186. (credit to Mushroom)

Dream stepped through the portal and was greeted with a scream of "MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCH!" and a large object headed towards his face. Having experienced this before, he simply dropped into a crouch. The package went sailing over his head, bounced off the portal frame, and hit the ground with a thud.

Dream carefully rose to his feet, eyeing the now slightly-crumpled gift. "This seems. . . familiar."

"Open it open it open it," Tommy chanted, practically vibrating in place with sheer excitement. "Hurry up, Dream, I've been waiting for this for fuckin' ages!"

Dream huffed but obligingly squatted down beside the package. He untied the twine holding it together and peeled back the wrapping paper, then did a double take. "Oh. Wow. This is. Wow."

Carefully, he lifted the shirt from the neatly-folded pile of clothing and shook it loose, turning it this way and that. Tommy had clearly been looking through the Stronghold libraries - the outfit was like something straight out of the illustrated fantasy novels they'd come across, but tailored for better speed and agility. Dream rubbed the fabric between his fingers and was quite pleased to find that it was the same durable material his clothes were usually made of.

In contrast to his prior excitement, Tommy seemed almost. . . nervous now. He shifted in place, choosing to look at his handiwork rather than Dream's face. "So. Uh. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Dream declared. He pulled the half-cape from the ensemble and wrapped it around his shoulders. It clashed horribly with his neon hoodie. "How do I look?"

"Like an idiot," was Tommy's deadpan response. "Either put on the entire outfit or don't ruin my beautiful work with your shit fashion sense."

Dream sheepishly pulled the cape off. ". . . I'll change after you get your present."

Tommy's eyes sparked with interest. "Is it a gun?"

The other looper sent him a look. "No. It's better if we move into the house for this. My, uh, gift, is a bit. . . large."

"A bazooka?"

"No."

~~~

Once they were within Logstedshire, Tommy turned expectantly towards Dream. The other looper hesitated for a moment, then reached into his inventory and began the laborious task of withdrawing a large bundle from within. By the time he managed to lay it on the ground, Tommy had abandoned all propriety to gape at the present.

It was a lumpy, semi-ovoid package almost as long as Dream was tall. The wrapping paper crinkled where Dream had been holding it, revealing its contents to be squishy. Dream rubbed the back of his head. "So, uh. You know how I've picked up crocheting?"

Tommy turned an incredulous stare towards him. "Dream. Did you make me a body pillow or something?"

"Open it and find out."

Tommy tore into the wrapping paper with the zeal of a kid experiencing their first Christmas. He froze when the mystery item was revealed. "Dream," he said, eyes fixed on the present. "Did you crochet a giant moth?"

"Er. . . yes?"

Slowly, Tommy reached into the shredded wrapping paper and patted the moth's head. "Soft," he murmured.

"It's the textured yarn you really like. I got Eret to show me how he made it. Do. . . do you like it?"

Tommy was perfectly still for all of two seconds. And then he let out a shriek of pure joy, sweeping the giant crocheted moth up and hugging the living daylights out of it. "YES! SHE'S SO SQUISHY AND SOFT! AND-- oh Prime wait her wings unfold!" He proceeded to unwrap the moth's wings from its body and pull it around himself like a cloak. "Mmm. Yes. This. This is the best fucking thing ever. Moth hugs."

Dream's lips curled up in a fond smile. "Are you going to name her?"

"Clementine," Tommy said instantly. "Her name is Clementine."

"What happened to your terrible naming sense?"

Tommy gasped. "Are you insulting my chosen names? My darling Clementine?"

"No, I'm insulting 'tnret' and 'Hot Girl'--"

"Shut the fuck up. Those were pog names. And you have no room to talk, you named all your weapons Nightmare! The real peak of creativity, Dream, amazing how you named everything the exact same thing--"

"That was a play on my name! You just throw together random words--"

"--he's in denial, Clem. This is so sad."

"--okay now that's just rude--"

"Shhh. Go change into your new clothes, Dream. Your eyesore of a hoodie is ruining Clem's mood."

When Dream rolled his eyes, Tommy whacked him with one of Clementine's wings. The man held up his hands and retreated towards the adjacent bedroom. "Okay! I'm going, I'm going!"

"Don't forget to lace up the boots!" Tommy called after him. He received a middle finger in response.

187. (credit to Astral, Cocomere, and ori)

"So what exactly is this 'very important task'?"

"You'll see," Dream said cheerily. He waved off the disgruntled look Punz leveled at him. "You'll be fine, I promise."

"Not going to lie, Dream, paying me a huge amount of netherite and then refusing to tell me my job is kinda suspicious."

"Trust me, it'll be fun!"

". . . 'Fun', as in a fun fight, or--?" Punz cut himself off when they stepped into the Community House. "The fuck is this?"

The one-room building had been filled with beanbag chairs, blankets, and pillows. A new bookshelf had been propped up against the wall and loaded with board games. Tommy and Purpled stood at the center of it all. They turned when Dream and Punz entered, the former lighting up while the latter tensed.

"Dream!" Tommy cheered. "You're late!"

"Tommy!" Dream returned with an equal amount of enthusiasm. "No I'm not!"

Tommy dropped the false cheer in favor of his usual grin. "Get in here, big D. I have a Monopoly game to win."

Dream glanced back at Punz, who was hovering by the door. "You coming in?"

"What is this?" Punz repeated. He seemed relaxed, but the near-invisible twitch of his fingers revealed he was anything but.

"Game night!" Dream bounded over to the shelf and pulled out a well-loved Monopoly set. "We're playing Monopoly!"

The mercenary stared at him. "You paid me. . . to play Monopoly with you?"

"This is a very important cause," Tommy sniffed. "Monopoly with two people is boring. Get over here, Purpled. We're gonna absolutely destroy the old'uns."

Purpled shuffled to his side and sank to the floor, forgoing the beanbag chairs in favor of the ability for a quick escape. Punz assumed a similar position on the opposite side of the board that Dream was laying out. The two mercenaries entered into a staredown, which was broken a second later when Tommy hurled a wad of monopoly cash at Purpled. Purpled caught it on pure instinct, looked down at it, then looked up at Tommy.

". . . What is this?"

"Monopoly money? You know? To. . . pay taxes and shit?"

Purpled rifled through the bills. "I don't know how to play," he admitted.

"Never too late to learn, Purpleyboy!"

"Never call me that again."

Tommy raised his hands in mock-surrender and turned to Punz. "Do you know how to play Monopoly?"

"Vaguely," Punz answered, staring at the silver ocelot token in his hand like it was going to come to life and claw his face off. "It's. . . been a while."

"Time to relearn, then!" Dream slapped the other three tokens - a wolf for Purpled, a spider for Tommy, and an axolotl for himself - down on the "GO" square. "Tommy, you roll first this time. We can go 'round clockwise. We'll learn slash relearn Monopoly--"

"Did you just say 'slash' out loud?"

"--as we go!" Dream tossed the dice at Tommy's face, ignoring Purpled's incredulous question. The plastic cubes nailed the other looper in the forehead.

"Ow! Fuck! Dream!"

"L," was Dream's unsympathetic reply. He picked up the spider token. "Now roll."

With much grumbling and glowering, Tommy rolled the dice. And so began a Monopoly game between two idiots and the bewildered mercenaries they'd contracted.

