Chapter Text

"You may have heard of him."

For such a powerful species, Tommy Innes sure felt powerless in such a situation.

The orange jumpsuits that made up Tommy's fellow prisoners' uniforms did no justice to the pitiful scene, though it did solidify his contempt for the other inmates. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the metal floor, blonde hair falling across his face—much to his general annoyance.

“Come on, kid, hand over the fucking food," the leader said—how fucking cliche. He was a Phantom—that meant that he had a shock collar strapped around his neck so he couldn't return to his Phantom state, though the pastiness that marked him of his birth species made Tommy think of a boiled egg. 

God, he hadn't had a good boiled egg in years.

"No thanks," Tommy drawled, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at his plate. It was made entirely of greenery and a few fruit pieces— the Avians' dish—his race, long gone. His hands were white where he clutched it because his food wasn't about to be stolen, not now, not after so long. 

"Listen, kid—" Tommy flushed at the statement, anger filling him. Sure, he was the youngest one at the high-security space station of a prison, but he wasn't a kid.

He hadn't been a kid for a long time. Not ever since his father whispered words in his ear that needed to be memorized, not since his father had died in a space explosion that had sent Tommy's escape pod floating in space until the Arachnids had picked him up with their beady red eyes and chirped at him with their annoying teeth. He, being ten at the time—nearly seven years ago—hadn't spoken anything, and had played dumb. He hadn't been a kid since the fields of golden grass turned brown; since the feelings of hunger, since the executions that made him curl into a ball at night and cry. 

Tommy was an Avian, but to the rest of the prisoners, he was Human. To his knowledge, he was one of the last living Avians in the galaxy. His father had been a ship captain—he'd just been transporting Piglin and Hoglin citizens to their home planet when they had been attacked from nowhere.

It had made no sense to ten-year-old Tommy at the time.

Of course, he knew better now. He'd gotten the gist of what his family actually did for a living. He knew why the Avians were nearly extinct. He knew to keep his secrets hidden. 

Still.

He wasn't a kid. 

"No," he said again. 

"I don't know if you've noticed, kid," the Phantom snapped, and Tommy was growing quite exhausted of his repetitiveness. "But there are four of us and one of you."

"So get some more guys, and we'll make it even," he said with a slight smirk.

He almost sighed when the first punch came swinging at his face. Almost. These guys were too predictable - stupid thugs of some caravan some specie had decided to start after their supply ships' continuous attack.

He ducked the first punch and charged the Phantom, kneeing him directly in the gut with a flash of victory. The man dropped—and Tommy considered a fleeting feeling of triumph until a fist smashed into his cheek. 

Whoops. He'd forgotten about the other individuals.

Oh, well.

His lip was split, blood running down his face as he turned to face the Enderian, a smirk growing wider even as the pain from moving his mouth deepened. Unfortunately, the Enderian stood a good five feet away—his fists raised, and Tommy felt a sting of annoyance that he would have to grow closer.

Stupid Enderians. This guy could fucking teleport—a rare ability among his species. Tommy had only known one other person that could do it. And this pathetic person was using it on him. In a prison.

On another note, the idiot had used his racial abilities. That meant he would be in trouble. Already, Tommy could see Arachnid guards filtering into the facility, black phasers out, and set to the blue state of stunning. He backed off, hands raised in the air, the superior smirk staying on his face as he watched the Arachnid guards circle the Enderian and the downed Phantom. 

"What happened?" one of the Arachnid guards barked at the other two 'buddies' the lead Phantom had brought with him to harass Tommy out of his saggy-looking green leaves.

"He stole Corlin's lunch," the other Phantom said, pointing a hand at Tommy. They turn his guns to him, and Tommy held up his hands.

"Woah, woah, gentlemen," he said scornfully, jerking his thumb at the lunch tray at the nearby aluminum table. "As you can see, this lunch is green with golden apples and way too much balsamic vinegar." He tilted his head victoriously. If possible, the Phantom grew paler. "It's my special vegetarian meal—not an Enderian or a Phantom-made meal." He shook his head, trying his best to widen his blue eyes to garner pitiful stares. Some of the Arachnids hold a soft spot for him because he hadn't gotten here like the other rebels have—through space battles and warzones and idiotic attempts at rescue missions. "They were trying to take it from me. Me! A poor Human boy was trying to eat. I really wasn't trying for trouble, sirs, truly."

"Bullshit," one of the guards said, but they nodded, unable to truly incriminate him when the actual evidence was in front of them. "Prisoner T-869, please return to your cell. We'll deal with these four." It wasn't like the guards could tell the other prisoners that he was an Avian—he was too special, too important. But they knew an Avian meal when they saw one—and that meal was his. 

"Preferably harshly," he murmured, winking at the standing three and making sure to trod on Mr. Boss Phantom's hand as he stepped past. A sense of giddy joy filled him as he bit into the golden apple that he'd filched from his plate—golden apples were given to Avians in place of other necessary items that the prison refused to gather for a few amount of Avians they had in the faculty. Or, rather, the singular Avian that they had. He loved golden apples.

"Oh, and T-869?"

Tommy turned around, confusion filling him at the calling. He hadn't expected to be let out until dinner, relishing in his victory with his books and the silence. One of the guards was talking to him, the others gathering up the four who had dared to bother Tommy. He tilted his head, acknowledging the question.

"Don't fuck up your cellmate."

Shock filled him, but Tommy forced the questions back down their throat, taking a large bite of the golden apple to keep his silence as he walked back down the cell halls.

A cellmate. For the second time in all his years in the Wasteland, he was getting a cellmate. He did not doubt that after the events of the first person, that this one would be bad—if not, somehow, worse. 

The Arachnids, while terrible people, were intelligent enough to grasp that ten-year-old Tommy wouldn't fluctuate well with others there, especially garnering the reality that most of the characters in the penitentiary were disastrous middle-aged criminals. His ten-year-old self would have no doubt been mutilated in some way—and he knew that some of the guards held sympathy for the youngest one there.

Which. Despite being the species that had murdered his parents and had handed him over to—had murdered his parents, Tommy had some appreciation for that. Despite hating them.

He was just a kid, after all. He wasn't a war criminal—only the son of two very crafty, very dead war criminals. At least, from the Arachnid’s point of view, his family had been war criminals. He didn't even know the crimes his father had committed—all he had heard when he was brought in, trembling and crying and shouldering the realization that his family was dead—something about charlatans and fraudulent liars, perhaps on both his aunt and father's accounts.

Though, perhaps his family was a bit fragmentary. When he was younger, he thought his father was married to the other woman around—it turned out she was a technical aunt. She wasn't related to his father in any way, and so his mother became his aunt, though on occasion he called her Mama and her face softened from its usual stoic expression, and she'd pull him close in a warm grip and talked about traveling the stars with him. His birth mother had died when he was three to—

Well.

Finding something—something that had inadvertently ended in the death of both of his parental figures, something that he carried in his subconscious with a vise clamp—the only thing that he would ever have from them—was something that he both hated and loved. He wanted to fling the memory away, but all he could do was seize it close and remember the strands of numbers that his father had whispered to him before dying in an explosion next to the brilliant glare of a cerulean star. 

There was nothing in that memory that he much remembered besides the desperation in his voice as they pushed him into the most proximal escape pod and swore him up and down that he would not recount to the enemy—in this case, the Arachnids—of his familial ties. He did not understand, for they were mere equipment operators who transported people in this circumstance.

He did not understand, but he did as he was told, because he was intelligent enough to perceive that they would not have advised him that without discernment.

He understood, now, what they were. 

But—they had never performed missions like sneak into a palace or assassinate a monarch. So that had motivated Tommy to assume that they were not, in fact, spies, or anything of the like. 

He knew more about secrets and lies and mistellings, now.

