the first one they’d ever seen? It was then that the question Tobie was asking registered in Tommy’s mind.

“Language?-, It’s Galactic.”

Tobie looks up from Tommy’s Communicator to look at Tommy’s face.

“Galactic?”

Tommy scoffs.

“Okay, you’re fucking with me. There’s no way you don’t even know what Galactic is. It’s Server standard!”

“What do you mean by?-”

“Uh, Tubbo.”

Ranny interrupts.

“We’ve gotta go… Y’know how Aimsey gets when we’re late.”

Tobie hesitates, looking between Tommy and Ranny, who had already stood up from where they were standing. Tobie sighs.

“Alright, fine…”

Tobie looks Tommy in the eye.

“I’ll see you again.”

Tobie says, not as a farewell, a promise, Tommy recognizes the look in his eyes, a burning curiosity, a want to, no, a need to know, to own. Tommy had seen that before, sometimes, that desire, that need would rot, become obsession, that was how he looked at Tommy, but, Tommy could tell this curiosity would not rot, the ones that did were built on a rotten foundation, this one, the way Tobie looked at him, was not built out of an entitlement to know, a thinking of oneself as worthy of knowing, but instead was built on the want to understand Tommy. To understand him, to befriend him, not as an owner, but as an equal. Tubbo looked at him the same way when they met. 

Tommy smiles at the reminder of his best friend, waving at Tobie and Ranny as they exited the shop, Ranny throwing away his cup as he did. Tommy let himself bask in the remembrance of his greatest friend before getting up and following in Ranny’s footsteps, throwing away his cup as well.

After he gathered up his waste and threw it away, Tommy leaned against the wall, raising his Communicator once more, eying his personal messages. Drista. Goddess of Chaos, one of the most powerful beings to ever exist, and, most importantly at that moment, the one who sent him to this unfamiliar place. Tommy took a deep breath and clicked the message.

Drista whispers to you: - Hi Tommy. I know you’re confused right now, and probably more than a little angry at me. But, please allow me to explain.

Tommy scowls.

- I’ve sent you to another reality, another universe.

Tommy’s eye widens, a gasp coming from his mouth.

 - You weren’t happy. You were even content. You were dying in your old world, unable to move on and live, so I sent you someone where you could, a place where you could live and be happy.

Tommy's grip tightens on his Communicator as his breath quickens.

 - Now, I do have to mention that there may be some familiar faces in this new world; it’s one parallel to your old one. I would’ve sent you to one that was not parallel, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the extra baggage of similar faces, but your mortal mind and soul could not handle such a big change. They won’t be the same people; they’ll likely bear their faces and names, and their personalities will be similar, but they aren’t the same people. Good luck.

Tommy stares at his Communicator for a few moments before sending it into his inventory and placing his head in his hands.

“Damn it, Drista.”

Tommy… Tommy needed to go home, he needed-, he… Tears sprang to Tommy’s eye. Prime, how was he gonna get home? He needed to go home, he couldn’t…

(Could he? Stay here? Here, Tommy didn’t feel the ache of fear in his bones, the fear of TNT blowing up his home, of a stray arrow piercing his skin, of him escaping. Here, his memories didn’t turn his dreams into nightmares. Here, for the first time in a long time, Tommy got a full night’s sleep, uninterrupted.)

Tommy shook his head. He needed to go home. His friends, Tubbo, Ranboo, they… they would..

(Would it be better if Tommy disappeared from their lives? They were so… so happy, living together, with Michael, they were a family, Tommy and his… Tommy-ness, it only-, it would only get in the way, he would only get in the way.)

Tommy groaned into his hands before bringing up said hands to tug at his hair. Damn it all… What was he supposed to do?! Should he go home… Could he go home?!

“Hey, are you okay?”

Tommy blinked, looking up to find the tired teen behind the counter, concern in their eyes. Tommy floundered for a moment before answering.

“U-Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Tommy lied.

“You sure, man?”

Tommy nods.

“Yep.”

Tommy stumbles out of the store’s door, entering the bustling streets, and he walks aimlessly as his mind wanders. Tommy was in another world, another universe, with people who.. Had familiar… Ranny and Tobie. Tommy halted. Were they?-, Well, they weren’t them, Drista said they were different people, but they were… they were this universe’s version of them. Tubbo and Ranboo, his best friends, Tommy chuckled. No wonder they got along so well.

Tommy began to walk once more. He needed… he needed to find a way home.

(Whether or not he would go home was something… something Tommy could decide later.)

Tommy took a deep breath. A God sent him into a parallel universe, if a God could do that… Maybe… another God could send him back? Tommy snapped his fingers, earning him an odd look from someone walking by. Of course! Tommy knew there were Gods other than Drista, Exdee, Drista’s.. Sibling..? He wasn’t sure how familial relationships worked in terms of Godhood… Or, Lady Prime, whom Tommy found himself praying to in dire situations. 

Tommy furrowed his brow, though; he was now in a different world, perhaps… perhaps the Gods here were different? Or, perhaps, Gods did not exist in this world at all. Tommy shivered at the thought of that. He wasn’t what many would describe as ‘devout’, but the idea of a world existing without Gods seemed so… wrong. No, no, it was unlikely a world, one meant to be parallel to his world, wouldn’t have Gods, though Tommy could see it having different ones.

But, for now, all Tommy had was conjecture; he did not know what Gods roamed this world, if any at all, he could… Tommy could ask, if Gods did exist in this world, then they would likely be well known, so asking someone about what Gods they knew, or chose to worship, would give Tommy a good idea of what Gods existed in this world, but… that had the trouble of… talking to someone…

Now, Tommy wasn’t someone who disliked talking to people; Tommy loved talking to people! It’s just… people don’t normally like talking to him, especially at their first meeting. Tommy sighed, looking up from where he was staring at his feet as he walked, only to startle, finding himself at the place he was the night before, the doorway within the yellow and black walls. Tommy scowls at the uniformed guards in front.

