106. (credit to shift_0)

Technoblade checked the Vault blueprints for the third time, then dug his pick into the wall. The stone gave way under the netherite, falling apart in neat chunks. He brushed past them without picking them up - his inventory was full enough as it was, and he had no use for them.

He raised his pick for the next swing, only to pause. The voices in his head had quieted to an uneasy murmur.

"Chat?" he asked aloud.

What's that sound? Listen. Listen! Oooo mystery sound? I like mysteries! Listen. This gives me the creeps, hurry up. How much you wanna bet that's Sam coming to fight us? HA WE'LL KICK HIS GREEN BOY ASS. Isn't Dream the green boy? Shhh focus. Listen.

Technoblade strained his ears. Indeed, the noise of grinding rock could be heard, faint but growing steadily louder. Someone else was mining, and they were headed straight for him.

Technoblade drew his sword, thoughts racing. Was it a coincidence? Or had someone found out about their plan?

The wall broke open. Technoblade froze, sword forgotten, as Tommy stumbled into the tunnel. He did a double take when his pick met air, then glanced around. His gaze swept across the walls and landed on Technoblade.

Technoblade stared at Tommy. Tommy stared at Technoblade.

Slowly, the teenager raised his free hand in greeting. ". . . Ayup."

And then he ambled across the tunnel, drilled a few feet into the rock, then stepped in and turned back around. He maintained eye contact as he set down blocks, cutting himself off from the rest of the tunnel and disappearing from view. Technoblade was left staring at the wall.

". . . What just happened?"

107. toddler tales, pt. 7

Sam had been staring at them for the last five minutes.

Tommy aggressively chomped on a spoonful of cereal and glared right back. Dream, sitting next to him, continued to inhale his pancakes. Sam blinked, realized he'd been staring, and hastily looked down at his plate.

He had barely touched his breakfast. Puffy kept nudging him, trying to start up a conversation, but her attempts always fell flat. The two children were too busy eating to respond, and Sam just gave stilted, monosyllabic answers.

Tommy dug his spoon into his cereal and took another bite. An odd tingling feeling spread through his legs. He shifted in his seat, swinging his feet in an attempt to wake them up, only to accidentally kick Dream in the ankle. The other child choked on his pancakes, prompting a look of alarm from the two adults. Dream managed to pacify them between coughs, then washed the pancakes down with his apple juice. When he'd reasonably recovered, he kicked Tommy in the leg. Tommy tried to retaliate, but Dream shifted so he was out of reach. Scowling, Tommy took another bite of his cereal.

His body burned.

He yelped, falling out of his chair. Sam and Puffy shot to their feet, alarm clear on their faces. Tommy tried to tell them he was fine, but it came out as a strangled scream.

It hurt. He could hear something snapping, accompanied with starbursts of pain that made his vision white out for a moment. He threw his head back, cracking it against the floor in a desperate attempt to knock himself out.

All at once, the pain disappeared, leaving Tommy shuddering on the floor. He groaned, wincing as his raw throat protested. Everything ached.

"Tommy?" Oh hey, it was Dream. "A-are you okay?"

Tommy closed his eyes and didn't reply. Cloth rustled above him.

"Did he pass out?" Sam's voice was strained. A hand slid under his head, and Tommy moaned in protest as his skull began throbbing.

"Shh," Puffy murmured. "Just moving you to the couch."