~~~

Purpled skimmed through the new contract Tommy had handed him. "Are you. . . paying me to play Monopoly with you again?"

"Uno today," Tommy said. "I'm going to beat that bastard."

Purpled raised an eyebrow. "Dream?"

"He's a cheater," Tommy groused. "I've got no proof, but he wins every game we play and it pisses me off."

"So you're hiring me to beat Dream."

"Try to beat Dream, yeah. I'll still pay you if you don't."

Purpled looked down at the contract again, then held out a hand. Tommy obligingly handed over a Totem of Undying. Purpled pocketed it and tipped his head. "Lead the way."

"It's always the Community House, Purpled-- you don't need to walk behind me every time."

"It's harder for you to stab me in the back when you're walking in front of me."

Tommy turned his head to stare at Purpled. ". . . What the fuck, man."

Purpled shrugged. "Paranoia's part of the profession."

~~~

Despite their best efforts, neither Purpled nor Punz could beat Dream in Uno.

On the sixth round, Purpled threw all professionalism out the metaphorical window and attempted to strangle Dream. Tommy cheered him on the entire time.

~~~

"--so the word was 'Tasty', and we have--" Dream took one look at the red cards and promptly doubled over with laughter. The other three exchanged longsuffering looks as he wheezed his lungs out.

Fortunately, the man recovered enough to speak about a minute later. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he readjusted his hold on the cards and cleared his throat.

"Right. We have 'Netherite Ingots', 'The Void', and-- and 'My Friends'." He slapped the cards down as he spoke. "Make your case."

"That's not how this works," Punz pointed out.

"My Apples to Apples judging round, my rules."

The three other players exchanged glances. "Well obviously the void is tastiest," Tommy sniffed. "It's got that flavor , you know--"

"Spacedust and nothingness," Purpled deadpanned. Tommy pointed at him.

"Exactly! I gotta tell you, spacedust tastes great. Bit like dirt."

"You like the taste of dirt?"

"You put netherite ingots! You have no room to talk!"

"They have a nice texture. Crunchy."

"Netherite's inedible."

Purpled looked him in the eye. "Everything's edible at least once."

". . . yeah, but edible doesn't mean tasty."

"Netherite is a kind of metal. Metal is rock. Rock can be made into rock soup. Soup is tasty, and therefore, netherite is tasty. Now can the void be made into void soup?"

"Spacedust can. You know, mud pies?"

"Wh-- you're. . . not supposed to eat those."

"I ate a ton when I was a kid and I turned out fine."

"I don't think you can be categorized as 'fine'," Purpled deadpanned. "There's obviously been some brain damage--"

"Oh fuck you--"

"If I may," Dream interrupted, "We still have another card."

The teenager and pseudo-teenager glowered at each other before silently agreeing to a temporary truce. "What was Punz's card again?" Tommy asked, then did a double take. "Punz, what the fuck."

Dream tapped the 'My Friends' card. ". . . Punz, care to explain?"

Punz shrugged. "Humans are tasty. Simple as that."

"That--that was a joke, right?"

Punz just looked at him.