Now, he needed a way to learn about the Gods, but talking to people wasn’t… optimal. Perhaps he could find a church, one with scriptures aplenty that described the Gods of this world… While Tommy stared at the doorway, a thought that was interrupted by bumping into a black and white-skinned boy finished in his head. A tunnel, there had to be a tunnel underneath the walls. 

…

It took Tommy a couple of hours to locate the tunnel, causing the sun to reach closer to the horizon, and for the skies to bleed into an orangish-red. Tommy was able to spot obviously deliberate markings made upon the walls, at least obvious to him, that led him into an alleyway, an alleyway with a sewer cover at its end. Tommy smiles as he lifts open the sewer cover, hopping down the ladder beneath it, finding not a filthy, dark sewer, but a well-lit, well-maintained tunnel.

On the wall of the tunnel, painted onto the rock, was a black and red poker chip. Tommy eyed it as he walked through. In the center of the painted poker chip, there rested a golden goose, seeming to reflect the light streaming from the bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Tommy hums as he takes in the painting; it was fine craftsmanship.

Tommy eventually reaches the end of the tunnel, climbing up the exiting ladder, and he pushes the sewer cover out of his way as he crawls onto the surface. Tommy stands up, brushing off his clothes. Tommy looks around, and his eye widens. The area he had come up in was far different than the one he had just left behind, no longer were there lined up, even, and tighty buildings, on even neater and tighter streets, instead, the streets were filled with trash, and were cracked and uneven, the buildings weren’t as polished or neat, were the two areas even part of the same, city… Country? The difference in their looks told Tommy they might not be.

Tommy whistles, before making his way down the uneven streets, looking at the buildings that lined them, there was a distinct lack of shops, seeming mostly to be apartments, or, at least, buildings that appeared to be apartments. There were also fewer people out on the street itself, and these people seemed less.. Trusting? Eying Tommy with suspicion every time he wandered a little too close to them.

Tommy hums, the vibes were, as the cool kids say, completely off. Though as Tommy continued to walk, he noticed more and more people heading in the same direction, ones who weren’t wearing expressions of suspicion and caution, but instead, the expressions of people going somewhere, somewhere filled with the cheer the streets lacked.

Tommy shrugs and begins to head in the same direction, following the cheerful crowd. Tommy looks up, only to find lights dancing in the sky, coming from the same direction the cheerful crowd was headed in. Tommy hummed, wondering what redstone contraption could make such a show. He quickened his pace.

Tommy turns the corner, his eye widening as he finds a white, pristine, quartz wall, lined with gold, it was similar to the black and yellow one he had tunneled under in terms of scale, but while the black and yellow walls felt constricting and authoritarian, these wals felt inviting, as if they were a beckoning hand ready to open its palm and show something you could barely even imagine.

Tommy felt himself take a step forward before he even realized it. The gates within the white walls weren’t guarded; there were no uniformed individuals keeping people from going through, just an open gate, inviting, and Tommy wasn’t one to turn an invitation down, especially not one so welcoming.

Tommy stepped through the gate, his eye wandering around what was kept hidden from him before, buildings, unlike the ones outside the white walls, that were pristine, clean, but unlike the ones on the otherside of the black and yellow wall, these buildings were colourful. Red, yellow, blue, green, whatever colour one could think of was painted across the walls, hung up on a tapestry, or plastered across a sign. Tommy couldn’t help butsmile at the display.

Looking up, Tommy spotted the lights he had noticed before, now able to see them clearly, they danced around the sky, alerting everyone in a mile radius of their existence. Tommy giggled. A tall building stood in the distance, tall and thin, taller than any building Tommy had ever seen, lined with windows, though the top of the building was sharp and dangerous, like the tip of a sword.

Tommy walks towards one of the colourful buildings, eying a sign nailed onto one of its wall surfaces and lined with glistening lights, ‘Las Casino!’ Tommy grinned. He was something of a gambler, one of the best in fact, taught by the best. The best being Quackity, who taught Tommy how to cheat and get away with it. Tommy smirked as he strode towards the entrance, only to be stopped by a coat-wearing arm shoving itself into his way. Tommy scowled, turning to face the one to whom the arm belonged.

A sun-glass-wearing face stared back at Tommy’s scowl.

“You need to be over eighteen to enter.”

They informed Tommy, causing Tommy to splutter.

“I-, I’m a big man!”

The suited man raised an eyebrow.

“I am! I’m over eighteen!”

Tommy lied. The suited man scoffs.

“You got ID to back that up?”

Tommy glares at the man.

“Ugh, not that ‘ID’ shit again! I don’t even know what the hell an ‘ID’ is!-”

The suited man balks.

“Wait, you don’t know what an-”

“Don’t interrupt me!"

Tommy interrupts.

“As I was saying! I don’t even know what an ID is, so it can’t be that important, so you should let me in.”

The suited man sighs.

“That, genuinely, makes no sense.”

Tommy scoffs.

“Maybe it doesn’t, cause you’re stupid.”

The suited man bristles, taking a step towards Tommy.

“Alright, listen, kid-”

A hand rests itself on the suited man’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Jason. No need to get so… aggressive, hm?”

Tommy startles at the familiar voice as the suited man stiffens. Turning, he finds a man standing behind the one who had stood in Tommy’s way, a sharp smile on his face, revealing a single gold tooth, matching the golden wings sprouting from his back. A black and red mask covers the upper half of his face, but does not cover it completely, leaving a large scar that cuts up and down the left side of his face in view. The winged man turns to look at Tommy, his sharp smile turning gentle.

“Sorry, kiddo, but that part of Las Nevadas is adults only.”

Tommy stood frozen for a few moments. Quackity. Well, not Quackity, not really, it wasn’t him, but… it was also him, his gentle smile that could turn sharp at any moment, his wings that, sometimes, he would allow Tommy to preen, it was Quackity, but it also wasn’t. Ugh, Tommy was starting to hate this alternate universe bullshit. It was then that Tommy registered not-Quackity’s words.