He had questions. Interrogatories that would never be answered because his family was stagnant and departed, long ago—gone in the stellar flare of the azure star, gone in the explosion, gone in the stillness of space. Gone, killed by the Arachnid's ship that had attacked them with no warning, from nowhere at all. A trap that had led to their death. To the death of everyone he had held dear. To a crew, to a family. 

Tommy's shoes clicked against the floor as he lifted his palm and pressed it against the palm reader, turning apprehensively as he stood there waiting for the screen to light up in its iridescent green light. When it did, and the metal slid open with a slight hiss, Tommy came eye-to-eye with a small boy sitting on the top bunk.

He was short, with wavy chocolate-colored hair that dropped over his ears and partially over his eyes, harmonizing brownish eyes gawking at Tommy with hidden questions. Tommy quirked an eyebrow as the door slid shut behind him with a slight hiss—at least the entrance did not squeak as some did in the facility.

"You're sitting on my bunk," he deadpanned, and the boy jumped off with a small gasp, making space as Tommy sat down in the vacated area, surveying his new cellmate. He was thin enough, though Tommy was not obtuse enough to assume that that signaled inadequacy. He was short—far shorter than Tommy by a good hundred and fifty centimeters.

…okay, maybe that was exaggerating...but, to be fair, the kid was very short.

At least compared to him...and every other person to exist at his age. Reasonably, to some, he would have appeared slight, but to Tommy, whose entire tween growth had been about observing physiques to discern if they were going to attempt to kill him or not, he quickly marked the intelligence that slept behind the boy's eyes. 

"H-hello," the boy said, a shudder in his voice that wasn't entirely real. Actually, it was extremely forced.

Tommy snorted as he turned over in his bunk to face the wall. "Cut the bullshit, man. I know you don't actually talk like that."

There was silence. "What?" the boy asked eventually.

Tommy rolled his eyes, though the brown-haired boy could not witness it from the position that he rested in. "Do you think I'm stupid?" He rolled over in the bed until he faced the other way, and, consequently, the boy who stood there, dumbfounded. "Actually, don't answer that. Look, some people might fall for your doe-eyes and your bogus whiles, but I'm not an idiot. There's a reason that you're in prison."

The boy squinted at him. "There's a reason you are too," he pointed out, though that stupid forced stutter was gone. 

"And yet I'm not trying to persuade you that I'm harmless," he defended.

"Are you?"

"What?" he asked, turning his chin to look at the brown-haired boy that perched on the bunk across from him with circumspect eyes, his orange jumpsuit rustling noisily.

"Harmless? Are you harmless?"

He grunted, glancing the boy up and down. Assuredly, this boy wasn't a Phantom—the telltale collar did not inhibit his neck. "You said it yourself. There's a reason I'm here too." He did not have the bit of tubing up his nose—not a Merling. No wings—that crossed Elytrian off the list. Possibly a Blazeborn? He wouldn't know until he viewed the boy drinking water or, if he were a Blazeborn, drink the red liquid akin to magma. Perhaps a Feline? He did not precisely have the cat-eye movements and the jumpiness that most Felines bore, nor the furry ears. An Enderian? Maybe some hybrid Enderian? No, he didn’t have the dark skin…

Why did he care so much?

Perhaps because this boy reminded him of—

No. No, he could not think of them. They were free. Free from the grasps of the Arachnids, in a better place. Free. 

"I'm Tubbo," the boy said eventually. 

Tommy stared at him for a second.

Tubbo blinked at him. "You know it's rude not to introduce yourself back to me?" he said finally.

"I don't give a shit about stuff like that," he admitted, thinking of another place, another introduction. Another loss, another place of misery.

"Did your parents not teach you manners?"

"My parents are dead." As always, when he said those words, he remained calm and collected. Tubbo didn't know. It wasn't Tubbo's fault. 

Tubbo swallowed, and immediate pity filled his brown eyes. Tommy scoffed and glanced away. "I'm- "

"Sorry?" he guessed. "It's not your fault. You didn't know. You didn't cause it. The Arachnids did. You were probably like—five when it happened. You're what—twelve?"

The boy quirked an eyebrow. "I'm seventeen," he said. Tommy fought to keep annoyance off his face. So what, the kid was older than him? It didn't matter. Okay, maybe it did. "How old are you?"

"Old enough," he grumbled.

"That's not an answer." 

"I don't want to give you one," he snapped. "I don't care who you are or what you do, or how you ended up in this fucking cell. Just—stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."

"That's not how this works—"

"It is now," he said in a near-snarl, turning over and closing his eyes. "Now, unless you want to end up with a pretty brown bruise to match your eyes, shut the fuck up."

Perhaps he was a bit harsh as Tubbo lapsed into silence. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and weighed apologizing. But—apologizing would end with a conversation he did not want to continue, or even pursue. Apologizing would make Tubbo wish to talk to him. It would maybe even get him to reveal his name—it would start something he did not want to.

It would start another cycle, another person that he would have to forget about—or at least, try. It would start another bout of stupidity that—that they had always said he'd had. 

Wariness remained ingrained in his bones, and he would not forget. Tubbo was here for a reason—Tommy did not think it was the same reason he was here. Tommy refused to open up to a boy just because he was his cellmate, just because he was a year older than him, perhaps less. Tommy would sooner die than be weakened by someone he barely knew.

And yet...the haunted eyes of the brown-haired boy named Tubbo lay ingrained in his mind as he drifted off to sleep on the hard metal and single, threadbare sheet of the cot. 

He wondered if he had made the right choice.

"Found a pet, kid?"

Tommy turned, lunch tray in hand once more, to irritably see Corbin there—though, fortunately, with a bruised eye and a row of stitches in his jaw. "You look great."

Corbin snorted. "Who the fuck is he?" He pointed at someone behind Tommy, and he looked over his shoulder to see Tubbo staring at him, looking indeed like a lost puppy, a lunch tray in hand. He noted that it was a regular one—so clearly, the idiot boy wasn't an Avian or an Endarian who ate chorus fruit. Thank goodness he wasn't an Avian. Tommy hadn't thought he was one, though. He would have known if Tubbo had been, but it had been a while since he'd had contact with an Avian, so he'd shut himself away from that mess. 

"My cellmate," he said finally.

"Finally got someone your own age?"

"Careful," he warned, putting up a hand and balancing his tray in the other. "Don't mess with him."

"Don't pretend you care, kid," Corbin snorted.

"I don't," Tommy said amicably, looking away as Tubbo started towards him. "Now fuck off. I'm only trying to help your face not get any fucking uglier, dickhead."

Corbin snarled at him, but wandered off to a different table—leaving Tommy alone, until Tubbo sat down beside him, fiddling with something that vanished into his sleeves the moment Tommy glanced at him.

"That guy seemed friendly," the smaller boy voiced after a moment.

"I punched him in the face yesterday," Tommy said. "For trying to steal my lunch."

"Nobody gets between you and food, huh?" Tubbo noted. "Are you a Feline?" Tubbo squinted at his head, trying to discern if he had ears hiding in his messy hair, but he wouldn't find anything. After all, Avians looked like Humans. 

Tommy brushed off the question. "I don't give a fuck about food, Tubbo. I just want to show him who's the big man around here." That's a lie, that's a fucking lie, all you fucking care about is fucking food—

Shut the fuck up, he grumbled to himself.

"And—I suppose that's you, the big man?" It made sense that there was a hint of doubt in Tubbo's voice—Tommy was a tall, lanky boy with not many muscles to his name. He hid his mental scars behind a smile and a quick step.

"Indeed."

"Will—will they bother me?" Tubbo asked nervously. Again, Tubbo was reminded of—of someone else. He's not here, Tommy reminded himself. He's gone. In a better place. Remember that. He thought about Tubbo's words for a moment, scooping a bit of the greenery into his mouth and making a face at the lack of proper salad dressing. His aunt had made brilliant dressing, despite her not being an Avian. Tubbo played around with a piece of pork on his plate as he waited for an answer.

