Dogs.

What were dogs good for? Nothing, that's what. That's why so many of them were in shelters-- too many of them to be good, too little to be put to good use.

Well. Apparently, they were good for business.

And their corpses were good for soap.

None of them were good dogs at the animal shelter. The man had told them that. Dogs weren't good for anything but soap, the man had told them. He smelled like soap. His smell tickled Poppy's nose.

She didn't trust him.

The shelter woman's voice was muffled as the man tried to reach in and pick her up, out of her kennel. She danced away from his grasp, snapping at his fingers. "She's a bit wild today, I don't know why," the woman said, breathless with impatience. 

Poppy whined, pressing her back to the plastic kennel. The man in front of her chuckled. "I'd be a bit wild too." He urged her forward, but she cowered back, ears pressed against her head and curly tail tucked between her shaking legs.

"How many dogs will you need?" the woman asked.

"A few dozen today, maybe more tomorrow."

Poppy didn't understand what they were saying. She wanted to go home-- the shelter wasn't home. Home was maple syrup snuck under the table and the woman that smelled like coffee and lemons and the man who always gave her pats on the head. She wanted to go home.

She wasn't home.

She yipped and bared her fangs as the man seized her around her middle, pulling her forcefully out of the kennel. He flipped her over, his sud-smelling hands tickling her stomach. She clawed hopelessly at his hands, snapping her teeth at him.

"Now now Pops," the woman chided. "Be a good girl."

"She'll be good," the man hummed, still tweaking her nose and paws. "She'll work great. How much?"

Poppy tried to wriggle out of his grasp and managed to squirm into a position where she wasn't belly-up. Her paws flailed desperately in the air, but she couldn't do anything, and the man just laughed.

The woman scoffed. "Know what? You can take as many as you like for the price of one. We have way too many here."

When the man squeezed Poppy even tighter, she just whimpered. "Thanks. They'll work finely."

---

Poppy didn't know what was going on, but she knew that all the others kept disappearing around her. She knew she was in a big room full of big wooden boxes that towered over her, her entire body shaking as she cowered behind them.

The great big bulldog was gone first, and then the shaggy tan one, and then the one with the curly hair that couldn't even stop barking to drink some of the water.

And when she saw that she was the only one left, she knew it was her turn. For what? Where were they going?

She whined again as the man picked her up, bringing her down into a place where everything stank. She tried to cower away, but he pushed her forward onto a shiny, metal table. A red cloth was off to the side, crumpled and smelling salty.

"Last one," the man behind her said.

Poppy shook all over, until her legs caved in and she flattened herself to the ground, held in place by the man's soapy hands. "Small one."

"That's okay." A new voice. Help?

Poppy perked up as a new man came into the room. He smelled like some of the treats her Home People would give her. Was he nice? She yipped and sniffed his hands as he offered them to her. "I'll have it done."

The bad, soapy man left and Poppy relaxed fully, standing up on wobbly legs and licking the man's finger with a tiny tongue. He laughed. "How cute. Don't worry, little yapper, it won't hurt. I'm good at this."

She looked up at him, curious. Was a treat coming? Was this what all the others got?

"They've got here a bar of soap with your name on it," the man continued in a coo, and her tail wagged. She couldn't understand what he was saying, of course, but she barked happily.

"Right, get on with it," the first man barked, waving his hand impatiently.

The second man shook his head, sighing. "You know, people've been talking."

"About what?" The man sounded exasperated. Poppy backed away from him, her claws making skittish tap-tap sounds on the metal tabletop.

"About this, you know, all of the . . . soap making. I've heard a few people call us demons. They say . . ." The nice man chewed on his lip for a few seconds, hesitating. "They say that if we keep doing this, we'll turn into the damned."

The first man scoffed. "You know what I'm saying? You're too fucking superstitious, you are. Get it on with it."

"Right. I always hate this part. You're cute, too, real shame." The man tutted and Poppy shook herself all over, tongue lolling out as she stared up at him.

The man patted her head, his other hand making its way down her spine until it clamped firmly down on her back. She yipped in surprise and tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but his other hand on her head kept her from doing so.

He took a deep breath, and Poppy whined again, her tail drooping. Wasn't he a nice man, though? With treats?

She heard a crack, and then all went dark.

---

Tommy refused to be comforted.

It didn't help that the others didn't try to comfort him.

And did the weather help? No. Bloody hell, Minnesota was cold. Tommy had thought that Iowa had been cold, with all its fog and frost even in late October, but it was nothing compared to Minnesota in November. He refused to go outside or even step foot outside the hotel room, which he knew worried Ranboo and made Phil fuss that he wasn't eating enough, but he just didn't care.

Plus, he was sulking. He was rather good at it, in fact. He knew it was childish, but after hearing so much about Texas he had really been looking forward to it, and now to be plopped down in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota? Texas was filled with ranches and open space and it was so warm. . . really warm compared to Minnesota, anyway.

Though, as Ranboo insisted in a failing effort to cheer Tommy up, there was lots of open space in Minnesota! They had just chosen to fill it with corn and soybeans.

That made no sense to Tommy. Cornfield after cornfield had taken up his window, and the occasional farm blew past the window like a breeze. There was nothing, really, to see, and so he refused to leave the hotel while Ranboo and Tubbo and Phil were out doing whatever they were doing. Probably getting dinner and leaving none of it for me, Tommy thought, rather grumpily. They hadn't even tried to get him to leave, they'd just said 'okay' and left. By themselves! Tommy thought it was pretty clear that indicated that they didn't want him there.

He passed the time by sulking on the hotel room bed, his legs flipping back and forth in the air. His head sat on his arms as he watched the television with bored eyes, a pout pushing down the edges of his lips. He didn't even bother to push the mess of bangs out of his eyes when they fell into his line of sight.

The hotel door slammed open and then was closed again. Tommy recognized the footsteps immediately, but didn't spare their owner a second glance, more concerned with looking miserable and pathetic.

"Are you alright, Tommy?" Tommy looked up from under his mop of curls to stare at Ranboo, who was standing next to him looking uncomfortable.

So, they had decided to come back from their excursion and grace him with their presence. How kind of them.

Yeah, right.

Tommy scoffed, pushing himself to his knees and crawling to the nest of pillows he had made for himself. "No."

He didn't even want to be bothered anymore, it was cold and he didn't like it. And seeing Ranboo there, all excited and bright-eyed at the prospect of going anywhere-- even Minnesota for some reason-- just made his misery even worse. He wriggled underneath the mess of blankets and curled into a ball, glaring at Ranboo.

"Please don't be mad," Ranboo pleaded, sitting on the edge of the bed with an annoyingly apologetic expression on his face. He pulled his mask down and frowned, giving Tommy sad puppy-dog eyes. "I'm sorry we couldn't go to Texas, but--"

"Yeah, yeah," Tommy muttered, pulling the blanket over his face. "It was too far off and you found something here. It's fine." It wasn't fine, though.

Ranboo stared at him for a moment longer, as though he could catch Tommy's reasoning just by staring at him, but then he shook his head. "Yeah, okay. Um . . . I wanted to tell you that we saved you some dinner."

Tommy stifled his stomach from making any unwanted noises. "'M not hungry," he told Ranboo, his voice muffled by the blanket. "You can go away."

"Tommy, we share a hotel room," Ranboo pointed out. "And we were just gone for dinner, and you didn't eat lunch or breakfast! We're just worried about you, okay?"

Tommy swallowed, trying to push down the gnawing feeling in his stomach. He hated holding grudges, it was so hard to do when the offending person acted so sorry and pitiable. Poking his head out of the blanket, he gave a long-winded sigh. "What did you grab for me?"

Ranboo immediately perked up. "Oh, we went to a wonderful restaurant! Minnesotans are really nice, you know? It's like, it gets so cold here their hearts have to be twice as warm." Tommy groaned.

"Your jokes are fuckin' awful, man. Get it together."

"I'd rather you get it together," Ranboo said, sounding a bit concerned again. "Like I said, you didn't eat breakfast or lunch. Aren't you hungry at all?"

Tommy scowled. "Shove off, Boo. I'm fine."

Rolling his eyes, Ranboo pushed a steaming bundle into Tommy's hand, and this time the blonde couldn't help it when his stomach growled loudly. He flushed, embarrassed, but Ranboo just laughed. "Not hungry?"

"Shut up," Tommy replied eloquently. He sat up and cautiously unwrapped the tin-foil barrier between him and his food. It looked like a big hamburger, but the bun was toasted and strangely enough, dark brown and glossy. "What's this?"

"Pretzel bun," Ranboo responded immediately. His grin turned up a few watts, blinding Tommy. "Try it, come on! They're so good. You've never had one before, really? Do they have them in the UK?"

Tommy sniffed it, unsure. "Dunno. Maybe. Hey, won't Phil get upset that I'm eating on the bed?"

Ranboo shrugged with one shoulder. "How am I supposed to know? Besides, he's not here, right? Him and Tubbo are out looking for jackets. It's really cold here," he sighed, sounding forlorn.

"Yeah, it is. That's why I stayed here, in the hotel room, where there's actual heat," Tommy emphasized, making Ranboo frown.

"You're still upset, though," Ranboo pointed out. "That we're here in the first place. It's not just the cold, right?"

Tommy didn't want to respond, so he took a large bite of his burger and then motioned at his mouth to say he couldn't talk. Ranboo looked so concerned and it made Tommy frustrated. Why was he concerned now, when it was too late to even change their minds?

He swallowed the bite of burger and sighed, trying to hold onto his grudge and failing miserably.

"Okay, maybe I think we should've gone to Texas," Tommy muttered. He took a careful bite of the burger again. It wasn't bad, so he ate some more, but despite his stomach being empty, his appetite had dwindled down to barely anything. Sulking didn't make one very hungry. "Maybe I'm just a little frustrated that you didn't take me into account." Childish tears sprung into existence in the corners of his eyes and he tried to pretend as though they weren't there.

Ranboo winced, his gaze shifting to the floor. "I'm sorry. Minnesota was just closer, I guess. I thought we'd better get the nearest states first, y'know?"

Tommy bit down on his tongue and cursed loudly. "Then why didn't we go to Kansas, or Missouri, or anything that goes in the direction of Texas?" he asked, trying to stop his voice from breaking.

"I-- I'm sorry. Let's . . . can we talk about this later?"

Tommy stifled a tired sigh. "Yeah, I guess we can."

With that, both of them lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. The pendulum on the hotel clock swung back and forth, making annoying little ticking noises as Tommy bit tastelessly at his burger, not really bothering to eat any of it.

It felt oddly strange to be alone with Ranboo for the first time since the foyer incident, but this time there was an icky feeling in his stomach instead of a malicious ghost. He knew it wasn't really Ranboo's fault that they were in Minnesota, but he was dying to blame someone, and Ranboo had just been . . . there.

Tommy shook his head, wiping away bits of crumbs from the sheets. The silence seemed too loud all of a sudden, thick and viscous, dripping down his throat to gag his words.

Someone needed to speak.

"So . . . " he started, somewhat awkwardly. If someone was going to break the silence, it might as well be him. He cleared his throat. "What didja find here? Any ghosts to 'free' this time, or are we just looking around?"

"Oh!" At that, Ranboo brightened again. It was honestly strange how fast he could flip between emotions. With a smile, he flopped down on the bed as though he owned the place (but to be fair, this was a hotel, so neither did Tommy) and brought out his phone. Tapping a few keys into Google, he grinned and turned the screen to show Tommy.

"I thought we'd look around the old soap factory here in Minneapolis. Apparently it's been around for ages, and a bunch of people say if they go in there they feel weird stuff, that's, like, bordering on demonic. That's so cool, right?" Ranboo was practically bouncing up and down.

Tommy sighed. "Demons, ghosts, magic. What's next, evil dolls?" He vaguely remembered Ranboo talking about something-- Doll Island, he thought it was called, with years' worth of dolls hung up on strings all across the little island. He shuddered at how insanely creepy the mere concept was.

Ranboo laughed nervously, as though reading his mind. "Go ahead and jinx it, why don't you?" He shook himself and continued to talk, recovering quickly. "Apparently it used to be an art gallery, but they weren't getting much money from it and, I quote, freaky stuff kept happening to the art so they had to shut it down. And they used to have a haunted basement party sometimes, but then their actors and manager started to complain about feeling possessed-- actually possessed, Tommy! And they had to shut that down, too."

"Wait, you're telling me it's absolutely abandoned?" Tommy asked, holding up his hands to slow Ranboo's roll.

"Um . . . " Ranboo hesitated, glancing at the screen, then looked back at Tommy. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Tommy frowned. "Then isn't it slightly illegal to look around?" He tilted his head and a puffy blonde curl fell in his eye. He blew it away from his face and shook his head, threading his hair behind his ears.

Ranboo paused, uncertain. "I . . . didn't actually think about that. I'm sure it's fine, though! We're just looking around, we won't break anything. 'Sides, there's no security cameras." (Don't break and enter kids Ranboo and Tommy are bad examples of responsible people trust me on this)

"You're 'sure it's fine'?" Tommy quoted, drawing hand quotes in the air. He raised his eyebrows at Ranboo, who, like the fancy prick he was, raised a single one in return. "Because there are no security cameras?"

"Yeah!" Ranboo grinned, excited. "Well, I hope there's none."

The Brit squinted at it, then drew back and gave Ranboo a doubtful look. "Yeah, but it's still just a soap factory. Is it really worth getting arrested for?"

Ranboo rolled his eyes. "Oh, Tommy. It's not just a soap factory." He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "It's something much, much worse as well. Did you know that long ago, like in the 1800s, soap was actually made from animal fat? Like the type of fat in that burger you're eating."

Tommy stopped eating his dinner. Very slowly, he put it on the table next to his bed, trying to stop his stomach from immediately throwing all of the food right back up. "No. I didn't. How . . . interesting." He forced himself not to look at his burger.

"Yup, it's pretty gross." Ranboo pulled his phone back, turning it off and pushing it into his pocket. His shirt sleeve crinkled up and Tommy caught a glance of something glass winking in the light. Ranboo had been wearing the Villisca chain ever since they had left, which simultaneously impressed and terrified Tommy at the same time. He didn't know how to feel about Ranboo carrying around a momento of a ghost that nearly killed him, but if Ranboo wanted to, then he supposed he couldn't do anything about it.

Unaware of Tommy's distracted mental state, Ranboo continued. "But most soap factories just used prepackaged fat and didn't actually, well. Harvest it from animals." He made a face.

Tommy wasn't sure he liked where this was going. "Are you sure you have to tell me right as I was about to eat? Really? This is so insensitive, you know," he complained, but Ranboo just shushed him.

"Yes, I'm sure. Anyway, this one started to run out of that stuff, so guess what they did?" Ranboo's expression was somewhere between gleeful fascination and horrified awe. "They used roadkill. They used dead shelter animals. And when that wasn't enough, they actually bought pets from the shelter and killed them at the factory."

Tommy was going to throw up. His stomach felt weird and bubbly and he had an awful sick taste in his mouth, like bile. He didn't want to hear this anymore, but couldn't get a word in edgewise to Ranboo, who was apparently unaware of his revulsion.

Looking absolutely fascinated, Ranboo continued, blissfully ignorant of Tommy's newfound horror. "Their most used pets were dogs, but several dozen cats also died there as well. I hear they bought out most of the shelters several times a year."

Okay, now his stomach was roiling. He definitely couldn't take any more of this story. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, recoiling, and held up his hands to force Ranboo to stop his story. "Okay, okay, not the best story to tell a dog owner," he forced out, his cheeks flushed pale pink as he tried not to vomit.

Ranboo flinched. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He quieted down. "I didn't . . . I didn't even think about that."

Great to know, Tommy thought sarcastically. I'm not a deciding factor in your roadmap of haunts at all. "Can't we go somewhere else?" he asked, feeling ill.

"I can ask if you'd like me to," Ranboo started doubtfully, "but I think we're here to stay. You don't have to join, though. Maybe . . . there's another story we're investigating here, too! It also has to do with the soap factory and--"

Tommy held up a hand, cutting Ranboo off. His voice dropped to a minuscule whisper. "If this has anything to do with killing pets, especially dogs, I'm going to feed you to Betty and Walter and not feel a single drop of guilt, I swear to god--"

Ranboo lifted his hands as though caught by the police. "No need to worry. It's about limbs. The grounds used to hold a factory during the Civil War era that made fake limbs for incapacitated soldiers during the war."

"Ah." Tommy swallowed. "That's much better. Much less disgusting." He shuddered. Limbs? Really? How was he going to research that? "You sure have high expectations for me, don't you?"

"Well, you don't have to do it alone," Ranboo assured him. "I'm sure Tubbo or Phil will help you!"

"But not you?" Tommy teased, nudging Ranboo's shoulder with his own. "Are limbs too scary for you, huh? Mannequins, dolls, limbs, disembodied--"

Ranboo cleared his throat and looked away, strangely stiff. Tommy paused in his list of creepy nonliving things to stare curiously at Ranboo, who, curiously enough, looked strangely embarrassed.

Tommy's mouth fell open. "Don't tell me-- you're scared of mannequins?" he asked, somewhat surprised. "Really?"

Ranboo shook his head fast, but he wouldn't meet Tommy's eyes, and there was a dark red blush creeping up the back of his neck. "No. No, I'm not, it's just their faces-- they don't move right and it's, ugh, it's just so weird and creepy." He caught sight of Tommy, who was trying to stifle a laugh, and puffed himself up in indignation. "I'm not scared! They just-- they look like dead bodies, they-- they just creep me out a little."

Tommy's resolve crumbled and he let out a loud, wheezing laugh at the realization. Ranboo was scared of dolls! Holy shit, I didn't take him for the type at all! He echoed this thought out loud, making Ranboo flush darker. "I can't believe it! Really? You just faced a ghost with the capacity to crush your skull like a tin can and you're scared of a little itsy bitsy doll?" He babied his voice, making Ranboo sputter.

"Salt-- salt doesn't protect you from dolls!" Ranboo protested. "And you're scared of spiders, don't act all high and mighty." He frowned over at Tommy, who was still laughing, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Tommy stopped to stare up at Ranboo, offended. "I'm not scared of spiders!"

"See, that's what we call denial--"

"Right, just take the focus right off of you, yeah yeah." Tommy rolled his eyes and wiggled out from under the mess of blankets he had arranged for himself, standing up and brushing himself off. "Lucky me, I don't think I've got any crumbs on me or the bed. I lost all my appetite after you told me that lovely story."

Ranboo stood up, too (the man was freakishly tall, if you asked Tommy [and if you ask the author. But there is a good reason why I am intimidated by Ranboo's height: consider the fact that, while Ranboo bumps his head on door frames consistently, my little five-foot-tall self has to jump just to graze the tops of doorways with my fingertips. Now consider the size difference. It's fucking terrifying]) and stretched his arms above his head, opening his mouth wide in a large yawn. "Well, Tommy, we do have some time left before Phil and Tubbo get home. Want to do some research?"

Tommy was kneeling beside his suitcase, pulling his computer out of where he had safely stored it. He glanced back at Ranboo, raising his eyebrows and flashing the American a big grin. "Aw, well us working together didn't really make for a good ending the first time, did it? You had to climb through a window, and I don't think that was a real nice time for either of us."

He was new to ghost hunting, to be fair, but he hoped that getting locked in a foyer with an angry ghost for a total of what felt like six hours was not a usual day.

"To be fair," Ranboo mused, "we had a ghost in the house with us this time. I doubt this Holiday Inn is haunted. Or . . . is it?" He had to duck down as a pink sheep keychain was promptly thrown at his face.

"Don't jinx it!" Tommy strode around the bed and bent down to collect his keychain, twisting it into his fist. "I don't wanna deal with another one of those weird phantoms again," he warned Ranboo, raising a finger to shush him. "And I won't stand for another seance. Not anytime soon, at least."

Ranboo hummed nonchalantly, sitting down on his bed, legs crossed casually. "Yeah, okay. I can deal with that. We're more looking for dog ghosts this time, anyway." He leaned over the bed and grabbed his phone off of the bedside table. "I don't really have any ideas of how it would work, though. Last time, there was something definitive keeping those ghosts tied to the house."

As though on instinct, Tommy glanced at Ranboo's wrist, the hotel's lamplight catching on the silver metal, then his gaze trailed back up to meet the brunette's eyes. He cleared his throat, sitting down on the brown-plaid armchair shoved into the corner of the hotel room. "So you're wondering what's keeping these ghosties around? Well, luckily enough, I've been working on that."

"Ooh, you have?" Ranboo hopped off his bed and walked over to the chair, sitting on the arm of it and leaning over Tommy to stare at his computer screen.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious now, Tommy half-closed his computer and tilted his head back to look at Ranboo's face. "Are you just gonna watch me like that?"

Ranboo tilted his head down at Tommy. "Why not?"

Tommy stuck out his tongue. "Well excuse me for wanting privacy--"

Ranboo threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "You're going to be reading this out loud anyway!"

"You know that's bloody different, now shut the hell up and listen!" Tommy reached up and poked Ranboo's cheek, which was an effective method, he found, for getting him to be quiet. "So I was wondering about ghosts in general, you know, after we saw all that," he started. "Like, how many types are there-- I already know the obvious: some ghosts are sad, others are angry, they usually have some kind of base emotion applied to them.

"But I had been thinking about how ghosts happened to get stuck here in the first place. I mean, with Lena and Herman and all, they believed they could get stuck in reflective things and so they were. But not all ghosts were-- are religious, and definitely not Christian, so . . . " Tommy motioned to his screen. "I looked around. And it turns out that a lot of people think that ghosts don't just get stuck in shiny things, they also have a habit of-- um, to quote from a blog I found, 'tie their souls to objects passionate to them'. Which sounds really silly until you think about it: it does kind of make sense that ghosts would stay around stuff they cared about, or even stuff they felt deeply about. Like the classic 'subway ghost' urban legend: ghosts dying in a substation accident and showing up on the subway years later. They might not have liked the subway a lot, but it certainly meant a great deal to them!"

"Huh. So . . . wow." Busy reading over Tommy's shoulder Ranboo was motionless except for his legs, which swung back and forth absently. "That does make sense. Good job, didn't know you had a brain under all that blonde hair-- ow!"

Tommy had thrown his keychain again, but this time it collided with Ranboo's face. He glared at the American for a few seconds longer, just to make his point, but then rolled his eyes and shut his laptop. "I suppose then that if you're so much smarter than I, you'd do a better job of this research." He stood up from the chair, ignoring Ranboo's protests, and stuffed his computer back in the suitcase.

"I'm gonna go on a walk," he declared, and Ranboo made a pained noise.

"I'm sorry, Tommy! I didn't mean to say it like that, I thought it'd be something we could both laugh about." Ranboo scrunched up his nose in a frown.

Tommy turned back around, offering a weak smile. "No, it's not that. I think I just need some fresh air, time to think. Yeah?"

Despite the excuses, Tommy knew that Ranboo could probably read him like an open book, and to tell the truth, the joke hadn't gone over well. Being underestimated, unappreciated and left out of important where-to-go discussions had a tendency to take its toll.

But Ranboo just sighed, running a hand through his brown curls. "Yeah. Okay. I still feel bad though, I'll try and make it up to you."

"Sounds good. Adios, Boo, I'll see you later." He shot Ranboo a cheeky grin and slipped out the door.

Ranboo waved goodbye. "Alright! Don't forget to knock on the door when you come back so I know it's you and be careful out there look both ways before crossing the street bye!"

Tommy shut the door behind him with a click and immediately slid to the ground, his back to the wall. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath that he had been holding in and feeling his lungs burn as though he had just run a quarter mile.

"Aw, man. Why do I feel so icky?" Tommy lifted a hand and let it hover over his chest, his heart beating too fast. "Was it the story? Nasty stuff." He yawned and stood back up, using the door handle as a prop to help himself to his feet.

It was almost time to go to bed, in fact. They had spent a whole day in Minneapolis already-- getting ready, in Ranboo's words, which basically meant that Tubbo, Phil, and Ranboo had been out and about investigating the soap factory.