“Oi! Not a kid, dickhead.

The suited man, reportedly named Jason, stiffens as not-Quackity chuckles.

“Aw, right, my mistake.”

Tommy scoffs.

“Yeah, it is.”

Not-Quackity steps forward, pushing past the man likely named Jason. Not-Quackity straightens his tie. The man, possibly named Jason, takes a couple of steps back, looking nervously between Tommy and not-Quackity.

“Alright, mind telling me what you’re doing in Las Nevadas, people… your age, don’t normally come to my fine establishment."

Tommy shrugged.

“Saw some people walking over here and… saw the lights, thought they were pretty.”

Not-Quackity blinks, tilting his head to the side.

“... Really?”

Tommy bristles.

“Yeah! They’re fucking pretty, alright?! Can’t a man enjoy pretty shit!”

Not-Quackity chuckles.

“Not saying you can’t, just surprised that was one of your motivators.”

Tommy rolls his eye.

“Whatever…”

“What’s your name?”

Not-Quackity asks.

“Kinda rude to ask for someone’s name without giving your own, innit?”

Not-Quackity blinks.

“You… You don’t know who I am?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“Huh.”

A moment passes by in silence before not-Quackity clears his throat.

“My name is… Jester.”

Tommy raises a brow.

“Seriously?”

Not-Quackity, or, well, Jester shrugs.

“It’s an alias.”

Tommy hums.

“Makes sense, your parents would have to hate you for that to be your real name.”

Jester pointedly looks at Tommy, and Tommy blinks.

“Oh, right, the names’ Tommy.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy.”

“Likewise.”

Tommy responds automatically.

“Well, Tommy-”

“Jester from Las Nevadas!”

A voice interrupts, causing both Jester and Tommy to turn their heads. A… green man stands before them, skin slightly translucent, his body… Goopy? But covered by an outfit identical to Jester’s, just… in shades of green. Was this Slime? He seemed… Green-er in this universe. Maybe-Slime's black circular eyes are fixed on Jester,

“I have to inform you that-”

The goopy man starts, glancing over to Tommy before freezing in place.

“Who are you?”

The green man asks, causing Jester to stiffen before also looking at Tommy.

“Uh… I’m Tommy?”

Tommy answers, and the circular eyes of the goopy man narrow.

“Tommy from… You are Tommy from…?”

Tommy furrows his brow.

“The hell are you talking about, big man?”

Jester narrows his eyes, his expression turning from playful to intrigued, and he takes a step towards Tommy, not threateningly, but as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Tommy, why-”

“Jester!”

Jester turns, a man rushes at him, a man wearing a white cloak with two black stripes on either side, a golden chain wrapped around his neck, a pendant dangling from it, and most intriguing to Tommy, two extra arms stuck out from his side, while the familiar mandibles of a spider stuck out either side of his head, it was this universe’s Punz, but… the Punz that Tommy knew, he was human, this Punz however, was a spider hybrid.

“Punz? What is it?”

Jester asks, a bit of worry in his tone.

“What is it?!-, did Charlie not tell you? God damn it… I told him to.. Karls’ gone!”

“What.”

Jester whispers, his tone harsh and cold as ice.

“Karl is gone.”

Spider-Punz repeats.

“Fuck…”

Jester mumbles.

“Charlie.”

The goopy man, Charlie, apparently, finally looks away from Tommy to look at Jester.

“Find him. Now.”

Jester sighs.

“I upped security… How’d he get out again..?”

Jester mutters, shaking his head before squaring his shoulders.

“Punz, alert every, and I mean every, staff member to be on the lookout for Karl, tell them not to interact if they find him, alert me to his location. Do not interact.”

Spider-Punz nods. Jester turns, pauses, and points at Jason.

“Fucking move it, Jason!”

Jason splutters before bolting in a seemingly random direction. Jester scoffs, before turning himself, he glances at Tommy.

“We’ll talk later.”

He informs Tommy, before heading off in a direction completely separate from Jason’s.

“This is such a mess…”

Spider-Punz mutters, rubbing his hand down his face, before also turning away, beginning to head in a direction that neither of the two before him had headed. Tommy shrugs, following after him. Spider-Punz pauses after a few steps.

“What are you doing?”

He hisses at Tommy. Tommy shrugs.

Helpin’.”

Spider-Punz opens his mouth, closes, shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like, ‘stupid damn kid’, under his breath. Tommy pretended not to hear. The two continued in their search, Tommy on the lookout for ‘Karl’, the man he assumed to be this universe’s version of Karl Jacobs, who, based on the other alternative versions he met so far, couldn’t look too far apart from Tommy’s Karl.

Eventually, Punz gasps.

“Fuck, Karl.”

Tommy turns, looking in the direction Punz was, there stood a brown-haired man with piercing golden eyes, foggy and confused, a jacket zipped up his neck, a mismatch of blue, purple, yellow, and light green, and a pair of goggles situated on his fluffy hair. Karl Jacobs… Tommy would just call him Jacobs. Tommy takes a step forward, towards Jacobs. Spider-Punz grasps at Tommy’s arm.

(It burns, it burns, stop it, stop it, no, no, stop, please-)

“What are you doing?!”

He whispers, Tommy shrugs.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“Are you?!-, Jester told us not to interact!”

“Technically.”

Tommy intercepts.

“He told you not to interact, not me.”

Spider-Punz looks at Tommy in complete confoundment, his current emotion loosening his grip on Tommy’s arm, allowing Tommy to slip through. Spider-Punz tries to grab Tommy once more, but this time he is able to dodge his grasping arms, though there are a few more than average. Tommy strides over to Karl.

“Hey!”

He calls out, causing the brown-haired man to look in his direction.

“Karl, right?”

The fogginess in the brown-haired man's eyes fades, if only slightly.

“Who are you?”