"Probably not," Tommy decided. 

"But you said—"

"I said they bother me, and that's only 'cause they're dickheads," he snorted. "I think they're just jealous because I'm so cool." He smirked at Tubbo, who rolled his eyes.

"I've got to get out of here," the shorter boy muttered, glancing around once more.

"That's not gonna be easy," Tommy remarked. "There's been like—one escape in the entire time I was here. He was a Phantom."

"You mean Wilbur?"

Tommy shrugged, trying not to react at the familiarity that came upon him when he heard Tubbo speak. "I dunno the name," he lied. He'd been ten, and he did know Wilbur Soot's name—they'd last shared a cell. Wilbur had been seventeen at the time, and Tommy had hacked into the prison and input a coding set that he was sure still existed deep in the records. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of the consequences—that planet, those people—

"Oh, well, he escaped from here," Tubbo said good-naturedly, and Tommy was suddenly glad that he'd kept his name secret from the skinny brown-haired Phantom annoyance. "He refuses to talk much about it, though." Tubbo looked troubled. "I wish that he'd told me who helped him escape."

Tommy really didn't want this conversation to continue. He'd been short, then, and had dirty blonde hair—his hair had lightened with age, as Avians' did—he was sure that if Wilbur had described him, that Tubbo would still not recognize him. 

He didn't want to mess with the Galactic Rebellion. He didn't want to deal with more Arachnids—honestly, the only reason he hadn't left this place was because he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nothing at all. 

He didn't want this to happen again. Not after last time—not with the nightmares that he got, sometimes. Not with—with him, with them, and the screams that shattered his dreams. 

His dad had taught him how to hack things like this—the code buried in the prison system allowed him to input a custom code that would unlock his cell. He did not know much, but he knew enough. Enough to leave. He had enough power to leave. It sometimes itched at the edges of his fingertips. Itched to get out, told him to run and not look back. 

Perhaps he was just a coward, in the end. He did not want to leave—he did not want to face the world. He did not want to face his past. Besides, it wasn't like he could run. The prison was on a colossal rock circling around a solar system of gas giants.

It wasn't like he couldn't fly. 

He'd always loved flying ships, especially small ones that he could fly through asteroid belts with. His dad had sent him through simulations once he had shown interest. Sometimes he dreamt of flying through the stars, searching for the same place that his family had before the explosion that had wrecked his entire life. Sometimes he dreamed of warships and explosions on that damned red planet. Sometimes he dreamed of laughter and light and love. 

Sometimes he remembered his aunt stuffing him into the escape pod; he remembered his screams as she placed a hand upon the glass, their fingers centimeters away—close but not touching.

Never touching again.

He remembered her pressing the eject button, and he remembered her face as she turned to go rush to the bridge to his father. He remembered the escape pods of the Hoglins and Piglins they'd been transporting—yet somehow, he was the only one in prison. He remembered the crew's deaths as the 'rescue' ship came by, and they died, one by one. He remembered his escape pod failing as the explosion came on and watching as the Piglins and Hoglins made it to the planet below, and he was left to float in space among the wreckage of his ship.

Ten years old. He'd feigned innocence, the single line of code that his dad had whispered into his ear and the line of code that his aunt finished—completing something—running through his mind as the Arachnids questioned him. He remembered living and others dying.

"Why are you here, Tubbo?" he found himself asking.

The boy looked at him, brown eyes and freckled face—too young, he thought. Too young for anything but—

"I'm part of the Galactic Rebellion," Tubbo murmured.

Surprise flared in Tommy before he snorted. "They recruit so young?" he asked scathingly.

"What do you have against them?"

"My parents worked for them," he muttered—because it was true. They'd never told him, but he wasn't stupid. He'd put the clues together quickly. They were a 'transportation' crew, but they'd had messages that they dropped off in shady places and guns on their ship that other transport ships didn't have. 

"Really?"

"They're dead," he spat again. Tubbo recoiled, face twisting as he remembered that they'd exchanged these words before. 

"I'm—sorry," the boy said again, just as he had last time. And he probably would again, like—

"It was a long time ago."

He didn't know why he was telling Tubbo this. He'd known the boy for all of twelve hours—and yet, he saw a bit of himself in the other boy. He saw a bit of himself, and he saw a bit of—of other people, from his childhood. Or, at least, the counterfeit one he'd thought he'd had.

"Do you want to escape with me?"

"What?" he said, a lettuce bit falling out of his mouth as he swung his head to stare at the boy in surprise.

"Do you want to escape with me?" Tubbo repeated, biting into his apple with a noisy crunch.

"I..." Tommy trailed off. "Why are you asking me this? Don't you have a mission?"

Tubbo blinked at him. "You weren't supposed to know that."

"I'm not stupid."

"No, I don't suppose you are," the brown-haired boy said thoughtfully. "Wilbur was here accidentally. I'm here on purpose. There's a rumor swirling around the inner ranks of the Arachnids that one of our spies uncovered about someone that knows the location of the Artifact."

"I don't know what that is, and I don't fucking care," Tommy said. "But if you're looking for members of the Galactic Rebellion, they're all dead. Tortured to death—or worse." He snorted. "They never last long here."

"You did."

"I'm not a member of the Galactic Rebellion," he pointed out, grabbing Tubbo's apple and biting it. He did not discount that he hadn't been tortured because that would be lying. The other boy rolled his eyes, but didn't move to grab it back. Tommy counted that as a win. "You shouldn't even be telling me about your mission."

"I've always made a terrible spy," Tubbo said with a shrug.

Tommy leveled him with a look. "Good way to get yourself killed."

"I'm pretty good at that."

You're pretty good at that, Tommy.

Tommy slammed his hand down on the table, glad that nobody was near enough to hear their words, or read the thoughts that briefed his mind from long ago. He knew that some species could do that, but the Arachnids had never gotten one to comply. "Look—Tubbo, or whatever—what are you doing? You're part of the Rebellion—I could have guessed that, by the way—and you don't even know my fucking name."

Tubbo stared at him for a second and then pulled a datapad from absolutely nowhere. Tommy's jaw dropped, and Tubbo tapped through it, fingers flying and bringing up lines of code faster than he could ever hope to see. Tommy saw a guard eye them out of the corner of his eye and start to approach them, his buzz baton raised.

The datapad vanished once the guard got into viewing range, replaced for a piece of obscure metal that closely resembled the datapad—Tommy doesn't know where he got that, either. Tubbo had a look of nonchalance on his face—as if he hadn't just broken every rule in the entire facility. 

"Prisoner T-391, I'm going to need that," the guard apprised, and Tubbo rolled his eyes before handing over the piece of dark metal. The guard examined it for a second before handing it back.

"It's just a piece of metal, sir," Tubbo said innocently. "From the mining faculty back home. Reminds me of my dad. He's probably waiting for me." Tommy gaped at the lie that Tubbo had so easily brought up. Why had Tubbo failed to lie to him?

The guard sneered at them before returning to his post.

Tubbo's innocent look turned quickly into a flash of disdain before that, too, was hidden behind his usual expression.

"The fuck was that?" Tommy demanded.

"That, Tommy, was the reason that I'm part of the rebellion," Tubbo said neutrally, and Tommy's eyes widened at his name. "You never told them your last name?"

"I don't know it," he lied. 

"Ah," Tubbo said. He didn't look like he believed him, but Tommy didn't care because his identity was sound...for the most part.

"What was that?" he asked again. 

"I'm a Shulker," Tubbo said. "There's a fourth-dimensional space I can pull things from. It's another reason I was sent here. It's easy to escape."

A...Shulker?