"Punz? Punz? "

"You'll never know."

~~~

"Purpled! Punz! Come on in, we're setting up the Game of Life."

"Schlatt hired us to hurt you," Purpled said.

There was a pause. Both loopers looked at him, looked at each other, then looked back at him. "Okay?" Dream said. "Does that mean you're not joining today?"

"He hired us to permanently maim you, Dream." Punz's voice was flat. "As in, 'chop off one of his legs. Make sure he'll never run again'."

"Oookay," Dream said, slower this time. "So maybe starting that anti-capitalist movement in Manberg was a mistake. Actually nah, Niki deserves support and Schlatt's a dick when he's drunk so. Yeah. Are you going to play Life with us or not?"

Both mercenaries stared at him. Purpled turned to Tommy. "We were hired to maim you," he repeated.

Tommy made a face. "I heard you the first time, bitch. I'm not that hard of hearing. Yet. Probably will be if Dream keeps screaming 'eat the rich' through that fucking megaphone right in my ear--"

"I said I was sorry about that!"

Purpled scowled. "Aren't you worried?"

Dream raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to maim us?"

Purpled and Punz exchanged glances. "Tell you what," the younger said. "Make me the banker for this game, and I'll drop the deal with Schlatt."

"Deal," Dream said instantly.

"And give me all the orange bills," Punz added. Purpled scowled at him.

"Half and half," he bargained. Punz eyed him for a moment, then nodded and held out a hand. They shook on it with great solemnity.

"Wait," Tommy spluttered. "Does that mean we don't get any hundred thousands?!"

"Sucks to be broke," Purpled said unsympathetically. He plopped down in a beanbag chair and scooted next to the game table. "Now gimme a minecart. I'm going to destroy all of you."

"It's Life, Purpled. You don't destroy people."

"That's what you think."

". . . The fuck does that mean?"

Purpled smirked. "You'll see."

188.

"Technoblaaaaade!" Tommy poked his head around the closet doors and held up a bundle of white cloth. "Why the fuck do you have a bunch of giant shirts?"

"Why are you in my closet?" Technoblade countered, grabbing him by the back of his tee and tugging him away. He swiped the oversized dress shirt from his hands. "Give me that."

"Tech-no-blade," Tommy whined. "C'mon, tell me! Do you secretly like oversized clothes? You know Dream has an entire collection of giant hoodies? Never pinned you to be the type, you're always so fuckin' obsessed with looking prim and proper--"

Technoblade wouldn't be caught dead in a hoodie. He had a reputation to maintain. "No, Tommy."

Tommy blinked. "No? Then why the fuck do you have like-- a whole stack of those shirts shoved in the back of your drawers?"

Technoblade stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment. There was genuine curiosity in Tommy's eyes, but. . . it was overshadowed by something else, too. Something almost hungry, in the way soldiers were hungry after months on the battlefield. He couldn't quite explain it, but. . .

Technoblade sighed. "You can't tell anyone, okay? I'm trustin' you with one of my biggest secrets here."

"I won't," Tommy swore with such solemnity that Technoblade was momentarily taken aback. He'd never seen Tommy like this before - but he knew that look. Tommy would keep his promise.

With a huff, he curled his fingers around the button-down in his hands. "Out," he said.

Tommy spluttered. "Wh-- excuse me?"

"Out," Technoblade deadpanned. "No, you haven't offended me. Now get out, it'll be easier to show you and I don't want you here for this."

Tommy squinted at him, clearly suspicious, but Technoblade didn't back down. At last, the teenager huffed and shuffled into the hallway. Technoblade waited for the door to click shut, then turned the lock.

Slowly, he unfolded the shirt and held it up to the light. The sleeves were wrinkled, and the creases where it had been folded would need a good ironing to erase. He hadn't worn it since. . . since he'd stepped foot on the server, really.

With quick, economical movements, he changed into it and tugged the too-long sleeves above his wrists. With that accomplished, he reached deep into the part of himself he'd hidden away so long ago.

For a moment, there was stillness. And then he shifted.

~~~

Tommy was curious.

There were only so many things to be learned in an endless time loop, and finding a new bit of information about the non-loopers was always like a breath of fresh air. He'd raided Technoblade's closet with the vague notion of stealing a shirt to cut up for a new design, but he'd gotten sidetracked by the mysterious, neatly-folded piles of clothes in the back of the third drawer.

He waited. He was good at waiting. Three minutes ticked by in silence - and then he heard footsteps through the walls. He jumped to his feet, mouth already opening to greet Technoblade - only to freeze when the door swung open.

Of all the things Tommy had expected to see, a piglin brute was not one of them. "WHAT THE FUCK!" he screamed, scrambling back and reaching for his swords. Only the realization that the piglin was wearing Technoblade's clothes kept him from attempting murder. "Tech-- Techno, is that-- you?"

The piglin (???) rolled its eyes in a very Technoblade-like manner. "Yes, Tommy. It's me. Surprise."

"Wh-- you-- what the fuck!"

"I gotta tell you, Tommy, your expansive vocabulary is really impressive."

"Fuck you," Tommy replied automatically. He scanned Technoblade's new form, noting the differences.