Someone lifted him up, and then the world faded to black.

~~~

Tommy blinked awake to the sight of Puffy's ceiling.

"You're awake!" Tommy raised his head to see Dream, who was bouncing up and down on the other end of the couch. "You've been out for two hours. Puffy and Sam're in the kitchen."

"I feel like shit," Tommy croaked. "What the fuck happened?"

"You passed out."

"Thanks, Sherlock. Why did I pass out?"

Dream remained silent. Tommy sat up, grimacing as his muscles protested. His clothes felt. . . different, now. Tight, when they'd been hanging off of him before.

Wait.

He squinted down at himself, then raised a hand. The pudgy fingers had elongated and become a bit thinner.

"What the fuck," he said flatly. Then, louder, "What the fuck."

He'd grown. He was growing. Granted, it was at a very abnormal rate, but he was growing.

". . . Yeah. That's why."

Tommy turned to Dream. Dream, who still looked like a toddler. "You didn't grow."

Dream made a show of looking down at himself, then back at Tommy. "Nope," he chirped. "I think it's because you had milk in your cereal."

". . . Milk," Tommy deadpanned. "Are you fucking serious."

Dream dropped the childish act to grimace. "Yeah, it was pretty dumb of us not to think of that."

In any other situation, it would have been hilarious. As it was, Tommy was mentally berating himself for not trying milk to fix whatever mess he'd made with his potions. It was so fucking simple.

". . . Tommy?"

"Tommy. Yes. That's me." Tommy stared down at his hands. His body appeared to be around five or six years old now. "What the fuck?"

"You fell out of your chair and started screaming," Dream supplied unhelpfully. "It was very dramatic."

Tommy groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Why did we never think of milk?"

"To be fair, none of the normal potions physically change people. I guess we assumed that milk only worked for particle effects."

"But milk?! Why didn't we think of that?!"

"Shh!" Dream yelped, but it was already too late. Rapid footsteps heralded Puffy and Sam's arrival.

"Tommy! You're awake!"

"Hi," Tommy greeted, mind half on the conversation. The other half was still on why the fuck didn't we think about milk? "Yes. I'm awake. And bigger. This is bullshit."

Sam and Puffy blinked at him. Tommy realized too late that he wasn't acting very child-like.

"Shit, I mean-- fuck--"

"Fuck!" Dream repeated happily, like the bastard he was. Sam made a strangled noise while Puffy tried to cobble her composure back together. With limited success, of course, but Tommy gave her points for an attempt.

"Tommy, do you-- what do you remember?"

"You're Puffy. Uh, and Sam." Tommy scrunched his nose, hastily donning his 'I am a harmless small child' act. "But Wilby was there too, and his dad, and-- and I didn't remember you when I was there. I think. How did I get home? Why am I back?"

The two adults exchanged glances "Wilby?" Puffy asked.

"Wilbur. My brother." Tommy scowled. "I remember you an' Dream, but I remember Wilby at the same time-- what the fuck is happening to me?!"

"Two sets of memories," Sam realized. "He-- you have two sets of memories. You're growing again, and you're getting your memories back."

"But why is Dream still small?! Why did I get bigger?!"

Both adults looked at Dream, who was watching them with wide, curious eyes. "Um," Sam started, and didn't say anything else.

"We. . . don't know yet," Puffy admitted. When Tommy's face twisted into what looked like the beginnings of a temper tantrum, she rushed to placate him. "But we'll figure it out! You said your-- er, kidnapper-- told you you were turned into kids, right? Maybe they know something! Do you know their name?"

"Dunno," Tommy grumbled. "Had pink hair, though."

Puffy blinked. "Did she have blue eyes?"

Tommy sent her a weird look. "No? They were red. Kinda cool, actually."

"He said we couldn't see our friends," Dream mumbled. "But he did take us to see Wilbur's dad."

"Wilbur's dad," Puffy repeated. Her eyes widened. "Philza? Wait, so the 'kidnapper'--"

Sam made a noise that was something between a laugh and a groan. ". . . Technoblade."

~~~

Three miles away, in the heart of L'Manberg, Technoblade felt a sudden sense of foreboding. "Hurry," he called.

"Trying," Philza snapped back, sawing at his ankle monitor with renewed aggression. "This fuckin'-- plastic--"

The band snapped under the blade of the dagger. Philza wasted no time tossing it away, shoving his foot back into his boot without bothering to put his sock back on. Technoblade handed him a sack and a splash potion of invisibility. Philza tossed the bag into his inventory, then turned to Technoblade.

"We have sixteen minutes. You ready?"

Technoblade huffed. "Let's get outta here."

By the time Quackity arrived, they were long gone.

108.

"DREAM!"

Dream turned around. "Oh hey, Tommy."

"Don't 'hey' me," Tommy fumed, stomping up to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. "What the fuck did you do to Sam Nook?!"

"Nothing! I just. . . tweaked Sam's design a bit."

"YOU TURNED HIM INTO A FUCKIN' RACCOON!"

"Sam was in charge of his combat systems and coding - he's still a very capable android--"

"HE'S TINY!"

"And adorable," Dream confirmed. Tommy's eye twitched.

TOMMYINNIT? Both men jumped at the high-pitched voice, whipping around to see Sam Nook scampering up to them. IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? IS DREAM BOTHERING YOU?

Tommy's scowl deepened. "Yeah, he's bothering me alright."