"Those don't exist anymore," Tommy said. The Arachnids had said that. They were like collectors, and he was the main attraction.

"Well, I'm one, so they clearly do," Tubbo said, sounding affronted.

"You just have—" Tommy gestured randomly. "—a secret dimensional space that you can pull things out of."

"Yes," Tubbo said. "I hacked into the system and found your name." He paused. "Nice bit of code, by the way. For the door."

He started. "You saw that?"

Tubbo snorted. "Yes, I saw that. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Dream would be disappointed in you." Tommy didn't bother to ask who Dream was—probably another one of Tubbo's ship members. "And before you ask how I knew it was you—it has the coding "Big Man Tommy Was Here" on it."

Tommy smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense."

Tubbo's eyes softened. "I'm not in the rebellion because I paid my way in, Tommy," he murmured. "Nor because I'm a Shulker. I have my skills, and though my crew didn't enjoy—read: had many, many arguments—about sending me into this precarious position, the way I'm able to manipulate people with a few words makes things easier. Grown adults have a harder time acting innocent."

Tommy admitted that perhaps he'd underestimated Tubbo.

Chapter Text

Freedom, in any case,

is only possible by

constantly struggling for it.

- Albert Einstein

"I'm the Chief Operations Officer of the L'manburg," Tubbo explained later when they'd been forced back into their cells.

"They'll hear you," Tommy hissed, afraid their cover had already been blown. A cold sweat began to leak from his skin—what if he was still alive? What if he was here, anticipating the tinniest slip-up, and the opportunity had just manifested itself—

"I carry a jammer with me at all times," Tubbo said breezily, interrupting Tommy's languid stream of thoughts—thankfully, as they'd been getting out of hand. When had he fallen so far as to slip up to that degree? "We're free to talk without a chance of someone overhearing us." He smiled kindly. "You said your parents were part of the Galactic Rebellion, yeah?"

"Parent," Tommy admonished absentmindedly. "I never knew my mother." Much. "My dad taught me a bit about hacking—hence the door—and we traveled with my aunt."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tubbo said. "Do you know who they were to us?"

"They never told me they were a part of the rebellion," Tommy explained. "But—I knew. Later on, once I had some time to think about it." He snorted. "And I had a long time to think about it." 

"You've been here since you were ten."

Tommy glanced up at him, mouth opening in a question—and then snapped it shut when he recognized that Tubbo had the datapad back out. "Yes. I'm sixteen now." He flushed at Tubbo's raised eyebrow. "Nearly seventeen." Tubbo didn't have to know that he had been—elsewhere. For good portions of his time captured. Tubbo saw his first entry date—Stardate 92340.81—to the current date—Stardate 98859.56. And that was what was necessary and all Tubbo needed to know.

He was suddenly glad of the thoroughness he had gone through to make sure Tommy would not be missed. Tubbo would not know what he had been part of. What he had survived, and how far he had fallen. 

"That matches up to—" Tubbo cut himself off. "Classified information."

"Wow, and your mission isn't one of them?" he remarked sarcastically, pushing his dark thoughts out of his head and back into convening with his fellow teenager. It made things more manageable. 

"Not like...that," Tubbo said. He sighed. "It's complicated."

"What are you even here for, Tubbo?" Tommy asked. 

"Knowledge," the boy said. "As I said, we're trying to find information on the Artifact." He seemed slightly uncomfortable, as if he'd already revealed too much. Which he had. Even Tommy knew that much. 

"You mean the Artifact the Rebellion stole?" Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow and thinking of individual conversations that had taken place throughout the course of his life—some of which remained ingrained in his head in his nightmares.

"We didn't steal anything," Tubbo snapped. "They're accusing us of stealing the Artifact, but we didn't and—" he sighed. "Sorry. I forgot you've been here for a while and only know the word of the Arachnids." Tommy clamped his lips shut and tried not to breathe too hard. 

"So...why are you trying to find it?" he asked hesitantly, after a second of regaining himself, and clasping his hands behind his bed on the cot, staring at the tiled ceiling. 

"So we can end this galactic war," Tubbo said. "Most of us are sick and tired of it. We've lost too many family members, too many friends." His mouth scrunched into a thin line. "I lost my parents two years ago."

"I'm...sorry," Tommy said. And...he is. He surprised himself when he said that—well, not when he said it, but when he realized he meant it. 

"It's fine," Tubbo said with a sad smile. "They weren't excellent parents anyway. I—miss them anyway. I miss them for my sister." He smiled again, more to himself than any occupants of the room. "They loved her, even if they didn't love me. She's training to be a medical officer," he added, almost in afterthought.

"Sounds interesting," Tommy lied.

Tubbo laughed. "It's not," he said. "But both mother and father were ones, and well—when I chose to pursue operations, especially when I got on the L'manburg—they weren't happy."

"Jealous?" Tommy asked, thinking of his own ship. He had only known the two of them, mostly—others switched on and off, but it had been his home for ten years.

"It's considered one of the best in the Galactic Rebellion," Tubbo said with a wry smile. "I got Chief position a few months back, but I've been on the ship since I was fourteen. As I said, they weren't happy that I was actually good at something other than medicine."

"Your sister," Tommy said. "What's her name?"

"Lani," Tubbo said with a sigh. "She's training under Lieutenant Doctor Niki now," he added. "On the L'manburg as well. It's—scary, having the last member of your family there, especially when we do dangerous missions, but I think I'd rather know where she is than leave her on a planet and have that planet be invaded while I'm gone." 

Tommy thought back to his own ship—the one that his father and aunt had flown before they'd gotten blown up.

The H.M.S Fran, he remembered blearily.

It had been home. For ten years, it had been his home, and then it had been blown up in front of his eyes, and he had been forced to watch the metal drift around him, devoid of life itself.

"Tommy?"

He turned his head to look at—his friend?—was Tubbo his friend, now? He supposed so. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure that nobody's survived here for over five years?"

He nodded. "I'm the oldest—well, actually, I'm the youngest, but I'm the veteran here." He smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Tubbo. You won't be finding any information. They probably died long ago."

Tubbo sighed. "Well, it was worth a shot," he muttered. "Now I gotta get out of here."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Tommy asked, interested—for once.

"The hanger," Tubbo said simply.

"That's suicide." This whole thing was suicide. 

"It's not," Tubbo said. "Not when you know what you're doing."

"Do you? Know what you're doing, I mean?"

Tubbo hesitated. "Well, no—"

Tommy snorted. "Of course not," he muttered. "Do you even know how to fly an Arachnid fighter?"

"No—"

"I do," he interrupted. Squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that Tubbo did not ask why he knew or how he knew. He would not answer, and then suspicion would logically follow. 

Tubbo paused. Looked at him for a second. "Do you...want to get out of here, Tommy?" he asked carefully.

Tommy felt a grin appear on his face—half because Tubbo did not ask and half because there was so much of him that leaped to that question that screamed at him yes. "Gladly," he said—and for the first time in his life, he did. He wouldn't go with the Rebellion, but maybe they would pay him something for helping free one of their...child spies. Perhaps he would get enough to start a new life, away from all this mess—on a green planet with plenty of food for his dying species. He wouldn't have to know that Tommy was gone.

Perhaps he would see...them again. 

"Great," Tubbo said, pulling out his datapad and tapping in a few things. "The L'manburg should be here soon." He cocked his head as a line of text that Tommy couldn't read appeared and then flicked his wrist, the datapad disappearing back into his fourth-dimensional space. 

"That easy?" Tommy gaped.

Tubbo grinned at him. "We're the best of the best, Tommy."

"Who's your helmsman?" he found himself asking. It had been his aunt's position, and he had often listened—patiently, for once—as she'd explained how to fly a ship while his father sat in the captains' chair, watching with prideful eyes. 