Meanwhile, in the hotel room, Tommy hadn't known anything about it. They hadn't even bothered to text him.

Wait. Had they?

He pulled out his phone and tapped the password in, quickly swiping up and pressing his contacts.

Nope. Nothing. Just what he had expected-- not that that made it any less demeaning to him.

Tommy bit his bottom lip and shook his head in irritation, starting down the hallway. His sneakers made little shh-sh noises on the short, knitted carpet as he walked to the stairs.

"Let's see where this soap factory is," Tommy muttered to himself. He pulled up Google and looked around for it on Maps, finally finding that it was across the river that threaded through the city. He probably couldn't make it there and back before dark.

But what was the point of sulking if you never got to make a point? a small part of Tommy's mind whispered. Why don't you do it anyway and prove to them that they aren't needed? Huh?

Well, are you scared?

Tommy huffed shortly and nearly broke the elevator button from shoving it too hard. It made a loud ding and the metal doors slid open smoothly, allowing him to slip inside and stand awkwardly next to a hotel employee with a truckload of boxes stacked haphazardly in his arms.

The elevator ride was short, but uncomfortable all the same. Tommy was keenly aware of the security camera hung on the upper wall, twisting his shirtfront in his fists as he tried not to act suspicious or awkward at all. After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator reached the second floor and the man with boxes stumbled off, leaving Tommy to press the ground floor button and endure the rest of the ride in silence.

The woman at the reception desk waved at him and he sent her a tight smile in return. Was this what Ranboo had meant by 'Minnesotans were friendly'? He wasn't sure he liked 'friendly' anymore.

Tommy was torn abruptly out of his thoughts by the sound of automatic doors sliding open. A puff of cold air burst into the hotel foyer and Tommy shivered, rubbing at his shoulders.

"Yo, look who it is!"

Tommy heard Tubbo's crow of delight before he saw him, and was quickly and suddenly enveloped in a tight, endearing hug. Tubbo buried his face in Tommy's shoulder and grinned, squeezing him tightly and then stepping back. "Haven't seen you all day! I missed you lots."

Maybe because you went out and left me to sulk, Tommy thought grumpily, then decided he had been in a bad mood all day and didn't need to take it out on his best friend. He patted Tubbo's head, laughing lightly. "You sure haven't, big man. You've been out all day, ain'tcha?"

"Yeah, buying coats for you to use," Phil told him, only a few steps behind Tubbo. He raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on his hip. He was carrying a large grocery bag that crinkled when he moved. "It's chilly out there."

Tommy shrugged. "Not that bad." It sort of was, but he wouldn't be caught dead admitting he was cold to Phil.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Here, you're going on a walk?" he didn't wait for Tommy's reply before forcing a bundle of something fuzzy into his hands. "Take this if you're going. And be back soon!"

"Yessir," Tommy said mockingly, tapping two fingers against his forehead in a joking salute. "Wouldn't dream of staying out late." Well, now he was lying to Phil. Was there anything he wouldn't be doing by the end of this walk?

Hopefully I won't get inducted into a gang, Tommy thought wryly. He decided not to share this cheerful thought with Phil and Tubbo. "Well, I'll be on my way."

Tubbo grinned widely at him, shaking brown curls out of his eyes. "Oh, yeah. See you later! I want to talk to you about stuff. I think you'll find a bunch of this stuff interesting, too!"

"Sure," Tommy mumbled vaguely. He nodded at them and walked towards the motion-sensor door. It opened with a hiss, letting him slip outside into the crisp Midwest night.

Phil called bye one last time and then started talking to the receptionist lady.

Tommy let the doors click closed behind him, knowing that Phil and Tubbo very well couldn't see outside where it was dark. He unwrapped the jacket and found that it was a dark navy blue on the outside, but with tannish faux fur lining the inside. He shook it out, examining it, and then slipped it on with a shrug. It was comfortable enough, maybe a size too big, but then he supposed that Phil would have been guessing.

"Thanks, Phil," he murmured, feeling slightly guilty. "Best be on my way."

He only took a couple of steps before glancing behind him again at the hotel. When all he saw were a couple lit-up rooms and closed blinds, he sighed and continued down the sidewalk, shaking his head. The jacket was warm and hugged at his sides, helping with the freezing cold air that snapped cold fangs at his cheeks.

The night soothed him, helping clear his head as he wandered somewhat aimlessly throughout the big, bright city. Traffic lights caught at the edges of his vision, green turning yellow and red turning green. Big neon signs for restaurants painted the alleyways fluorescent pinks and oranges, and the slow beeping of construction trucks filled his ears.

He exhaled, seeing his breath turn into frost crystals and then fade into the black sky. Well, I did know it was cold. Tommy pulled the hood of the jacket up over his head and shivered, turning onto another street.

A sleek, magenta car sped by him, spattering mud and slush onto his knees and spouting puffs of dark grey pollution into his face. Tommy coughed, covering his mouth with a hand and wincing as the sharp smell of gasoline filled his nose. "Jesus Christ, watch where you're going," he muttered, his mood tugged back down to sulky.

He finally reached the river that separated his hotel from the soap factory, watching as cars raced over the thin bridge connecting the two sides. There was no sidewalk for him to walk on, and he definitely couldn't wade through the Mississippi river-- he'd drown for sure, but it seemed as though there was a sliver of space between the car lane and the wall of the bridge.

Maybe wallowing in self-pity made a person more liable to take dangerous risks.

Maybe Tommy just felt like proving himself to . . . who? Nobody was around to see and be impressed.

Maybe just to himself. He didn't really know.

But he sighed and looked around to see if there were any cars galloping at him. There were none at the moment, so he slipped onto the bridge, making sure to stay out of the lane. He kept his hand on the concrete wall, though it towered above him, more there to keep cars from plummeting off the bridge than to save him from doing the same.

With a soft growl, a car drove by in the opposite direction, headlights flashing yellow and red. Tommy swallowed, then reminded himself that he would have to make this journey a second time just to get back. His stomach did a little queasy flip in reply.

"Maybe I'll just go back," he mumbled to himself. "Can I . . . ?"

He glanced behind him, back at the winding passageway of sidewalks. Then he tilted his head back at the bridge, where cars zoomed past with no regard to anyone's safety, not even their own.

Then he shook his head, steeling himself for the slow walk ahead of him.

It was instantly made clear that the bridge was not made for pedestrians. Each time a car blew past, his hair was swept uncaringly into his face and he smelled old gas, making him wince. Nobody seemed to notice or even regard him as important, too busy with getting to their destination to care about a small kid dumb enough to walk on a bridge made specifically for cars.

His feet dragged against the bumpy concrete ground as though unenthusiastic about walking across, which, to be fair, he was. His fingers, frozen stiff, had a hard time keeping hold on the bridge wall, and several times he nearly slipped out into the line of cars.

Halfway across.

Tommy took a deep breath and continued walking. Above him, the lights of some far-off satellite blinked in the distance as though a pair of large eyes were sitting up in the sky, taunting him. He stared back at them, thankful for the cloak of darkness that shadowed him and hid him from a good Samaritan's line of sight. He didn't want to be mistaken for a hitchhiker or . . . anyone else, like someone easy to kidnap.

Luckily, it was dark out, and not many people were driving around, so there weren't as many cars as there normally would be. This also had the added benefit of diminishing the danger of being run over by a car, which really helped soothe Tommy's nerves.

Standing on his tiptoes, Tommy carefully edged towards the end of the bridge. A few heartbeats later, a car sped past, the loud sound of the engine making Tommy flinch and nearly fall face-first into traffic.

"Bloody hell!" he yelped, seizing hold of the concrete wall and barely stopping himself from stumbling out into the parade of cars.

He froze, positioned awkwardly between the safe sliver of road and the open traffic, then darted backwards, pressing his back to the wall. It was cold and slightly wet from the foggy autumn night, sharp bits of rocks sticking out from the concrete and poking through his jacket. It hurt, but he had never been so thankful that something was jutting out into his back in his whole life.

Tommy sighed, sliding down to curl into a tight ball. He hugged his knees to his chest, watching as cars drove by without noticing him.

His heart was racing. He needed a little bit of time-- just a little bit-- just to clear his head. He had gone on this walk to clear things up, dammit, just about getting run over was not helping!

He heard a honk and nearly fell over. Someone stuck their head out of a rolled-down window and wolf whistled at Tommy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He pressed his mouth into a tight line, standing shakily back up and flipping them off even as they continued speeding by.

"God fucking damn it," he muttered, watching their lights blink into nonexistance as they continued down the road. "Can I just have a moment to myself?"

Still, he stood up, dusting bits of pebbles off of his knees and the backs of his legs. The night had grown even darker since he had stepped out; nights got dark fast during the autumn season, and he could barely see the moon as it peeked shyly out from behind a cloud.

Tommy edged forward, moving at a snail's pace. He frowned around him, watching carefully for more fast-moving cars, but when none came, he quickly grew more confident and started walking. He still kept his hand on the wall-- which had probably saved his life-- but he moved more quickly, and he got to the other side in a fair amount of time.

Finally, the concrete bridge cut off back into the everyday road. The wall opened up as though yawning, curving off and winding down into a grassy field dotted with plastic benches and wooden picnic tables.

Tommy's sneakers touched dewy grass and he let out a long breath of relief, one that he hadn't known he had been holding in. His cheeks were flushed, his lungs burned, and his arms felt like noodles. And he didn't say that lightly!

"At least I know where I am," Tommy murmured, making his way to a bench and slumping down on the plastic boards. His throat felt dry, as though he had swallowed a bucket of iron nails and sand, and his fingers felt as though they had been dipped in icy water.

With trembling hands, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed the password in, hoping that the soap factor wasn't much farther away. The glare of the phone made him squint, but his eyes easily adjusted to the brightness and he looked for Google Maps.

Once he had found it and searched for his destination, he found that luckily, the soap factory was only a couple of blocks further away. Tommy sighed in relief, tucking his phone back into his pocket, and forced himself to get to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, the cold biting at his arms and torso, and he found himself actually grateful that Phil had given him his jacket prematurely.

Tommy took a deep breath and started to walk through the curving streets. He took several shortcuts through alleyways, hoping that nobody would be in them, and quickly found that back alleys were not as open to the public as they were in Britain. A scrappy man peered down at him from behind a thick nose and asked him for cigarettes, and when he wandered into a thin alleyway filled with crates, a scraggly woman poked her head out from behind a brick wall and blew ringlets of smoke in his face.

He coughed, backing away and trying to wave it out of his face. His eyes stung suddenly from the mixture of cold air and smoke, and the woman only giggled upon seeing his reaction, her own eyes hazy and red-rimmed. Tommy blinked several times and stumbled out of the alley, promising himself he'd stick to the main roads from then on.

However, the sidewalks in Minneapolis weren't made for pedestrians any more than the roads were-- they were skinny and wound around the various streets in ways that were more obstructive than helpful. It took several tries for Tommy to make sense of the strange labyrinth of sidewalks and alleyways, but he eventually figured it out.

It wasn't that much longer until the top of the soap factory peeked out from behind the other brick buildings. It was a rather short, squat building, so Tommy couldn't see it that well until he was pretty much right in front of it: glowing signs flashed bright turquoise on the wall, spelling out s-o-a-p f-a-c-t-o-r-y in fluorescent, neon-filled glass letters.

Subtle. Tommy bit his lip to the point where he tasted metal, stepping forward. Almost nervously, he laid his land along the decaying brickwork, two of his fingers gingerly touching the rough wall.

Immediately, he snatched his hand back with a cry-- the wall was much colder than the rest of the air. So cold, in fact, that the freezing temperature bit at his already frozen fingers in a way that actually hurt. In a way that seemed to burn.

He stared at the wall, and then at his hand, and then tipped his head back to watch as the neon letters sputtered and glowed brightly. The streetlights shone, too, pools of gold illuminating his path and casting his skin in an almost sickly copper-yellow.

"Now, what was that? Why was it so cold?" Tommy had a bad habit of talking to himself out loud when he was nervous, and sometimes it got him into spots of trouble. Ranboo, preferring to be polite, called it a nervous habit, but Tubbo (who had no such hang-ups about being rude) just called it babbling. Whatever it was, now was not the best time for someone to hear him rambling, but it seemed luck was not on his side.

"Oi, but don't you know?"

Tommy jumped back with a shriek, twisting around to see who had spoken.

Just behind him, an ancient, wizened (Tommy loved that word, it meant old and frail) man was stopped. He stood with an obvious limp, but was tall and stood straight and proud, his jaws and cheeks quivering with saggy wrinkles as he spoke.

His voice rasped to Tommy's ears. "There's demons in there, boy. Best to stay out."

Tommy swallowed. "Nice of you to say," he replied weakly, trying to shuffle away from the strange old man. He glanced up at his face and noticed that his irises were a strange, gooey black that seemed to bleed into the whites of his eyes. "Th-thanks."

The man didn't move.

"Demons! Cool. Interesting." Tommy chuckled weakly, taking tentative steps back. How else do you say 'get away from me' in polite society here? America is so confusing.

Finally, the man nodded slowly, sending him a sly gaze before hobbling off. He leaned heavily against the brick wall, his shoulder drooping each time his leg slipped. Tommy wondered vaguely if he should help the old man walk, and then shuddered at the thought.

Anyway, he had other things to do.

He stared up at the intimidating soap factory, wondering if it was safe to touch it again. Although he was loath to take advice from other people, especially creepy old men, Tommy had to agree there was something off about the old factory. Maybe it was just his shot nerves, but he felt oddly twitchy around it, as though his body was readying itself to leap out of the way if danger appeared.

He steeled himself. He was being silly! Didn't he come here just to prove something? He didn't go all the way across a bridge and down roads he didn't know just to be a coward.

Tommy shook off the remaining threads of anxiety and carefully stepped over to the front door. As far as he could see, there were no security cameras anywhere, which didn't surprise him-- it was abandoned, after all-- but just in case, he pulled his hood up over his face. As if that would hide him, he thought wryly.

His next test had arrived: getting inside the building.

Tommy was not looking forward to this one; neither were his hands, which were still stinging from the encounter with the icy wall. It would make it much tougher to get inside if the building was still frozen solid.

He reached his hand slowly out and swiped at the door handle, flinching back as soon as he made contact. Then he stopped and frowned at it.

Surprisingly, the handle wasn't cold at all.

He was sure he remembered the wall being like a block of ice, but the door handle, despite being metal, was very much a regular, uninteresting temperature. That was . . . odd.

Carefully, Tommy reached out and poked at the wall. It was completely normal, which, to Tommy, was very much not normal.

"Is this a practical joke?" Tommy scowled at the door, then grabbed hold of the handle and rattled it. Of course, it was locked. Abandoned, yeah, of course. Idiot. What could he have expected?

All of a sudden, behind him, he heard something rustle.

He turned around, confusion forming a frown on his face. "Hello? Hello, there? Someone there?" Please don't be the old man again, he prayed. Please, please, please.

He glanced around, but didn't see anything. He didn't hear anything else, either, until a small head poked out of the bushes. Tommy nearly fell backwards-- to his surprise, a little, grey dog was poking its muzzle out of the nearby shrub bushes.

"Hi!" Tommy managed, stammering over the word. "What're you doing here?"

The small dog pointed its nose up in the air and sniffed several times, then trotted out, silent even when it stepped on the crunchy orange leaves decorating the concrete sidewalk. It cocked its head to the side, examining Tommy, then made a weird snuffling noise. Tommy blinked down at it. A small collar rested around its neck, a metal tag dangling off of the red fabric.

Tommy licked at his lips, made dry from the cold, and tried again. "Do you . . . live around here?" 

Talking to a dog, Tommy, really? 

Maybe it's a stray, maybe I should grab it and bring it around to people. Maybe they'd be thankful.

The smoky grey dog, as if reading Tommy's mind, didn't stick around and reply, but instead darted around him and made a mad dash for the front door of the factory. "Woah!" Tommy turned around, trying to snatch at it, but it dodged his attempts and jumped towards the-- still closed-- door.

"That's closed! You'll bump into--" Tommy started in alarm, and then was shocked into silence when the dog lunged straight through the door like smoke. He was left staring at the spot where the dog had jumped through, confused and somewhat nonplussed.

He shook his head in exasperation. "Ghost dog? What next?" Well, I know what I have to do now.

It was time to break down the door.

First, Tommy tried pulling at it, but (wowza! Surprise! Guess what?), it didn't work. Of course, it was locked. He had found this out before and wasn't quite sure why he had tried it again.

Then, reconsidering his tactics, he decided he should hold off on attacking the doorknob and instead try his luck at just dismembering the door itself.

He started to kick at the bottom, which seemed a little insane but was actually a tried and true method for breaking down old doors. And this door was wooden, too-- it seemed to be decaying, which just meant it was even easier to knock it down. He slammed his heel against the already rotting wood, heard a satisfying crack, and grinned to himself.

He could do this all night. The cold had turned his cheeks pink and ramped up his heart rate, and adrenaline from the adventure over the bridge still swirled in his head. He felt slightly hysterical, but the adrenaline turned his fear into anticipation, and, for the first time all day, he actually felt excited.

I'm going to get to see a ghost dog! Oh, they'll be so jealous. Ha! Take that!

The door made another loud crack under Tommy's incessant kicking, and a large chunk of wood fell off.

"Yes!" Tommy bent down, picking it up in triumph and tossing it from hand to hand. He was definitely going to have splinters later; the door was obviously falling apart and the jagged ends of the chunk of wood weren't helping any, but Tommy . . . didn't care. He threw the wood to the side and kneeled down, seizing the underside of the door and prying more pieces off.

Or he was about to, but something interrupted him.

Footsteps, like someone's feet crunching over fall leaves, appeared out of nowhere.

Tommy whipped around, sure that someone had seen him. His mouth opened as he got ready to blurt out an excuse, but all he was met with was a snout and a slobbery mouth. Another . . . dog?

"H-hello there," Tommy said, surprised. He was suddenly face to face with a small dog, sniffing at his neck and tongue lolling happily out. "Who're you?"

He looked around for the dog's owner, but there was nobody else around. He didn't see a dog collar anywhere on its neck, either, and it had mud and bits of leaves stuck in its matted fur. "Are you a stray?" Tommy asked, tilting his head at the fluffy-- if mud-soaked-- animal. "Or a ghost?"

The dog smacked its tail cheerfully against the concrete sidewalk in reply, panting loudly. It had fluffy, soft-looking fur that puffed out around the neck and paws that were too big for its body.

Tommy chuckled as the dog yipped happily at him, its entire rear end wagging along with its tail. "Not a ghost, I suppose. Well, you're cute." Tommy sat back, shaking curls of hair out of his eyes. "You all alone out here? Hm."

Stumbling closer to Tommy on its large paws, the dog barked, sniffing cautiously at his knee. Tommy giggled as the dog's rough tongue swiped at his leg, the speed of the tail-wagging increasing as it gave him kisses. "Aw, cutie. You make me miss my own dogs."

The stray looked up at him-- past his matted bangs, he had dark brown eyes-- and made a little whining noise, pawing at Tommy's leg. Tommy's heart instantly melted into a gooey pile.

His mother had always told him to stay away from stray dogs lest they bite him, but this dog seemed less than harmless: it was downright friendly. Had someone turned the dog away? That couldn't be right-- who wouldn't love such a sweet dog?-- and yet, the stray seemed like a pet somehow.

"How're you all alone out here?" Tommy reached out his hands and the dog amiably sniffed his hands, then his wrists, and then licked cheerfully at his fingers. Tommy grinned, reaching out to grab the dog around the middle and pull it onto his lap. The dog had no qualms about this whatsoever, and quickly made a home for itself there, turning around several times before settling down on his legs.

Tommy couldn't help melting at the sight. He reached out and tentatively stroked the dog's ears, cooing as it nuzzled his leg and grinned goofily up at him. "Oh my goodness, you're so cute."

Well, this wasn't exactly why he had come to the soap factory, but he definitely didn't mind this development. He scratched along the dog's side and it turned over to expose a pink underbelly, tongue lolling out in bliss as Tommy pet its stomach. "Will Phil mind if I take you back?" Tommy asked thoughtfully. "Yeah, he probably would."

The dog nosed at his sleeves curiously, as though wondering if Tommy had any treats on him. "Woah there," Tommy said, laughing through his words and pushing the dog gently away. "Good boy, but I haven't got anything to give you."

Just across the street, Tommy caught sight of a dark figure standing just out of a puddle of lamplight. He squinted at it, then blinked and rubbed at his eyes, but then it was gone again, just like that.

Blinking big, hazy amber eyes at him, the dog licked at his hand, gently tugging Tommy's attention back to it. Its ears flipped back and forth, spots of brown and tan dotting just over its eyes like furry eyebrows. Tommy sighed contentedly, stroking the dog's soft, tangled fur. "Now the other question: would Phil be able to turn you away?"

---

Tommy actually didn't get an immediate answer to this qualm.

The others, it turned out, had been a bit preoccupied with his sudden disappearance.

When Tommy returned, covered in mud and bits of gravel and sporting a wiggling puppy in his arms, he had found the hotel room in utter chaos. Apparently his lie about 'coming back soon' had prompted immediate panic when his walk took longer than expected.

"Tommy!" Ranboo jumped forward, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him close to inspect him from every angle. "Oh my gosh are you okay? What happened? Why are you all muddy-- is that a dog?! What the--" Ranboo ended in a squeal as Toast-- for that was what Tommy had dubbed him-- jumped out of Tommy's arms and shook himself all over.

Tommy's face was alight with happiness as he watched Toast prance around the hotel room, sniffing at the beds and yapping happily. He didn't even have the energy to feel bad about worrying his friends; Toast was romping around the room in obvious joy, and Tommy couldn't tear his eyes away as the puppy barked, satisfied.

Tubbo, who had originally been frozen in shock, immediately gasped and bent down to let Toast inspect him-- which the small dog was only happy to do. He immediately bounded over to the brunette and licked at his fingers. His tail was a little blur, moving so fast it could have been compared to a windshield wiper.

"This is Toast!" Tommy declared, presenting him to the rest of the-- understandably shocked-- room. "I found 'im."

"No, that's not Toast," Phil said, sitting on the bed with an expression that Tommy could only describe as peeved. "You're the one that's toast. What were you thinking, staying out that long?! You told me you'd be back soon! An hour-long walk is not back soon-- and you just, what, decided to bring a dog into the hotel along with it?!"

Ranboo, on the other hand, was already enchanted as Toast ambled around. Under Tubbo's praise and adoration, he was preening for the brunette, prancing around and wagging his tail so hard he almost tripped over it several times.

"Oh my gosh, Tommy, he's so cute!" Tubbo cried, kneeling down to scoop the tiny dog up into his arms. Toast immediately wiggled and tried to get free-- Tommy had quickly discovered that Toast hated being picked up-- but Tubbo cooed so happily and held him so gently that he quickly calmed down.

"Tommy," Phil said in a warning voice, pulling Tommy's attention back to him.

"Are we really going to have this discussion right now?" Tommy sighed, sitting down on the bed. He had mud in his hair for goodness' sake, he thought he'd at least be able to take a shower before being scolded.

Phil crossed his arms and stared him in the face. "Yes, we are. First of all, how did you even bring a dog into the hotel? I didn't think dogs were allowed!"

Tommy blinked a couple of times, his entire face going red. "Well . . . um, that is . . ." he tried to trail off, but Phil held his gaze, letting Tommy squirm under the uncomfortable stare. "I-- I may have told the receptionist that he was my friend's service dog that escaped. But it's fine, it's fine-- she really likes dogs anyway, so she said it was okay!"

"Tommy!" Phil sighed in exasperation. Tommy pulled guiltily at his sleeves, still fidgeting nervously. "That was an awful trick. Someone next to us could be allergic, and we'd get them sick, and for what? For a dog you found!"

"Phil, I don't think there's anybody in the hotel room next to us." Ranboo's lips quirked upwards in a smile. He was perched on the bed now, his gaze switching between Toast being manhandled by Tubbo and Phil and Tommy's argument.

Phil waved his hands dismissively. "Yeah, but there could have been."

Ranboo looked around. "Yeah, but there's not."