Sam Nook's expression wasn't visible behind his creeper mask, but he radiated disapproval. DREAM, WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING TOMMYINNIT?

"S-sorry," Dream choked out, fighting down laughter at the sight of the robot. Nook came up to Tommy's knee and resembled an animal crossing character dressed in a construction outfit and a creeper mask. "He's just-- really fun to annoy."

"I," Tommy said, "am going to carve out your intestines with a rusty spork."

Dream lost his fight with laughter. Tommy eyed him with a look not dissimilar to how one would eye roadkill, then turned to Sam Nook.

"Hey Nook."

YES, TOMMYINNIT?

"Can you make Dream leave?"

OF COURSE, TOMMYINNIT. DREAM, I MUST ASK YOU TO LEAVE THE PREMISES.

Dream continued to die of laughter. Tommy narrowed his eyes. "I think you're gonna have to use force."

PERHAPS. DREAM, PLEASE LEAVE. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.

"Oh Prime," Dream choked out. "He's so tiny and adorable--"

Nook marched up to Dream, whacked the back of his knees to make him fall over, then dragged him off hotel premises by the back of his hoodie. The entire takedown took less than six seconds.

"Holy shit," Tommy said aloud.

By now, Nook had reached the gate in the hotel fence. He politely pushed it open, then not-so-politely punted Dream through it. Dream staggered to his feet and turned around, only to be forced back by a kick in the ankle. As the man opened his mouth to protest, Nook slammed the gate shut and pulled a trident thrice his height from his inventory. Dream wisely retreated.

"Holy shit."

109. (credit to Strategy)

Tommy lifted the bottle up to the lamp, squinting. A couple of swirls showed that the ingredients had fully dissolved - no suspicious chunks. That was a good sign. The liquid was slightly darker and more viscous than a normal Potion of Healing, but then again, it wasn't a normal Potion of Healing.

Tommy raised the iron sword Technoblade had gifted (read: that Tommy had stolen from) him and sliced his palm open, careful to keep his hand over the towel he'd laid on the table. Wouldn't want blood to get into Technoblade's hardwood floors - he'd ask questions.

With his uninjured hand, he uncorked the bottle. A normal Healing would close the shallow cut in about seven seconds; Healing II would close it in five. Tommy was trying out a new mix of Regeneration and Healing II that would hopefully bring it down to three. He took a sniff, grimacing at the sickly sweet smell. It had metallic undertones - not a good sign.

Well, if worse came to worst, Dream could just revive him. Tommy raised the bottle to his lips and began chugging.

The door slammed open. Tommy choked on the potion and shoved the remaining bit into his inventory, not bothering to cork it. Why the fuck was Technoblade back already? He should've been gone for at least another two hours--

Shit. It was Thursday, not Friday. Technoblade came back earlier on Thursdays, and now Tommy was standing literally red-handed in the middle of his living room. He was so screwed.

"I'm b-- Tommy!"

"Ayup," Tommy said through a mouthful of potion. Or tried to say. The potion went down the wrong pipe, and Tommy found himself coughing. Hard. Technoblade dropped the string of dead rabbits he was holding and rushed forward, grabbing Tommy by the shoulders. The teenager tried to shove him away, but he held tight.

"What did you drink?" he demanded. Shit, he'd seen the potion. "What did you do?"

Tommy was too busy hacking up a lung to provide a coherent answer. Technoblade released him with a snarl, whipping around and lunging for one of his chests. He came up with a bottle of milk and shoved it in Tommy's face. "Drink, " he ordered.

Tommy would, except it was kinda hard to drink stuff when he was choking. He batted Technoblade's hand away. The piglin hybrid dropped the milk, spent a second staring at it in dismay, then whirled around and yanked a glass bottle from another chest. He smashed it open against the floor.

Magenta smoke wafted up around them. Tommy blinked, feeling his skin tingle as the cut on his palm stitched itself shut. Why the fuck did Technoblade throw a potion of Regeneration at him?

Tossing questions aside for the moment, he thumped his bloodied hand against his chest and forced his breathing to slow down. He coughed a few more times before he brought it under control. Technoblade watched him like a hawk.

When his epiglottis had upgraded from "imminent death" to "extreme discomfort", he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and leveled a glare at Technoblade. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

He sounded like he'd swallowed a bucket of gravel. Tommy winced.