He asks, eyes transfixed on Tommy. Tommy rolls his eye.

“People keep asking me that. I’m Tommy, Tommy Innit, the biggest and greatest man alive!”

Jacobs tilts his head to the side.

“Of course… There was a piece missing.”

“Uh, what?”

Jacobs takes a step towards Tommy.

“How could I be so… It all makes sense… Yes, it’ll work, this time, yes… it’ll work… I-I’ll fix it.”

Tommy takes a step back.

“What? What will work? You’re not making sense, big K.”

“This time… they won’t die, they won’t…”

“Die?”

Tommy asks worriedly.

“Who’s gonna-”

“Karl!”

Jester’s voice calls out from behind Tommy.

“Oh, God, Karl.”

Jester rushes to Jacobs’ side, his hands reaching towards him before stopping. The fog returns to Jacob’s eyes as they turn away from Tommy.

“Are you… Are you hurt..?”

Jacob hums in answer, the words not seeming to register with him. Jester deflates.

“Right, course you can’t…”

Jester clears his throat.

“Let’s… Let’s get you to bed, okay, Karl?”

Jacob nods, but Tommy can tell the man doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. Jester places a hand on Jacob’s shoulder to comfort him, to lead him. He turns, and as he does, he finally spots Tommy, startling a bit.

“Oh.”

Jester murmurs.

“Hey, uh, Tommy.”

“Hey.”

Tommy responds. Jester clears his throat, turning away, his arm wrapped around Jacob.

“I’ve gotta…”

Tommy nods.

“Yeah, course, man.”

Jester sighs.

“Don’t… Don’t tell anyone about this, especially not those damn Heros.”

Tommy blinks.

“Uh, sure? Wasn’t really planning to. Would be kind of a dick move, y’know?”

Jester nods.

“Yeah, it would.”

Jester begins leading Jacobs away, Tommy hesitates before following. Jester pauses but only for a moment.

“What are you doing?”

Jester asks as he continues to walk. Tommy shrugs.

“I wanna… Make sure he gets back, like, safely and shit, he seems…”

Tommy glances at Jacobs.

“Out of it.”

Jester chuckles, darkly.

“That’s one way to put it.”

They continue along for a few minutes before arriving at their destination, the tower Tommy had spotted earlier, glass doors open as they approach, startling Tommy slightly, inside rests what seems to be a waiting room, filled with cushioned chairs and paired with a ornate counter, behind which sat a blonde woman, her hair tied up in a bun, she bolts up from her seat as Jester, Tommy, and Jacobs enter.

“J-Jester, sir!”

“Relax, Camren.”

Jester interrupts.

“Just… Just unlock the elevator, please.”

The blonde, Camren, nods, fiddling with something on he desk, metal doors, which Tommy had presumed to be simple indents in the wall, slide open, Jester walks towards them, gently guiding Jacobs, Tommy… Tommy decides to stay in the waiting room; he already felt like he was intruding enough as is, he didn’t want to end up in Jacobs’ bedroom, which would be plain invasive, as such Tommy gave Jester a nod, before sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting room.

Tommy sighs, leaning back in the chair he was sitting in. Thinking back on Jacobs’ words, they were weird, to say the least, and didn’t… they just didn’t make sense. It felt like Jacobs recognized Tommy, but not as Tommy, not as a person, but like a key to a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Which-, just, didn’t make sense! Tommy was from another work; he wasn’t… he was a solution, he wasn’t the ‘fix’, not to anything. All he did was destroy; he didn’t fix.

“Hey, kid.”

Tommy startles, finally registering that Jester had reentered the space.

“Not a kid…”

Tommy mutters, which Jester seems to ignore.

“Thanks for… your help, I think, but you should get home, it’s getting late.”

“Would if I could.”

Tommy chuckles, Jester furrows his brow.

“... What do you mean?”

“I can’t go home.”

Tommy admits. Jester takes a seat next to him in one of the many cushioned chairs.

“Why not?”

Tommy sighs.

“It’s complicated and pretty fucking hard to explain… If you would even believe me.”

Tommy murmurs the last bit, but Tommy thinks, somehow, Jester still hears it.

“Okay, well, I won’t ask.”

Tommy scoffs.

“Good.”

“You… You at least got a place to sleep?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Probably will just find another bench.”

“Another..?”

Jester mutters before shaking his head.

“Okay, then I have an offer.”

Tommy quirks a brow.

“Offer?”

“Yep, I’ve got plenty of extra rooms.”

Tommy freezes as he registers Jester’s words and, more importantly, what they mean; he narrows his eye.

“What do you want in return?”

“My peace of mind.”

Jester answers easily.

“Wouldn’t feel right, sending you out to sleep on a bench, wouldn’t be able to sleep myself.”

Tommy scowls, Jester shrugs.

“I swear, that’s all I want.”

Tommy sighs.

“Fine.”

Jester blinks.

“Oh, really?”

Tommy scowls.

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“Right, right, my bad.”

Jester chuckles, standing up from his chair and gesturing at the glass door.

“C’mon.”

Tommy sighs, standing up to join him. At least he wouldn’t have to sleep on a bench tonight.

Chapter Text

The human heart.

One of, if not the most, vital organs found within a person’s body, it is what keeps a person moving, talking, walking, what allows the blood within their veins to flow. 

Quackity despised his own. 

His heart. His damned heart. Far too big, far too caring, Quackity hated it. He hated when it made his face flush, he hated when it made him giggle at someone else’s jokes, even if they weren’t funny, he hated it when it made him want to press his lips against another’s.

He hated his heart when it fell in love. In love with a man with mutton-chops and horns wrapped around his head. In love with his loud laughter, in love with his teasing jokes, in love with the way he cared for his son, in love with him. Quackity hated his heart for that, for blinding him, even as later the jokes turned cruel, as the loud laughter turned suffocating, as even the care for his own son turned infantilising and cruel, his heart kept Quackity blind, unable to see, to understand, to leave.