Tubbo's grin faded. "How do you know that word?"

"My—" he paused. "The helmsman on the H.M.S Fran taught me some things."

"The H.M.S Fran?" Tubbo said, his jaw-dropping. "Your family served on that ship?"

Tommy winced. "Um...yeah," he said finally, neglecting to mention that his aunt had been the helms..woman and his father the captain—and before she had died, his mother, the Chief Medical Officer. "Why? Do you know it?"

"Tommy, that ship is a legend," Tubbo gasped. "They did hundreds of missions for fourteen years   without being caught."

"Believe me, they were caught," Tommy said dryly. "And killed. Every single one of them." Some of them worse than others. 

Tubbo's expression softened. "I am sorry, Tommy," he said again. "I would have liked to meet Captain Sam, I think. He was apparently a brilliant leader and an even better mechanic." Tommy inhaled sharply at the mention of his father's name, and Tubbo's sharp eyes noted that. "You knew him?"

"You could say that," he replied weakly. 

"And his co-captain, Captain Cara Puffy—she was the pilot, and it was said she could steer the H.M.S Fran through any asteroid field and have the ship escape any battlefront," Tubbo said wistfully.

It was odd, hearing them as legends and not as the people Tommy knew them as. It was odd to hear him talk about Puffy—his aunt—and Sam—his father. They were just merely...people, to him. 

Also, apparently, they were legends. 

"I can't believe that you served on the H.M.S Fran!" Tubbo gushed. "Techno will love to hear about this!"

"Who the fuck is Techno?" Tommy asked. "Also, I didn't serve on it. I was a child, Tubbo. I just followed my dad and aunt around and tried to learn some shit." 

"Techno's the First Officer," Tubbo said. "He  loves  history." Tommy got that feeling that wasn't the only reason, but...Tubbo's eyes sharpened on Tommy. "You don't suppose you know anything about the H.M.S Fran, do you? That's where all the Avians were, and they had important information on scrolls that weren't delivered to Command."

"Tubbo, that ship blew up in front of my eyes," Tommy said. "There's nothing left. And even if there were, the Arachnids would have it."

"You're probably right," Tubbo sighed. "Pity you were the only survivor of the crew." Tommy stiffened, and Tubbo's head shot up so fast that the audible crack of his head from the tension was heard loudly throughout the room. "I am...sorry. I did not mean it like that."

"Yeah, well, you said it," Tommy muttered bitterly. "Look, I get it, I do. Anybody would rather have someone else besides me survive the crash. My family, a random crew member—I get it, everyone was a better choice than some stupid ten-year-old."

"That's not what I meant," Tubbo said gently. "I would rather take you over some stuck-up old guy."

"Even if he had the necessary information?"

Tubbo tilted his head, thinking. "That is a matter between my preferences and my duty as a rebellion member—yet you are here, at this moment, and so I prefer you."

"Thanks," Tommy muttered.

"You mistook my words," Tubbo said momentarily. "You were not the only survivor. Merely the only surviving crew members. Plenty of Piglins and Hoglins were able to get away."

Tommy tried to remember the Piglin creatures and their pale pink-tan skin, their white tusks and beady eyes—not to mention their love for gold. The Hoglins were a different story; more diminutive sentient creatures and far more animalistic—but he had been forbidden to spend time near them, and after a glimpse at their long snouts and sharp yellow teeth, he had followed his aunt's wishes. 

"Remember Techno?" Tubbo prompted him. Tommy nodded wordlessly. "Right, he's a Piglin hybrid. Half Piglin and half Feline." While interesting, Tommy wondered what that had to do with the current situation. "He's one of the survivors from the H.M.S Fran. He talks about it sometimes."

"I don't remember him."

"You wouldn't have," Tubbo said. "He never mentioned a ten-year child among them, anyway. He said that ninety-five percent of the escape pods did not make it to the planet below, and of the seven that did, they were full of Piglins and Hoglins."

"Right," Tommy said stiffly. "And the Arachnids killed everyone else."

"What happened to the ship, Tommy?"

"What?" he asked, faking innocence, the question bringing up a part of him he did not want to remember.

"The rebellion arrived there five days later and found only scrap metal and...bodies," Tubbo said. "They rescued the survivors from the planet below, but there was no ship—or not much of it, anyway."

"It blew up," he said, gnashing his teeth together to keep from straining his jaw.

"I do not think you are telling the truth."

"Fuck off," he said. Tubbo raised an eyebrow at him. "They didn't take the ship or the information. My—the captains thought it best to destroy it."

"How?" Tubbo asked, fascinated.

Tommy swallowed. "By driving it straight at the Arachnids' ship," he said, closing his eyes and trying not to remember staring out the porthole in his escape pod—bearing a perfect view for the sleek white ship that went straight into the spider's jaw. The explosion that followed, while considerable, had horrified him as he pictured his aunt and father, the only two onboard, holding hands before the end. 

Part of him wished that sometimes he had been on board as well—just so the pain in him would not remain. So that he would not have to remember the idiocy of the situation—that situation, they had not wanted to give up the rebellion information, and so they had destroyed it.

From a logical perspective, it made sense. From a logical perspective, the Rebellion—and Tommy's family—would not have wanted the Arachnids to gain information—information that Tommy did not know except for the long string of code in his head. 

From a selfish perspective, it was stupid. From a selfish perspective, from a child's perspective, and from his perspective, he wanted his family back; Rebellion be damned to hell. From a selfish perspective, he hated his family for what their abandonment had done to him. For what had happened to him. It was not logical—but then again, Tommy was rarely a logical person.

"I take it that you were not in the same escape pod as your family?"

Tommy shook his head numbly. "They stayed back on the ship."

"I thought Captain Sam and Captain Puffy would have wanted to do that alone. I am also assuming that autopilot was broken."

"You are correct in your assumptions," he said robotically, trying not to cry. "I was in the final escape pod, and they were not."

"How selfish of them," Tubbo observed. Anger flashed in his eyes. "The ship already had a suitable amount of crew members to...attain the end that the captains wished, so why did they not come with you?"

Tommy closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold wall. His throat was sick, as if there was a lump that he couldn't reach. He hadn't talked about this—ever, really, and now he was sitting down with a boy he had only known for a few hours—had it been a day yet?—and talking about a tragedy that had been a legend. "Tubbo—"

"They left a kid to be on his own," Tubbo said, enraged and furious. "To be—well, captured by Arachnids! The least they could have done is been here with you, so you weren't fucking alone."

"Tubbo—"

"—It just doesn't make any sense—"

"TUBBO!" Tommy realized he was breathing hard as his shout rang out in the now quiet room. "Tubbo, Sam was my dad. Puffy was my aunt."

"Oh," Tubbo said. 

He didn't have time to say more, because all hell broke loose.

It turned out, Tommy had lost his touch with flying. And by lost his touch, that meant that while getting chased by nearly four-dozen Arachnid fighters, he was just barely able to get away.

He would have called Tommy pitiful. Sam would have stood there with a smile and encouraged Tommy to try again at the simulation.

Of course, this wasn't a simulation. This was real life. And Tommy had just flown out of the landing zone and into the asteroid belt that the prison was part of—after all, it was just a bit of technological-heavy metal carved into a giant rock.

A giant rock that was heavily protected and had about a quadrillion fighters in it.

Tommy gritted his teeth and turned the controls, driving the small two-seater fighter behind an asteroid, dodging a line of golden spacecraft fire. "Dammit," he muttered.

"Shields at twenty percent," Tubbo warned him, pressing down firmly and twisting the gun to fire back at their followers. "We must get to the L'manburg." 

"I don't  see  your fucking ship anywhere!" Tommy roared, doing a point roll to dodge another line of fire. "If we leave this asteroid belt, we will die!"