"I'm trying to set an example!" Phil frowned around at them. "Yes, there was nobody in the room this time, but what about next time?" He realized what he had said too late and drew in breath to correct himself, but was quickly interrupted.

Tommy's whole expression had lit up. "Next time? Does this mean I have your permission to keep Toast?"

In that moment, Tommy could actually see Phil's struggle not to start shouting and he took a second just to admire his mental fortitude. "No," Phil said carefully, in a slow, deliberate tone. "You do not."

"We don't yet, you mean," Tubbo corrected him, still hugging Toast happily.

For his part, Toast wiggled out of Tubbo's arms and landed on the floor in a heap, yipping and jumping to his feet. He shook himself off and trotted over to Phil, sniffing at him curiously.

Tommy grinned down at the dog, and then up at Phil. "Look at 'im, isn't he adorable? You can't just simply turn him away!"

"You're right, I can't." Phil frowned down at the small dog, some of the tension in his shoulders going away. "Which makes this even worse! Because you knew-- don't even deny it, Tommy, you know what you did-- you knew that I wouldn't be able to turn this dog away, which is exactly why you didn't ask for permission before bringing him into the room!"

Tommy groaned, flopping back onto the bed. Compared to the hard concrete wall of the bridge, the hotel mattress felt as light as air, and he instantly melted into the soft feeling. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Phil, I have a dog outside the hotel room. Should I bring him in or just leave him outside to starve?'"

He sat up again, picking petulantly at the threads on one of the pillows.

"Yes! No. I don't know." Phil was still staring down at Toast, who was now dancing around his legs and waiting to be utterly adored. He was a tiny bit idiotic, in Tommy's opinion, but he was stupidly cute, and that made up for all of it.

Phil stared down at Toast. "So he's a stray." It was less of a question and more of a statement, and not really one that Tommy could argue with.

"Yeah. No collar-- believe me Phil, I checked," Tommy rolled his eyes at Phil's disbelieving glance. "--and he's obviously been out there for a while."

"So you don't think he's a runaway. Okay . . ." Phil took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in defeat. "We'll let him stay for a couple of days and then take him to a vet to look at his microchip. And if he doesn't have one, we'll give him to a shelter. Are we in agreement?"

They weren't, but nobody really had a choice. Tommy muttered his agreement and pulled the pillow to his chest, squeezing it tightly in his arms.

"I wish we could keep you," Ranboo said to Toast, holding out his hand and letting him lick at his fingers. "You're really cute. You'd be lots of help in our ghost hunting business! Maybe we could even train you to sniff out ghosts, yeah?"

Toast barked in agreement and rubbed his face against Ranboo's hand, making the taller boy gasp in delight at the affection. Tommy tried his hardest not to be jealous and hugged the pillow even tighter, pressing his face against the cool satin pillowcase.

Apparently deciding that he wanted to be hugged like the pillow was, Toast bounded over to Tommy's bed and pawed at the sheets, whining to be picked up.

Happily obliging, Tommy bent down, scooping the dog into his arms. Toast wagged his backside, his tail hitting Tommy's torso as he wiggled happily in his arms. Tommy squeezed the dog in a hug, then wrinkled his expression into a grimace as the smell of mud and back alleys hit his nose.

"First order of business: let's get you a bath." Tommy shook his head, grinning down at the muddy, temporary pet.

After a fifteen-minute bath, during which they discovered that Toast was in fact a he, and that he was more tan and white than dark brown, Toast decided that he didn't want to be submerged in the soapy water anymore.

Despite protests, he shook off Tommy and Ranboo's sudsy hands and hopped out of the plaster bathtub, his paws slipping and sliding everywhere on the tiled hotel bathroom floor. "Toast!" Tommy called after him, but Toast simply ignored him, intent on exploring the bathroom.

Unused to being slippery, Toast quickly discovered that the law of friction no longer applied. Barely able to stay on his feet, Toast barked in alarm as he went skidding straight into a nearby cabinet, falling head over heels and landing in a messy heap on the floor.

Tommy and Ranboo, the only ones who had volunteered to wash Toast, glanced at each other and then burst out laughing.

"You're covered in soap!" Tommy wheezed, trying to control his giggles even as Ranboo wrinkled his sud-spattered nose.

"Well, you have mud all over your face--" Ranboo's shoulders were shaking as he laughed, his chest heaving up and down. Tommy rubbed at his cheek and Ranboo giggled even harder, dissolving into a shaking, laughing blob. "It's-- other cheek, Tommy--"

Tommy swiped away tears of laughter from his eyes and scrubbed away the mud stain as Toast wobbled towards them, slipping every few steps. He was sopping wet, dripping bathwater mercilessly on the floor, and could barely stand on the slippery surface.

"Toast!" Tommy clapped his hands and whistled between his giggles. "C'mere, boy!" Toast ignored him, too busy sticking his muzzle into the trash can to see if there was anything tasty inside.

Toast was small, and now that he had been washed, they could tell he was obviously a puppy; his paws were enormous for his small size and he had large, floppy ears like a basset hound. He easily fit in the bathtub and they had to have been careful not to fill it too high and risk submerging him.

"C'mere, Tos," Ranboo cooed, holding his arms out to the small dog. Toast slid right into his embrace, nuzzling into his jumper, and Ranboo made a face of disgust as he got wet, slobbery affection burrowing into his chest.

"Why does he come to you?" Tommy complained, but Ranboo just nodded silently at the towel rack. "Oh." Rolling his eyes, Tommy complied.

He snatched a towel from the rack and jumped onto the two, seizing hold of Toast and sucking him into the folds of the towel. "Ah HA!" he crowed, pulling Toast into his arms and furiously drying him. Toast barked and struggled, managing to poke his head out of the fuzzy towel before Tommy shoved the towel over his muzzle again.

Ranboo pushed the squiggling lump into Tommy's arms. "Here you go," he panted. His cheeks were still cherry-red from laughing and he had bits of soapy foam spattered over his nose and cheeks like a series of white freckles, but his eyes were sparkling happily.

"Well! That was quite the adventure," Tommy said cheerily, hugging Toast to his chest.

Toast yipped and tried to jump out of his arms, but Tommy held on tightly to the sopping wet dog, even as his dripping muzzle pressed into his chest. A large wet spot dripped down Tommy's shirtfront, making him shiver when the cold water dribbled onto his chest, but he plopped Toast down on his lap anyway.

Ranboo sighed happily, perching his head on his hands as he watched Tommy do battle with Toast, trying to get the small dog to stay in the same place. Sensing the gaze now trained on him, Tommy glanced up, blinking at Ranboo.

"Hey, Boo. You okay?"

To his surprise, Ranboo's smile slipped off his face, slipping into a wobbly, tight-lipped grimace. His eyes squeezed shut for a fraction of a second, before opening wide again. "Yeah. I'm fine." He gave Tommy a small smile.

Tommy didn't buy it. Ranboo was his friend, he wasn't letting any secrets spoil their friendship. He hugged Toast firmly to his chest, letting out a short breath. "Right. Something's wrong; out with it."

Ranboo didn't reply immediately and Tommy frowned, tapping impatiently on his leg. "Now," he emphasized.

"Oh, fine." Ranboo drummed his fingers on the tile bathroom floor, sitting down awkwardly. "Did you . . . " He hesitated. "Really go to the soap factory by yourself?"

That wasn't the question Tommy had expected, though he should have expected Ranboo to be curious. He was the only one Tommy had told so far, simply because he knew the others would be . . . worried, to say the least.

Be casual. He's probably just worried about you, too. Tommy shrugged with one shoulder, trying to seem unruffled by the strange question. "I mean, yeah. Why?"

Ranboo met Tommy's eyes, looking uncharacteristically serious. "And you're okay? I mean, really okay? No lying, Tommy."

Tommy thought about it for a second. He wasn't okay, he knew that for sure, but it wasn't really because of the factory. Nothing had happened there, after all. Right?

Yeah . . . nothing? That doesn't seem right.

Ugh, now he was getting a headache. He was thinking too hard. Nothing had happened at the factory. He had found Toast. He had gone back. Nothing else.

I didn't find any spirits, either, he thought, disappointed. That's a shame.

But, he reminded himself, it wasn't just spirits that could hurt him. The splinters in his fingers, in particular, burned after being submerged in hot water and rubbed raw by soap and other chemicals.

He flexed his hands, glancing down at the pinkish skin. "Hm."

Hm, it seemed, was Ranboo-speak for 'I'm physically wounded, you have permission to panic', and entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Tommy! What happened over there?! What does 'hm' mean? Are your hands okay?" He leapt forward, seizing Tommy by the wrist and dragging him forward, much to Tommy's bemused annoyance.

"Woah, woah! Hold up there, doctor!" Tommy gritted his teeth, trying to push Ranboo away and keep Toast on his lap at the same time. "I just said hm, that's not a reason to go full emergency on me!"

Worriedly examining Tommy's hands, Ranboo brushed his fingers over a needle-like splinter, accidentally digging it further down into Tommy's hand.

"Hold on! Ow!" The blonde grimaced, snatching his hand back as though it had been burned. Toast yapped in concern, looking back and forth between the two.

"Oh my-- Jeez, I'm sorry." Ranboo backed away, wincing guiltily.

Rubbing his hand gingerly, Tommy huffed, glaring at Ranboo. Did the dude know there was such a thing as too far? "Seriously? What's gotten into you?"

Ranboo winced, then glanced down, fidgeting with his own hands. "I'm sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean to do that--"

"Yeah, but if you'd waited until I'd explained fully--"

"I didn't mean to! Sorry!" Ranboo raised his hands in the air in mock defence. He grinned apologetically at Tommy, running a soapy hand through his hair. "I just got a bit riled up."

Tommy gave him a cautious side-eye. "Hmph. I'm willing to forgive you. You promise you aren't going to suddenly drown me in bandages in my sleep?"

Ranboo laughed at that, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Yeah, yeah, I promise."

Tommy gave a small smile in return and decided that he could trust Ranboo. For the moment, anyway.

"Good. Now, you stay there," Tommy grunted, trying to hold Toast (who had apparently decided that he hated being held and was currently trying to make a grand escape), "while I get-- you-- dry! Hey!"

Toast had somehow wiggled out of Tommy's grip and was now bounding across the bathroom floor towards the open door, his wet paws slipping on the tiles. Always the first to burst into action, Ranboo jumped towards the door and slammed it shut, trapping the three of them in the bathroom.

Desperately, Toast tried to screech to a stop, but the floor was too slippery and he hurtled into the door in a dramatic crash landing. He collapsed in a wet puddle, his paws and long fur going everywhere, and wheezed pathetically from the collision.

Tommy was laughing so hard he could barely stand, but he bent down to scratch affectionately at Toast's ears. The dog whimpered and looked up at him, his messy fur flopping in his eyes. "Aww. Let's dry you off, huh?"

Toast barked and wobbled to his feet, water still dripping off of him and collecting in a puddle. Tommy grinned fondly at him, scrubbing at his head and back with the towel. Ranboo crouched down next to the two of them, reaching out to pat Toast on the head.

"Who's a good boy?" Ranboo cooed, making Toast wiggle happily under the attention. "Who was so good in the bath? Yeah? Was it you? Yes, it was you! What a good boy."

Tommy rolled his eyes, finishing drying Toast and letting the newly clean dog sneeze several times in a row. "He jumped out of the bath, Boo. That's hardly stellar behaviour."

Both Ranboo and Toast turned big, wounded doe-eyes on Tommy, making him freeze up as he was met with matching cutsie faces. "How can you say that, Tommy?!" Ranboo cried, hugging Toast to his chest and jumping to his feet. "He's been so good! How can you say he's not been good? That's so mean!" The dog whined in accompaniment with Ranboo's outrage.

Making a face, Tommy reached up to tug Toast out of Ranboo's arms. "Okay, okay. Calm down, PETA." Toast wiggled willingly into Tommy's embrace, licking furiously at his chin and wagging his entire back end.

"Give him compliments," Ranboo insisted, crossing his arms. "C'mon."

When Tommy cooed and scratched at Toast's cheeks-- which Toast was perfectly willing to accept in lieu of compliments-- Ranboo gave him a pointed stare. "Love him! Look at him. He deserves to be loved."

Tommy couldn't help grinning at the little bundle of sunshine. "Alright, alright. C'mere, you good boy. You're all dry and pretty! Yes, you're such a pretty boy."

"He really is, though." Ranboo tilted his head at Toast, smiling. "He's just a puppy, too. I wonder how long he's been out on the streets."

"Aw, I don't want to talk about that." Tommy perched himself and Toast on the side of the bath, Toast still attacking his face with love. "But I think he's probably . . . less than a year old? About a year? Maybe."

Even if it had been for less than a year, it still hurt that at some point, Toast had been abandoned-- probably by his first family, or maybe he had even been born to another stray. How had nobody brought him to a shelter? Who would just leave this puppy? Tommy couldn't help feeling a little angry.

Oh, well. At least they had Toast now. Even if it is just for a little while.

Tommy sighed at the thought, chewing at his bottom lip.

Perhaps fortunately, Ranboo soon broke him out of his depressing thoughts. The brunette was still sitting on the bathroom floor, examining the dog, and Tommy noticed vaguely that he still had spots of soap on his face.

"He has ears like a basset hound," Ranboo offered, glancing up. "Big and floppy."

Tommy hummed, scratching under Toast's chin. "His fur's a bit poofy for a basset hound. I say we just stick with callin' him a mutt."

"Isn't that a bit rude?" Ranboo asked amusedly. "Anyway, no matter what he is, I say we get ourselves cleaned up first. This whole place smells like wet dog, and if we don't clean it up, we'll probably get banned from staying in a Holiday Inn ever again."

Tommy picked at his wet shirt, the sopping fabric sticking to his skin even as he pulled at it. "Yeah. I'd like to change, too. I'm kind of cold."

In his arms, Toast yapped, nuzzling happily at his cheeks. "Easy for you to say, you have a built-in coat!" Tommy complained lightly, bopping Toast on the head. "And you're all dry now."

Ranboo wiped a splotch of soap off his cheek, grinning at the scene. "You say you're cold, but I say this whole situation is pawsome," Ranboo teased, making Tommy grimace.

"Was that supposed to be a joke? Because that--" Tommy pointed at Ranboo as though trying to make a point-- "was awful."

"If it's worse than awful, does that mean it's a bit of a ruff joke?" Ranboo shot finger guns at Tommy, who was ready to die on the spot if he heard one more joke from Ranboo-- who clearly had not been built to make jokes.

Tommy pulled Toast up into a hug, letting the dog lick tiny licks at his face. "Shut the fuck up. God." He made a gagging noise, standing up and walking to the bathroom door. "I'm going out to put on new clothes. Drain the bath for me?"

"But you're right next to--" Ranboo's protests faded away as Tommy swept out of the room, closing the door behind him. He set Toast down on the plush carpet that the hotel had, letting him shake off the excess water and amble curiously around the space.

"Aw, is that what he looks like without all the dirt on him?" Tubbo jumped off the bed, kneeling down to fondle the dog. "He's so pretty!"

And, to be fair, he was. Now that the mud was off, Tommy could see that he was much more of a golden-tan colour than dark brown, his tan fur splotched with cashew-gold and white. He had little spots of darker brown on his ears and tail, and black speckles on his muzzle and paws, making him look-- indeed-- just like a slice of toast.

The name suited him quite well, Tommy thought with satisfaction. And he was even starting to respond to it-- when Tubbo called his name, he perked up, wagging his golden tail.

"C'mere, Toast! Come to your papa," Tubbo cooed, grinning as Toast pawed happily at Tubbo's chest. "He needs a treat. I need to give him a treat right now," Tubbo said suddenly.

Phil tilted his head, looking amused. "A treat? Where did that come from?"

From the direction of the bathroom, Tommy could hear the steady glug, glug, glug of the bathtub draining and sent a silent thank you to Ranboo, who was probably in there cleaning up the puddles of water too.

Tubbo put his hands on his hips. Well, one of them. The other was rather busy petting the blissful puppy curled up on his lap. "Don't you see? He might never have had a treat before! I can't hardly believe it. What a shame, isn't it?"

"It is, rather," Tommy admitted. "Maybe we can go now . . . ?" he shot a hopeful look in Phil's direction, but only received a firm head shake. That was probably a no.

Tommy sighed. "It's late in the night, big man. Why don't we get some treats for him in the morning?"

"We'll also need a leash, a harness, and at least a couple of toys," Phil reminded them, counting on his fingers. "Plus, we should take him to a vet to get his shots as soon as possible."

Tubbo clung to Toast, looking aghast. "Shots?! Whyever would he need shots? He's a perfectly healthy dog!"

Phil smiled. "Well, for one, he's a puppy, and puppies get sick often. And if we don't want him to get sick, we need to take him to a vet to get him vaccinated. Plus, we can check for a microchip at the vet's, too."

"Oh." Tubbo loosened his grip on Toast, who by now was starting to look more than a little squashed. "That makes sense. But we also need treats! I'm going to teach you all sorts of tricks," he cooed to Toast, who barked in agreement with this plan.

"So it's settled?" Tommy clapped his hands together. "Tomorrow we get into action."

"I think it is tomorrow, Tommy," Ranboo called from the bathroom, pushing the door open a crack to peer out at them. "One second, lemme check."

"Go ahead," Tommy replied, shrugging. He glanced in Ranboo's direction and waited for the reply.

And waited.

And then, waited some more.

"Well?" he asked after his patience had worn thin.

Ranboo's sigh was audible even through the door. "My hands are wet, Tommy, it'll take me a bit." Still, there was only a short moment before he replied that it was precisely one o' six. "But for you guys, you Brits . . . there's no daylight savings, so it's around 2:06 for you. Ha! I get an extra hour on you!"

"The time doesn't change based on nationality, Ranboo," Phil called, grinning. "We're in America, so the time would be different here and in the UK regardless, remember?"

"Oh." Ranboo fell silent. "Oh, yeah."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "No matter what the time is, it's past twelve-- we should probably get to sleep." Tommy looked around, trotting to his bed and flopping out on the soft mattress.

"Wonderful idea. Tommy, you found the dog. He can stay on your bed," Phil directed. "Tubbo, in the morning, can you get something-- non-poisonous, I may add-- from the hotel cafeteria to feed the dog? Preferably bread."

"His name is Toast," Tubbo reminded Phil, already dumping the puppy onto Tommy's bed. "Wait. If I get him bread, wouldn't that be cannibalism?" Toast crawled up to Tommy's face, which was conveniently easily accessible for him as Tommy was lying down, and promptly started to lick his nose.

"And this is why we need to get some sleep," Ranboo said, coming out of the bathroom. His hair was matted and wet in places, and he held a damp towel in his hand, but he hung it up on the rack and sat down on his bed without complaining. "It's late. . ." He yawned.

"It's been a long day," Tubbo agreed. "They weren't kidding about that soap factory. It feels so weird going in there, doesn't it?"

Ranboo nodded absently, then turned to smile brightly at Tommy. "Oh, and promise you'll come next time! We'll have so much more fun with you there."

Tommy hesitated. Toast was curled up snugly against his side, purring much like a cat would. "I . . . "

Maybe grudges weren't so fun. Now what did he say? Yes? No? Whatever?

"You know what? Sure," he decided. For some reason, the words didn't taste like anything in his mouth, they just fell out without him meaning to say them. His breath hitched strangely, but he shook it off and pushed down his second thoughts.

Tubbo's smile was as bright as the sun. "Brilliant! Oh, it'll be so awesome. Ooh, and can we bring Toast with us? You think he'd like to come?"

Phil, who was already settling into his bed, sighed. "To a place where other dogs were made into soap? Probably not. But I don't see how we could leave him here, either."

"Well, I found him near the soap factory," Tommy chimed in, scratching lazily at Toast's shoulder. "So I think he's probably okay with being close to it. Yeah?"

"You went to the soap factory?!" Phil sat up, staring in undisguised outrage. "All the way? By yourself?!"

Tommy cringed at his tone, curling further into his bed. When he spoke, his voice was muffled by Toast's long fur. " . . . yes? It wasn't that far, Phil!"

Phil drew in a sharp breath. "It is too that far! And dangerous! The-- the bridge-- how did you even get across?" When Tommy looked up, he saw that Phil's face had gone completely pale. "Did you get hit-- shit, are you okay? My god, Tommy--"

"I'm fine!" Tommy protested around Phil's sudden splurge of questions. "I'm fine. I promise. Look, if I were hit, that would have been the first thing out of my mouth, right? Don't worry 'bout it, okay?"

"I can't help but worry!" Phil's tone was exhausted. "Would you be worried if you heard that Ranboo had trekked all that way all on his own? Yes, you would! Even if he was absolutely fine."

Tommy sighed, already lapsing back into his sulk. Leave it to Phil to drag Ranboo into this. Can't I just be acknowledged for doing this by myself? Why is nobody proud of me?

Instead, what he said was, "Yeah, I guess. Sorry."

Phil fixed him with his gaze for just a heartbeat longer than what was comfortable, but he just shook his head and settled back into the covers. Next to his face, Tommy could hear Toast let out a long doggy sigh.

Yeah, I feel that way, too. Tommy stroked Toast's middle, making the dog purr comfortably.

"Good night, you guys," Tubbo called softly from his own bed. When Tommy glanced over at him, he saw Tubbo propping himself up with his arm, poised to pull the lamp cord. His squash plushie from Villisca was propped up on the pillow next to him-- Tommy did wonder why he still kept it around. Was he hoping to get another paranormal telegram?

Tubbo yawned widely, then continued talking. "Alright, guys, I'm turning out the lights now."

Tommy heard the soft noise of a book being closed, but he couldn't tell if it was coming from Ranboo or Phil. "I finished my journal entry for today, so you can turn them off," Ranboo replied in a quiet voice. "G'night."

"G'night," Tubbo said. "Sweet dreams."

"Mmph." Tommy had no more energy to speak, let alone move. He closed his eyes just as he registered the gentle click of a lamp cord being pulled, and the shadows folded him into a soft embrace.

---

The sound of gentle chatter woke Tommy up like the burbling of a creek.

He sat up, the heavy comforter falling off his chest as he did so, and rubbed sleepily at his eyes to clear them. They were sticky from sleep, and the whole world blurred as he blinked slowly awake.

"'Ello?" Tommy looked around, his vision clearing. Sounds came into sharper focus as he listened, and he yawned widely.

"Good morning, Tommy!" Someone bounded over to his bedside, nearly shaking with excitement-- Tubbo, he discerned, who was wearing a strawberry-pink jumper and was wiggling into a charcoal-grey jacket. "Nice to see you're finally up. I guess yesterday took its toll on you."

Tommy had an urge to push Tubbo away. It was too much, and too early in the morning, and he wanted to go back to sleep, but somehow he forced himself to give Tubbo a sleepy smile and a nod.

"Yup. S'pose it did, yeah. Um, what time is it?" His words slurred together even as he tried to force his vocal cords to work correctly.

"Somewhere around eight," Phil called from the front of the room. "Nice and early. Don't worry too much about last night-- I was tired, you were tired, we were all tired. I'm sorry if I startled you."

"No, it's . . . it's fine," Tommy mumbled, still rubbing at his left eye. He yawned widely again and stretched lazily, tugging himself out of bed despite his body crying out for the warm pull of the comforter. "Like you said . . . tired."

"Hm." Tommy glanced over and saw Phil taking a couple of jackets off the hook. "Well, no matter what you call it, today is a new day. And we're going to the soap factory. We were only waiting on you." Phil winked and tossed Tommy a jacket, and Tommy only barely managed to catch it, hugging the fuzzy fabric to his chest.

Tommy nodded again, his head bobbing up and down without him even telling it to. "Yeah, okay. Where's--" Dog? Um . . . dog name. Toast, his sleepy mind soon supplied, and Tommy's mouth opened in another yawn. "Toast?"

"Right there." A smile gracing his lips, Phil motioned at Tommy's bed. "He didn't move all night, even when Tubbo offered him some bread-- no, Tubbo, it still isn't cannibalism. It seems that your stray hasn't been treated to a bed in some time."