When the horned man, when Schlatt, began to rant, to rave, about his dream, his dream to be above, to lead, to conquer, Quackity… Quackity supported him; he loved him; he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t see, how the man’s need for power came not from a place of wanting to help those without, but from a desire to control them. Even as the man told Quackity that, Quackity just… couldn’t accept that, his heart, his heart made the truths Schlatt told him into lies, into jokes, jests.

Quackity thought Schlatt wanted to… Wanted to help, like Quackity wanted to, to help… To help those who needed it. He should’ve known better. He would’ve known better if it weren’t for his damned, beating, bleeding, heart.

Soon, Schlatt’s dream, his want, his need, became true; Schlatt was president, with Quackity at his side, only because of Quackity’s help. Quackity ran the campaign, Quackity secured the votes they needed, Quackity brokered deals Schlatt never was even aware of, never even cared about, Quackity did it all, Quackity brought, no, he gave Schlatt his power, but at the time, he did not mind, no, for his heart beat in his chest for the horned man, it did not matter that the man’s heart did not beat in return, for at the time, Quackity’s heart beat loud enough, to deafen him to the silence.

Eventually, though, a noise far too loud broke through his heart's endless beating, screaming, yelling, berating. As Schlatt screamed at Quackity, yelled at him, insulted him, eventually, it all confounded, it grew… Too loud, loud enough that Quackity’s heart could pretend no longer, but he so desperately wanted to, he wanted for his heart to blind him once again, to see… to see the Schlatt that loved him, Quackity… Quackity gave Schlatt a chance, a chance to… To love Quackity back.

Schlatt did not take that chance.

He laughed.

He laughed.

A laugh Quackity once loved, now only brought tears to his eyes. Tears that poured down his face as Schlatt got rid of him, threw him away, discarded him. Even after all Quackity had done for him, everything he had given him, Schlatt… Schlatt took everything from him, left him with nothing, the power he had worked for, for both of them, gone, his influence, gone, everything… everything was gone.

Quackity was…

Quackity…

Angry.

No, no, angry, angry did not even begin to describe it, nor did furious, nor did enraged, it wasn’t… It wasn’t enough. Nowhere close to it, in fact. There were no words to describe how Quackity felt as he was thrown away, as he was discarded; there were none, not in any language, not in any tongue. None came close to what he felt, none could describe what he felt, none could describe the emotions, the hate, that filled his heart in the place of where love once stood. 

The emotions, the hate, fueled him as he built his power from the ground up, from back where he had begun, no, no lower in fact. As he covered his face and took upon himself a new name, Jester. Jester was not like Quackity; Jester did not fall in love, Jester was not blinded by it. Jester was cruel, heartless. Jester was a Villain. Jester had an empire, no, he built an empire, constructed its walls, crafted its rules. Jester was powerful; Jester could not, would not be thrown away.

And Schlatt… Schlatt had no power over Jester; Schlatt did not own Jester’s heart, Schlatt couldn’t enter Jester’s empire; Schlatt’s power was nothing in comparison to Jester’s, Schlatt was nothing compared to Jester.

But Quackity’s heart still beat in his chest. Quackity was still alive, his blood still pumping, and while Jester’s heart could not be moved, Quackity’s could.

And so it was.

It moved when he met a man, a man named Sapnap, with eyes of fire, with hair as dark as charcoal, a man with an abrasive attitude, with a burning fire in his heart, a fire that enveloped Quackity, but did not burn him; instead, it brought him warmth, it did not hurt, it… It comforted.

His heart moved when he met a man named Karl, with curly brown hair, and golden eyes that pierced through his very heart, sharper and brighter than any piece of true gold that Quackity possessed, enchanted Quackity was by them, even when they rolled in annoyance at his jokes; he couldn’t find it in himself to look away.

A promise between the three, three rings, two for each, the man with burning eyes kept one on each of his fingers, the man with golden eyes kept both of them on a finger on his left, and Quackity kept both hanging over his heart, swinging from a golden chain.

Quackity… Quackity was blind once more, blinded by the fiery passion of Sapnap and the sweet gestures of Karl, blind, blind, blind. He knew he was, for he had shut his eyes. Had allowed the two to swallow him whole.

He should’ve known better.

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to become blind once more; he should’ve known better. He should’ve seen the signs, should’ve known he was being lied to, deceived.

He should’ve known that those fiery eyes would burn him as well, yet he didn’t, for his heart let him burn, as it always did.

Quackity refused to hold on again, to give the fiery man another chance, a chance he knew would get thrown away, just like always, just as he always was.

Quackity knows better now; he wouldn’t give the man a chance, a chance he knew would just be turned against him. Just as it was before, Quackity knew better than to trust his heart. And, so, he abandoned the fiery man, without word, without message.

He did not deserve a goodbye, no matter how much Quackity wished to give him one, no matter how his heart screamed for him to not leave, to stay, to trust him. Quackity knew better now; he wouldn’t be thrown away again. He wouldn’t. He was smarter now, better now, he was… Quackity was… He was happie-... safer now. He was safe.

While the fiery-eyed man was cast away, the golden-eyed man remained; he, Karl, tried to plead with Quackity to speak with the fiery man, to reconcile, to give him a chance. Quackity refused to listen; he would not be hurt again, Quackity… cut off contact with Karl, so as not to have to listen to his emotional pleas as to not… not be tempted. For, by the Immortals, he was. 

They spoke not for a month, perhaps closer to two, until… Until Quackity ran into Karl, by chance, by coincidence, he expected pleading, he expected acknowledgement, at least recognition, but when Quackity looked into Karl’s eyes, he found… He found nothing, a dullness, so unlike the sharpness he knew, the sharpness he loved. He tried to speak to him to talk to him, but Karl, it was as if… As if… he had forgotten… How could he have..? Why would he have..? It didn’t make sense, it didn’t make any sense.