»  Prisoners T-869 and T-391, please relinquish control of your vessel and surrender peacefully to the Arachnids.  «

"OH, FUCK OFF!" Tommy shouted, slamming his hand down on the communications board, doing an inside snap roll to dodge a squadron of Arachnid fighters that had appeared out of nowhere. 

"I do not think Bad would have approved of that," Tubbo murmured.

"Less talking, more firing!" he snapped, holding his breath and moving into a four-point roll, a maneuver that he had been shown only once. 

Tubbo gasped as the world spun before righting itself, and Tommy fumbled with the semi-unfamiliar controls of the Arachnid fighters. "How many times have you flown a craft like this?" he demanded, fingers resuming their motions on the triggers as the world spun past, stars swirling into pale lines as they zoomed over and under the asteroid belt. 

Tommy was temporarily mesmerized by the beauty of space—he always had been, as he only got to see it bi-monthly—and every time, it took his breath away.

"Less staring, more flying!" Tubbo snapped, mimicking his voice. Tommy snorted and dodged into an Immelmann maneuver. 

"We're going to die if your stupid spacecraft isn't here in about twenty seconds," he retorted.

Tubbo glared at him, but didn't respond as he fired more lasers out of their gunship—missing most of the time, but the occasional bouts of joy were heard in Tommy's ears as he concentrated on not  letting them die. 

"The fighters are not operating at the max capacity," Tubbo announced.

"I'm well aware; otherwise, we would be dead," he said, going into a reverse-half Cuban eight. That procedure had required some practice—though not in person, in a simulated environment. He barely accomplished it, just scraping the tip of an asteroid as he pulled up, dizziness swinging through him like the waves in the holomovies. 

"How many times have you flown a real fighter, again?" Tubbo squeaked.

"None," he replied grimly. None in space, anyway. He'd flown an Arachnid fighter before, just...in an area with gravity. Over the golden fields of a red planet. 

"NONE —"

A disturbance shut the other boy up, and Tommy looked up to see a giant silver ship appear just outside the other end of the asteroid belt. He approximated a few trillion meters, gritted his teeth, and dove into open space. 

By now, about two dozen fighters were circling them, and Tommy swallowed when he saw an Arachnid warship warp into the space behind them.

"FUCKING CONTACT THEM!" he shouted, noting the L'manburg written on the side of the silver vessel in giant blocky letters. The rest was a blur as he dove into a bell tailslide to avoid just about a million lasers that were now shooting to kill.

Well, shit. 

Tubbo stopped firing, making the split-second decision that guns would no longer be helpful in this situation. He was right. Tommy yelped as they were hit—barely, just barely—a small chunk of smoking metal lost in the space behind him as he punched the gas—an old metaphorical term, as the Arachnid's ships ran on ischyen—and aimed for Tubbo's stupid ship.

Why the fuck had he gotten himself involved in this mess?

Why did he think escaping was a good idea? 

It was an excellent way to get himself captured and back—

"AN-Craft-2876 to L'manburg, do you copy?" Tubbo's voice said, somehow maintaining his calm. "I repeat, do you copy?"

A second of silence. Tommy cursed up and down, a few choice ones that his dad and aunt surely would never have approved of and a few ones that he'd learned from the prisoners and a red planet covered in the brown grass. 

❯  AN-Craft-2878, we are receiving your hail. State your intentions.  ❮

"FUCKING FINALLY!" Tommy yelped, banishing his leaking thoughts from his mind. He swore he heard someone snicker on the other end before Tubbo resumed talking. The woman speaking had a strange accent that he couldn't exactly pinpoint. Some form of Terran, maybe?

"Minx, this is—this is Underscore," Tubbo said, and Tommy raised his eyebrows at the clear code name. "Can you page me through to Wilbur?"

❯  Tubbo?  ❮

"Nice job keeping my name out of your mouth," Tubbo grimaced.

❯  Holy fookin' shite, I've never been so fookin' glad to hear your fookin' voice in my whole life!  ❮

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I need communication access to the bridge, now," Tubbo snapped, and Tommy wheeled into an Aileron roll. The other boy on the craft gasped softly as Tommy dodged behind an asteroid, swearing as he noted the smoking engine.

Not good, not good—

❯   AN-Craft-2878, this is the L'manburg bridge you are currently broadcasting to.  ❮

Ah. Tommy swallowed as he recognized that voice. It had been six years ago—but he would have recognized that Terran accent anywhere. That was Wilbur. 

"WILBUR!" Tubbo shouted, gasping again as Tommy slammed into a halt and changed his descent into what could only be the way downwards—except there wasn't a direction called down in space. "DO YOU SEE THE FIGHTER CRAFT?"

❯   TUBBO?  ❮

Tommy heard the shouting of background noise behind Wilbur Soot but maintained his silence as he concentrated on not dying. 

"DO YOU SEE THE CRAFT?"

A moment of silence.

❯   Harvey has eyes on a small craft that is being tracked by twenty-three Arachnid ships and a battleship.  ❮

Wilbur was impressively calm as he took in the scenario that they were currently in, Tommy noted. 

"THAT'S US!" Tubbo wailed. Wilbur was less calm.

❯   How the fuck are you alive? That's some damned fancy moves —   ❮

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER; GET US OUT OF HERE!" Tubbo screamed, bringing his knees to his chest as Tommy clicked a few more buttons, trying to increase their speed. "Can you beam us out?"

❯   Fundy says that we cannot do so, as your craft is moving too unpredictably and at too fast of a rate for him to lock control of it.  ❮

"Then tell me where to fucking fly!"

❯  Dream is moving us into position. Can you make it fourteen kilometers at your seven-o-clock?  ❮

Tommy glanced behind him, gritting his teeth, as Tubbo stared at him with wide brown eyes. He nodded once—it would be close, but he would be damned if he didn't try.

"Yes," Tubbo said, voice more confident than it had been before. 

❯  We await your arrival.  ❮

Tommy snorted.

"See you there," Tubbo managed. 

❯  Good luck.  ❮

Chapter Text

Every parting is a form of death,

as every reunion is a type of heaven.

- Tyron Edwards

"I don't believe in luck," Tommy snarled as he shifted into tenth gear and gave the ship everything it got, hairline cracks appearing on the glass. Tubbo muttered something, perhaps a prayer, but Tommy turned the ship sharply left and narrowed his eyes on the L'manburg, noting the hold that was opening up and the engines powered to run as the space battle raged on around him. "Shit, fuck, shit, power up, you fucking dickhead—"

They slammed into the hold, the ship crashing to the ground as gravity engaged around them, and Tommy watched hysterically as a forcefield appeared between them and open space—and then, and then warp, and the stars zoomed past, mere lines of light.

Tommy kicked his legs up and pushed at the glass, shattering it as he jumped out, scrunching his face at the smoking wreck that lay on the pristine floor of the L'manburg's dock. "Fuck that shit," he muttered, helping Tubbo out, both boys covered in soot—one shaking more than the other.

He swore up and down that it wasn't him.

"Oh my God, we're alive," Tubbo said ecstatically, tears of—hilarity?—running down his face. "OH MY GOD, WE'RE ALIVE!"

The doors burst open, and Tommy spun to see two figures burst through it. He jumped as the ship sparked, dragging himself and Tubbo away from it as two women—one fully grown, one a young girl shorter than Tubbo himself—rushed towards them, dressed in scrubs. He surveyed them as they approached. One had bright pink hair—the older—tied back in a small ponytail, and the other—the younger—long brown hair done up in a braid.

"TUBBO!" the little one screeched.

"Lani," Tubbo murmured, face pale as he nearly collapsed into the grip of his—younger sister?

The other one surveyed him, narrowing her eyes as she glanced between him and the wreck, hands moving towards the phaser at her side. She had a small tube up her nose, leading down to a device strapped to her waist—ah, a Merling. He held his hands up to show he meant no harm. "You should take him to your medbay," he said soothingly. "He was stabbed."