Technoblade's expression darkened. Strangely enough, it wasn't angry - no, his eyes were too wide, and there was something almost like fear lining the set of his brows. Rather than rise to Tommy's bait, he crossed his arms. "Tommy, what were you doing?"

"Drinking a potion," Tommy huffed. "Seriously, man, you can't just barge in like that--"

"Stop tryin' to change the subject. What potion?"

Ah shit, he was serious. ". . . Healing."

Technoblade narrowed his eyes. "You were coughin' up blood."

"I. . . wasn't?" Oh shit, did Technoblade think he was trying to poison himself? "That was the potion-- here, see? It's not blood, I just choked when you surprised me. Which is why --"

"Healing doesn't have that color. Or consistency. Try again."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "It was a new variation. I was testing it out."

Technoblade's gaze flicked to his bloodied hand. "On yourself."

"Yeah? What else was I supposed to do?"

"Test it on animals."

"Why the fuck would I do that? The potions aren't for animals, they're for humans."

Technoblade stared at him. Tommy stared back, defiant.

"Tommy," Technoblade started slowly. "You could have hurt yourself. You did hurt yourself. You don't know what the potion was going to do. You could have died."

Right. From Technoblade's perspective, there were permanent consequences.

"I'd be fine," he deadpanned.

Technoblade's mouth twisted with frustration. "This isn't the time for your hubris--"

"It's not hubris! I would have been fine! I know what I'm doing!"

"It's basic self-preservation--"

"What, don't want your ally to die before you can destroy L'Manberg?"

"No, I don't want you to die because I care about you! "

Tommy stared at him. Technoblade took a deep breath and drew back, raking a hand through his hair.

"I care about you," he repeated. "Tommy, I don't know what happened to you on that beach, but-- you can't-- don't throw everything away because you wanted to-- wanted to test a potion."

Tommy wanted to laugh. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he bit out. "What-- why the fuck are you acting like you care?"

Technoblade frowned. "I do care--"

" No you fucking don't," Tommy snarled. Ha. Technoblade, caring about him? Yeah, betraying him and razing his country to bedrock was a great way to show it.

"Tommy--"

"Tommy," Tommy mocked in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Technoblade. "I care about you so much, please don't accidentally kill yourself before we can carry out our mutual goals, mimimi--"

"Tommy!"

Tommy's jaw snapped shut with a click. Technoblade's hands curled and uncurled, blackened nails carving crescent moons into his palms.

The piglin hybrid took a deep breath. "Just-- don't," he ground out. "Don't use my potion stands anymore."

"I'll do what I like, bitch--"

Technoblade spoke over him. "There's enough in the chests, if you want some, just take one. But stay away from the stands."

Tommy's lips curled into a sneer. Looks like he'd have to make his own stands again, which was annoying - Technoblade's were always better crafted and lasted longer. But he knew when to pick his fights. He wasn't gonna win this one - in fact, Technoblade would probably hide the potion stands so Tommy couldn't brew things. Being stubborn wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Fine," he grumbled. "No more brewing shit, but don't blame me when you run out of potions."

Technoblade sent him an unreadable look, then turned away with a sharp nod. Tommy flipped him off and headed for the ladder. He still had two samples in his inventory - Technoblade wouldn't check on him until dinner, which was enough time for him to test them out.

Hopefully, they wouldn't make him sick.

110.

Tommy leaned back, sighing. The sweet notes of Cat floated through the air around him. He tapped his fingers on the bench as he stared into the distance,

His chest felt funny. Maybe it was nostalgia. Tubbo wasn't here, just Tommy and the disc. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend everything was back to normal. The normal before Schlatt, and Dream, and the loops.

Someone sat down next to him. "Hey, Tommy."

The illusion shattered. "Big Q," Tommy greeted, reluctantly opening his eyes. "Hi."

Quackity leaned back in his seat, staring at him in a way that meant he wanted to say something. Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Okay, spit it out. Why the fuck are you here?"

"What, I can't talk to my favorite ghost?"

"You're a busy man, big Q," Tommy deadpanned. "The only reason you'd come here is to find me, and you'd only find me if you wanted something. So what is it?"

Quackity sighed. "That obvious, huh?"

Tommy waited for him to continue. He didn't. ". . . So?"

Quackity grimaced and turned away, staring at the horizon. "It's. . . I'm not sure how to say it--"

"Just say it," Tommy groaned. "I'm not fuckin' fragile, I don't need sugarcoating."