The most obvious was the species change. Technoblade had appeared human with a few minor hybrid enhancements prior to the shift; his oddly-shaped ears and blood-red eyes were the only markers of his status. Yes, the enhancements had been weaker than what was common for hybrids (i.e. Fundy and his fox parts), but Tommy had just assumed his hybrid traits mainly manifested themselves in instincts, such as his love for gold. Obviously, this was not the case.

The next thing he noticed was the marks. Ropy scars twisted down from the crown of his head, streaked through with dull gold. One of his tusks was cracked. The other was completely gone. The Butcher Army's anvil had left a far greater impression on Technoblade's piglin form.

Technoblade was watching him, posture wary. He clearly expected Tommy to comment on the scars. Tommy, however, thrived off of unpredictability. He reached out and poked him in the arm. "You're fuzzy," he said softly.

Technoblade arched a brow. "Yes, Tommy. Thank you for the insightful observation."

Slowly, Tommy looked up. "Can I," he blurted. When Technoblade's other brow joined the first, he added, "pleasecanIhugyou."

". . . What?"

"Hug," Tommy said, and held out his arms.

"What?" Technoblade repeated. On any other day, Tommy would've been proud of the pure bafflement on his face.

"You're fuzzy and big," he explained patiently. "That makes you a good hugger. I want to hug you."

Technoblade blinked slowly, then glanced at the window as though to check if the sky had turned green. "Uh. If you want to hug something big and fuzzy, I've got Steve--"

"You," Tommy insisted. When Technoblade remained uncertain, he defaulted to the skill he'd picked up from Tubbo.

It was a strategy he'd mentally dubbed "act first and bulldoze through the consequences later". As the name suggested, he forewent all worry about possible maiming to wrap his arms around Technoblade. The man went stiff as a board, tail bristling and limbs jerking as though he was fighting off a seizure. As the hug went on, however, he slowly began to relax.

"A little warnin' next time would be appreciated," he grumbled, arms coming up to return the hug.

"I warned you," Tommy muttered, hugging him tighter. "You're so warm."

"Yes, Tommy, Nether hybrids tend to be warm. Happens when you're descended from a species that literally lives in hundred-degree temperatures all day."

"37-degree temperatures."

"I'm not gettin' into the American-European metric system debate today."

"Fuckin' coward," Tommy grumbled. He pulled away from the hug. "Why haven't I seen you like this before?"

Technoblade cleared his throat. "Ah, well. I usually keep it as a last resort. If I ever need to tank attacks. . ." he gestured down to himself.

Tommy frowned. ". . . Why didn't you fight the Butcher Army like this?"

"Wouldn't have changed anythin'. I get bigger and slower, and in a fight against multiple enemies, speed is key. They still had Carl, too. Besides, I had a Totem. I didn't want to show all my cards that early. Though I might have miscalculated a bit." He rolled his jaw, allowing his tusks to jut out with the movement. "My head's unbalanced now. Tryin' to fight like this might be more. . . difficult."

He reached up to absentmindedly touch the broken tusk, gaze shadowed with something sorrowful. Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. "Are. . . are you okay?"

Technoblade snapped out of it, jerking his hand away from his tusk. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. It doesn't hurt, it just. . . looks bad. I knew Totems didn't work the same way on this form. This is the first time I've gone from a head injury, though, so." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

The problem was, Tommy knew it did matter. There had been many loops where Tommy sided with Technoblade post-Butcher-Army Era, and several where he'd joined the Syndicate as well. And yet, he'd never seen Technoblade shift.

Simply put, Technoblade was a man who valued his reputation - and his appearance was a part of that. He took pride in the way he dressed and the fear he inspired in his enemies simply by looking at them. The golden spiderweb-like scars present on his human form were thin enough to be acceptable, and the worst of it was covered by his hair. The scars on his piglin form, however, were brutal and noticeable.

"Well, I think it looks fuckin' wicked," he declared. "Shows you're a survivor. All your enemies better be fucking terrified, 'cause anvils can't keep you down."

Surprise flashed across Technoblade's face, so quick that he almost missed it. A moment later, the piglin hybrid huffed and reached out to ruffle his hair. "Don't talk about things you don't understand, runt."

Tommy squawked, batting his hand away. "I'm not a runt!"

Technoblade was unfortunately almost a half-foot taller than him in this form, and so he was fully capable of smirking down at Tommy. "Whatever you say, gremlin." With that, he turned and headed for his bedroom. "I'm changing back. Don't break anything."

"Fuck you!" Tommy shouted at his retreating back. Technoblade didn't dignify that with a response.

As the door swung shut, Tommy leaned against the wall and sighed. A few words wouldn't fix everything. He knew that.

But at least for this loop, it was a start.

189. the adventures of dreaxter, pt. 9

"Sam!" Sapnap roared, banging on the door. "Sam, I'm giving you five seconds to open this door!"

Five seconds of tense silence ticked by. The door didn't budge. George turned to Bad and Ant, who were hovering anxiously behind them. "Do you have a key?"

Bad shook his head. "Only the Warden gets access to the surveillance r--"

Sapnap drew his pickaxe and tore into the iron door.

". . . That works too, I guess?"