Quackity had to… had to help-, to fix, he needed… He needed to… He would save Karl, he would, he would, he was the only one who could, Quackity wasn’t just Quackity, he was Jester, a powerful man, a strong man, he could help him, he could save him and then… and then Karl would look at him and see him, not… not look through him, he would clear the fog from his eyes, he would bring him back, he was powerful, strong, strong enough to topple countries, he could… he would save him.

Quackity-, Jester, called upon every favor he had collected, paid every dime and penny he could, hired those with various Powers and talents from far and wide and it-, it didn’t work. Nothing he did worked, no favor, no promise, no treatment, Karl’s eyes remained the same, foggy, vacant, empty.

He couldn’t… no, no, he could save Karl, he just hadn’t… Hadn’t found a way yet, he would, he was Jester, he was strong, he would save him.

Jester just… Jester needed more power, more influence, more… control… He needed more; if he had more, he could… he could save Karl. 

And so Las Nevadas grew, and grew, Jester became stronger with each passing day, each passing moment, his power grew, yet, still, he wasn’t getting closer, in fact, it felt as if, every day, Karl’s eyes only grew duller, and duller, and-, 

Nixie.

Nixie, a Villain, just like Jester, with a grin just as wicked as his own, eyes that glimmered with malice, hate, and a desperate need for control. Nixie, unlike Karl or Sapnap, was a mirror to Jester, a mirror of his desires, his wants, his needs, craving control just as he did, though while Jester controlled through order and law, his law, Nixie chose to control through mayhem and chaos. 

His heart beat every time the man sauntered onto the grounds of Las Nevadas, as if he owned it, as if it was his. Jester’s heart should not beat; he was heartless, a Villain, that was what he was meant to be. Jester’s heart was never meant to move, to fall; a heart was not supposed to beat within Jester’s chest.

Jester-, Quackity-, both of them, both of him, could not escape the heart beating in his chest, oh how he wished to be rid of it, to discard it, to not allow it to cloud his judgement, he wished for nothing more than to rip his own heart from his chest and devour it so it may never harm him again.

If only,

If only he could be rid of it.

…

Quackity sighs, rubbing his temples. He glances at the silver watch wrapped around his wrist, letting out a grunt as he reads the time, ‘10:32’, it was nearing the time he normally chose to go to bed. But Quackity knew he would have a harder time resting tonight, harder than usual, due to the plethora of thoughts that filled his head, thoughts about the night’s earlier events.

Karl had esca-, left, his quarters in the Las Nevadas’ needle, his quarters that, through no coincidence, were near Quackity’s office. Quackity had recently upped the security of his ce-, room, but he should’ve known that wouldn’t be enough to keep Karl in, Karl’s Power was far too versatile and too formidable to be fully neutralized; no matter the steps Quackity took, no matter how hard he tried, Karl would always leave, because he didn’t know he was safe, he didn’t know that Quackity just wanted to help him, to save him, because he couldn’t remem-…

Quackity shakes his head, not allowing himself to go down that path again, one full of tears, sips of beer, and wallowing in doubt. Instead, he turned his attention to the other person filling his thoughts that evening.

Tommy.

A boy, a child, scars covered the smidgens of skin that showed beneath his clothes, with a blinded eye that matched Quackity’s own. Tommy was… interesting, to say the least. No ordinary child held such scars; no ordinary child would not recognize Quackity, or, more accurately, Jester, either through horror stories whispered to them by their parents or by his villainous side being shown across News channels.

But it wasn’t the boy's scars or strange lack of knowledge that kept him in Quackity’s mind; no, it was Charlie's reaction to seeing the one-eyed boy. Charlie was an Immortal, one of the few left that still roamed the realm of the living. Very few Immitorals are currently visible, though it is said that in the past, dozens used to roam, walking among mortals, communicating with them, speaking with them, and blessing them. 

Immortals were thought to be the great predecessors to modern Hybrids and those with Powers, perhaps, even, they were the ones who gave humanity these properties, gave them ears as sharp as a fox, with noses keener than wolves, who gave them the ability to fly, through a Power coursing through their veins or a pair of wings on their back. It was a thought that vaguely interested Quackity: the Immortals, beings often referred to as Gods, were the ones who had gifted him his abilities, his talents, his power. Well, it was a fun thought to entertain.

But, such a notion would remain a thought, as even to Quackity, a person who had an Immortal in his employ, Immortals, their effects on the world, and why almost all of them had vanished, remained shrouded in mystery. 

Charlie, though loyal to Quackity as a dog was to its owner, was not… the brightest, one could say, all questions Quackity asked were met with tilts of the Immortal’s gooey head and incomprehensible answers full of tangents that had nothing to do with the answers Quackity was seeking. That wasn’t to say Charlie wasn’t useful. Due to Charlie’s status as an Immortal, his abilities, and age, Charlie had valuable information that could be understood, unlike the information he held on Immortals. Getting the information just took more… prodding than it would with others, especially since Charlie felt no pain.

For example, Charlie knew the names and faces of everyone who lived in L’Manburg, and even those outside L’Manburg’s walls, which was why Charlie’s complete confusion upon seeing Tommy was so… interesting. It was far from Charlie’s normal response to seeing another person; normally, he would shout out their name and where he deemed them to be from, as if he and they were old friends, finally reuniting. 

The pure and total confusion that radiated from the Immortal as he looked at Tommy did not fit with the information Quackity knew about Charlie, Charlie, a being who could be labeled as near omniscient due to his countless years of living, and ability to observe in areas other should not, at the same time, no less, being so confused by the appearance of a child, a strange child to be sure, did not make sense.

Quackity could not even begin to form a theory as to what caused Charlie’s reaction, he’d have to ask the Immortal in the morning, since he’d already head to “bed”, the Immortal liked adhering to a strict schedule of rest and wakefulness, even though the Immortal himself did not sleep, instead he laid down, stared at the ceiling and repeated the letter ‘Z’ to himself over and over again. It was… frustrating.