Sure enough, when Tommy glanced over at the pillow next to his head, there Toast was, all curled up and snug as a bug on the pillow. Tommy just about melted at the sight.

He settled for smiling lazily, reaching out to stroke Toast's fuzzy head. His fur had dried completely overnight, and now he looked just like a tan-white fluffball, his ears folded over as he snoozed.

"Aren't you so cute?" Tommy whispered, grinning as he spoke. "Yes, you are."

Toast turned over, lazy and slow, content to expose his black-and-pink splotched belly for Tommy to rub. However, he got a big surprise when Tommy reached down to scoop him up into his arms, scratching absently behind the dog's ears. "Do we have a leash for him yet?"

"Yeah, I was thinking we should stop at a pet store and get stuff for him," Ranboo pointed out. "Maybe before we bring him to the factory, too? So he doesn't try to run off?"

"Good idea! A leash and a collar. I mean-- wait, how are we supposed to get him a collar with his name on it?" Tubbo bounced back on the balls of his feet, swaying back and forth in thought. "It takes a while to get the engraving done, doesn't it?"

Phil tossed his head from side to side. "Sometimes. Some stores offer instant engravings, but they do tend to cost more. In this situation, I think Sharpies will serve us well."

"Good idea!" Tubbo had a Sharpie in his hand before any of them could even blink-- did he make a habit of always having one on him or something?-- and bounded over to Phil, pressing the marker into his hand. "So all we need is a collar now."

"Don't forget a leash, now," Phil laughed. "Whew, who knew spontaneously getting a dog was so much work?" He sent a pointed look at Tommy, crossing his arms with an amused grin.

Tommy dismissed him with a wave of his hand, setting Toast down on the ground. The puppy ambled around, sniffing at everyone's legs before settling down and nuzzling at Ranboo's ankles. "Right, can I please at least get dressed before we go out on this excursion?"

"I wasn't planning on letting you go with those clothes on, don't you worry about that." Phil rolled his eyes. "They're all muddy from the day before. Go on, don't worry. We'll wait for you."

Oh, good, so you won't leave me behind like before? Tommy's mind snarked, but he banished the thought quickly as it came. He tried to always make a point of only holding onto grudges for a day or so, before he decided it wasn't productive anymore.

"Tommy?" Ranboo's voice had a smile in it, and Tommy was tugged unexpectedly back to reality as Ranboo waved a gloved hand under his nose.

He snapped at Ranboo's fingers, grinning when Ranboo quickly pulled them back. "Well, don't bite my hand!" Ranboo huffed, frowning.

"I shouldn't need to," Tommy shot back, grinning, pulling a pair of fresh clothes out of his suitcase. He wrapped them up in a bundle and walked to the bathroom, feeling quite pleased if he did say so himself.

He pulled on a grey shirt and a warm, fuzz-lined hoodie-- there was no way he was putting on that too-loose jacket again, and he thought a hoodie would be a good substitute-- and discarded his jeans for a pair of floppy sweatpants.

"You done in there?" Tubbo knocked on the door insistently, making Tommy wince.

He blew a raspberry at the door. "Every time you ask me that, it adds five minutes," he called back, and Tubbo gasped in mock outrage. Still, Tommy pulled the door open, fluffing up his hair so he wouldn't feel too bad about his appearance.

"I'm here," he said, tapping Tubbo's nose. "Happy?"

"Euphoric. Let's go, come on, come on!" Tubbo grabbed Tommy by the wrist and tugged him towards the hotel room door, where Phil and Ranboo were waiting. Toast was clutched like a furry bundle in Ranboo's arms, wiggling happily.

Phil swung the door open, letting them stream out. All around them, the sounds of a hotel morning surrounded the long hallway; loud music shaking the walls in the room across from them, a woman chastising her kid for jumping on the bed, and employees ducking in and out of rooms, clutching dust mops and rags in their dust-streaked hands.

They took the elevator down, and luckily this time there was no uncomfortable silence with a hotel employee. Actually, all the way down, Tubbo and Ranboo chatted excitedly about the soap factory-- what parts they'd already explored, and where they were planning on going next. Forgetting completely that Tommy had no idea what they were talking about.

Tommy had to pretend not to be bitter when the elevator doors opened with a hiss and they still hadn't said a single word to him.

With a sigh, he stepped out of the elevator, motioning for the rest of them to follow him. Ranboo wandered out, waving cheerfully at the employee sitting at the front desk and earning himself a smile in return.

Pulling his hoodie tighter around himself, Tommy stopped in front of the mechanical doors to wait for them to open. With a groan, they soon did, and the group stepped out into the muddled-- but bright-- Minnesota morning.

People milled around buildings, talking and chatting in groups of two or three. The streets were filled with the noises of the occasional car or motorcycle, and all around the city was bustling with people. Tommy let his head tilt back and saw the sky, blindingly blue, glint off the windows in the surrounding storefronts.

"Car's over here," Phil pointed to his van and they all got inside, Tommy quickly choosing shotgun and leaving Ranboo and Tubbo to the backseat. It wasn't like he'd have anything to talk to them about anyway, he thought bitterly, not after they'd left him out of every discussion so far.

Why was he still thinking about that?! Tommy shoved the train of thought out of his mind and bit his lip so hard he tasted copper. He licked at the sudden wound, the pain only serving to make him even grumpier. Why was he even grumpy in the first place, anyway? Phil had said it himself: it was a new day.

Speaking of Phil, the man was freakishly intuitive.

Before pulling the car out of its parking space, he placed a hand gently on Tommy's arm, frowning at him. "Are you okay? You seem a bit off. I know yesterday was rough for you, but I'm more than willing to make amends if you are."

Rough? That's the tip of the bloody iceberg. Tommy let out a long breath, some of his blonde bangs flopping in his face. "It's . . . Phil, I said it's fine. Please, just leave it alone." Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Phil just shook his head. "If you really want me to, I will. But I'm worried. You've had it bad the last couple of days. Just-- if you want to talk." With that, he left it alone, thankfully, and pulled the car into reverse gear. The engine started with a growl and the car slowly backed out of the parking spot, sunlight winking along the edge of the side mirror and flashing into Tommy's eyes.

The morning was obnoxiously bright, really. It almost hurt his eyes to look at it, but he didn't have anything else to stare sullenly at except the landscape. So Tommy stuck to gazing silently out the window as buildings flashed by, illuminated only by the early morning sun; the streetlamps were out and only pale remainders of stars flitted past in the sky. Clouds bubbled like foamy steam across the sky, painting the pale blue surface with white pattern.

"Where're we going first, Phil?" Tubbo asked from the backseat. The sound of a seatbelt being pushed into place clicked from behind Tommy as Tubbo secured himself into the carseat. "The factory or a pet store?"

"We can go to the factory first if you want your dog to run off," Phil replied, swerving around a motorcyclist. "We wouldn't have a leash to keep him on, and I feel as though that would be a teensy problem."

"True." Ranboo hummed. "So, let's go and get him some stuff! Do you want some stuff? Yeah, like a leash and some treats? Yeah!" Although Tommy didn't bother to turn around, he knew that Ranboo was coddling Toast.

Tommy bit back a hiss. It wasn't fair that Tommy had found something amazing and now it was being stolen. Before long, Toast would be considered Ranboo's, or Tubbo's, but oh no, not Tommy's-- he already has two dogs, he doesn't need any more.

So fucking what? Maybe he DID want Toast to himself. Maybe just a little bit. Maybe that would be better!

. . . Better for who, though?

He turned around to glance at Toast, squirming and cuddling happily with Ranboo, looking completely content. It was a sickeningly sweet scene that tasted like rotten sugar cubes melting on Tommy's tongue. He turned back around before the sick feeling from the night before started again.

Why was he taking all of this out on his friends? Why was he taking it out on the dog? That was just taking it too far. He didn't want to feel yucky . . . it just wasn't something he could choose.

Tommy cradled his head in his hands, staring bitterly out the window and ignoring the somewhat nauseous feeling now inhabiting his belly. It was hard not to feel bad.

Especially when nothing seemed to be going his way. Everything was being stolen from him. Did anyone seem grateful to him? Happy that he had found Toast? No, because they were too busy talking over each other to listen to anything that he had to say.

Screech owls, Tommy thought, grumpy. A short gasp from Tubbo broke him out of his thoughts and he turned around to see Tubbo peering out the window, looking amazed.

"Did you say you saw an owl?" he said excitedly.

Colour rushed into Tommy's cheeks, then immediately drained from it as the realization sank in. Did I say that out loud? "Um . . . yeah," he lied, stammering of the word as his mind whirled. "It was in that, uh, tree."

"Which tree?" Tubbo's head was now poking out of the window, even as wind whipped through his tangled mess of hair.

Tommy searched desperately for a tree and found a frail, wilting ginkgo tree a couple metres away. He pointed at it, his face still bright red with embarrassment. "Er-- that one."

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. He was fairly sure that no owl would live in that tree even if it was the last one on earth.

Tubbo paused, staring at it, and then puffed his cheeks out in a pout. "There's no owl there!" he complained, sitting back and throwing his arms across his chest in dramatic anger.

Tommy could do nothing but shrug helplessly. "Must've . . . flown away, or something, I dunno."

He glanced away and caught sight of Phil's keen stare. His cheeks flushed darker-- he must know, why's he looking at me like that-- and he quickly turned to stare intensely out the window.

To his great surprise, Phil didn't even bother to chastise him, just let out a long sigh and turned away. Tommy didn't know how to feel about that, so he stayed quiet, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"We're almost at the store, guys," Phil called, breaking the silence and craning his neck to glance at the backseat. "Not too long now, not to worry."

"Hm." Tommy let his hair flop in his eyes as he thought. The sound of wind rushed into the car from the window Tubbo was leaving open, drowning out the chatter of downtown Minneapolis and leaving him with nothing but a faint ringing in his ears when they slowed down at a stoplight.

Soon enough, they stopped next to a local pet store and disembarked from the car. Wind still blew faintly around Tommy as he stepped outside the car, slamming the door behind him and pulling his hood up over his head. It was bitingly cold, and his fingers already felt too stiff to move.

"Pets etc," Tommy read, his lips numb. When he exhaled, steam fell out of his mouth along with the words, glittering ice crystals that shone in the sun and then dissipated. "What's the etcetera for? Family and friends?" His tone was as sharp as the cold, but either luckily or unluckily, nobody noticed.

Ranboo, who was hefting a joyful Toast in his arms, tapped his foot on the ground as he peeked inside the shop. It had conveniently large doors for spying pet owners wanting to check out the store, and wicker baskets lined with checkered napkins were filled with dog treats. Toys hung from hooks that lined the walls, and boxes were stacked on the tile floor, overflowing with various toys. Even the ceiling was painted a cheerful yellow.

Turning back, Ranboo held a satisfied smile on his lips. "I think Toast will have a good time here."

I think I didn't ask, Tommy snarked, then felt bad about it a second later. He folded his arms over his chest and sighed. "Yeah, I hope he will. We need to just find him the bare necessities, so . . . we shouldn't take too long, hopefully."

Toast looked ecstatic at the idea of going inside the pet store. He was wiggling and trying to jump out of Ranboo's arms, straining towards the double glass doors. A corkboard sign was hung up on the left door, and a roughly cut piece of cardstock was tacked to it, the word 'open' scrawled on it in purple glittery gel pen.

Tubbo shut his car door behind him and hopped up onto the curb, his hands pushed inside his pockets. "Ooh, pretty," he said, glancing around. His words sounded stiff, and Tommy wondered if his throat was as frozen as Tommy's seemed to be.

"Hey, you alright?" Tommy peered around Tubbo's shoulder, nearly propping his chin up on the brunette's shoulder. "A bit cold?"

Tubbo shrugged, grinning back around at Tommy. "Maybe a little. I'm okay. You?"

Tommy made a face. "It's bearable. I don't understand why anything has to be this cold, though. It's practically freezing us as we walk!" He shivered dramatically, wrapping his arms around Tubbo and folding the shorter boy into a hug. "We're lucky it isn't snowing."

The bell hung on Pets etc's door jingled, and Phil motioned for them to come inside. Ranboo stepped inside eagerly, and Tubbo detached himself from the hug to follow behind, Tommy trailing after him. "Tubboooo, give me my hug," he complained, grabbing Tubbo by the arm and pulling them side to side.

Tubbo sighed, rolling his eyes, and patted Tommy on the head. "There, there."

Phil clapped his hands together, breaking them out of their conversation. He smiled around at them, and then finally at Toast, which Tommy hoped was a sign that he was warming up to the puppy. "Now then! Are you ready to care for this dog?"

Tommy rocked back and forth, nearly bouncing out of excitement. "But of course!" He glanced around, spotting Toast curled up in Ranboo's grasp, and whistled quietly, grinning.

"Toast, c'mere boy," he called, and, satisfyingly, Toast tried his hardest yet to jump out of Ranboo's arms.

"Oh no you don't! I was gonna try collars on him-- hey!" Ranboo's smug smirk vanished as Toast kicked back at his chest with his back legs and free-fell to the ground. He landed with a yelp and a twist of his little, furry body, then righted himself and bounded over to Tommy, his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

Tommy gasped in delight, crouching down to welcome the dog. Toast thrust himself at Tommy, allowing himself to be petted as Tommy scooped him up, his face breaking out into a bright smile. "I can try collars on him," Tommy said, twirling in a circle and hugging Toast to his chest. "You go and get some toys, kay?"

Ranboo rolled his eyes-- Tommy was getting this a lot today, wasn't he?-- and wandered off to the toy aisles. Tommy headed over to the rows of collars and harnesses that decorated the left-facing wall of the store, scrutinizing them with a careful eye.

The collars at the top were made for smaller dogs, and Toast was definitely small. He would probably grow into a size that would fit his paws at some point-- which was kind of terrifying for Tommy to think about, honestly, considering that he would come up at least to Tommy's waist-- but the shih tzu size collars would definitely work for now.

Setting Toast carefully on the floor, keeping a close eye on him to make sure he didn't run off, Tommy went through several collars. None of them would work: one was too thin, one was covered in protruding spikes, and a third was decorated completely with glitter that would probably only serve to fall off and get stuck in Toast's fur.

Finally, he pulled a yoghurt-pink one off the shelf and held it up for Toast to inspect. It wasn't bad, honestly. "Does this one look good?" he asked, meeting Toast eye-to-eye.

Toast sniffed the collar, yipped, and wagged his tail. He would be fine with anything, Tommy considered, and so he sighed and set the tiny puppy down. The collar was fashioned like a belt; adjustable and with lots of small, silver clasps to help attach the ends together. It was thick and long, and when Tommy fastened it around Toast's neck in a test trial, it fit perfectly.

To his credit, Toast didn't look perturbed at the new collar he now wore. He tried to look down at it, ending up pointing his snout at the floor, and barked curiously, wiggling around. Well-- Tommy couldn't see the collar, either; it had vanished almost immediately into the mane of fur that puffed out around Toast's neck. But it would do.

Tommy reached back into the fluff and took the collar off. When Toast saw that the object was miraculously in Tommy's hands again, he took that as a sign of an apparent miracle and bounced around joyfully, barking and jumping as high as his little legs could take him.

Stifling a laugh, Tommy grinned down at the little dog and scooped him up with one arm. Toast nuzzled into his chest, then his head shot back up, sniffing at the air. "D'you smell something, Toast?" Tommy asked, tilting his head with a smile tracing his lips.

From behind him, someone gasped in delight. "Oh! He smells it. What a good boy, what a clever boy," Tubbo giggled, covering his mouth with one hand.

Tommy glanced over at him, a bit startled at being interrupted. "Oh, hey. What's that you've got there?" Tubbo's other hand was arranged into a cup, but Tommy couldn't see what was inside, though he leaned over to try and see anyway.

"Treats," Tubbo replied simply, unfurling his fist to show Tommy what was inside. Sure enough, a good half dozen treats were in it, all sorts of assorted shapes and flavours. They had no doubt been snagged from the display of treat jars on the cash register, and looked freshly made, too, the bready ones soft and crumbly in Tubbo's palm.

Tommy gave him a shrewd look. "Did you pay for those?"

Tubbo paused for a heartbeat and Tommy nearly choked on his own saliva. Had Tubbo actually stolen something? He sure hoped not! He couldn't be seen with a shoplifter, now could he?

After the worrying, momentary pause, Tubbo waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah. Yeah, don't worry about it." Cupping his free hand around his mouth, Tubbo peeked back around the shelf. "Ranboo! We're giving him treats, wanna see?"

Tommy blinked several times slowly at his friend. Is he changing the subject on me? Toast yipped, licking at the bottom of his chin in a quest for attention, though Tommy was still staring at Tubbo. There's no way he shoplifted those, right?

A loud gasp came from the other side of the store. "Yeah, hold up! Wait for me-- hold on--"

Toast was trying to jump out of Tommy's arms, his little legs paddling in the air as though he could swim over and bite the treat out of Tubbo's hand. Tubbo just smiled down at him, wrinkling his nose as he grinned happily at Toast's look of longing.

"Ranboo! Come on!" Tommy had to squeeze his grip on Toast even tighter, trying to hold him back as he strained to get free. His eyes were completely fixed on the treats that Tubbo held in his hands, dangling just over the poor dog's nose.

In less than a second, Ranboo bounded to them, turning the corner to the isle and screeching to a stop. He nearly fell and hit the pile of discarded dog toys that Tommy had considered for Toast, but his hands shot out and latched onto the shelf, stopping his inertia in time.

"Can I please give him the treat now?" Tubbo asked. He was now poking at Toast's muzzle with a graham cracker-like dog treat, snatching it away just as Toast tried to snap at it.

Tommy nodded, holding Toast out as though making an offering. Tubbo grinned, cupping the dog treat in his hand and holding it out to Toast, who certainly didn't need to be asked twice. The whole treat was gone within seconds, having Toast lick furiously at his nose and snout in case there were leftover crumbs.

"Here, Toast, have another," Tubbo cooed, holding out a second one. Toast sniffed it for a few seconds, then poked out his tongue and licked it carefully. Whining, he shook his head, withdrawing from the treat.

Tommy laughed, pulling Toast back to cuddle against his chest. "Guess he doesn't like that one. What was the first treat?"

Tubbo pocketed the unwanted treat, looking dejected. "Peanut butter. This one was supposed to be chicken or something along those lines." He waved the treat in front of Toast's nose. "I paid for this with my own money!" he chastised, propping his hand on his hip. "I can't believe you're so ungrateful."

"He ate the first one," Ranboo pointed out. "So I guess he likes peanut butter? But not meat?" He tousled Toast's hair, giggling when Toast tried to lick his hand.

"Maybe." Tommy shrugged. "Anyway, can we check out?"

"I already paid for everything," Tubbo declared, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "And I'm not paying for any toys you found, Ranboo." He gave Ranboo a sideways glance and the American guiltily straightened up, a piece of dark purple fabric sticking out from behind his back.

Tommy sighed, but couldn't hold back a slight smile. "Is that a toy?"

Ranboo slowly withdrew a toy from behind his back, grinning nervously as he displayed the toy to all of them. It was actually a bundle of toys, all knotted together by a brown-and-white braided rope.

Tommy made a face, poking at it. "What's that?"

"It's fun," Ranboo insisted, thrusting the toy into Tommy's face. "Look, there's a tiny jar of jam, and a stick of butter and even some cream cheese! Y'know, the stuff you put on bagels?"

"I know what cream cheese is, Ranboo," Tommy said, rolling his eyes. "I've had cream cheese before."

Ranboo frowned at Tommy's tone. "Well, how was I supposed to know that? Maybe you don't know what cream cheese is-- I just wanted to make sure!"

"Well-- of course I've had it before!" Tommy would have thrown his hands up in exasperation, but Toast was still cradled in his arms and he didn't want to run the risk of dropping him. He shook his head at Ranboo. "And of course I know what it is, I'd know what it is even if I've never had it! I don't live under a rock."

Ranboo folded his arms, frowning now. "But can't you at least admit it's a fun toy?"

"I-- that's-- but that's not what we're talking about right now!" Tommy cried, feeling exhausted despite his best efforts not to lose his patience. "We're not talking about the toy anymore, in case you haven't noticed!" It was a silly argument, he reminded himself, and had absolutely nothing to do with the previous day-- he should not take it out on Ranboo--

With a huff, Ranboo shoved the toy into Tommy's arms and scowled (he was definitely not helping Tommy's battle with his patience). "Fine, then. I guess it just sucks, then, doesn't it?"

Tommy's stomach twisted into knots as Toast tried to climb further up his chest, little paws poking into his gut. The toy dangled from between his loosely clasped fingers, the tag swinging back and forth, a movement that his eyes barely caught.

Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath. "Just-- yeah, fine, it's a fun toy," he muttered. "Whatever, yeah, you were right."

But of course, Ranboo couldn't just leave well enough alone. "No, I'm not ending this here. What's wrong with you, Tommy? What's got you so tightly wound? It's really hard to work with you when you're like this."

Tommy gritted his teeth. "Oh, and I guess everything should be tailor-made for your fucking convenience, shouldn't it?" he spat, throwing the toy down on the ground. Toast whimpered at the loud noise, looking around in distress.

"No, but maybe think about what's coming out of your mouth before you say it!" Ranboo shot back, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Take a good look at yourself, why don't you?"

"Who are you to say that, when you can't look at yourself?" Tommy growled, taking a step forward. A headache started to pound in his head, blurring his thoughts. "What are you, a coward?"

Matching Tommy's advance, Ranboo took a step back, hurt flashing on the little parts of his face that Tommy could see. His hands curled into shaking fists, poised in an almost defensive position. 

All of a sudden and far too quickly, Tommy knew he had gone too far. He felt it like a blow to his already queasy stomach, his eyes squeezing shut and then quickly opening again. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

But before either of them could say anything more, Tubbo stepped between the two of them, shoving them gently apart.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, both of you. Let's just go on and check out." He shot Tommy a warning look, then a softer glance Ranboo's way, and patted the American on the shoulder before leading the way to the checkout counter. Ranboo followed behind with a glare, snatching a leash off the shelf at random and squeezing it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Toast whimpered, looking up at Tommy with eyes like melted chocolate, his ears and tail drooping.

Once he had made sure that both of them were gone, Tommy bent down and scooped up the toy, examining it carefully. He had ripped the tag when he threw it down, and now it dangled helplessly from a small thread of connection as he held it limply in his hands.

His eyes stung, but he angrily refused to cry, blinking the tears away as fast as they came. With a sigh, he tucked the toy into his arms, right beside Toast, who whined dejectedly as Tommy walked over to the others.

Phil sent him a searching glance when he got there, quickly catching sight of Tommy's blotchy cheeks and red eyes. He drew breath, probably to say something, but Tommy shook his head quietly, stopping him from speaking. Phil pursed his lips, tilting his head up to whisper in Tommy's ear.

"Did something happen?" he asked, quiet enough that Ranboo and Tubbo wouldn't hear him. He frowned at the two checking out, who were chatting happily and probably already forgetting Tommy and Ranboo's argument just a few seconds earlier.

Tommy stifled a bitter laugh, scrunching his face up into a grimace. He fixed his gaze on Ranboo, who pressed his hand against his mouth to stop a cheerful laugh.

Heaving a sigh, Tommy turned back to Phil, smiling sourly. "Oh, trust me. You don't know the half of it."

The car ride to the abandoned factory was long and silent.

Well. It was, except for the two in the backseat.

Tommy had taken shotgun again, (probably correctly) assuming that neither of the others wanted to sit next to him. Toast was sitting back with them, happily chewing on pumpkin cookie treats that Tubbo had chosen for him.

Listening to the song on the quiet radio, Tommy turned the toy over in his hands, running his fingers over the knotted rope. Why had he even bought it? His stomach felt like the toy, all twisted up in knots as though he had eaten something rancid.

He bit his bottom lip, turning to face Phil. "Phil, can I ask you something real quick?"

Phil, who had been whistling the song on the radio, turned to Tommy with a smile. "Sure, go ahead. What d'you need to know?"