The blaze hybrid kicked aside the last few shards of iron, revealing the surveillance room. The space was illuminated in the eerie glow of several monitors, which were situated on a desk against the far wall. The Warden was slumped in a chair in front of the monitors, silhouetted in their light. He didn't move as the four of them spilled in.

Sapnap crossed the room in three strides, spun the chair around, and hoisted the Warden - netherite armor and all - up by his collar. "You," he snarled.

The Warden sagged in his grip. "Sapnap," he said. He sounded. . . exhausted. This wasn't the Warden persona he wore like armor - this was Sam, just Sam. And Sam was drowning in guilt.

Sapnap's grip loosened by the slightest degree. Sam's knees nearly buckled under him, but he only tottered in place for a moment before he found the strength to stay standing. The concave curve of his shoulders curled tighter, as though he was trying to hide from the numerous glowers aimed his way.

"Sam." The inferno crackling in Sapnap's voice had died down to a simmer, but the glowing of his eyes made it obvious that he was far from pacified by Sam's guilt. "Care to explain what the fuck happened to Dream?"

Sam seemed to wilt impossibly further. "He. . . he died."

"Yeah, I noticed. You're the Warden. You were supposed to keep him trapped, not-- torture him to death!"

Sam's head jerked up. "Wh-- I didn't torture him!"

"You're the Warden. You, Bad, and Ant are the only ones with full access to the prison - and seeing how surprised they were when they ran into Dream's ghost, I don't think they did it. Which leaves you. " Sapnap released Sam with a rough shove. The creeper hybrid flinched back as the netherborn jabbed a finger in his face. "You didn't let us into the prison. You locked yourself in your office. Whatever happened when you met Dreaxter upset him enough that he woke up halfway across the server with no idea how he got there. You really expect us to think you're not guilty?"

"I let his-- his killer into the prison, but I didn't hurt him!"

"Oh, so that makes it better?"

"It wasn't meant to go that far," Sam whispered. "He wasn't-- supposed to die. I tried to keep him alive, I patched him up after--"

A resounding crack echoed through the room. Sam staggered back, hand rising to the darkening splotch on his cheek. His gaze rose to his attacker, shoulders stiffening with surprise.

"Shut up," George said. His voice was cold and clinical. The darkened lenses of his goggles hid his eyes. Nothing in the calculated alignment of his posture suggested anger. And yet, everyone in the room could tell he was furious.

Most believed Sapnap to be the most dangerous when enraged, because Sapnap's wrath burned like the core of a dying star. But those close to the formerly-named Dream Team knew George was worse. George didn't burn. He sliced into his targets with merciless precision, then picked apart the remains with sharp-edged jabs. Everyone in the room had seen him reduce seasoned warriors to tears through words alone.

George himself knew how dangerous he could be - and so he restrained himself. Between him and Sapnap, he was the one who kept a level head and fell back on logic when emotions ran high. He was usually content to stay back and clean up loose ends.

This, however, was not a usual situation. And George was all out of patience.

"Tell me, Sam. Who did it?" The creeper hybrid went stiff like a rabbit in the claws of a wolf. George stepped forward, the thud of his shoes against the blackstone piercing the brittle silence. "You couldn't have done it. It's not your style. I've seen the way you kill. You don't enjoy it. If you wanted to make Dream suffer, you'd just withhold food. You're not one to injure someone to that extent." He nodded towards the central monitor, which was still displaying live footage of Dream's cell. "Of course, you might try to keep them alive through it, which is still torture - but it's not killing. The opposite, really. So, Sam. You said you didn't kill Dream. I believe you. But if you didn't do it, who did?"

Sam folded like a house of cards. "It was Quackity!" he shouted. "I didn't-- Prime, I'd never hurt him like that--"

Sapnap reared back, clearly surprised by the mention of his fiance. His shock soon darkened into rage. "Qua-- Quackity? Do you think we're stupid?! Quackity would never do something like that!"

"Check the security footage," Sam snapped back. "George knows how to operate the system."

Sapnap glanced back towards George, who ambled over to the monitors and inspected the large panel laid out across the desk. ". . . Is this based on Callahan's--"

"Yes."

George nodded, then set his hands on the control panel and began fiddling with the systems. Sapnap turned back to Sam. "Bad, Ant," he called, his glare still fixed on the creeper hybrid. "Did Quackity ever visit?"

The two guards exchanged glances. "I don't think so?" Antfrost said. "I've never seen him, and Sam stopped visitations after Tommy left."

"He visited when the two of you were patrolling. I-- I took him through routes I knew you wouldn't be following."

Sapnap sneered. "Do you have a convenient answer for everything?"

"I'm telling the truth! Why would I lie about it being Quackity?!"

"Sapnap," George called. His eyes were fixed on the central monitor. The redstone control board glowed beneath his fingers. "I found the footage.'

Sapnap strode over to him and peered over his shoulder. A moment later, he went bone-white.

Though the footage was grainy and indistinct, the build and body language of the figure looming over Dream was terribly familiar. "Q-Quackity?" Sapnap stammered. "No, that's-- that can't--"

His words broke off as the footage continued. There were no microphones in the cell, and so an oppressive silence descended upon the room as utter carnage played out across the screen.