"Right, right." Quackity took a deep breath. "Tommy, do you want to be alive again?"

Tommy stared at him. His death this time around had been an honest accident - he'd frozen when he'd seen a creeper. The explosion had sent him into a panic attack, which (when compounded with how he'd fallen and impaled himself on his shattered armor) was pretty much fatal. He just couldn't be bothered to drag himself to see Dream after that fiasco.

Being a ghost wasn't too bad anyway - he could go through walls and shit, and jumpscare Ranboo. (Though the poor guy had started crying the third time he did it, so Tommy stopped.)

Now Quackity was asking if he wanted to be revived.

He shrugged, turning towards the view. "I dunno, big Q. It's peaceful. No more worrying."

Quackity's breathing hitched slightly before it evened out again. "Huh," he said. "Not boring?"

"Maybe a little," Tommy admitted. "But it's better than fighting all the time."

Quackity shifted uncomfortably, then huffed. ". . . How's Tubbo holding up?"

"He's sad," Tommy said. "But he'll be okay."

Another long silence. Quackity clasped his hands together and sat forward, foot tapping.

". . . Are you sure you don't want to be revived?"

Tommy shrugged. "I mean, I don't really care." He peered at Quackity. "Why're you asking?"

"I might be able to revive you."

"I thought Dream was the only one."

Something dark flashed across Quackity's face. "He is, but I can convince him to revive you."

Tommy stared at Quackity. Quackity didn't meet his gaze.

"Why do you want me to come back so bad?"

Quackity shrugged. "I. . . just do."

Tommy knew a nonanswer when he heard it. But. . . he trusted Quackity. He was one of the few who had still cared about Tommy up until the end. There was probably a good reason for why the man was being so dodgy.

Being a ghost was getting kinda boring, anyway. And with Quackity there, he didn't need to worry about struggling through another painful conversation with Dream. So. . . "Okay."

Quackity beamed. "Cool, cool. Let's head to the prison, then. Don't worry about Dream, he won't try anything with me there."