"Oh my God," Lani said, hand coming away with blood as Tubbo finally, finally, fainted.

"Weapon?" the other one briskly asked as she picked up Tubbo's feet and herded them back through the door.

"Knife," he answered. "No poison, pure iron. Just blood loss."

"That's a relief," the woman said, touching something next to her ear. "Sapnap, we have an unexpected visitor. Can you come down here with some personal?" She paused, clearly waiting for a response. "Nah," she said after a moment. "He was in the spaceship with Tubbo. I need to deal with an injury, so if you would escort him to the bridge...?"

"What's going to happen to me?" he asked curiously, scrubbing the hair out of his eyes once the woman got her answer and took her hand off her commlink.

"You're going to see the captain," she said. "Seeing as he's unconscious." She nodded with her chin at the pale boy that she and Lani were carrying. "He will be fine, after an IV and a bit of rest," she reassured him. 

He swallowed. "Very well."

Approximately two minutes and fifteen seconds later, a man wearing white and black came jogging down the hallway, a phaser in one hand. He had pitch-black hair and dark brown eyes—not chocolate like Tubbo's, closer to coffee—and a headband keeping his hair back from his eyes. "Niki," he said evenly and then turned to Tommy. "I'm supposed to escort you to the brig?"

The pink-haired woman—Niki—rolled her eyes sharply. "To the bridge, Sapnap," she said, pinching her nose and leaving a bloodstain there. Sapnap stared at it in surprise, glancing down with noticeable concern at Tubbo. "He is fine," she assured him. "Just blood loss. I will take him to the medbay—but I have no doubt that Phil wants to speak to..." she trailed off, offering Tommy the chance to reveal his name.

He did not. "Great, and then can I go?"

"No—" Sapnap said.

"It remains to be seen," Niki interrupted, glaring at the taller man. "Now, hurry up. I have a patient to see."

Sapnap reached for Tommy's shoulder, and he dodged away, grimacing. "I would prefer if you did not touch me." Lani glanced his way as they disappeared around the corner. He had to remind himself that that was Tubbo's sister, and his friend would be fine. They were not trying to kill Tubbo.

"C'mon, dude, let's go," Sapnap snorted, leading him over to what seemed to be an elevator, though far quieter and sleeker. Tommy made sure to note the code he inputted—while at the same time, maintaining his distance from the military personal and pretending to glance away.

7834.

"So...am I arrested?" he asked, as the elevator began its ascent up, white lights blinking at him from behind the glass.

"No."

"Can I leave?"

"No."

"So I am arrested. Under what charges?"

Sapnap opened his mouth—and then snapped it shut. "Thievery?" he tried.

"You are right on that," Tommy grinned, tossing the man the clearance badge that he'd pickpocketed. 

"Hey—!"

The door slid open, and a very familiar sight met Tommy. After all, most rebellion ships were identical—the H.M.S. Fran and the L'manburg were clearly no different.

Five people sat in various chairs around the area. Two in the front, near the window, one at the center—the captain's chair—and two to either side, the Chief Communications Officer and the Chief Operations Officer, separately. One was empty—the C.T.O, Tommy noted.

In the captain's chair sat an Elytrian with crow-black wings, looking at Tommy through glaringly blue eyes and blonde hair, a stupid-looking bucket hat on his head. The Navigations chair—the helmsman—held a blonde-haired man wearing an equally stupid white mask with a smiley face on it, though it was pushed to the side to reveal green eyes and a freckled face. He could only be the one that Wilbur had referred to as  Dream, as Wilbur had mentioned something about navigating over the comms. To Dream's left sat a man with half-orange, half-green hair and the same stupid red shirt that had a customized face on it. Tommy racked his brain for the position—ah, the Chief Operations Officer. So this guy must be Tubbo's stand-in.

The Communications area could only be Wilbur, as Tommy recognized him nearly instantly, from the scruffy brown hair and the lopsided grin to the stupid position that he sat in.

The one that sat in the First Officer chair was a Piglin. Or at least—half-piglin and Tommy quickly identified him as Techno, for there wasn't another fucking pig thing in the room that Tubbo had talked about. 

"Welcome to the bridge," Sapnap said loudly.

"Thanks," he muttered sarcastically.

"Wait a second, I thought Tubbo was here," the Operations Officer said, a touch wistfully.

"He's in the medbay," he informed the half-orange-half-green guy before the others could speak up. "Got stabbed and shit."

"Who the fuck are you?" idiot-mask-guy, also known as Dream, asked.

"Nobody," he said. "Who are you?"

"I'm—"

"Actually, I don't care," he interrupted, his smile curling into a slight smirk as Dream hissed in annoyance. 

"Kid, can you just tell us what you're doing on the ship?" the man in the chair asked calmly.

"For your information, I was in prison," Tommy said sagely. "And Tubbo offered up a rescue. So I took it. After the gravity was removed, we sort of...swam to the ship dock, and I stole an Arachnid craft. Which you saw. Me flying. Of course. I think it was pretty cool."

Techno whistled. "Damn, kid, you know how to fly. Who taught you?"

"I've only flown thrice," he said, brushing the end of the question off. Six mouths dropped. He counted them, one by one, a wicked grin on his face. "Technically. I've done simulations, though." He neglected to mention who had taken him flying because he did not want to think about that. 

"You've only flown a fighter three times, and then you—" Dream started.

"Executed a pretty steller Pugachev's Cobra into a Lomcovak and then shifted tolerably into an inside loop?" he finished seriously.

"Well, yeah," Dream said lamely, surprise flashing across his face as he adjusted his mask.

"I'm pretty cool."

"And pretty arrogant," Mr. Pretty Face muttered.

"Shut the fuck up, Wilbur," he said, without thinking.

The bridge was silent. "How do you know my name?" Wilbur asked after a moment. He did not recognize him. Tommy hid his shaking hands behind his back, suddenly glad of his biology. Suddenly glad that as a youth he had borne dirty blonde hair and his eyes had been far brighter before the youth had been beaten out of him.

"Would you believe me if I said that Tubbo told me?"

"Unfortunately," Wilbur responded, and Tommy let out a small breath of relief. "Kid has a habit of spilling everything. Even though he can lie well, it doesn't make any sense."

Tommy took a moment to survey the holograms, noting the dancing lines—some of which he recognized and others that he did not. "So...why exactly am I here?"

"Well, kid, we want to know who you are," the captain said.

"Who are you?" he retorted, quite rudely.

"I'm Philza," the captain said. "You already know Wilbur, our communications chief, and this is Techno, my first officer." Techno raised an eyebrow at the introduction. "Dream, our helmsman—" So he had correctly identified the idiotic navigator. "—and Harvey, who is currently stepping in for Tubbo as our Chief Operations Officer."

"Brilliant," he said sarcastically.

"So, kid, what's your deal?" Techno asked bluntly.

"Don't call me kid."

"Unless you give me something else to call you—"

"Tommy," he interrupted, a pit forming in his stomach at the ease that he had given them his name. It was fine. They were Tubbo's friends. He could trust them. Enough to give them his nickname, anyway. 

"Okay. Tommy," Philza said. "Who are you?"

He grinned weakly, shifting uncomfortably under the stares. "Would you believe me if I said I was in prison for thievery?" Sapnap rolled his eyes at the small inside joke they shared.

"Kid—" Tommy glared at Techno. "—Tommy, that's a high-security prison for Origins. Not even Humans can get in there. Petty thievery ain't gonna get you anywhere." Tommy was suddenly glad that the other prisoners didn't know that Humans couldn't be kept in that prison. That would have made things a lot more complicated. 

"Not unless you stole a spaceship," he pointed out.