When the shears came out, Sapnap snapped out of his frozen stupor. "Oh Prime," he choked out, lurching away as his voice rose with a volatile mix of horror and disgust. "Fuck-- fuck -- I--"

He staggered to the corner, doubled over, and began gagging. George politely looked away and shut off the footage. The screen returned to an image of the cell - and the rotting corpse sitting inside of it.

"Fuck," Sapnap sobbed. He slammed a fist against the wall. "Fuck."

"I told you," Sam said quietly.

Bad spoke up for the first time since he'd stepped into the room. His eyes were fixed on the screen. "You said we couldn't see Dream because of what happened to Tommy. Was that a lie?"

". . . Partly, yes. Dream was dangerous, but--"

"But you also didn't want us to see Dream like-- like that."

Sam's shoulders sank with resignation. "Yes."

Bad's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. "He couldn't have hurt anyone," he pointed out. His voice was eerily flat. "He could barely move."

Sam's shoulders sank further. "I know."

Bad stared at him. Then he jerkily wheeled around and marched out of the room. Antfrost glanced between his retreating form and the others, his tail lashing wildly. George met his gaze.

"Go," he said shortly. "We can handle it here."

Antfrost didn't need any more encouragement. He took off after Bad. George blocked the broken door over with obsidian, then moved to Sapnap's side.

The blaze hybrid straightened on shaking legs, wiping his chin. "Why?" he rasped. "Why did he do it? Why did you let him do it?"

"The revival book. We-- Quackity wanted the revival book."

"So you tortured him."

"I didn't torture him--"

"Oh, excuse me, you let him be tortured. My mistake."

"Dream can't be trusted with that power--"

"And Quackity can?"

"More than Dream!"

"So that makes letting him bleed to death okay?!"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Sam shouted. "He wasn't-- we never wanted him to die!"

A terrible silence blanketed the room. Sam must have sensed the shift in the air, because he tensed further. George was the first to speak. "So," he said frostily. "You watched Quackity cut him up, beat him within an inch of his life, and drown him - but killing is where you draw the line."

"Th-that's not--"

Sapnap took a step towards him. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you right now."

Sam swallowed. "Listen. I-- I know I fucked up. Prime, I know I fucked up. But-- you don't have to do this."

"Just like how you didn't have to let Quackity into the prison, huh?" Sapnap drew his sword. Sam scrambled back, fumbling for his own weapons, but he was cornered and outnumbered. Before he could even draw his trident, the tip of Sapnap's blade was wedged under his chin. He froze.

"Sapnap, wait."

Sapnap's head swiveled towards George. "Wait? "

George met his glower with a flat stare. "He still has three lives. He'll respawn somewhere else if we kill him. It's better to keep him secure for now."

Sapnap began trembling. For a moment, George thought he would actually lunge forward and sink his blade into Sam's throat. Before he could intervene, however, Sapnap took a deep breath. "Take off your armor and give me all your weapons," he ordered.

Sam swallowed. Carefully, he reached up and undid the clasps of his chestplate. Sapnap tracked his every move, sword at the ready as Sam began methodically removing every piece of netherite.

The Warden had just reached up to take off the last piece of armor - his helmet - when a muffled thud reverberated through the obsidian covering the doorway. George cleared the blocks aside to see Bad and Antfrost, both looking considerably more disheveled than before. The walls of the hallway beyond now sported several large dents and gouges.

"Welcome back," George said with all the mildness of a man well-practiced in ignoring the volatility of a situation. "Can you stay behind to make sure Sam stays here? Sapnap and I need to go."

Antfrost and Bad exchanged glances, then looked to the now-defenseless Warden. Sam stiffened under their gazes and hastily turned his stare to the floor as he handed his axe to Sapnap.

"Okay," the demon said at last, stepping into the room. "Should we cuff him, or. . .?"

George shrugged. "Just make sure he doesn't leave. Knock him out if you have to."

Meanwhile, Sapnap had finished relieving Sam of his weapons and armor. He lowered his sword as Warden's Will disappeared into his inventory. "You better not make me regret leaving you alive," he snarled.

Sam nodded jerkily, sweat beading his brow. The blaze hybrid glowered at him for one moment more, then spun on his heel and stalked towards the door. George fell into step at his side a moment later.

"Where are you going?" Antfrost called as they reached the threshold.

Sapnap glanced over his shoulder, eyes burning magma-bright. "To look for Quackity. He's got a lot of shit to answer for."

190.

Tommy knocked on the entrance of Ze Haus, then backed up and fell into parade rest. About a quarter of a minute passed by before Jack's voice sounded through the door. "Who's there?"

"Tommy. I'm, uh. Not dead anymore."

There was a moment of silence before the door slammed open. Jack gaped at him, bicolored shades knocked askew in his shock. "What the fuck," he breathed. "You-- you're alive?"

Tommy waved. "Yeah. Uh. Dream brought me back."

Something in Jack's gaze shuttered. He drew himself up, lips curling back into a sneer. "Of course you can't stay dead. Come here to rub your newfound immortality in my face or something?"

"No." Tommy met his gaze unflinchingly. "I came here to apologize."

". . . What?"

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"What?"

"I have my memories as a ghost," Tommy said. Jack recoiled like he'd been punched in the gut. "They're, uh, they're pretty eye-opening."