He rose from the bench and held out a hand. Without hesitation, Tommy took it.

~~~

Something was wrong.

Sam had let them into the prison without question. He skipped the security checks and took them straight through the guards' corridor, which-- wasn't like him at all. The Warden took his job seriously; he made everyone go through the checks, even those that seemed harmless. And neither Quackity nor Tommy seemed harmless.

Tommy narrowed his eyes at the Warden's back, only to don a neutral expression when Sam's gaze flicked his way. The creeper hybrid had been doing that a lot. Probably upset that Tommy died.

Maybe that was why he was rushing the security checks. But even if he was eager to get Tommy revived, he wouldn't rush the process. Sam prioritized being a warden above all else-- he'd proved that when he let Tommy die.

Something was happening here. Something Tommy didn't know about. He didn't like that.

As they stepped onto the platform, Quackity pulled out a pair of shears. Odd weapon choice, but Sam didn't seem too put off by it, so Tommy didn't comment. Then they were moving, and Tommy was too busy fighting off panic to care about anything else.

It was a shitty trauma response, something that happened whenever he was standing on this platform. He had to remind himself that it was fine. He'd visited here as a ghost before. It would be the same as always. In and out, and then he'd be alive again. He was going to be okay. Quackity was here to protect him. Tommy was already dead. Dream couldn't hurt him.

He took a deep breath, his incorporeal lungs burning with the heat. Quackity sent him a side glance, then looked away when the platform reached the other side.

The smell hit him first. Tommy recoiled at the familiar, sickening-sweet scent of blood mixed with potions of regeneration. His eyes darted wildly, searching for the source, only to land on several suspicious splatters covering the walls and floor. Most of it was faded; the porous obsidian absorbed any sort of fluid.

Dream was huddled in the back corner of the cell, squished between the lectern and the wall. He didn't move as Quackity and Tommy stepped off the platform.

"Hello, Dream."

Dream raised his head, exhaustion clear in every line of his face. He opened his mouth to speak, only to freeze when he noticed Tommy. Tommy flinched and shuffled backwards.

Quackity stepped between them. "This isn't a usual visit. We've got a guest today, so I'll make it quick--" he pointed at Tommy. "Revive him."

Dream's mouth opened and closed. His gaze darted wildly between the ghost and the man. "I-I can't," he croaked. "Not with-- not with you here."

Tommy couldn't see Quackity's expression. He did see, however, the way Quackity adjusted his grip on the shears.

Dream's skin paled to paper-white. "I can't," he protested.

"I wasn't asking, Dream," Quackity said softly. He took a step forward. Dream shrank back.

Something was very, very wrong here. Every alarm bell was going off in Tommy's head. Unbidden, snippets of a past conversation rose in his mind.

("What do you call the shit that happened in prison then?")

"Revive him," Quackity repeated.

"I can't, please, you'll know, you'll hear--"

"You're not the one in charge, Dream," Quackity snarled. He stalked forward and grabbed Dream by the front of his jumpsuit, hoisting him to his feet. "Didn't you want to do this? Keep the only 'interesting' person on the server alive? You did it before. Do it again, or I'll kill you."

"You'll kill me anyway," Dream choked out. "You'll figure out how to revive people and then--"

Quackity's face went terrifyingly blank. "Fine then," he said. "Revive Tommy, or you'll wish I killed you."

Tommy stared at them. Stared at the resigned terror on Dream's face, his shaking hands, the way he curled away from Quackity as though he expected--

Like puzzle pieces clicking together, everything fell into place.

The blood seeping into the walls.

The blood splattered on Dream's jumpsuit.

The blood drying on Quackity's shears.

And most damningly, the nauseating smell of Regeneration.

("What do you call the shit that happened in prison then?"

"If I recall correctly, you weren't the one that got beaten to death."

". . . That's not what I was talking about.")

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck shit shit shit--

"B-big Q?"

Quackity blinked, like he'd forgotten Tommy was there. A smile slid onto his face. It didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, Tommy. You'll be alive again in no time."

Dream made a noise high in the back of his throat, wild and half-hysterical. "Fine," he breathed, slumping forward. Something almost like surprise flashed across Quackity's face. "Fine. Whatever. It doesn't matter. T-Tommy, you-- come here."

Tommy remained rooted in place.

"Come here," Quackity said. Tommy's eyes strayed to his free hand, which was clamped around Dream's shoulder. "Come on, Tommy. Don't you want to be alive again?"

"Big Q. Quackity," Tommy rasped. His voice shook. "What. . ."

"Dream was just being stubborn, that's all." Quackity's voice hardened. "Now come here."

Tommy's drifted forward, mind still reeling. Dream held out a hand when he neared, only to flinch.

"I need to be touching him," he said.

"Don't try anything funny," Quackity warned. Dream nodded, shifting his hand a bit closer to Tommy. An invitation.

Tommy stared at it. "I don't. . . I'm not sure about this."

"Come on," Quackity coaxed. His eyes were fixed on Tommy. "Take his hand."

Tommy's hand moved on autopilot, dropping into Dream's. The man let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding shut. He began to chant, monotone syllables dropping from cracked lips. Tommy inhaled at the familiar sensation of strings wrapping around him.

Dream's voice rose. The strings pulled.

The last thing Tommy saw was Quackity's smile.

~~~

Tommy shot up, gasping. He slammed a fist into his chest as his lungs and heart began functioning again. Fuck, he hated this part of the revival process.

He waited until his shivering died down, getting used to the feeling of blood in his veins. A quick glance around revealed that he was in his house, the last place he'd set his spawn before he died.

There was nobody else around him. He was alone. Tommy let himself curl into a ball, fisting his trembling hands in his hair.

Okay. Shit. Shit. Think, but not all at once. What had Puffy said? Right, create a list. Creating a list would help him process things better. He started with the small things, like Puffy had taught him to.

One: he was alive. His body was in working order, as always, but he'd have to get used to being corporeal again.

Two: Dream had revived him, again. Except this time, Quackity had been the one to initiate it.

Three: Quackity was looking for information on the revival process. Information that only Dream had, information that Dream refused to share.

Four: Quackity was using him. Had used him. Had used his fucking ghost so he could get his hands on the revival process.

Five: It had been nearly a month since Tommy had died. Using his ghost had been Quackity's last resort.

Six: Quackity's first resort was torturing Dream for the revival book.

Seven: Dream had been in prison for nearly two and half years by now. Had Quackity been-- visiting him the entire time?

Eight: ("This isn't a usual visit.")

Yes, he had been visiting him the entire time.

Nine: neither he nor Dream had done anything drastic this time around, which meant that this had happened in Loop Zero too.