Caught up in a flurry of tangled emotions, he turned to look at Ranboo and Tubbo. Noticing his stare, Ranboo turned, and almost instantly the smile dropped from his face. A weak one soon emerged, as though Ranboo was trying to make an effort for Tommy, but not before the sick feeling in Tommy's gut grew even stronger.

He turned back to Phil's questioning gaze. "What I did, in the pet store . . . I know it was wrong, but--" he squirmed, swallowing hard. "Phil, how do I apologize to someone?" he asked finally, dropping his voice to a whisper. The words tasted sour coming out of his mouth, a sick taste lingering on his tongue even after they'd left.

Phil paused at that, tilting his head from side to side. He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in thought. "Well, it depends on what you're trying to apologize for," he said finally. "I know that you definitely shouldn't make excuses, especially if the other person is hurt very deeply. But . . . who's fault was this little argument, Tommy?" He turned to glance at Tommy, who couldn't help but fidget nervously under even Phil's nonjudgemental stare.

"I-- I may have hit Ranboo in an especially sensitive spot." Tommy sighed, his shoulders drooping as he wilted like a flower. "I didn't even mean to, Phil, I swear to God, the queen, the bloody easter bunny-- Phil, it was an honest accident." His hands found the armrest on the side of the seat and squeezed them anxiously; guiltily.

Phil gave him a searching look, making Tommy's face flush with colour under the inspection. They were stopped for traffic, so Phil had all the time in the world to stare at Tommy, his gaze cool and calculating.

Once he'd made up his mind, he nodded slowly. "I believe you. Tommy, if you don't mind me asking-- is something wrong?" Tommy opened his mouth to instantly deny it, but Phil stopped him, lifting a finger to the blonde's lips to shush him. "No, that's not . . . okay, we did something. I'm not sure what it is, but you're upset."

Tommy felt his face heat up even more as his heartbeat hiccuped in his chest. "It's stupid," he muttered, shying away from the uncomfortable eye contact that Phil was trying to pin him down with.

His expression set, Phil leaned closer, lowering his tone. "Tommy, it's not stupid. And you have two options right now: tell me, or I'll pull this car over right now and force you two to talk it out."

That was probably the last thing that Tommy wanted to do. He gritted his teeth, trying to force the words out but only managing a grimace. Phil waited patiently, slowing the van to a stop in a particularly crowded piece of traffic.

Finally, Tommy managed to spit the words out. "I-- I had a spot I really, really wanted to go to-- Phil, Texas's been on my bucket list since forever and I was so excited, and then-- and then suddenly instead of being there, we're bloody here--" Tommy waved his arms around, attracting Toast's attention and making the small dog bark excitedly at him.

"It's probably the opposite of Texas here," Tommy continued, his voice breaking, though he still made sure to speak quietly enough that the two in the backseat couldn't hear him. "And when I asked Ranboo about it, yesterday, after he'd come back to the hotel-- another thing, I was sulking yesterday and said I didn't want to come with you all, and you just-- you didn't say anything about it!" Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "It was like you were relieved that I didn't want to go!

"But Ranboo got really quiet then and asked if we could talk about it later--" Tommy heaved a breath, not sure if he was going to break out into a sudden bout of sobbing. "If this isn't later, Phil, I don't know what is," Tommy whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke. "And the way he talked about it-- when he was asking me what was wrong, in the pet store, he . . . " Tommy pushed down the lump in his throat so he could try and talk normally. "Phil, he made it completely about him. Oh, Tommy, it's so hard to work with you when you're like this. Tommy, why can't you just be completely complacent with everything I say and just be the perfect ghost hunting partner?"

Tommy's eyes stung as he talked and he smeared away fresh tears, his cheeks splotching with red and pink. He tugged the hood of his jacket up over his head, cloaking his face in shadow. "I don't-- I just didn't know what to say, I-- I was so awful, Phil." He looked up, a tear escaping his notice and dripping down his cheek. "Ranboo's my friend, you know? I don't want to hurt him, but . . . I just couldn't get over my own stupid feelings. It's all stupid."

I'm just stupid.

Phil took a deep breath, running his hands over the dashboard as he thought long and hard. When he turned to look at Tommy, his gaze was more than a little concerned. "No matter what you say, your feelings are never stupid. You are a human being, with ups and downs and personality and character, Tommy, you'd be so bland if you never got upset. Can you imagine if people never argued? What a boring world we would live in!"

"That's true," Tommy murmured, unable to return Phil's gaze. "But--"

"No. There's none of that here. You do not get to contradict me on this one, okay?"

Tommy nodded slowly, pursing his lips together. "Okay," he mumbled, tugging at his sleeves.

Admittedly, it did feel a lot better to get all his feelings out. His stomach didn't feel as tightly wound anymore, and the upset, blotchy colour was starting to fade from his face. He sighed, brushing tearstains away from his cheeks, turning slowly to face Phil. "Yeah, I get that. But should I apologize?"

Phil sighed, lifting his hands from the steering wheel to shrug. "It honestly depends on what you think would be best. If you think that you should apologize for what you said, then I say go ahead and do that. But a long talk would definitely help. I'm not going to say 'just get over it', because that's not helpful in the slightest. But sometimes, Tommy, you have to get the talk over with. Sometimes, conflict requires you to make stressful decisions."

Tommy chewed at his bottom lip, curling in on himself. What should I do? He didn't like this at all. Stressful decisions were, well . . . stressful.

Still, he didn't complain. He looked up at Phil, a smile growing on his face-- fully genuine, for what felt like the first time in weeks. ". . . thanks, Phil."

Phil returned the smile warmly. "Of course. Never hesitate to ask for help, Tommy." He paused, steering around a stopped car, then cocked his head to the side as though thinking. "Although, you might also consider not getting in a fight with your friend over a dog toy."

Tommy crowed a laugh, his cheeks warming again. "Okay, okay." Behind him, Toast barked in tandem with his laughter, prancing back and forth on the carseat, his tail hitting the plastic-esque surface with loud thwaps.

Tubbo leaned forward, interested. "What's all this fun stuff and why aren't we included?" He grinned playfully, holding Toast in his arms like a brown pom-pom.

Next to him, Ranboo stared hard at Tommy. He couldn't tell if Ranboo was smiling or scowling, but either way, the unwanted attention made him freeze up yet again. His arms crossed, Ranboo waited silently beside Tubbo-- bless his heart, Tommy thought, for he had no clue what was happening-- for Tommy's answer.

Tommy swallowed, suddenly feeling a hard lump in his throat again. "I-I--" The words hurt. Why did they hurt?

His breath froze in his throat, words sticking to his mouth even when he tried his hardest to reply. He opened his mouth, the air tasting sour when he breathed in.

Luckily, before he could respond, or cry, or do anything to embarrass himself further, Phil interrupted all of them, the car engine cutting off with a growl. "Do you want to grab some food before we go to the factory? I'm betting you're all hungry, especially you, Tommy. You didn't even eat breakfast."

"Wasn't hungry," Tommy murmured, gloomy again. "'M still not hungry."

"Well, you have to eat at some point," Tubbo pointed out smartly. "I say we get some lunch. We'll all order and then you can stare at our plates and wish you had ordered something, and when you get too hungry to contain yourself, you'll order!"

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "That sounds needlessly humiliating. I think I'll be hungry after we get to the factory, can we go somewhere afterwards?" He paused. "Please?"

Phil smiled over at him and nodded. "Yes, that sounds okay. And conveniently enough, look out the window. We're already here."

And indeed, they were at the factory.

Tommy clambered out of the car, slamming the shotgun door behind him and staring up at the imposing, silhouetted building.

The soap factory wasn't any less gloomy in the early-afternoon light; in fact, it somehow seemed to be even creepier than Tommy remembered it being. Amid the pretty suburbs of Minneapolis, it stuck out like a drab crow among birds of paradise. The bricks looked black and ashy when Tommy approached, and he noticed that some of the windows were cracked.

The ground he stepped on seemed to be made out of mud, but the cold temperatures from last night had left it frozen, so the surface was as hard as porcelain and crunched under his feet. Rocks and wilting, frost-covered weeds poked out from the muddy floor, and the faint, sour musk of old cigarette butts seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.

Tommy stepped up to the front wall, clambering up onto a nearby boulder and craning his neck to examine a particularly cracked window. Cracks like spiderwebs blossomed out from a corner, sharp pieces already missing from the age-stained glass. Lifting his hand, he rapped once against the window.

A shard of glass almost immediately split off with a loud crack, falling down to shatter near his feet on the boulder. He jumped back, nearly falling off the rock, but Phil caught him in time.

"Careful, now," he warned. "Lots of dangerous things over here. And don't trip!"

Tommy nodded, slightly breathless from his near encounter with the pavement, and stumbled upright again. He brushed bits of imaginary road dust from his trousers and frowned at the building. There were many questions he could ask, he was sure, but one kept nagging annoyingly at him.

Was it still as cold as it had been last night?

It might have just been an illusion, he reminded himself. A trick of his mind leftover from the last time he had been close to a haunt (A/N because some of you might be confused: a 'haunt' is a place that is haunted; where a ghost resides/resided; or where supernatural/paranormal things seem to occur. Sorry if that confused you ^^'. On with the story!).

And if it wasn't?

A memory of sitting in a dark foyer, cold air surrounding him on all sides, swept into the forefront of his mind. Tommy grimaced, blinking the image away and shaking his head as though the thought was an irritating fly. The thought scared him, though. More than he wanted to admit.

"Right then, here we go."

Almost hesitantly, he reached out two fingers and pressed them against the cracked, mossy bricks. A bit of dry moss crumbled under his fingers, but it was surprisingly warm, probably since it had been bathing in sunlight the entire day.

Tommy withdrew his hand, tilting his head at the building. He couldn't decide whether to smile (because yay! It wasn't cold anymore) or frown (because, let's be honest, it was more than a little suspicious). He turned to the others, wiping the remaining bits of clingy moss from his fingers. "Hey, quick question."

They turned to him. Well, Tubbo did, as Ranboo was still half in the van, attaching Toast's leash to his collar. "Yeah?"

"Did you ever . . . did the wall ever feel cold? Like, so much it burned you to touch it?" he wound his hoodie string around his hand, tugging at it nervously until it was drawn so tightly he could barely breathe. "I mean-- not that anything like that happened to me. Purely hypothetical, you know."

Great job, Tommy. I think you might have broken some records on the most unconvincing lie.

Tubbo frowned. "Um. No, I don't think so." He sent Tommy a mildly confused stare. "Then again . . . I never really touched the wall. I suppose since . . . since it's literally just a wall . . . I never really felt the need."

Ranboo shook his head, smiling bemusedly. He had fixed the leash onto Toast's collar, and now was letting the tiny dog romp around, watching his excitement with obvious enjoyment. "Plus, I don't think it could get that cold here. I mean, it's nearly winter, but it's not that cold yet." He exhaled, watching the puff of white mist from his lips with obvious enjoyment.

Tommy scratched at the back of his neck, feeling a bit stupid. "Oh." It was just him, then.

His gaze dropped to the sidewalk, then to the other side of the street, desperate not to meet their confused looks. "Oh!" His mouth dropped open. "That guy!"

It was the old man from the night before.

He was standing opposite them, watching their group with a steely glare. His face was pulled tight in a scowl, his frame enveloped by scarves and a big, puffy winter coat, his hands shoved deep into its pockets. And he was almost scrutinizing them, his stare sinister and easily making Tommy shiver. Old people were creepy, especially when they just stared.

Phil turned, shading his eyes with his hand. "Which guy?"

"That one, the one in all the heavy clothes. The old one, Phil, just like you!" Tommy leaned over Phil's shoulder, standing on his tiptoes to point emphatically in the direction of the old man. "I saw him last night!"

"I'm not old, Tommy-- you sure you saw someone?" Phil squinted right at the man in question, who had by now realized he'd been spotted. Good for him, Tommy thought, satisfied. That'll teach him to spy on us.

Phil blinked the sunlight away from his eyes, shaking his head. "I don't see anyone."

"What?" Tommy frowned. "You're joking, right? You're looking right at him!"

Ranboo had joined their party, staring (which was slightly hypocritical, but Tommy supposed he'd let Ranboo get away with it that time) around at the opposite sidewalk. "Yeah, um. Nobody's there anymore."

Tommy looked around at them, confused. "Come on, guys! He's not that hard to spot!"

"You say you saw him before?" Tubbo asked, glancing up at Tommy.

I saw 'im last night. When I was here! He talked to me, he said . . . oh, what was it?" Tommy leaned back to stand on his own and glanced down, frowning at his hands. By now, his hands and arms were flecked in goosebumps from the cold, and shivering so badly they blurred in his vision. "Something about demons?"

Ranboo made a loud, triumphant noise, smacking his hands together in a clap. "I knew it! Tubbo, I told you there were demons here, I told you!"

Tubbo took a step back, looking apprehensive. "Just because some creepy old dude says there's demons does not make it certain that there are demons!" Still, he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, and sent an uncertain look over his shoulder at the soap factory.

Which was ridiculous. Demons did not exist.

Tommy hoped.

Ignoring the way his stomach threatened to throw itself out of his chest, he focused his gaze back at the old man. Or rather, Tommy soon saw, where he had been.

The man was gone. Which shouldn't have struck Tommy as strange-- he had been trying to get away from their group once realizing he'd been spotted-- but it was rather odd that he'd been able to walk away so quickly, especially for someone who limped as badly as the man in question.

Tommy frowned, brushing his bangs away from his face. "Well, that was weird," he murmured, and turned towards the soap factory, making a mental note to think about it later. Of course, there were current, more pressing matters to think about than a weird dude.

As usual, Ranboo and Tubbo were leading the way, chattering on and arguing in a lively way about demons and whether or not they were real. Ranboo was mostly convinced that they were.

"There's just so much lore here about demons! It's insane! Why would everyone say that they exist if they actually don't?"

Rolling his eyes, Tubbo picked at the loose threads in his sleeve as he talked. "Not everyone says that they exist, Ranboo. There's a great deal of people out there who don't believe in demons-- you're looking at one, and I'm quite happy to stay this way!"

"Well, I guess we'll find out, yeah?" Ranboo tugged gently at Toast's leash as the tiny dog sniffed at a nearby tree. Toast had surprisingly been okay with the leash, though he seemed to treat it more as a curiosity rather than a nuisance. "Demons or not, woooh." He grinned spookily.

"I think I'll go with not, thanks," Tommy said grimly. "I don't want some flesh bag trying to kill me and turn me into soap the moment I step foot into this place." He shivered.

"Ha!" Ranboo had to steady himself on a tree, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. Both Tubbo and Toast stopped in their tracks, staring in bewilderment at Ranboo's reaction.

"F-flesh bags?" Ranboo wheezed, doubled over like a cracker that had been snapped in two. "Flesh bags?!"

Baffled, Tommy frowned down at Ranboo, not sure if he should be offended or not. "What else would you call them, hell cucumbers?"

Hacking up his lungs between laughter, Ranboo had to lean against a large oak tree to support his weight. Toast barked curiously at him, pawing at his ankle with a large paw to see if Ranboo was okay. "Jesus Christ, Tommy-- that should not be so fucking funny, oh my God--"

Tommy sighed. "Get up, Boo. Get it together." He couldn't repress the slight grin that spread over his face, though.

His head tipped back to look up as he examined the tall brick building in its entirety. Its lights flashed pathetically in the blinding sunlight, the paved sidewalk now overgrown and overtaken by moss. If he squinted, he could see the blank, bleach-whitened walls through the cracked windows.

Did the inside look different at night? What would he have seen if he'd actually managed to get inside the building, he wondered?

Wait-- hold up. Uh oh.

Tommy paused mid-step, realizing that they were about to see his hasty attempts to break into the building. A large chunk of the door was still tossed carelessly a couple of feet away from where it had been torn away, clearly human-made and sure to garner suspicion.

If they found out he had been trying to get inside the factory . . . well. He doubted that would help him plead his case.

"Wait, wait-- hey!" Tommy reached out, trying to grab hold of Ranboo's arm but tripping over his own two feet instead. His arms flailed in the air as he unsuccessfully tried to stall his nosedive. "Holy-- help!"

He tried to find something to brace himself on but instantly and spectacularly failed; his efforts to right himself ended up with him falling right into the path of a huge, looming oak tree. With a yelp of panic, he barely managed to turn in time, letting his shoulder take the blunt hit instead of his face.

It . . . still hurt.

"Oh, fuck!" he swore, flinching back.

Tubbo jumped around with a little shriek, taking a step back and blinking at Tommy, pushing himself away from the tree trunk with a worrying amount of difficulty. "What happened? What the-- Tommy?!"

"What? Tommy?" Ranboo turned around, staring in confusion at the hobbling, agonized mess behind him. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Tommy gave him an acrid glare, hoping the pure fury contained in his expression would contain enough acid to at least singe Ranboo's shoes. "How caring, how feeling," he said sarcastically, flinching as he tried to roll his shoulder back. "I tripped, Boo, you should be able to figure out that much. And now I'm hurt. I'm injured. Call an ambulance, I think I might be dying!" Tommy spun in a dramatic circle, pressing the back of his good hand to his forehead with a faux cry of agony.

Tubbo bounded forward as though to catch Tommy if he actually fell (which he wasn't going to, but he appreciated the thought). "Don't lean too far back! Can I see?"

His drama act falling away instantly, Tommy winced as Tubbo rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie, not waiting for a response. "Ow-- Tubbo, that hurts--"

Ranboo bent down, grimacing at the dark purple spots already starting to bloom up and down Tommy's arm. He really only knew two things about bruises: they came from torn blood vessels underneath the skin, and if the skin was purple or black instantly that meant there was a lot of blood.

. . . that probably wasn't good.

Whatever, it's blood. It's inside my body, which is where it's supposed to be. So . . . it's fine. Tommy decided to ignore it, too busy attempting to shuffle away from Tubbo's unwarranted doctoring.

"Stop moving around!" Tubbo fussed, still examining the bruises.

"Stop being a bother!" Tommy muttered in reply, an embarrassed blush spreading across his face as Tubbo continued to fret incessantly over his banged-up arm.

"Oh, I get it. You want me to kiss it better?" Ranboo lifted Tommy's hand to his mouth, smiling.

Tommy made a rude noise, yanking his arm away. "Get away from me, you fiend! Ow-- ow ow ow--"

Hopping away from the two of them, Tommy held his arm carefully with his non-injured hand. He was definitely going to have to be careful with it. "My arm hurts even more now!" he complained. "Good God, this trip is turning out to just get better and better, isn't it?"

"Speaking of trips, what did you even trip on?" Grinning now, Ranboo glanced at the ground, scanning it for probable trip hazards. "And if you tripped, why does your shoulder hurt?"

"Why does my shoulder hurt?" Tommy stared at Ranboo, looking (and feeling) rather flabbergasted. "What d'you mean 'why does my shoulder hurt'? I can't be injured without your express permission?" Tommy tried to move forward and immediately felt a spike of pain shoot into his arm like a dagger.

Tubbo inched closer to him, wearing an expression that oozed of sympathy. "Ooh, it really does look like it hurts . . ."

Tommy limped away so Tubbo couldn't accidentally pat him too hard and suddenly break his arm. "Tubbo, while I appreciate the sympathy, d'you think you could be a teensy bit more careful with my mortal injury? I don't want you to dislocate my shoulder."

"I wouldn't dislocate your shoulder!" Tubbo cried, offended. "I'm not nearly strong enough to do anything of the sort. And why would you think I would even want to?"

"Well, I don't know! Maybe by accident?" Tommy rolled his eyes. "And now I've got to talk to you about this! Ranboo!" He turned on the American, prompting a yelp of fright and a bark from Toast. "Don't kiss my hand! That's weird!"

Ranboo backed away a couple of steps, looking wary and frightened at the sudden attention. "Don't yell at me!"

"I wasn't yelling!" Tommy yelled, then stopped and scowled. "But now I am!"

"Then stop yelling!" Tubbo threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

"You think I want to be yelling?!" Tommy shot Tubbo a Look, his patience fizzling out.

Meanwhile, Phil was standing a couple paces away from the scene, crossing his arms with a look of immense amusement on his face. "Are you going to stand around and argue all day or are you going to get your asses into the factory? Some of us want to get this over with."

"Over with?" Ranboo whined. "Phil, I thought you were enjoying this trip!" Coiling Toast's extra lengths of leash in his hand, he pulled the dog towards him so he wouldn't wander out into the street.

Phil grinned. "I was, and then Tommy adopted a stray."

"Oh, come on, what does Toast have anything to do with this?" Ranboo crouched down to pet Toast's head, then glanced over at Tommy and Tubbo. "You coming or not?"

"Coming," Tubbo called, then turned towards Tommy and shot him a sly grin. "Time to go ghost hunting, disc boy!"

"Yeah, yeah." Tommy shook his head, already striding towards the others. "So . . . how're we going to get in? We gonna waltz through the front door?" he joked, brushing stray bangs out of his eyes.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait wait.

Shit.

Whoever said that realization can feel like a punch to the gut was very wrong. This felt a lot more like a bucket of cold, icy water being dumped over his head. Shocking . . . and rather unpleasant.

Dammit, wasn't I trying to distract them in the first place? What kind of bloody idiot am I?

Well, he supposed there was nothing more he could really do about it (he really didn't want to trip into another tree, either). So, dread weighing down his stomach like a hard rock, Tommy resigned himself to his fate.

The ground under his feet was frozen solid, sprigs of frost-bitten grass and other weeds crunching under his shoes as he dejectedly headed towards the front door.

"Hey!" Someone whistled sharply, making Tommy turn around in surprise. "What're you doing, dude?"

Tommy turned around to see Ranboo, hand propped up on his hip as Toast sniffed curiously at a nearby shrub. Tommy looked back and forth between Ranboo and the front entrance to the soap factory, slightly nonplussed. "Do we not go in that way?"

"Gosh, no," Ranboo laughed. "It's locked! Though that would be a pretty cool scene in a movie, ooh. Knocking a door down . . ." He gazed off into space for a couple of seconds while Tommy looked on, baffled. "But no. We go in through the back door! It's unlocked. Somehow," he added. "Not sure how that happened."

". . . convenient," Tommy said embarrassedly, secretly sending thanks to whatever deities might have been listening. He clambered awkwardly back down the cracked concrete path and joined the group, stuffing his frozen hands in his pockets to try and exude a casual attitude.

Toast happily wove around his legs, smacking his tail against the concrete and chewing Tommy's shoelace. Tommy laughed, convinced to be charmed, and stepped a little ways back so Toast didn't mangle the rest of his shoes. "Yes, yes, you're such a good boy."

"You wanna take his leash? He keeps pulling." Ranboo made a face, pushing the leash at Tommy, who fumbled to accept it (his other choice was to drop it, which he doubted would end well for anyone).

"Now then, everyone." Phil let out a long breath, leaning against the wall. "Tommy, you weren't here last time, so you wouldn't know this. But there's another way to get into the factory that isn't just through the main street-facing door. It took us a shitload of time to figure that out," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"It took you a shitload of time to get through a back door?" Tommy asked, tugging Toast away from a crumpled-up discarded Twinkie wrapper. "What'd you have to do, break it down?"

Phil shook his head. "No, we didn't break it down. I was talking more about the way to get there. It's kind of . . . tricky." He cast a look behind him, sucking air in through gritted teeth. "As in, well, you have to fit through that."

Tommy followed Phil's gaze and, for the second time that hour, his heart nearly gave out.

A few paces away from where Phil, Tubbo, and Ranboo were standing, a small alleyway-- if it could even be called that-- was fitted into the brick walls, separating the soap factory from the store that hugged its west-facing wall. It was barely half of a metre across and wasn't even paved, but instead had cracked, crunchy gravel strewn across a floor made up of muddy ground and frostbitten weeds.

Tommy stared in disbelief at the tiny slice of space.

"You have got to be joking."

Phil had not, in fact, been joking.

Tommy was not enjoying himself.

"This is what you did last time?" he grumbled, stumbling forward sideways through the tiny alley. "Really?"

"Well," Ranboo said, rather breathlessly as he was being sandwiched uncomfortably between a particularly tight spot, "at least last time we didn't have to deal with a dog."