"Oh, so now you're feeling guilty," Jack spat, but his voice was wavering. "Did you come here expecting forgiveness? Because you're not fucking getting it."

"I don't want anything from you, Jack. I just want to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for killing you. And betraying you. And hurting you. Thank you, really, for-- visiting me in Exile and-- and trying. You did more than pretty much anyone else at that point, and-- and I shoved you into lava for it. I'm sorry." Tommy took a deep breath. "You don't have to accept my apology. You don't owe me anything. If you tell me to fuck off right now, I'll leave and make sure you never see me again."

Jack stared at him. "You're serious."

Tommy stared back. "I am."

"You're-- you're actually apologizing to me. For. For what you did to me."

"Yeah."

Jack began trembling. The air around him distorted like a heat mirage. A moment later, he let out a quiet, watery laugh. "Fuck. You're-- you're actually apologizing. You're actually sorry."

Tommy gnawed on the inside of his cheek, noting the pang of guilt that sprung up in his stomach. Was it really so hard to believe that he was genuinely sorry? "Yeah, Jack. I am."

Jack's gaze skittered away from him. "I-- I was expecting you to apologize, you know. For the longest time. But you never did, and I stopped hoping, but now you're-- you're apologizing. And-- you're apologizing to me, actually me. For things that you did to me. Not the wars you've started or the whole thing with L'Manberg or the mess with Dream. You're apologizing for hurting me."

". . . Yeah. I-- I know I did some wrong with that whole shitshow, but-- I thought it was more important to, uh, talk to you about what I did personally. For what it's worth, I am sorry about--"

Jack waved him off. "No, no, I don't really give a fuck about L'Manberg anymore. Good riddance. But you-- you apologized to me . Not at me. That's. That's weird."

"Oh. Uh." Tommy shuffled in place, wrong-footed. ". . . A bad kind of weird, or. . . ?"

The unsettling aura around Jack seemed to soften. "I don't know," he admitted. "No one's ever apologized to me . And now that you've-- well, apologized-- I don't-- I don't know how I feel."

"That's okay. You don't have to do anything. You don't-- you don't even have to accept my apology. You--"

"--don't owe you anything, I know." Jack let out an explosive sigh, then pulled off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Fuck. This is a mess."

Tommy agreed, but he didn't voice it. He waited quietly as Jack gathered his thoughts.

Finally, the man looked up at him. "I need time to think," he told him. "We're-- we're not friends. But. I don't think I want to kill you anymore."

That was a start. Tommy bobbed his head, ignoring the traitorous relief curling in his gut. "Cool. I'll, uh, leave you alone, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack answered shortly. He retreated into his house and gripped the door as though to slam it.

"Bye, Jack," Tommy blurted, struck with a sudden desire to part on decent terms. Jack tensed, and for a second, Tommy was afraid he'd broken the delicate balance they'd fallen into. Before he could remedy the situation, however, Jack's shoulders slumped.

"Bye, Tommy," he said quietly, and shut the door.

Tommy stared at it for a long moment, then exhaled and turned away. He was exhausted, but he still had one more apology to deliver. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. He'd barely taken five steps away from Jack's house when the fabric of reality tore itself open at his feet. "No," Tommy protested, but he couldn't fight against the pull. A moment later, he found himself standing in his dirt shack - in a new loop.

Shit. Shit. The timing couldn't have been worse. He'd been just about to apologize to Niki - but with a loop reset, he wouldn't get the chance. Maybe she hadn't tried to kill him in this timeline yet. Maybe she had. It didn't matter either way, because the loop had reset and she didn't remember what she'd said to him and neither did Jack because now all his progress was gone and--

Tommy took a sharp breath and held it, counting out the breathing exercises Puffy had taught him. He ran through them several times, clearing his mind as he did so, and when the panic felt manageable again, he turned his focus back to the situation at hand.

Okay, first things first. Figure out when he was.

A quick trip outside revealed that his front lawn was covered with overgrown flowers - specifically the flowers Ranboo had planted after Tommy had died in prison. He was in his post-revival era, then - and thus past Niki and Jack's assassination attempt.

. . . Maybe he could still apologize. Jack wouldn't remember his apology, and Niki wouldn't remember this loop either, but. . . he wanted to give them closure. He wanted to give himself closure. Maybe that was selfish of him, but-- it was better than never apologizing, right?

Around this time, Niki would already be involved with the Syndicate. He knew where the Syndicate was based. If he could just catch her alone. . .