Quackity did not like to leave a mystery unsolved, which was one of the reasons he offered Tommy a room to rest for the night; keeping the boy close would make figuring out what made him so special as to confound an Immortal much easier, his other reasons for giving the boy lodge, truthfully, had nothing to do with his curiosity, Quackity was a Villain, a criminal, but he wasn’t a complete bastard, even he, with his limited sense of morality, despised the thought of a teenager sleeping on a bench.

Quackity let out a hum, tilting his head down to look at his desk. His eyes flicked across the paperwork he had spread there earlier that evening. Paperwork sent from the White House of L’Manburg, telling Quackity, or more accurately, Jester, that his building of Las Nevadas was not permitted, how dangerous it was to L’Manburg’s infrastructure, and blah, blah, blah.

“Are they ever gonna get tired of sending these?”

Quackity questioned aloud. Las Nevadas had been receiving these kinds of notices since its inception. Jester had been receiving them, though, when he first emerged, and they were unaware of his alias; they were addressed to ‘The one creating the disturbance’. These notices were either left on his doorstep or given to a staff member to deliver to him.

Now, Quackity knew the creation of Las Nevadas was not, in fact, harmful to District Three nor L’Manburg at large. He had made sure of such a fact at its conception. Las Nevadas was completely off-grid; it did not take electricity or water from L’Manburg’s infrastructure. It did not get in the way of anyone or any business in District Three; the only arguably immoral action taken in Las Nevadas’s creation was not getting the L’Manburg government’s approval for the construction, hell, the land he built it on wasn’t even owned by the government, by all technicality, Quackity himself owned the land, though, through enough loops and contradictions that its ownership could not be traced back to him.

And while the notices and paperwork left at his door tried to claim otherwise, Quackity knew that that was the government’s only issue with Las Nevadas, that it existed without their permission, outside of their domain, outside of his control. Though perhaps his obvious mockery of District One also contributed to the government’s desire to be rid of Las Nevadas, the near-perfect replica of the White House where the president lived, a tower constructed to mock the one where Heros dwelled in District One, those creations likely did have some contribution to the government’s desire to destroy Las Nevadas, but, the complete lack of control was a much more pressing issue to the L’Manburgian Government.

The government could not control Las Nevadas so they wished to be rid of it, but they could not simply destroy Las Nevadas, the outrage that would incur would be far too great, Las Nevadas was loved by the people, a place to have fun, to let loose, even if it was run by a Villain, so grand that people would come from the other two Districts into the Third one just to visit Las Nevadas. Destroying it may be enough to incite rebellion, something the government simply didn’t want to and possibly couldn’t handle.

That’s not even mentioning how hard Las Nevadas would be to destroy in the first place; they knew as well as Quackity himself did that Las Nevadas would not go down without a fight. Villains did not go down lightly, nor quietly; an area run by one would be so easily destroyed. If Las Nevadas were to fall, it would be through explosions and flames, through complete and utter destruction.

At the thought of such destruction, however, Quackity couldn’t help but crack a small smile, reminded of one who, though they had no want to destroy Las Nevadas, did seek the complete and total destruction of a shared enemy. 

-

Wilbur’s fingers rap against the dark-cyan wood of the table he’s sat in front of, head resting on one of his hands, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, I toned it down, man! Normally, I would’ve blown up the whole block! Plus, I didn’t even actually blow up the building! Just… planned to.”

Wilbur argued, and Divination sighed from the other side of the table, a small frown on his face, only partly visible through the veil that hid his identity.

“I know, mate, but what you were planning was far too close to the location where we will execute our Plan, not to mention that it’s far too similar to what we have planned; we have to be careful not to tip the Heros off in any way, alright? I know you have your… urges… but next, please, do something a little… quieter.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. Divination shakes his head.

“Honestly… I should be thanking that Vigilante, uh… What was his name again?”

“Gumberoo.”

Wilbur’s lip ticked up as he strengthened his lie, the lie that it was Gumberoo who stopped him, that Gumberoo stole away his bomb before he had a chance to detonate it, that it wasn’t a particularly interesting boy who pointed a sword at his throat from no where at all, who looked at Wilbur as if he was shit found on his shoe, no, no, of course not, it was Gumberoo, after all.

“Gumberoo, for stealing that bomb away from you.”

Wilbur groaned, leaning back in his chair.

“Nix… Just-Just be patient, alright? You know what’s coming, you know it’s worth the wait.”

Wilbur sighs, but nods. It was worth the wait; their Plan was worth it. Wilbur knew that, but that didn’t make his want, his need, to destroy just disappear. Wilbur needed to destroy, to sow chaos, to sow horror and fear. He was a Villain, a Monster; causing misery was part of his very being.

“Okay, fine, next I’ll… do something else.”

His father sighs, though this time it’s in relief.

“Okay, good, thank you, Nixie.”

The leader of the Syndicate clears his throat.

“Alright, how is everyone else?”

He asks, turning to face every member at the table.

“Fine.”

Cavalry answers, his hands busy with sharpening one of the many knives he kept on himself at all times. Wilbur almost smiled at his brother’s behaviour; it was very… him to be preparing for battle even when surrounded by allies.

“I’m arlight… uh, sir.”

Alopex, otherwise known as Fundy J. Floral, in his civilian identity, answered, his tall black-tipped ears twitching. Wilbur did actually smile at his little champion’s response. The newest member of the Syndicate, the Fox Hybrid, was still nervous around the older members, well, most of them; his nervousness had quickly turned to annoyance when it came to Wilbur.

“Fucking fantastic.”

Phoenix, otherwise known as Jack D. Manifold, in his civilian identity, mutters, his hand flickering through its flesh and fiery forms, a form of fidgeting for the Magma Hybrid. The man could never seem to sit still, Wilbur had noticed, as if there was always something… bubbling inside him.

“I’ve been well.”