"Yeah, I'm counting myself lucky," Tubbo added. As the smallest and shortest of the three, he was able to fit a little easier into the tiny walkway, and wasn't tripping every few steps like Tommy and Ranboo were. Toast, bless his heart, wasn't helping at all; he preferred to wind his way in a whimsy, carefree manner around Tommy's ankles and give him all the more reason to stumble.

Tommy glared down at the puppy in question, who just wagged his tail at the impromptu attention. "You little bastard, just trying to give me trouble." He would have bent down to scoop Toast up into his arms and stop him from tripping everyone, but there was zero space to fit in the small, crowded alley.

Red bricks pressed in on him from all sides, squeezing the air out of his lungs as he inched step-by-step through. His injured arm kept hitting the walls on either side and sending bullets of pain shooting up through his shoulders, which only helped to make the space seem even more claustrophobic than it already was. He couldn't even walk properly.

Ranboo and Phil were both in front of him-- poor Ranboo, he could barely even fit in the alley, let alone walk comfortably inside of it-- which meant that Tommy had to be careful not to accidentally step on their shoes. Which, in turn, meant that Tommy was walking at the slowest pace he had ever moved in his life.

As he walked (maybe 'shuffled' would be a better word, actually) along, dirty cigarette butts and mud smeared dark smudges along his sneakers. The air smelled of old, sour smoke and the sharp scent of an industrial city, the thick smell making him gag every time he opened his mouth.

He couldn't even move his arms at all, so he had to let them dangle uselessly by his sides, the sharp bricks snagging not only at his sleeves but also, painfully, at his skin. He wasn't claustrophobic, but being squished by a twin pair of cold brick walls was never fun.

"Why is this necessary?" Tommy whined, trying to wiggle along a little quicker and promptly tripping into Ranboo's shoulder. He spat out a mouthful of fabric and groaned. "I'm being hazed, aren't I? That's just mean! You're so mean!"

"What the . . . are you eating my shoulder?" Ranboo asked, disgusted. He turned his head to stare in distaste at Tommy, shuffling away as much as he could.

Tommy opened his mouth to reply with something equally scathing, then promptly gagged as the taste of old cigarette smoke settled on his tongue. "Aw, gross," he complained, making a face. "This place is disgusting."

"We're almost there," Phil said patiently from ahead of Ranboo. Tommy tried to crane his neck to see Phil, but ended up bumping his side against the brick wall. He yelped in pain, pressing himself to the opposite wall to help his bruised arm stick closer by his side.

Toast barked, pulling at the leash and straining to get out of the tightly packed alleyway. Tommy grimaced, trying to keep a good hold on the leash even as he tried to keep himself reasonably comfortable. Yeah, I feel ya, buddy. He wound the leash around his wrist, securing it firmly to keep Toast from breaking free and running away.

"Are we there yet?" Tubbo called from the back.

"No!" answered three voices-- Tommy's included-- simultaneously.

"Stop asking, why don't you," Tommy groaned, letting his head tip back and rest against the scratchy bricks as he waited for the two in front to move. "I want out too, but--"

"Ah! Here we are," Phil exclaimed, his voice accompanied by the telltale crunch of freshly fallen leaves. "Ah, it feels good to move again."

Tommy swung his head around to stare in envy at the snippet of blue sky he could see now. "Oh, good for you," he marvelled in jealousy. "Personally, I can't remember the last time I smelled fresh air--"

"Not even two minutes ago, please don't start--" Ranboo sighed (probably rolling his eyes, the prat).

"Now, if Ranboo could speed things up a bit, I'd be most pleased," Tommy continued in a voice filled to the brim with false sweetness, tapping his foot against the ground. "Hint hint?"

Ranboo took a tiny step forward, his arms squished to his sides as he tried to pull himself along through the alley. After a few unsuccessful tries, all of which were punctuated with Tommy's (well-timed, Tommy thought, all things considered) snide remarks, he gave up and started side-stepping through the alley as well as he could.

"You're not really making any progress, Ranboo," Tubbo commented pleasantly from the back. Ranboo let out a sharp breath, turning around-- as much as he could, anyway-- and eyed Tubbo with a healthy serving of loathing.

"Hypothesis: I'd work faster if you were quiet. Care to test it out?"

Tommy choked on a laugh, biting his lip to keep it from coming out loudly. "Only if you can hurry it up," he teased, nudging Ranboo with his good arm. "Can you even move? I don't think you've gone forward for a full minute at this point!"

"I-- I can move--" Ranboo huffed, sounding offended, "you'll have to excuse me, as it's a little bit of a tight fit." He kicked at the offending wall with the toe of his boot, now attempting a more snake-like, wiggling approach to slip through. Spoiler alert: it wasn't working.

Tommy, still stuck in what appeared to be his personal limbo, yawned as he waited for Ranboo to wiggle out. Toast ambled around the obstacle course of legs, sniffing around at the dirty litter discarded onto the muddy ground.

"Get away from that," Tommy scolded him, pulling Toast away from a chocolate bar wrapper that he was nosing at with great interest. Toast pawed at the wrapper but turned away, choosing to wind the leash around Tommy's ankles and lick at his shoes.

The blonde's shoelaces were already sticky with unwanted dog slobber, so he shuffled uncomfortably around in an attempt to discourage Toast from eating his shoes. It had been quickly discovered in the car that Toast had a penchant for chewing on shoelaces-- no, he didn't want the shoes themselves.

Just. The. Laces.

"Finally!" Ranboo sighed from in front of Tommy, stepping out of the cramped alley. Tommy glanced up in time to see Ranboo lift his arms above his head in a quick stretch, his face twisted into a frown. "Ugh, I am definitely not looking forward to coming back through there."

Tommy, who wasn't as tall as Ranboo, didn't have as hard a time getting out of the cramped alley as the other boy had. He stepped carefully ahead, avoiding puddles of mud and other grisly things, and slid out with relative ease.

He sighed in relief, slumping against the wall to cradle his bruised arm. "I'd rather we just climb up and over. Can we do that? Please?"

"What, using the fire escapes?" Tubbo clambered out of the alley, taking a deep breath filled with clean air. He stretched, twisting his arms out and over his head with a long yawn. "That's not such a bad idea."

Tommy bent down, poking at Toast's snout. The dog snuffled and sneezed, shaking himself all over before wandering away to sniff a bush, apparently bored. "I know. I suggested it."

"Except for the part where we'd be caught and possibly fined for sneaking in here," Phil added, smiling at them. He stepped over a discarded rubber tire and stretched his hand out to Tommy, offering to help him up.

Accepting Phil's hand with his own good one, Tommy jumped to his feet, avoiding stepping in the puddle of gooey, black stuff (he would prefer to not even speculate on what it was). Actually, a lot of the back space looked to be almost no better than the alley had been.

The small alley had led to a larger courtyard, fenced in by a rusty chain-link fence and other dingy brick walls propped up on all sides. A few popped tires were scattered around the large, dusty concrete floor, and plastic soda bottles and shopping bags marred the otherwise undisturbed landscape.

It was rather peaceful, Tommy supposed, in that gross, dingy way that back alleys usually had. It was quiet, at the very least.

"So, where's the door?" he asked, stepping over a collection of shattered beer bottles, the amber glass stained a crusty green with age. "Just right here?"

He glanced around and spotted it, a black, metal door, the paint peeling off and the hinges actually rotting with rust. A few lewd sayings had been sprayed onto the wall, over and around the door, in neon-bright yet faded paint.

"It's unlocked. We can go right in. A bit odd, honestly." Phil strode over to the door, grabbing the rusty doorknob and giving it a hard yank.

With a creak that sounded like a three-year-old oven with decaying hinges, the door was slowly dragged open, revealing a dark interior. Tommy tiptoed a little closer, winding Toast's leash further around his wrist.

And it was a good thing he did, for Toast probably would have run away given the chance. The smell was horrid. Tommy had to resist the urge to immediately puke as the stench of mildew and the slightly intoxicating scent of spray paint combined to make something truly awful.

He gagged, pressing his shirt sleeve against his nose to try and block out the stench. "What . . . what is that?" he coughed, screwing his face up into a horrified, disgusted grimace.

"It's the smell of a really old, really moldy building," Ranboo said grimly, stepping forward and immediately coughing. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Believe it or not, it gets worse inside."

"Oh," Tommy said faintly. "That's fun."

Ranboo smiled in what might have been his trying to be cheerful. "Not really!"

Tommy took a tentative step closer, sniffing cautiously at the air, then clapped his hands over his mouth as his stomach did a series of acrobatic flips. "I don't like this place anymore. Can I go home?" Toast whined in agreement, his tail drooping.

"We're all in this together! I won't let a smell scare me!" Tubbo pushed past Phil, who was holding the door open with a disgusted expression, and slipped inside the building.

A few seconds later, he poked his head back out of the door, his eyes watering. "It's nothing too bad!" he wheezed, his words coming out choked. "Look at me! I'm fine!"

"Ugh . . . I guess I'd better get this over with," Tommy muttered, stepping forward. He wanted to recoil away as the second wave of the smell hit his nose, but he shook his head, forcing himself to keep going, and stepped inside the soap factory.

It was . . .

"A little underwhelming," Tommy commented, blinking in the sudden lack of light. He swallowed, turning around as he tried not to breathe too much of it in. "But really smelly."

Tubbo grinned breezily, though his face was a pasty white. "Ah, you'll get used to it. Anyway, let's go! Oh, there's so much to see-- I'm so glad you decided to come!" He snagged Tommy by the elbow and started dragging him around.

The inside of the soap factory was made up completely of concrete. Large, plain pillars of stone cemented the ceiling into place, and the floor, made of cold, dark stone, made every single footstep-- loud or not-- echo uncomfortably in the empty room. Through the concrete doorway sliced out of the wall, Tommy could see pipes and aluminum tubing that hung down from the ceiling like thickly coiled snakes.

"A lot to see?" Tommy echoed, shaking Tubbo's grasp off and still following closely behind. "What, you have some particular graffiti you want to show me?" He rolled his eyes, and then sneezed; the smell of mold was already kick-starting his allergies.

With every step they took, they left footprints in the dusty floor. And theirs were the only ones that Tommy could make out, which made sense as he didn't see any other signs of a human around. There were a few other tracks leading to various spots: Tubbo and Ranboo's prints from yesterday, Tommy supposed, but there was a surprising lack of anything in the factory. He didn't even see any graffiti.

That's weird. I would have thought this would be a gathering place for gangs and emos or whatever, but it's just bare, like people just stopped coming for some reason.

Well, I guess it makes a little bit of sense. I mean, nobody really wants to go into a factory with a demon, do they? They'd have to be bloody insane to do that.

. . . great, now he was calling himself crazy.

Breaking Tommy out of his pensive thoughts, Tubbo laughed, pausing in the doorway into the next room. "Not graffiti, moron. They still have some of the crates and vats they used to make soap, though! It's really cool just looking around, since they kept a lot of the stuff from the factory days, like pipes and a couple of machines and even a few advertisements. And sometimes, you'll get this chill . . . "

Tubbo continued talking, but Tommy's attention wandered as he fully took in his surroundings. A couple of dusty crates were stacked up against each other in the corner, and a broken tube hung listlessly down from the ceiling, making gurgling noises every so often.

He glanced around, spotting a large crate pushed against the far wall. It was, curiously, the only thing that seemed to not have much dust on it; strips of red tape had been wound around it like bandages, messily trying to cover up a string of painted-on words pasted onto the wooden boards.

"What's that?" Tommy asked, interrupting Tubbo's rant about the 'hugest spider you ever saw, just sitting there on its web'.

"What's what?" Tubbo looked around, finally spotting where Tommy was looking. He blinked several times at it, then shrugged. "A crate? What else?"

Tommy frowned at it. It didn't seem right. No, it didn't seem right at all. "Does it seem a bit off to you? Why doesn't it have dust?"

"Does it not? I can't tell in this light." Tubbo squinted at the box, rocking back and forth on his heels. "It just looks dingy, dunnit?"

"Hm. Guess you're right." Tommy stepped around a concrete pillar to get a closer view of the crate, gently pulling Toast along as he went. Toast didn't seem to be having a fun time, actually; he kept whining and pulling at the leash. Of course, that might have just been the smell.

The only light in the factory came from the dirt-crusted windows, so he could barely see as he squinted at the red words pasted onto the wooden crate. Mold was climbing up one side of it, greyish-green and smelling sharp and sour. Tommy wrinkled his nose, but bent closer to try and examine the printed writing.

There was something printed on it, but he couldn't make it out.

He traced the letters-- the few that he could see, anyways-- on the decaying crate. To his surprise, he had been right: there was almost no dust on it, despite a thick layer covering everything else around it. "Odd," he murmured out loud, brushing yellow bangs out of his eyes so he could see.

"Tubbo! D'you see . . . " He fell silent as he glanced around the room. It was empty; Tubbo was gone, and there were almost no signs that he had been there at all except a group of clustered footprints. If he strained his ears, Tommy could hear faint peals of laughter coming from a room somewhere above him-- oh, yeah, he remembered, the factory did have an upstairs.

"Well, isn't that just dandy?" he muttered bitterly, shaking his head and turning back to the crate. "Go right ahead, then." Toast nuzzled his ankles, perhaps his way of saying it'll be okay, but Tommy just shuffled away before Toast could start salivating over his shoelaces again.

Next, he tried to peel back the tape covering up the letters, but it was tightly attached to the wood. He tried to pry it off, but it really did not want to let go-- it had been applied so long ago, it was practically fused to the crate. And as if the situation was actually trying to get more unsavoury, even when Tommy did manage to tear a piece off, a rotting chunk of the wood came with it and landed near his feet, smashing into splintery pieces.

Something white and fat wiggled its way out of a gaping hole in the wood, crawling close-- too close, he thought in panic, way too close-- to Tommy.

"Ew! What the--" he jumped back with a yelp, tripping over his shoes to try and get away from it. "Bloody hell-- the fuck?!" He landed on his hands and knees, wincing in pain as his bruised arm nearly gave out under his weight.

Sitting back up, Tommy groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "This isn't fun. This isn't fun, but it's what I signed up for. I can do this. Alright, I can do this." Tommy took a deep, soothing breath, keeping his eyes firmly away from the fat bug. Once he was sure his legs wouldn't just give out underneath him, he tiptoed closer-- though he made sure to give the white maggot a wide berth.

He looked down at the writing, his attention shifting for him to try and see what was written on it. The words were printed in a blocky, scrawling font that made the words feel clumsy in Tommy's mouth. "To . . . to-- does that say 'to be shipped'? . . . dum-- dump something or other, and then e-r." He stretched the letters out in his mind, trying to make them make sense. "To . . . to be shipped to, d-u-m-p, s-something-e-r. What?" He frowned down at the crate. "What does that say?" 

Scooching closer to his feet, Toast whined, and Tommy quickly bent down to reassure him. "It's alright, darling, we're okay. We'll only be here for a little while and then we'll be out, alright? Yeah? Look, uh," he motioned around the room as Toast kept whimpering.

"There aren't any ghouls here! There's a couple of moldy old boxes and-- um--" He frowned at a weird, gawky wooden object that looked like a flat board nailed to a couple of wood pegs. "What . . . whatever that is. Yeah? All good?" He scooped Toast up into his arms, hugging the small dog close to his chest.

Toast licked at his chin, wiggling to get down. "I guess that means you're all right after all," Tommy laughed, setting him onto the cement floor.

But to his surprise, as soon as Toast's paws touched the stone he leaped away from Tommy and at the rotting crate, scratching furiously at it and barking. The sound of his yaps echoed throughout the cold, empty room, making Tommy wince as his cries only grew louder.

"Toast!" he yelled, bending down to try and pick the dog up. "What's going on? Be quiet!"

Toast danced away from Tommy's outstretched arms, barking still louder at the crate. "Is there something behind that?" Tommy asked, pressing a hand over his ears as Toast's barks became shrill in pitch. "Toast, quiet down please-- let me just--"

He darted over to Toast and snatched the dog up, cradling him close to his chest. Toast twisted and yapped, trying to escape, but he got quieter and quieter until finally he just resorted to licking furiously at Tommy's chin. Making a face, Tommy pushed him away, "Ugh, stoppit!"

To his excessive surprise, Toast did back off-- he twisted around in Tommy's arms, turning to face the crate, and growled low in his throat. Tommy blinked down in surprise at his puppy; he had never heard him make such a sound before.

The growl bubbled up and quickly changed back into a loud, ferocious bark. Toast pushed at Tommy's chest with his paws, scrabbling to be free.

"Alright, let's see what's behind this crate," Tommy muttered, muffling Toast's crazed yapping with a hand. "I'm getting sick of all this suspense."

Grasping the crate with one hand and holding Toast in the other, Tommy slowly dragged the wooden box forward-- hey, it was heavy, okay?-- and shuddered as a wave of cold air breezed past his cheeks. He swallowed hard. Well shit, that's not a good sign.

"Let's . . . get . . . this . . . over with!" he panted, struggling to pull it further away from the wall. Frustrated, he started kicking at the crate, trying to get it to move faster.

With a loud crack, his shoe went straight through the rotting crate and into something disgustingly wet. Tommy resisted the urge to scream and slowly drew his foot out, seeing with a lurch of nausea that his foot was covered in something black, sticky, and clumped.

"W-well, guess I'll have to clean-- clean that up later," Tommy said, trying to sound cheerful around the nausea that circled his stomach like sharks. "Nothing to be worried about, though!"

Taking a deep breath to stoke his courage, Tommy leaned over the crate and carefully peeked into the space beyond.

However, to his surprise, all that was behind the crate was a strange, sickly-looking spider and a few inches of a dust carpet. The spider flexed its thin, pale legs and scuttled away to hide in a small patch of shadow, pressing itself to the nearby wall.

The pressure on his shoulders seemed to lift a little bit.

"So there was nothing . . . there." Tommy sighed, possibly in relief, and backed away from the crate. He flopped down on the ground, scratching behind Toast's ears. "That's . . . I don't even know what to think of that."

Seeing opportunity, or maybe sensing weakness, Toast lunged out of Tommy's arms and sprinted as fast as he could towards the crate.

"Hey!" Tommy made a desperate attempt to grab him, but Toast dodged his hands and made a beeline for the hole that Tommy had made in the crate. "Toast! Get back here!"

Sticking his muzzle in the hole (ew, Tommy thought, remembering the black muck inside), Toast barked loudly. The sounds of his barks were muffled, echoing off the inside of the crate, but so insistent it was hard for Tommy to pay attention to anything else.

"What is it?" Tommy cried in exasperation, dragging Toast away from the hole. Per usual, Toast struggled, whimpering and barking and straining towards what he could not reach. "Is something there after all?"

Kneeling down, he reached around Toast and grabbed a piece of rotting wood, levering it and tearing it sharply off the rest of the crate. Tossing it to the side and fastening Toast's leash securely around his wrist, he snapped more pieces off the crate, leaving him with splinters in his fingers and a wet, mushy feeling on his hands.

I remember doing this once before, Tommy thought wryly. But the wood wasn't rotting.

White fuzz decorated a corner of the crate, which Tommy had not been looking forward to snapping off. But it was done soon enough, and when there was a hearty-sized hole in the crate and Toast was looking as though he wanted to use the inside of the crate like a bath, Tommy backed away (and dragged Toast away) to examine his work.

"I think that's good enough," he panted, straightening up and putting his hand on his hip. "Whatever's in there is gonna come out now or it's not going to come out at all."

He grinned down at Toast, who licked his chin appreciatively. "Aw, Toast, no need to thank--"

Tommy froze in the middle of petting Toast's head. Literally.

As in, a chill suddenly sank into the air, sending a shiver down Tommy's spine. He clung to Toast defensively, taking a tentative step away from the crate and readying himself for whatever might come out of the hole he'd created. All of a sudden, the implications of what he'd done hit him in the face.

Did I just release a demon?! No-- nonono-- no, no, he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, and smacked into a nearby concrete column. Slumping to the ground, he raised his hackles, staring half in fear and half in curiosity at the small wisp of smoke that had started to trail out of the crate.

"What are you?!" Tommy shouted, jumping to his feet and standing in front of Toast protectively. "I warn you-- I-I'm armed!"

This was a bold lie. But if Tommy had a bold lie in him, then he supposed that it did count as a weapon-- but then, wait, would it even be a bold lie anymore? So then he wouldn't have a weapon, but then it would be a lie, and what was he supposed to do about that?

A slow growl slipped out from the box, jolting Tommy back to the real world. He adjusted his posture to seem taller and intimidating, squeezing his hands into fists.

Slowly, almost lazily, the smoke curled out of the hole in the crate. It wavered in the air, then started to take form, drawing two legs in thick, dark grey lines in front of Tommy, and then . . . two more legs? What the hell?

Tommy could only watch in wonder as the smoke took on the form of a small dog. "What in the . . . " he breathed, dropping his stance as a tiny dog, looking puffy and nervous, tilted its smoky head his way.

A ghost dog?

But why?!

---

Overall, the dog was unremarkable.

It had fluffy ears and a small, puffball tail. A small collar hung around its neck, and bangs covered most of what Tommy could see of its droopy, dark eyes. A small canine fang poked out from its muzzle.

Toast was overjoyed.

He sprinted full speed at the other dog before the blonde could think to hold him back, dancing around it and prancing happily, tongue hanging out as he grinned. The other dog sniffed him a couple of times, then perked up a bit, tail wagging.

Tommy stared at the dog for a couple of seconds, then winced. It looked familiar, almost painfully familiar, and yet of course he would have remembered a ghost dog, right?

"Um . . . do you know . . . each . . . other?" Tommy gestured at the dogs, who did not stop their own introductions just to listen to Tommy's questions.

Toast looked up at Tommy, his tail going so fast it blurred a little. He jumped up at Tommy, pawing at his legs, then turned and tried to nuzzle the larger dog, though his nose went straight through the ghostly form. Toast did not mind this one bit, and he continued trying to sniff and play with the ghost dog.

"What the . . . so all this time, we thought demons, but it was really just ghost dogs?" Tommy slumped down to a sitting position, his back pressed up against the pillar behind him. He splayed his hands out on the floor to steady himself, then jolted away, hissing at the freezing cold feel. Once again, the surface was too cold to touch.

He frowned at the ghost dog. "I guess that was you doin' all that with the cold, wasn't it? Nice of you. Nearly froze my hands off, good God." The dog looked up at him, blinking large, dark eyes at him, and yapped.

Even the dog's barks sounded like smoke, Tommy thought with a shiver, wavering and barely audible past a breath. He stretched his hand out as though offering to pet the dog, and he supposed he was.

"Are you gonna make me feel sad, too?" he asked, stuck somewhere between giddy and aimless. "Like ol' Herman did? I swear, I've seen you somewhere before."

The ghost dog approached him carefully, sniffing his fingers, and then withdrew with a bark. Tommy bit his lip. "Guess I kind of deserve that, kicking your house in and all. Um . . . was that even your house? I thought ghosts could travel through walls, though."

Toast licked Tommy's fingers happily, then turned and barked at the ghost dog. "What's your name, pretty?" Tommy asked soothingly, leaning down to be on eye level.

Barking once more, the dog slowly padded towards him, nose in the air. Tommy reached out, squinting at the small collar fastened around the dog's neck. "P . . . pop . . . Poppy? Is that your name, Poppy?"

The dog-- Poppy-- yipped happily and tried to nuzzle his hand. Tommy giggled, scratching Poppy's ears, or rather, the air where Poppy's ears appeared. Still, they appeared to enjoy the feeling, leaning into his hand.

The smoke that Poppy was made out of was warm and slightly stuffy, rather pleasant to touch. Were all ghosts this soft? Maybe it was weird to say it, but somehow the air felt soft and fuzzy to the touch, like Tommy was petting a velvet couch. It did smell bad, though, like burning hair and the dried-out, hot scent of a computer that's been left on for three days.

Poppy barked once, smoke rising like steam from her half-corporeal body. "Hiya," Tommy cooed, smiling down at her. "Were you lonely, all in that crate?"