Ten: He remembered things. Things that suddenly had a second meaning.

Technoblade astride a horse at full gallop, racing away from the prison, an unconscious Dream slumped in his arms. Punz betraying them in the final fight, going straight for Quackity's back.

Dream, frantic and trying not to blurt out the secrets of resurrection. Quackity, his eyes shining with hunger when he looked at Tommy's ghost.

His mind was a whirlpool of confusion and horror. Quackity was after the revival book. Quackity used Tommy so he could see the revival process. Quackity tortured Dream. Sam had been helping Quackity--

He recoiled at the thought. But no, it made sense-- why else would the security checks go by so quickly? There were cameras in the cell, Sam had to know what had been happening. Dream had been suffering and nobody else had known in the original timeline, because Sam locked down the prison after Tommy left and nobody could visit. Nobody except Quackity. And every time they looped back--

--and every time they looped back--

Tommy scrambled off of his bed and collapsed on all fours, dry heaving. He could taste copper and ghast tears in the back of his throat.

Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck this. Dream hurt him. Dream deserved it. Dream deserved--

(--clawing at obsidian walls, hands batted aside so easily, screaming, screaming, somebody please help me save me get me out away from this madman please stop please I don't want to die--)

Tommy pressed his forehead against the dirt floor. He could remember it, clear as day. Dream looming over him with bloodied fists and jagged grin, the lava behind him casting him in burning red.

(--human bodies, so fragile, skulls cracking and caving beneath knuckles--)

It was all too easy to imagine Quackity in his place. Only instead of bloodied fists, bloodied shears--

(--sharp metal cutting into flesh and bone, carving-- )

Tommy snarled, hunching over. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't need to think about it. Dream hurt him, got hurt in return-- it was karma. Simple. Easy. Dream deserved it for what he did.

(--fragile joints shattered like glass--)

Dream deserved it. He did--

( "Revive Tommy, or you'll wish I killed you." )

"SHUT UP!" Tommy howled, slamming a fist into the ground. "JUST FUCKING SHUT UP! STOP IT! STOP IT! HE HURT ME! HE KILLED ME! HE DESTROYED MY HOME! HE'S AN ABSOLUTE BASTARD AND HE DES--"

He choked on the word.

Because Dream didn't deserve it. Nobody deserved it. He knew firsthand the terror of being trapped, unable to escape from the pain, knowing there was someone out there who knew what was happening yet chose not to help.

Dream had abused Tommy. Dream had been tortured. And then he'd suffered the same thing, over, and over, and over.

What was Tommy supposed to feel?

A hoarse, mirthless laugh tore its way out of his chest. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He kept laughing, and laughing, even as his eyes burned.

They were over a hundred and fifty loops in. How many times had Dream looped into the prison? How many times had Dream woken up with Quackity standing over him? How long had Dream spent bleeding and bleeding and--

"Tommy?"

Ranboo was standing in the doorway. A bundle of alliums lay at his feet. The sun was at his back, casting his face in deep shadow, but Tommy could hear the sizzling of water against skin.

Tommy tried to speak, but another cackle threatened to burst from his chest. He bit down on his tongue until he tasted iron.

"Tommy," Ranboo gasped, and when Tommy blinked, he was there, a foot away, hands reaching out and hovering like he was scared to touch him. "Tommy, you're-- you're alive."

That's right. He was alive. Again. Everything ached. His skin felt too tight, too stiff. His chest was a mess of confusion and vindication and guilt. His head was too loud. He was being torn to pieces. He needed--he needed something, someone, anything--

Tommy reached out and grabbed Ranboo, pulling him down to his level, hands curling in the lapels of his suit. Ranboo yelped, but Tommy was already falling forward, pressing his face into the fabric.

"Oh," Ranboo said, and then, "Tommy," and arms circled around him, thin and bony and the best fucking thing he'd felt in ten loops.

He was safe. Ranboo would keep him together.

Tommy collapsed into the hug and let himself fall apart.

Loop Notes
106. When Technoblade broke into the prison, he was irritated to find that the cell was empty. Seriously, if Dream was gonna hire someone else to break him out, he could have at least told Techno so he wouldn't have to go through all the trouble.
107. In this case, drinking milk does make you grow taller. Drink your milk, kiddos.
108. Just because Sam Nook is one (1) foot tall and looks like an animal crossing character, does not mean that Sam Nook is any less capable of a fighter.