Kraken, known as Niki H. Chu, in her civilian identity, one Wilbur knew far before getting to know her Villainous one, answers, her fingers hugged by lace twirling around one another. Wilbur waves slightly at his friend, to which she responds. Wilbur’s smile grows.

“Right as rain.”

Blue-Bolt announces, leaning back in his chair. Wilbur’s growing smile, falls, ugh, Connor. Divination nods.

“It’s good to hear, from all of you, I presume you are all informed of our upcoming Plan?”

Sounds of agreement come from the Syndicate members gathered together. Cavalry clears his throat, glancing at Kraken, who nods, before he turns to Divination.

“Divination.”

He turns to address the leader of the Syndicate.

“Kraken and I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Mind telling me it?”

“We want to take action specifically to throw the Heroes and government off our trail.”

“How so?”

“Kraken and I will steal the blueprints of the business Schlatt owns, and get caught while doing so. This will make the Heros and government deduce that that business is our target for any future plans.”

“Hm…”

Wilbur drums his fingers on the table. It was an interesting idea, as long as they avoided the mistakes Wilbur had made, the business area of District Two was far too close to the actual target, but Schlatt had many a business in the Third District, as far away from the target as one could go and remain in L’Manburg…

“I think that’s a good idea, throwing them off our trail will only benefit us, just don’t make it too obvious.”

Cavalry nodded in response, Kraken shifted in her seat, nodding her head, or more accurately, the tank on her head towards Divination.

“Thank you, Divination.”

Divination smiles back.

“No need to thank me, Kraken, it’s a good idea.”

Cavalry turns back to the knife in his hands, continuing to sharpen it. 

“Oh, Kraken, this is a bit off topic, but before I forget, your bakery has some new items on its menu, right?”

Kraken perks up, her back straightening. Wilbur turns to face Kraken, his eyebrows raising.

“Oh, yeah! Recently, I’ve added a few more muffin flavours, like raspberry and lemon, and I’ve finally figured out how to make macrons, so they’ve been added as well.”

“What?! Krraakkeenn, I was just there, why didn’t you tell me?”

Wilbur whines, and though he cannot see it, Wilbur can tell Kraken rolls her eyes in response.

“It’s recent, Nixie, really recent, I just added them today, in fact…”

Kraken tilts her head to the side.

“How did you find out about Divination? I know you didn’t visit my bakery today.”

Divination shrugs.

“A little birdie told me.”

“Ah, should’ve guessed.”

Divination chuckles, Wilbur slams his hand onto the table, the wooden part, not the part made of unideniable metal.

“I-, We-”

Wilbur looks at both Divination and Cavalry, making sure that they know that ‘We’ includes them.

“Have to visit! I have to see what macrons made by the best baker in the world taste like!”

Kraken scoffs.

“The world?”

“The world.”

Wilbur insists. Divination half-shrugs.

“Okay, okay, Nix, how ‘bout we discuss family excursions after the meeting?”

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah, right.”

Wilbur leans back in his chair, letting his ears grow foggy as the others around the table continue to speak. Perhaps Phoenix informed them of his own efforts to acquire the materials they needed for their upcoming Plan, perhaps, Kraken speaks about her efforts to recruit the people they would need to enact said Plan, and perhaps Cavalry finalized the time he and Kraken would conduct their robbing of Schlatt, but Wilbur wasn’t listening to the specifics; he could pressure Cavlary into telling him about them later. It would take some prodding and whining, but Cavalry always gave in to Wilbur’s demands; that’s what made him such a good-

“-Nixie.”

Wilbur straightens as he regestures his Villain moniker being said, blinking, he looks up to find Cavlary looming over him, looking around the room, he finds the other Villains knocking imaginary dust from themselves as they got up from their chairs. Ah. The meeting was over.

Wilbur smirks, hopping out of his seat, nearly slamming into Cavlary, who is able to dodge Wilbur’s rapid movement.

“Cavalry, can we please-”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon, man! At least let me finish!”

Cavalry huffs, folding his arms. Wilbur takes that as his cue to continue.

“Thank you, as I was saying, can we plleeaasee go to Kraken’s bakery?”

“We?”

Wilbur huffs at Cavalry’s question.

“Yes, we, you, me, and Divination.”

“Hm.”

Wilbur scoffs, leaning back, and he examines the parts of Cavalry’s face he can see through his mask made of a boar’s skull. 

“I know you wanna try Kraken’s new stuff, man, c’mon, it’ll be like… a family outing!”

“A family outing?”

Wilbur startles at the new voice, turning around to find a fond smile on his father’s face.

“Yes! A family outing!”

Wilbur exclaims, wrapping his arms around Divination and Cavalry, or, well, he attempts to wrap his arms around Cavalry, but Cavalry dodges away from him; Divination allows Wilbur’s arms to wrap around him.

“We haven’t had one in, like, forever. When was the last time we all hung out together? Outside of our Villain costumes.”

Wilbur bemoans, adding in the last sentence to stop Cavalry’s obvious rebuttal. Divination chuckles.

“Well, I suppose it’s been a while-”

“It’s been forever!”

“Maybe not that long, but I concede we haven’t hung out as a family in a while, and I’m really curious what Kraken’s macrons taste like.”

Wilbur smiles.

“So..?”

Divination huffs, fondly.

“Sooo, how bout we all go to Kraken’s bakery the day after tomorrow?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

Wilbur whines, Cavalry flicks him on the forehead, causing Wilbur to let out an exaggerated Ouch!’ and let go of Divination.

“Because that’s when Kraken and I are robbing Schlatt’s business, we just discussed this, Nixie, were you not listening?”

Wilbur shrugs, Cavalry narrows his eyes, barely visible underneath his mask.

“Nixie. We have spoken about this, you cannot zone out during meetings, we discuss important-"

“Cavs’, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, when you are not properly informed, you act in mann-”

“Blah, blah, blah.

“Nixie!-”

Divination stifles a laugh.