Ghost dogs, not demons. Who would have thought it? Tommy chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "You sure were a surprise. Wow, I really thought there were demons here."

A low laugh echoed through the concrete room.

"There are."

Tommy jolted upright, jumping to his feet and whirling around to look in all possible directions. "Who said that?!" he yelled, eyes wide.

Toast and Poppy whined in unison. Toast's tail drooped and he inched closer to Tommy, pressing his small body against Tommy's ankles. "It's okay, boy," Tommy said, though all the breath in his lungs seemed to have vanished suddenly. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

The voice came again. "It's not nice to lie, you know."

Tommy couldn't tell where it was coming from. Nowhere? Everywhere? It seemed to appear in his head by itself, eerily similar to Lena's simpering giggles. But this one was more like a snarl, low and mocking.

The shadows in the room writhed, stretching and growing fast so he couldn't see anything past the darkness quickly swallowing the entire room. The pillars shook as the voice laughed again.

"It's like I said. Don't you know? Demons in there, boy." The voice took on a rasping hiss, quaking as it sounded in Tommy's head.

He had heard that before. Where had he heard that before? Um, um, pet store no, hotel no, factory . . . ?

The old man.

Tommy drew in a sudden, gasping breath, his eyes going wide. "You!"

"Yes, me. Who else would it be? Get it together." It laughed humorlessly, sounding like the crack of bones. "I guess you really don't have a brain under all that blonde hair."

Tommy took the insult about as well as a stomach takes knives. Painfully. He squeezed his hands into fists, stamping his foot on the ground. "Where are you, you coward? Come out here so I can punch you in your smug fucking face!"

The voice became a croon. "Oh, but I don't want to. Can we play Eye Spy instead, please?" It tapered off into a laugh.

"Okay. I don't give a shit why we came here anymore. I don't give a shit about you being a demon, even." Tommy turned in a slow circle, breathing hard. "This isn't about ghosts anymore, it's about you and me and about how I really, really needed a punching bag." He glared around at the shadows. "So thanks for volunteering."

"You've got some fire in you! I haven't gotten the chance to help myself in ages. I really needed a new snack." The old man-- no, demon-- snickered mockingly. "Thanks for volunteering."

Toast whimpered, crouching down to try and hide underneath Tommy's legs. Tommy scowled around, still trying to find the demon's hiding spot. He backed away from the slithering shadows, his back hitting the wall. He could feel the freezing cold of the wall seep through his hoodie and shivered, stepping forward again.

"Where are you?!" he shouted.

Behind him-- yeah, behind him, he could tell now-- the voice giggled.

"Boo!"

Tommy whirled around, stumbling over his shoes. A face was pressed to the window, but it didn't look like a face. It was . . . mangled was the best way to describe it, and even then it was putting it lightly. Now he understood why the demon had been an old man: it simply could not pass for anything else.

Flesh sagged down one side of the demon's face, deep cuts lashing over its yellow-stained eye. A white foamy crest dribbled out of its mouth, tiny, sharp fangs poking out of gooey black gums that might have been lips a long time ago.

Tommy lurched backward, all the blood draining from his face. "Holy fucking shit, you're--"

The demon laughed, its breath fogging up the muddy windowpane. "Ugly? Disgusting? Oh, do I need a bath?" It spread its gummy mouth wide in a leer. "What did you expect demons to look like, I might ask?"

"You're-- y-you're not a demon," Tommy managed around the lump in his throat, just barely forcing the words out. "Demons-- aren't real. You're a ghost, nothing more, and I've-- I've dealt with ghosts before."

"Ha!" The demon's grin grew even more, a fleshy, rotting tongue poking out between its yellow-stained fangs. "Think what you want to think, boy. Between your gabbing and this pest's barking, we'll sound like a whole zoo by midnight. That is . . . " A hand, messy with pink, raw flesh hanging off of it, hit the window glass and groped at it as though hoping to phase right through. " . . . if I don't kill you first."

Tommy stumbled further away from the door, kneeling down and tugging a terrified Toast closer to him.

"Now then," it crooned, "you'd make a lovely bar of soap."

Before Tommy's eyes, the demon grew into its full height, cracking and popping bones in and out of place, only its silhouette visible to Tommy. It loomed in the window, keeping Tommy frozen with fear, and then reached out a hand and snapped the window clean off.

Tommy was not stupid, and he did not stick around to see how the fuck it was going to get through the window. He seized Toast frantically by the collar, heaving the small dog into his arms, and turned on his heel, racing towards the door that led out of the room, out of the hall, and towards his friends (hopefully).

How am I going to get out of this?

In front of him, Poppy barked a war cry, bounding towards the door. She was a little grey blur, leaping over and around columns of concrete and weaving through hallways. She led him into rooms, out of rooms, knowing where everything was down to small janitor closets that peppered the hallways.

"How . . . is this place so big?" Tommy shouted, the words being whipped away from his mouth. "It doesn't look this big on the outside! It doesn't even have that many rooms!"

Poppy didn't even glance over her shoulder, just lunged down a set of grey stone stairs. Tommy had no choice but to follow, and so he did, clutching Toast close to his chest, where he could feel their hearts racing in tandem.

"Can you take me to my friends?" Tommy asked, feeling tears prick his eyes. A loud crash came from behind him, but he didn't stop to inspect it. "My friends? Phil and Tubbo and Ranboo? Oh God, Ranboo. I'm never going to get to apologize, am I?" He buried his face in Toast's fur and resisted the urge to sob.

Poppy growled and took a sharp left. Tommy did the same, and they charged down a set of stairs that suddenly ended in more stairs. This time they went up, probably to the second floor. To his friends.

"I'm getting closer!" shouted the demon, sounding delighted. "No time for hesitation, now!"

Well, Poppy wasn't hesitating. She took the stairs two at a time, then turned sharply on the landing and paused to stare at Tommy, who had frozen at the sound of the demon's voice. 

He swallowed once, nodded his head and started running up the stairs, praying he wouldn't trip. The stairs were made of a cool, slick stone like the floor in parking garages, and there was no railing, nothing to stop him from misstepping and taking a plunge all the way back down the stairs.

He shuddered, pushing the thought out of his mind.

"We'll do this," he whispered to Toast, squeezing the dog tightly. "I promise."

Tommy didn't dare look behind him. He continued on, despite hearing the loud laughing that came behind him, constantly getting louder and closer. It was certain, he thought, that the demon would catch him. He might as well just give up.

Toast looked up at him, whining softly. Tommy glanced down at him, pained and tired and terrified. His lungs were on fire. His legs felt limp and fuzzy. His bruised arm hurt like the devil (A/N: hehe funny pun :))).

"Are we going to do this?" Tommy asked, a sob squeezing his throat.

Toast whimpered. Tommy took a deep, shuddering breath, staring down at the small dog curled up in his arms. Trusting him completely.

He steeled himself for the long run ahead.

"Yeah, we're going to do this."

Tommy followed Poppy through the hallways, looking frantically around for his friends. "Ranboo! Tubbo!" He panted, his lungs practically melting inside his chest. "Phil!" he cried, staring around in vain.

Poppy suddenly screeched to a stop.

Tommy stopped, too, confused and terrified. "Poppy? What's going on? Why aren't we running?"

She pawed at the wall-- no, at a door, Tommy realized. A large, wooden door that she apparently couldn't phase through, even as smoke. Tommy hesitated, bending down to search for salt, the only thing he knew that could stop ghosts.

But there wasn't any. Instead, Tommy found a fine white powder stained yellow and dark in some places. He swiped his finger along the edge of the powder barrier and put it to his tongue, then spat it out.

That was not salt.

"So what the fuck is it?" He stared at Poppy, who just kept whining and scratching at the door like a pet asking to go outside.

"I hope you're not insane." Tommy grimaced and swept the powder away from the door, making a hole in the barrier. Poppy looked at him almost gratefully, then jumped through the wood and started barking for him to join.

"If I were you, I wouldn't worry about a little janitor's closet!" called the demon from somewhere behind Tommy, sounding amused and terrifyingly close. How did the others not hear him?!

Tommy rattled the doorknob and the door groaned open, slow from rust and lack of use. He fell inside, gasping for breath and stumbling awkwardly forward, nearly dropping Toast.

Then he stopped, furrowing his brow. "What in the name of . . . "

It wasn't a janitor's closet at all.

Instead of a plastic bucket holding mops and brooms, an iron pail held an assortment of metal tools that were definitely not used in cleaning. A jagged-edged, heavy pair of pliers stained with something rust-coloured, a huge butcher's knife, a long, thin object that Tommy remembered faintly was used to skin dead game.

A metal-topped table was pushed against the far side of the room, decorated with growing patches of rust and a set of meat cleavers left casually across the table, as though someone had just put them down and gone for a quick break. A thick stain was smeared across the table, dark and grotesque-looking, and a towel was shoved into the corner, dried, congealed liquid crumpling the fabric into thick folds.

"What is this place?" Tommy mumbled, his mouth dry. He took a couple of steps back in horror, his back hitting the door he had come in through. Toast whimpered, pressing his wet nose against Tommy's shirt and whining loudly.

Tommy grimaced, looking at the gruesome spread in front of him. "Yeah, I feel ya bud."

They killed animals . . . and made them into soap.

Ranboo's voice came in his head, nearly making Tommy jump before he realized it was just his thoughts. He looked around the room, horror dawning on his face. Oh. Oh, God, this was where--

Poppy jumped up onto the table, barking at him. She stomped her paw on a long, sharp metal stick, growling low in her throat at Tommy. A sharpening stick, his mind unhelpfully supplied, used to sharpen knives and such before they cut through meat . . . and other things.

Tommy took a hesitant step forward, reaching out his hand to briefly press his fingers against the metal. He had to yank his hand back, the item colder than ice and burning to the touch. "Ow! Oi, that doesn't help!" His voice came out shriller than he would have liked.

The ghost-dog snarled at him, pressing her paw down more insistently on the stick. He caught on painfully slowly, but once he realized what she was trying to say, he grabbed hold of it. "It's made of iron?" he asked, marvelling slightly at Poppy's cleverness. "Fuckin' smart, you are."

She sat back on her haunches, barking once at him. Tommy nodded, and, kneeling, he set Toast down carefully on the ground. He then rose back up, wielding the sharpening stick rather awkwardly and trying not to shake too much and look as terrified as he was.

He was still out of breath from the chase, and waiting in a dark, bloody room where dogs had been slaughtered for a ghost-slash-demon to come and rip his head off was absolutely not helping. At least last time, he had had his friends to help him out when he was feeling scared.

He didn't have the luxury of feeling scared anymore.

"Alright, you big, bloody coward!" Tommy took a defensive stance, squeezing the wooden handle of the stick. "I'm here! Come and fucking get me."

"Oh ho!" A hand, sagging with extra flesh and looking almost like raw meat, plunged through the door. A terrified scream lodged itself in Tommy's throat as the rest of the demon slid through the door, stretching with pops and cracks. "I see the missus found her way in."

Poppy growled at the demon, its crooked figure almost gleaming oil-slick in the faint light that seeped underneath the door.

"I even put up a barrier." It sighed, shaking its head. "I thought for sure she wouldn't be able to get through. I guess she had some help, though." It grinned at Tommy, who was, at that moment, unable to speak.

A bone stuck up through its chest, dripping not with blood but with some other, black, viscous liquid. Skin sagged down over its left eyeball, and the right one was dark and hollow, deep scratches carved into the whites. Tommy resisted the urge to vomit as the demon stretched its limbs back and forth like a pendulum, apparently getting ready to kill him.

That's right, Tommy thought weakly. This thing wants to kill me.

The demon grinned at him, taking a few steps forward. It still lurched when it walked. Apparently, that much hadn't changed from its old-man-form or whatever it was actually called.

"Such bravery! Or maybe stupidity." It chuckled at him, painfully condescending.

Tommy back glared at it, his grip tightening on the sharpening stick. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered dizzily if he even had the nerve to take the monster down. Maybe he would chicken out at the last moment and be left helpless for it to chew happily on his remains.

He shook the thought away as the demon took one, final step forward.

And then, it lunged.

Tommy screamed and dove underneath the demon as it pounced, right onto the place where he had just been. He slammed into the door, then sat upright dizzily and shook his head with a groan.

The demon circled back around like a large cat, flexing its hands. It was rather strange that it had hands instead of claws or talons, Tommy thought. Apparently not wasting time on irrelevant thoughts like that one, the demon made a low growl and loped closer, limping with every step.

Distract him. Maybe he'll get mad and lose his focus-- "Shit!" Tommy dodged a meat cleaver that was hurled at his head, then jumped to the side as it fell to the ground. The door Tommy had been leaning against now had a hearty dent in it, splinters accenting the knife-shaped hole.

"That wasn't very scary," Tommy taunted, flipping the sharpening tool over in his hands. "I bet I could do better. What, you've had all of a century to practise your skills and you're that bad? What a joke!"

The demon swelled with rage, black gums pulled down in a snarl. "You'll regret that, you--" He never got to finish what he was saying, for Tommy made the first move and pounced on him.

This had been a very, very bad idea. But considering what had happened so far, Tommy had thought that the demon, while intimidating and magical, had the strength of an old man. He had thought that he would easily be able to overpower an old man.

Well, while the second statement was probably true (Tommy had never tested his strength out on any geezers before), the first one was definitely not. The demon, while shocked into silence for a couple of seconds while Tommy jumped him, soon regained his senses and threw Tommy off.

"What was that supposed to do?" it laughed, smirking.

Tommy collided with the wall, landing with a loud crack and a scream. His already injured arm had been between him and the wall, and it had been the one to take most of the damage. It was completely numb.

Tommy staggered upright, still holding the sharpening stick in his hand. "Okay, bad idea, won't be doing that again," he said, trying to stay on his feet. His vision swam before him, everything seemingly melting and blending together.

"Why won't you?" the demon teased, taking a step towards him. "That was fun. Besides . . . I'm sure your friends won't miss you much!"

Tommy could still smell the stench of its breath around him, like rotting blood, coppery and sour and damp. He tried to move his arm and nearly gasped in pain, his face draining of blood. "Shit." Did I make him lose focus?

Fucking shut up! he yelled at himself, trying to focus on staying standing. "Ugh. Wow, that hurt." He grinned at the demon, breathing heavily. "But that won't be enough to kill me, you know. I guess you're a little out of touch, aren't you?" He straightened himself up as much as he could, his ribs protesting with sharp pangs of pain as he did so.

The demon's flippant grin turned into a scowl again. "I'm not out of touch! I slaughter every single vandal coming in here. I've possessed dozens of actors and killed countless animals since I've been stuck here. Even with the bitch here, I am the most terrifying demon you'll ever see--"

Tommy rolled his eyes, cutting the demon off. "Yeah, yeah, the whole 'demon' act again. I'll tell you, I'm getting a bit tired of that. You're not really a demon, you know. Maybe you want to be one, maybe you acted like one when you were alive, but all you are now is a pathetic wannabe ghost." He turned the stick over in his hands, tapping it against his mocking smile. "You see?"

"I am your death!" the demon snarled. "I will kill you! Nobody will feel sad you're gone. You're just a drag, you filthy, useless--"

"Give it up!" Tommy called, still trying to act bored. "You're the useless, filthy one, aren't you? Not much impressive about some muck-drinker putting on a show."

That's right, you're not the only one who can manipulate others. Jokes on you, I won't fall for your tricks. I've already made up my mind to apologize.

The demon roared and charged forward, snatching a wooden knife from the nearby table. It swung the weapon in a careless, sloppy arc, eyes blazing as it locked onto its prey-- Tommy.

Tommy screamed and, in a fit of panic, flung the sharpening stick out in front of him as though it were a sword. He squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling back. This was a mistake! It's going to eat me now--

A loud gurgling noise interrupted him.

He froze, shaking in fear, and peeked one eye open. Then both his eyes, and stared in shock at the demon impaled on his weapon.

The creature was stuck at an awkward angle, the raw skin bubbling and turning black as though burned where the iron was. Tommy stared some more, his breathing turning faster until he was hyperventilating.

"What the fuck, what the fuck--" He screamed loudly, shaking the stick in a vain attempt to get the demon off. Wait, wasn't this what you wanted in the first place? He paused, then glanced at the limp demon speared on the sharpening stick, and then promptly flung the stick and the demon across the room.

He stumbled away, his injured arm dangling by his side. The demon did not move. (A/N: Warning! Next three paragraphs contain mentions of puke. If this triggers you, you can skip them; nothing important really happens.)

"Oh god," he whimpered, feeling his stomach flip over. "Oh-- shit, wait--" He bent double and retched onto the floor, coughing up sour bile. His stomach heaved, his mouth tasting of puke. He smeared vomit off his lips and looked back over at the demon, his gaze drifting downwards to the weapon buried in its gut.

Unable to do much else, he bent low and vomited again.

Behind the demon's body, Poppy-- still standing on the table-- tipped her muzzle back and let out a long, piercing howl that sent shivers rippling down Tommy's spine. He groaned, staggering away from the mess of vomit on the floor, and spat out some of the gross flavour.

"Is it . . . dead?" he asked cautiously, stammering over the words. He took a careful step forward, staring in wonder at the possibly dead demon.

And then, like a fuck-you from the universe, the demon sat up.

"Ooh, nice-- blow-- you dealt there," it forced out, staggering upright with a hiss. Closing its hand around the wooden handle, it tore the iron weapon out and tossed it to the side, where it landed with a clang. "Like you said: not enough." It clicked its tongue. "How very dear of you to be worried, anyway."

Tommy bent down, picking up the sharpening stick and turning it over. Congealed masses of black blood dribbled from the sharp point, still bubbling as they came into contact with iron.

"You say you aren't a ghost, but iron hurts you just the same," he said, showing the stick to the monster. "Is there anything you can do that's remotely demon-like?"

"I can kill," the demon growled. "Let me show you how!" It took a running jump at him, but this time avoided the point of the weapon, seizing Tommy by the scruff of his neck and shoving him against the wall.

Unable to breathe, Tommy gasped for air, his legs kicking frantically against the demon's chest. The stick dropped out of his hands and landed on the floor with a loud clang, the sound reverberating in Tommy's ears. "Can't-- let me go--!"

The demon chuckled darkly. "No. No, I don't think I will."

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He pulled helplessly at the hands closing around his throat, but they did nothing but get tighter. Is this how I'll die?!

"And then," the demon continued, "I think I'll kill that precious dog hanging around you. I do so hate hangers-on." It laughed, nails scratching against Tommy's throat.

With a flash of fear, Tommy remembered Toast, whom he had shoved in a corner and told to stay. He could only pray that Toast was still staying there.

The demon pressed a grossly raw-feeling hand against Tommy's cheek, grinning. Tommy resisted the urge to look away, gagging. He was repulsed just by the feel of the demon, its rotting, sagging flesh pressed against his neck and smelling like dying animals.

He smells just like a slaughterhouse, Tommy thought dizzily. Like blood and mold and metal. "Hangers-on?" he echoed, wheezing through the words. A bit of saliva dribbled from his lip, dripping down his chin.

"Yes. Like that other dog, for instance. I never thought one of them could be so clever as to become a ghost. Or even, to become a ghost and then stop me from killing more." The demon turned its glare onto Poppy, the smokey dog growling at him from the table. "She's so annoying. She even tried to lead you to your own mutt to distract you from going after me. How clever, is she not?"

Tommy could not speak anymore, his lungs burning in his chest. His kicks started to get weaker. She . . . she what? But-- but no, I haven't seen her before. What?

"And then, of course, there was my partner. My partner in business, my partner in crime." The demon snarled, casting an angry look at the floor. "Or so I thought he was. He never did have the nerve to do what needed to get done, even when we both became demons. He saw Poppy and he saw you and knew you would try to get inside. I suppose he didn't want me to kill you. I always did hate how he messed with people's heads."

People's what?

"You're wondering why you don't remember any of what I'm saying?" cooed the demon. "That would be him. What a nuisance. So I killed him." The demon shrugged.

Tommy strained for breath, tears slipping down his cheeks and nose. "You . . . killed your own . . . " he gasped, the words barely making it out.

"It was fairly easy. A couple stabs here, a couple chops there, I was going to turn his body into soap. Would have been the only useful thing he'd ever done." The demon chuckled, leaning back on its heels to turn around and smile bitterly at Poppy. "But then this little tramp decided to mess around. I needed to keep her out. Well. I can't touch salt, but luckily, bones of her own body work just fine."

"You do realize . . . " Tommy huffed, still pulling desperately at the demon's hands, " . . . you're giving away valuable . . . info-- oof!"

The demon released its grip on his throat (thankfully) and slammed him against the floor (not thankfully). Tommy tried to sit up, but accidentally used his injured arm and buckled over again, gasping in pain. His lungs sucked air greedily in, blood rushing back to his face.

"Ugh . . . " He grimaced, coughing. "So all I have to do is stab you with some iron? Easy . . . 'nuff."

"You'd think!" The demon laughed. "Still, what's it matter what you learn when it's your last day alive?" It prowled forward, each footstep seemingly shaking the room around Tommy.

He reached out desperately, fumbling for something, anything, and his fingers closed around the familiar wooden handle of the sharpening stick. His eyes caught a blur of movement and he snapped his gaze upwards, to where the demon was pouncing onto him, stretching one arm out to seize him again--

Before he could think, Tommy thrust his hand upward, stabbing the demon right through its chest.

A loud scream ripped through the room, but it wasn't coming from Tommy. The demon writhed as the iron pierced its skin, flesh bubbling and burning, melting and melding with the stick. It fell backwards, trying to grasp at the stick and pull it out, but Tommy could see how weak it suddenly was.

"If you had a heart," Tommy panted, still lying numbly on the floor, "that would have gone right through it."

The demon finally seized hold of the stick and tore it out, but this time, a chunk of rotting flesh fell out with it. A gaping hole was visibly oozing black liquid in the middle of its chest, white bones splotched with fuzzy mold and red rust poking through the spongey, meaty inside of the creature.

This cannot be what demons are. He's no demon at all . . .Tommy watched, half in horror and half in awe, as the demon staggered back, the hole still growing larger as it ate it up like acid. "You--" it snarled at him, voice thundering. "You bitch--"

"Oh, I'm a bitch?" Tommy asked, his voice sounding far away and slurred to his own ears. What was with the black spots everywhere? Was it the demon? No, but it wasn't a demon. Couldn't be . . .

"That's . . . good to . . . know."

He slumped down, limp, just as the last of the monster vanished, and a rotting skeleton collapsed down on the floor.

Tommy did not know how long he had been unconscious for.

He just knew that when he woke up, he was covered in black liquid and his own blood, there was dried vomit on the floor next to him, and he was extremely cold.

Something fluffy was pressed against his side, and when he looked, he saw Toast curled up and shaking next to him.

Groggily, he rubbed at his eyes, looking around with a groan. "Toast?" he mumbled, and the dog's head shot up.

Immediately, he was being swallowed by dozens of tiny dog kisses. He yelped, pushing Toast away, and then shook his head. "Hello. That's . . . ugh, I feel . . . " he swayed for several seconds, then leaned over and puked.

With nothing left in his stomach, he ended up retching dribbles of water and acid, his chest and throat burning as his stomach tried to purge itself. "I-- oogh, that was bad," he muttered, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Bloody hell."

Toast gave his hand a tentative lick, then cuddled up close to his side, whining. Tommy couldn't help smiling down at his puppy, then looked around the dingy room.

It was much like how he'd left it, with the table pushed against the corner and the pail filled with supplies leaning against the coarse brick wall. The light from the dirt-caked window was almost gone-- how long had he been asleep?

A voice suddenly broke through his headache, making him flinch.

"Tommy! Tommy, where are you?!"

Someone was screaming. Someone was screaming his name. He sat up, blinking, and forced himself to stagger upright. Toast, still whimpering, jumped up at his legs as though wanting to be picked up.

Gathering Toast in his arms, Tommy limped towards the door, avoiding the puddle of vomit. The white powder was still thrown across the doorway, and he could make out the small break that he had wiped away. Bones of her own body, huh. I guess we can figure that out later . . .