Mind made up, he set off for the Arctic.

~~~

"Niki! Niki, wait!"

Niki stumbled to an abrupt stop, nearly slipping in the snow. She turned as Tommy hurried up to her. "Tommy?"

"Hey, Niki," Tommy panted, trying to catch his breath. He'd seen her at a distance, but she'd been moving so quickly he'd been forced to run after her.

Niki seemed uncomfortable, but she wasn't going for any weapons. That was a good sign. "Tommy, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Tommy held up a finger and hunched over, struggling to bring his breathing under control. "Sorry-- give me a moment. Bit out of shape."

Niki nodded jerkily, shifting like she wasn't sure whether to bolt or sink into the ground. Thankfully, Tommy only needed a minute to catch his breath. He straightened. "Okay. I'm good now. Hi."

Niki offered him an uncomfortable smile. "Hi, Tommy. What brings you here?"

It was probably better to just go all in. Tommy steeled himself. "Okay, so, uh, weird question but. Uh. Remember when you tried to kill me?"

Niki went white as a sheet. Tommy winced, rushing to reassure her.

"I know you were mad, I just-- I came here to say sorry. For. For being a dick and saying the stuff I did that day. I know Wilbur was a bastard, and uh, he did bad shit and-- yeah. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't-- mean to make you feel abandoned, I just-- fuck, Niki, I was trying to stay alive. Wilbur, he-- wasn't right in the head in Pogtopia, you know? And with Schlatt and Wilbur and Tubbo and everything I just-- lost track. I'm sorry we never checked in on you."

Of all the responses he'd been expecting, it hadn't been for Niki to blurt "Tommy, I'm so sorry."

Tommy blinked at her, dumbfounded. ". . . What?"

"I'm sorry," Niki repeated, her fingers curling in the edges of her cloak. "You- I was wrong. To. To hate you. I don't hate you anymore."

"What?" Tommy said again. "Wh-- huh?"

"I've been doing a lot of self-reflection lately, and I realized. . ." Niki trailed off, fiddling with her cloak. "I guess I realized that it wasn't your fault. That it wasn't anyone's fault. Wilbur-- Wilbur made his own choices, and. . . blaming everyone around me won't do me any good. You were-- are just a kid, Tommy. You didn't understand, and you certainly weren't responsible for everything that happened to me. So Tommy, I'm sorry. For-- for blaming you. And trying to kill you." She winced. "Sorry. That wasn't my most. . . elegant apology."

A snort burst from Tommy. Hurt flashed across Niki's face, but Tommy held up a hand. "Sorry, sorry, I just--" he shook his head. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Ah."

Awkward silence descended upon them as Tommy tried to organize his thoughts. He would have laughed at the irony of it all if Niki wouldn't have taken it the wrong way.

"I. . . thought you hated me," he said at last.

"I did," Niki admitted. "I drove everyone away because of it. I. . . spent a lot of time thinking about how to kill you, and I was so angry all the time, I just. I stopped talking to people. People stopped talking to me too." She caved in on herself, hugging her arms to her chest. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I was so blinded by rage--"

"I forgive you."

"--that I didn't--" Niki registered what he said. "You. . . forgive me?"

"Yeah." Niki had tried to kill him, but. . . he couldn't hold a grudge for all of eternity. He missed the days before Manberg, when she'd been his friend and they'd been able to goof around together. "You were hurt, so you tried to hurt someone else back. You made mistakes, like every other Player in the universe."

"I-- but--"

"It's not a hard thing to do. I-- wasn't ever really mad at you, Niki. You're allowed to hate me, and killing-- er, trying to kill me wasn't-- great, but." He shrugged. Compared to what he'd already gone through, a failed assassination attempt didn't really even register. "We all fuck up sometimes. At least you're trying to fix it, so. I forgive you."

". . . Oh. I. . ." Niki floundered, caught off guard by his easy forgiveness. ". . . I see."

"Yep." Tommy cleared his throat, trying to brush past the clumsy apology and subsequent acceptance. Niki must've already joined the Syndicate by this time, and he'd thought she was comfortable there, but some of the things she said had given him second thoughts. "Do you still feel. . . lonely?"

"Lonely?" Niki glanced at the horizon. "I. . . I did, but. . . there's people out there now, who want me. I'm making new allies. Friends." She smiled, soft and free of the resentment that had plagued her for much of her time on the server. . "It's. . . it's really nice."

Tommy cleared his throat. "Well, uh, would you be okay with. Being friends? With me?"

Niki blinked. "You. . . want to be friends?"

"Yeah. I think-- just. I want to put our misunderstandings behind us. So. Friends?"

Niki smiled. It was small, but genuine. "I'd like that."

"Pog."

Silence descended once again, but now it was more contemplative than uncomfortable. Niki was the first to break it. "I took up baking again, you know. I've. . . I'm planning to make cinnamon rolls today." She took a deep breath, then gathered her courage and looked Tommy in the eye. "Do you want to help?"

Tommy wanted to. He really wanted to. But. . . "I'm not great at baking, Niki."

"That's alright. Cinnamon rolls are pretty easy. Besides, they taste better when they're shared."

Tommy hesitated for a moment more, but when Niki didn't rescind her offer, he gave in. ". . . Sure. That. . . that sounds fun, Niki. Thank you."

Niki laughed. "You can thank me by not burning my house down."

"I solemnly swear that I will try not to, Niki Nihachu."

"That's all I can ask for, Tommy Innit."

Loop Notes
186. Dream received many compliments on his outfit change. In a particularly memorable instance, Technoblade told him he looked less like a Teletubby. He was punched for his efforts. (Parallels 81. in Chapter 17)
187. Punz and Purpled teamed up. They did, in fact, utterly destroy Tommy and Dream. It helped that they weren't exactly playing by conventional rules. "You can't rob someone at gunpoint! There aren't any guns in this game!" "There are now."
190. Niki was right. The cinnamon rolls did taste better when they were shared.