Wait. Tommy froze, his eyes going wide. Didn't I taste that?

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to scream. When he was sure he could breathe again, he removed the hand and looked around, his eyes blurry.

"Hello?" he called, the words coming out scratchy in his raw throat. "Is there someone there?" Preferably not a ghost?

A gasp sounded on the other side of the door, and the sound of footsteps came quickly. "Tommy! Tommy, where have you been? We've been worried sick-- oh my God--" The door was flung open and Tubbo tackled Tommy to the ground, sobbing.

Tommy gently pried Tubbo off of him, wincing. "Ow-- yeah, thanks for that, but my arm-- I hurt all over, think you could stop that?"

Tubbo backed away, sniffling. Toast jumped out of Tommy's arms and ran over to Tubbo, barking and whining. "What happened to you?" Tubbo cried, sounding anguished. "We looked all over! What's that on your shirt-- my god, is that blood?"

Tommy got to his feet, biting his bottom lip. "That's a long story. Um . . . watch out for the vomit."

"The what? Holy shit, Tommy!"

"'M fine, I promise." Tommy wiped more dribbles of puke off the corner of his mouth and groaned, pulling himself back to his feet. "Ow. Except for my arm, ow."

Tubbo stared around the room, then found the skeleton and screamed loudly, pulling Tommy behind him. "Is-- what is that-- is that a s-s--"

Tommy glanced over at the demon's skeleton, shrugging with his good shoulder. "Yeah."

"You want to explain?!" Tubbo waved his arms around the room, apparently flabbergasted. "What have you been doing?"

Picking Toast up, Tommy wound the leash (surprisingly it wasn't ripped) around his wrist again and sighed. "It's . . . a long story. A really, really long story. Um, mind if I explain it to you all at once?"

"Well, Phil certainly won't mind knowing where you've been," Tubbo declared, seizing Tommy by his good arm and dragging him via elbow out of the room. "We've all been worrying! Heaven knows what you've been up to."

With that, Tommy was promptly presented before Phil.

He struggled to look as though he was standing normally and not fighting to keep upright, but adopted a casual smile and waved nervously at Phil. "So . . . hey."

They had all collected in the courtyard outside of the factory, where Phil was confronting Tommy, his arms crossed.

"Hey." Phil's expression was stony. "Just what in God's fucking name do you think you were doing?"

God? Well, that's ironic. Tommy straightened up, tugging at his shirt collar, growing more and more embarrassed the more Phil stared at him. "I was . . . ghost hunting! Like we wanted to . . . do?" He cowered back, wincing at Phil's scowl.

"Well, I didn't want this!" Phil flung his arms out at the factory doors, motioning to all of it. "You were gone for hours, Tommy, it's five PM now, and now Tubbo finds you and says you were in a room with a skeleton?"

Tommy lifted his hands in surrender, shying away as though skittish. "I-- I can explain!" Please don't yell at me . . . He looked down, his breathing still feeling irregular to him. His throat felt like shit and his arm was barely any better, his heartbeat stammering out a panic code each time he heard a slight rustle.

Phil gave him a long look. "Are you okay? You look . . . "

"Like shit?" Tommy laughed, still feeling slightly hysterical. "Yeah, I know."

"I was going to say nervous, but that works too." Phil ran a hand through his hair, breathing in deeply as he shook his head. "I had better hope you can, you scared the shit out of all of us. Let's just go to the car and you can explain . . . well, everything, I suppose."

Tommy blinked at Phil. "You're not going to, like, grab me by the hair and shout at me or something?"

"Why would I do that? I was frightened, not angry."

"I dunno." Tommy shrugged, even that small movement feeling overwhelming. He sighed, pushing Toast away as the puppy tried to lick at his chin. "You looked-- you looked mad, I guess."

"Oh, Tommy. What happened in there?" Phil reached out, pulling Tommy into a close hug.

Tommy's heart nearly stopped, and he froze for a good three seconds before his breath caught in his throat and turned into a small sob. Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks, his chest heaving up and down with the force of his sobs.

Phil patted Tommy's shoulder with a small sigh, letting him cry. "That's right, let it all out. Tubbo, can you grab Ranboo from in there and tell him that we found Tommy?"

The sound of footsteps came from behind Tommy, fading off into the noise of shoes on a concrete floor. A faint throb of panic reminded Tommy that Tubbo was going into where the demon was-- what if he wasn't safe-- no, he's just getting Ranboo. It's gone. It's gone. I-- it's gone.

Tommy squeezed his hands into fists, letting Phil trail his fingers comfortingly through his hair. Outside the factory, night air didn't have the smell of rot and blood. It smelled clean, better than anything he had smelled in what felt like years.

"I was r-really scared," Tommy managed around his sobs, his voice muffled. His throat still felt raw and hurt, but he somehow forced words out through it, though he knew they sounded scratchy. "I was really, just so-- so scared. It was gonna kill me, Phil, it said-- I didn't want to--"

He pulled Toast tighter, letting the small dog crawl up onto his chest and lick salty tears from his cheeks. Phil nodded, squeezing Tommy a little closer. "You don't have to. Nobody's going to kill you. You're okay now."

Tommy let himself cry until his tears ran dry. All his emotions bled out like watercolour: his fear, his anger, his horror; all of them came out in hiccuping, heaving sobs, the admission tasting like bitter salt on his tongue.

He recounted how the hand around his neck had felt. The way sick had tasted in his mouth. His shredded, bruised arm, which was probably broken at that point. His regret for not apologizing, when he had thought with certainty that it was all about to end and he wouldn't get to say sorry.

He cried and cried until his cheeks were rubbed raw from the salty tears. His mouth tasted like snot and a bitter taste laid across his tongue like the bile he had tasted just a few minutes earlier. All his feelings had been laid out raw and honest, his heart twinging with each word he spoke. 

In the end, his eyes stung and burned terribly, and he knew his cheeks and nose were probably flushed pink, but all of a sudden he was too tired to care. He felt sore and tired and he just wanted to go to sleep.

Tommy disentangled himself from Phil, sniffling, and rubbed at his eyes. "Um . . . thanks." He looked away, smearing away tear stains. "For listening."

Phil smiled down at him gently, reaching over to ruffle Tommy's hair. He cast an affectionate look down at Tommy, seeming almost surprisingly gentle. "Next time, as I said before, let's not split up, okay?"

Tommy snorted, pushing Toast's leash into Phil's hands. "Tell that to Tubbo."

At that very moment, the loud cry of "Tommy!" shot straight through Tommy's ears and very nearly burst his eardrums. Not a second later, he was being tackled from behind, to the ground, and . . . hugged?

Tommy blinked several times, trying to discern what was going on, when he saw that Ranboo was clinging to him and looking very close to tears. "Oh-- um. Hello, there," Tommy said, befuddled and still more than a little shaken. "H-how do you do?"

"How do you do? How do you do?! Tommy, you've been gone for ages and you finally show up again and the first thing you say is how do you do?!" Ranboo looked as though he was actually going to cry, so Tommy supposed he should be a bit gentler.

"Sorry for being gone," Tommy murmured, gently trying to tug Ranboo off of him. He really did hurt all over and he did not think that a sudden tackling would help at all. "I didn't mean to be, if that helps."

Ranboo sniffled, then shook his head. "No, no. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I was really awful to you, wasn't I?"

"Well, I was awful too," Tommy reminded him, giving up on getting up and instead smiling somewhat tiredly at Ranboo. He reached up and patted Ranboo's head. "So it wasn't that bad."

Grinning again, but still seeming close to tears, Ranboo nodded quickly. "Yeah, I s'pose not. Oh my God. Oh, my God, Tommy, I don't think I'll ever let you go again, Jesus Christ."

"You'll need to, I kind of need to stand--" Tommy tried to pull himself upright, but Ranboo circled his arms around Tommy's neck again and pulled him back down. "Oof!"

Ranboo shook his head, burying his face in Tommy's shoulder. "No you don't," he insisted. Toast, who had wandered over to inspect the scene, started licking Ranboo's face. "Ew! Dog spit."

"You're complaining about dog spit, but you keep this up and I'm going to get blood on you," Tommy reminded him, gently pushing Toast away.

"Well, I don't really care about that, do I?" Still, Ranboo gave Tommy one last squeeze and pulled away, standing up with a sigh. He pressed his palm against his forehead, looking exhausted. "I . . . I really am sorry."

Tommy staggered to his feet, brushing dirt and dust off of his clothes. He smiled at Ranboo, shaking his head. "And I told you it's all okay. I guess you're just bad at listening, aren't you?"

Ranboo grinned, nudging Tommy's shoulder fondly with his own. "Well then, that makes two of us."

"Ah, you've got me there." Tommy leaned down, tousling Toast's fur and letting the small dog wind around his legs like a cat.

"So . . . can we get out of here now?" Tubbo jumped in, looking more than a little hopeful. "This place is creepy. I want to move on." 

Tommy thought for a moment, breathing carefully in and out as he thought. "Not yet, bee boy. I'm sorry to say, we've got one more thing to take care of before we leave." He turned to Ranboo. "Oh! You'll never guess what happened inside there!"

Ranboo's face lit up, his entire mood switching gears in an instant. "Ghosts? Did you find ghosts?"

"Yeah! Not just that, but I did find-- um, not quite sure what he was. A ghost, actually. Maybe. Called 'imself a demon, though." Tommy tapped his chin thoughtfully, trying to act casual.

Both Tubbo and Ranboo let out sounds like tea kettles. Phil, standing in the corner, rolled his eyes.

"Demons?!" Ranboo squealed, looking as though someone had just given him a large box full of Christmas presents. "Demons?! And this wasn't the first thing you said?!"

"So-- so, so that explains--" Tubbo was frozen in place, looking rather shell-shocked. "That . . . uh . . . explains quite a lot, actually. Um. Wait, was that what the whole skeleton thing was about? Because that was freaky as fuck."

"Um, yeah!" Tommy backed away, laughing in the face of their differing reactions. "Yeah, the skeleton was the demon. Was. Past tense."

Ranboo's voice rose to a pitch that only dogs could hear. "Tommy you killed a demon?" he finally gasped, bouncing up and down with excitement. "Oh my god that's so cool! You're so cool! How did you do it? You have got to tell me everything, holy moley!"

"Guacamole," finished Phil, smiling indulgently. "And you wanted to show them the skeleton? What for? It's already dead."

Ranboo lunged towards Phil, seizing him by the shoulders. "For research! For science, Phil, for discovery!"

"Well . . . " Phil pushed Ranboo away, looking more than a little apprehensive. "We can ask Tommy about it in the car, can we not?"

"You know what we can't get done in the car?" Tommy asked, stepping forward and almost buckling over. Ranboo ran over to support him, propping him up gingerly. "Ow-- thanks, Boo, think you could go a little easy on the bruises? Jeez-- I did find ghosts. Well, ghost, singular. And she . . . I'd like to help her, if we can." He looked hopefully over at Phil.

Sighing, Phil shook his head. "I'll go along with it if you want to."

"But you can't do it in your condition!" Tubbo declared. "Don't worry Tommy, luckily, I have just the thing! It's in the car. Um . . . I'll be right back!" He darted into the small alley, ducking his head so he could fit better.

"He can just fit right through, can't he?" Tommy said rather wistfully, watching Tubbo slip in a muddle of mud and hit his head against the brick wall. "Good for him."

---

"Okay, Toast. Find your friend!" Tommy urged. Toast put his nose to the floor for a good three seconds, then laid down and whined. 

Instantly, Tommy's excitement drained. He sighed, reaching down to pat Toast on the head. "Aw. Good boy, you tried."

They were all inside of the factory again, much to the frustration of Tommy's nose (it still didn't smell any better, even after the demon-ghost was killed). Tommy had led them to the mess of a room where he had confronted the demon, and Ranboo had actually taken a small piece of the demon's skeleton and put it inside a Ziplock baggie.

"You're batshit, you know?" Tommy said, watching Ranboo tuck the Ziplock inside his hoodie. He shook his head. "What good is that gonna do us? Who even knows what that thing was?"

Ranboo pointed at him. "Exactly. We don't know what it is-- yet. I'm guessing some sort of ghoul or demon, and if we want to be able to know what we're dealing with later, we're going to need more information now."

Tommy gagged as Ranboo poked at the black-stained sharpening stick (A/N: nobody worry Ranboo has gloves on), looking curious. "And you say he was able to be killed with iron? That's a similarity between ghosts and . . . we need a name for this, don't we? Um."

"We can just call him a demon for now," Tubbo said, waving his hand. "How do the bandages feel, Tommy?"

Tommy flexed his hands, grimacing. "As good as anything else, I suppose."

His arms were covered in lopsided bandages, messily applied with the expert help of someone who had never used bandages before in their life (Ranboo). Tubbo was, for some reason, actually good at putting the bandages on, so he pushed Ranboo aside and had wrapped Tommy's left arm and his neck. A small, soft piece of gauze was applied gently over Tommy's eye, held in place with white duck tape that Phil had somewhere in his cavern of pockets.

"Aw, you look like you just jumped out of a hero manga!" Tubbo cooed, giving Tommy a hearty pat on the back that nearly made his knees collapse under him.

"I look like a mummy," Tommy said, embarrassed. He shook out his arms. "And we still don't know where Poppy is."

"This whole thing is so weird," marvelled Ranboo, staring around in wonder at the room. "I heard that they killed animals, but I didn't know they had their own personal slaughterhouse. I wonder how they kept it secret. And there wasn't much information about this place to begin with-- you said that there were originally two demons here?"

Tommy nodded, shrugging. "Yeah, I think. Although, ol big bad here killed the other one before I could meet him. Apparently something happened, like a 'last straw'."

"Cool," hummed Ranboo appreciatively, scrawling something down in his notebook. "Cool! So now we know that ghosts-- or 'undead' if we want a regular umbrella term-- don't just have to be released, they can also die. Most likely weapon of use: iron. Anything else?"

"Um." Tommy wracked his brains. "They said salt worked, too. I mean-- they didn't just tell me, I think they were going on a villain tangent or something of that sort."

Tubbo flipped over the pail of butcher knives, jumping back as a few clattered at his feet. "Woah! Convenient. Let's take a few of these babies so we can protect ourselves--"

Phil placed a hand on Tubbo's wrist, stopping him. "Tubbo," he said pleasantly. "I would just like to let you know that there is no way on Earth, heaven or hell that I will let you take a knife with us."

"Aw, but Phi-il--"

"Put. It. Down." When Tubbo didn't respond, Phil narrowed his eyes. "Now."

Tubbo dropped the knife, kicking petulantly at the bucket. "Fine. Where's this dog of yours, anyway?" he asked, turning to Tommy and leaning back on his heels.

Tommy scratched his head. "She should be here by now. She was here before, I swear I didn't make her up--"

A small bark interrupted his talking (Tommy was being interrupted a lot, it was kind of annoying). Everyone paused, looking towards the door, which was slowly nudged open by a smoky grey muzzle. 

Poppy stepped inside the room, delicate and graceful as the smoke she was made out of. She lifted her nose and shook back her airy fur, her poufy grey mane sparkling in the dim light like sunlight catching on a mirror. 

Toast barked happily in reply and bounded over to Poppy, nuzzling her misty form as best he could and yipping cheerfully. She licked his cheek-- or tried to, anyway-- and trotted over to where the four of them were gathered, almost speechless. Well, everyone except Tommy, that was. 

He smiled down at Poppy. "Hi, darling," Tommy cooed, kneeling down and offering his hand. "I just wanted to say thank you. You really were a big help."

She sniffed his hand carefully, then looked up, her eyes meeting his. She bent low and gave his fingers a small lick, her tail wagging slightly. 

Tommy smiled down at her. "What a good girl you are," he whispered.

"Is . . . is this . . . " Ranboo could barely form words. He stared down at Poppy, shocked into silence. "She's so . . . "

Tommy nodded, "Yeah. I know." He smiled down at Poppy, reaching out and miming pets on her back. She leaned into the half-touch and barked again, sounding happy. Tommy nearly started crying then and there. 

"Good girl, really good girl," Tommy said, his voice breaking. "I'm-- I'm so sorry I forgot about you earlier."

She yipped, stepping backwards and shaking her body out. Tilting her head to the side, Poppy glanced upwards so her dark eyes could meet Tommy's own, her smoky paws scraping against the concrete floor. 

Tommy swallowed, standing back up and taking a small step back. "Oh. I . . . I think I get . . . Poppy, are you going to . . . go . . . now?" He couldn't bring himself to say the word, the sounds catching in his throat like tangled wires. Behind him, he heard Ranboo make a muffled sniffling noise, shoes scuffing on the floor as the others watched him talk to the small ghost dog. 

In reply, Poppy barked once more, her tail wagging a little faster. Tommy's eyes filled with tears that he could not keep away. "I was hoping you'd stay a little longer. But nobody else is here anymore . . . no sense in it, is there?"

Walking towards him, Poppy nuzzled his leg gently with her warm, smoky form. Tommy bent down to pat her head and she licked his fingers, blinking dark eyes up at him. "Well," he said, trying his best to compose himself, "I suppose you'd-- best get it over with, then."

Poppy bobbed her head, opening her mouth wide in a doggy grin. She shook herself again, stepping away, and then laid down on the floor, resting her head in her paws. Her tail flopped back and forth, lazily wagging.

As if suddenly free to move, the smoke making up her body began to dissipate and dissolve in the air. The smoke floated up, and up, her body fading away and melting into the air as it billowed upwards.

Poppy, her body losing its shape around her, tipped her muzzle back and howled. Toast joined in, sitting back on his haunches and lifting his head to the sky, their mixed cries sounding haunting and ghostly.

Finally, as if in a dream, Tommy watched as the last bit of smoke faded away into the air. A tear dripped down his cheek and he realized suddenly that he was crying.

He turned around, smearing the tears away from his face. He smiled at the others, feeling suddenly more tired than he had all day. " . . . we can go now."

---

They left the factory and drove back to the hotel to pick their things up. It was night again, as it usually seemed to be when they left, and they had to stop by a convenience store to grab things to eat (no breakfast and no lunch were a bad combination, as Phil reminded them).

Tommy, who was taking full advantage of the fact that Phil had said (in a fit of exasperation, mind you) that he didn't care what they got as long as they ate something which led to Tommy snatching everything that looked good off the shelves, suddenly paused in the middle of grabbing a Twinkie.

"Hey, Ranboo," he called, striding over to where the American was gathering a collection of berry-flavoured-- well, berry-flavoured anything, and tapping him on the shoulder.

Ranboo turned around, a half-unwrapped blueberry fruit leather stuffed in his mouth. "Whmht du yuu wnpht?"

Tommy blinked at him, unsure whether to be confused or impressed that Ranboo could make any noise at all. "I'm sorry, what?"

Ranboo pulled the plastic wrapper off the rest of the fruit leather and swallowed it, wiping away excess crumbs. "I asked what you want," he repeated, crushing the plastic into a ball and dropping it into a nearby trash can.

"Oh! Um-- wait a second, did you pay for that?" Tommy frowned at Ranboo, exasperated. "I can't believe this is the second time today I'm worried one of my friends might be shoplifting," he muttered.

"What?" Ranboo raised an eyebrow, already unwrapping another one (strawberry flavour). "Yes, of course I paid for it. It was like half a dollar."

"Right. Good." Tommy cleared his throat. "I wanted to get back to my question yesterday: just why are we not going to Texas already? I want to go." He stuck out his tongue in a mocking pout.

Ranboo lifted a finger, paused, then let his hand fall back to his side. "Well, that," he said cheerfully, biting off a corner of the strawberry fruit leather, "is going to be my little secret for a little while longer." He winked at Tommy, who was not going to accept being mysterious and haughty as a reasonable explanation.

Tommy crossed his arms, making sure to avoid dropping any of his food. "Care to elaborate at all?" he pressed.

Ranboo sighed, leaning back and rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, fine. I still want it to be a secret, but . . . basically, I'm setting some plans up for Texas, but they aren't ready yet. So if you could wait for a little bit while I get it all set up, please?" He grinned sheepishly at Tommy. "I want it to be really perfect."

Tommy couldn't help blowing a raspberry at Ranboo, but then he let himself smile. "Fine. I'll take what I can get. But don't think I won't be hounding your every step for what this 'secret' is, okay?"

"Of course you will. Of course you will," Ranboo replied playfully. "Anyway, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to choose our next place . . . ?"

"Hmm. Yes, please." Tommy drummed his fingers against a nearby metal shelf. "What states border Minne . . . Minnes? Mine-soda?"

Ranboo laughed. "You mean Minnesota?"

Tommy made a face. "Yes. That. How do you pronounce anything here?"

"Oh, lots of practise. Plus, you get yelled at by old people if you don't get it right. But! As for the states bordering Minnesota-- um, I'm not good at geography, but it's South and North . . . something. And then there's Wisconsin!" Ranboo grinned, apparently forgetting that he had treats in his arms and clapping his hands together excitedly.

All of the treats dropped out of his hold and clattered onto the floor. Ranboo yelped, dropping to his hands and knees to pick up the scattered foodstuff, and tried to sweep it back into his arms. He looked up at Tommy, embarrassed. "Help me clean it up?"

"Mm . . . nah," Tommy teased, but he leaned down to pick up a fallen bag of dried mango, tossing it from hand to hand before offering it to Ranboo.

Seeing something white and fuzzy poking out of the pile of snacks, he paused. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at it. 

Ranboo glanced up, then looked around, spotting it. "Oh, that?" Ranboo picked it up, showing it off to Tommy, who squinted at it curiously. It seemed to be some sort of cheap plushie, in the shape of a miniature igloo, fuzzy all over and with a colourful tag dangling from it. "A dog toy. Since I didn't get to buy that one at the pet store . . . " he faded off, looking slightly embarrassed. 

Tommy blinked several times. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Um . . . about that, I actually--"

"What in the world are you two doing?" Tubbo asked, poking his head out from behind the shelf. He apparently had a great preference for salty snacks, as demonstrated by the large bag of generic-brand Chex Mix he was holding.

Ranboo looked up from the floor, somehow having managed to scoop everything back up into his hands. He was now holding a still-wrapped fruit leather in his mouth, but he tried to smile as best he could. It still somehow managed to look cheerful. "Hi!" he said through the plastic wrapping of the fruit leather. He let it drop into the other things he held in his arms and continued. "We're just finishing up here!"

"Right, right." Tubbo glanced around at them. "So where are we going next? I want to get a move on or at least find a hotel where we can sleep."

"Couldn't we just stay at our hotel here another night?" Tommy glanced around, confused.

Tubbo shrugged. "Meeeh. I guess we could, but we only booked the hotel for, like, two nights. And I don't want us overstaying our welcome again."

All three of them shuddered as they remembered what had happened last time. Tommy shook his head, clearing his head of the thoughts. "That wouldn't be fun. Yeah." He turned to Ranboo, struggling not to drop any of the half dozen snacks he had in his arms. "What was that last one again?"

"The last what?"

"The last state, Boo, get it together." Tommy raised a hand, scratching absently at the gauze still pressed against his eye. "The last one you mentioned? Western something?"

Ranboo thought for a moment, frowning. "Wisconsin? You want to go to Wisconsin?"

Tommy nodded. "Well, yes? Is there something wrong with Wisconsin?"

"No, nothing." Ranboo shook his head quickly. "I just can't find very many things to investigate there. Of course, I had the same problem here, so I'm sure there'll be something."

Tommy clapped Ranboo cheerfully on his shoulder, nearly making the taller boy drop his snacks again. "We'll find something together, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Ranboo grabbed a fruit leather from the stack of snacks he had and held it out in front of him like a glass of wine. "To ghost hunting!"

"To ghost hunting!" cheered Tubbo, catching on and raising his trail mix up to bump it against Ranboo's fruit leather.

"To us," Tommy said, laughing as he lifted up a bag of chips to toast it with the others. "To ghost hunting!" 

(In the end, Ranboo bought the igloo toy and Toast ended up receiving both this toy and the jam one that Tommy bought. However, Tubbo-- despite the consistent pleas of both Tommy and Ranboo-- refused to let Toast use his psychic squash plushie as a chew toy.)