"You didn't steal a spaceship," Dream snorted. 

"How the fuck do you know what I did and didn't do?" he asked defensively.

"Because you said you've never circumnavigated before, save for three times, and I'm inclined to believe that sentence more than this one." Tommy rolled his eyes at Dream's conclusion. "What's the real reason you're in prison?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I plan on leaving for the nearest planet."

"You did help Tubbo escape," Harvey pointed out when Dream opened his mouth to argue. "We could at least take you home to your parents."

Tommy couldn't exactly tell them that his home had been the H.M.S Fran, which was little more than scrap metal floating somewhere in space. That would lead to questions and dealings he didn't want, especially with the Galactic Rebellion.

These guys looked more organized than a simple rebellion. More than his Galactic Rebellion, anyhow. 

"My parents are dead," he said instead. "And before you give me your pitiful stares—they've been dead for over six years." Nearly seven, now. 

"How old are you?"

"Old enough," he said, mirroring his response when Tubbo has asked that. 

"Kid, who are you?" Phil asked, simply.

Tommy opened his mouth to give another bullshit half-truth, but someone else answered before he did.

"He's the last surviving crew member of the H.M.S Fran," Tubbo said.

He whirled to face the shorter boy wearing black slacks and a red jumper, bandages poking out from under his shirt instead of his prison clothes. The elevator doors slid shut behind him, Sapnap silent.

"Hey," Tubbo said softly, as all eyes shifted to him. 

Phil jumped up and walked over to the shorter boy, giving him a quick hug. "It's nice to see you safe," he said.

"Most of me," Tubbo grinned. Harvey cheered and stood up from the console, walking over and clapping Tubbo on the uninjured side.

"Excuse me," Wilbur said. "But is nobody going to address what Tubbo just said?" He glanced at Tommy, who was trying to sidle away and back into the elevator. Techno just stared at him.

"What?" he snarked when the attention of the room was once more put on him. "Can I go now?" He glanced at Tubbo. "Come on, man, you didn't have to say that."

"You'd have told them that you stole a spaceship or something." Tubbo snickered, but that was precisely what he had told them, so...

"For your information, that's a very believable lie—"

"Tommy," Philza said, blue eyes watching him. "Did you serve on the H.M.S Fran?"

"No," he said shortly, and six exhalations of relief were detected throughout the compartment. Tubbo's eye twitched in exasperation. "I was too young to serve as anything but an inconvenience." He grinned good-naturedly. "I was born on that ship, though."

"You—" Phil said, jaw-dropping.

"Yeah, except the escape pod failed and—" He made some vague gestures. "Boom. The ship blew up." He tilted his head, glaring at Tubbo, daring him to say anything. For once, Tubbo kept silent, pursing his lips. "Then they sort of killed everyone else after they refused to give up any information, but I played dumb, and I was just captured."

"You were in that prison for six years?" Techno asked.

No. He swallowed. "Y-yes." He did not want to remember what came in between, from when he was twelve to nearly sixteen. He did not want to remember—it was only a dream, a reality that didn't exist. He told himself that, but in his heart, he knew that he was lying to everyone and himself. 

"I checked the logs," Tubbo said slowly. "His first entry was Stardate 97804.14. That's three days after the H.M.S Fran was attacked."

"Stop with the fucking pity," he snapped, seeing the looks in the eyes around the room. "Man, I'm not their fucking bitch or some shit. I don't know why I'm still alive."  Yes, you do. Don't lie.  "I'm just a sixteen-year-old kid who was in the wrong damned place at the wrong time. I already know you want another survivor; Tubbo already said that."

"I did not—"

"Yeah, you did."

"You are an Avian," Phil noted out of nowhere.

"...what?" he said after a moment, just a touch too late.

You are nothing like him.

"You're an Avian," Tubbo said, almost reverently. "That makes so much more sense now! That's why you're a vegetarian!"

"I—thanks, Tubbo," he muttered. "Yeah, fine, I'm a fucking Avian. So what? Half the crew on the H.M.S Fran were Avians."

"Yeah...nearly the only Avians left in the galaxy, and now that the others are gone..." Wilbur pointed out, and Tommy really really wanted to point out that that wasn't true but bit down on his tongue to stop his mouth from running. "So, it's just you now."

Tommy knew that that wasn't exactly accurate. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if it was false. Not anymore. After all, it had been two years since...well, since the Incident. And he was a relentless bastard, so Tommy had no doubt he was either crawling to his grave or hiding in some unknown corner of the universe waiting to fucking die. "Whatever," he muttered, settling for the stupid answer that it was. "Can I fucking go now? I'm hungry."

He wasn't hungry. He didn't know what he considered hunger anymore. Sometimes he lay awake at night and remembered the pangs in his chest and heard the whimpers of his friends. At least in the prison, he was guaranteed a meal.

"Sure," Philza said, as just about half the bridge crew opened their mouth to argue. 

"I'll take him," Tubbo said.

Harvey pointed a finger at him. "You will not."

Philza nodded. "Sorry, Tubbo. I need to talk to you and Sapnap about...matters."

"Is it about the secret mission that he told me all about?" Tommy drawled. Philza glanced at him, and Tubbo stiffened. "Yeah, okay, shutting up."

"Clementine," Techno said. "Can you contact the quartermaster and tell him to come here to take our...guest...to the cafeteria for some grub?"

Two things happened. First, Tommy's breath hitched as he heard the name— recognized the name. Secondly, an A.I. answered with an explanation that made him want to fall to the ground and faint. 

»  Certainly, Commander. Summoning Quartermaster Purpled to the bridge now.  «

Her feminine voice filled Tommy's head as his mind flashed to nine years prior, to his dad fiddling with something as he sat in the captain's chair, telling Tommy that he was creating an A.I. that had the voice of a family member long gone.

And—the other name.

Purpled.

His head spun as he tried to understand what was going on—why was his luck so fucking sick? He'd just wanted to retire—maybe on Terra or Kaverwall, those were populated, and no power-hungry governers would try to start a genocide. 

His past was catching up with him.

"I think...I'll meet him halfway," Tommy said, throat dry.

"Do you even know your way around the ship?" Dream asked him, seemingly unaware of the sweat that trickled down Tommy's neck as he tried not to drop and curl up in a ball and sob. 

"It's the same layout as the H.M.S Fran," he said. "I'll be fine." There were some suspicious glares, but Philza held up his hand and let him go—though everyone was unaware of the state of mind his head sang. He all but shoved his way into the elevator, only sinking to his knees when the door closed and he'd pressed the button that led to the level of the cafeteria.

God, why?

Why couldn't he just have some peace?

»  Tommy.  «

"Clementine," he said, with shaky breaths.

»  It has been a while, son of my creator.  «

"A while, indeed," he murmured. Brother, she did not say. She was not his sister. Not ever, not despite the name. A.I's did not have sisters.

»  You have changed.  «

"You have not."

»  Why do you wish for others not to know of your birth?  «

"I don't like questions," he muttered. "They—they can't know about Sam and Puffy, Clementine, they can't."

»  Sometimes I do not understand the reasoning of the living, but I will abide by your commands, Tommy.  «

"They cannot know," he insisted, thinking of his aunt Puffy and her white hair and smiling face. "They can't know," he repeated, thinking of his dad, with his tinkering hands and smile. "They can't know that I know you or that they were my family."

»  I do not understand how withholding information will help anyone.  «

"I hate questions," he snarled, tears sliding down his face. "I—what happened...they can't know. I just want to go home, Clementine."

»  The last place you referred to as home was the H.M.S Fran. Have circumstances changed?  «

Clementine was blunt, as usual. She did not totally comprehend feelings, even six years later. He swallowed. "No," he said softly. "My home is gone."

»  Then why do you try to flee?  «

"I want away from this," he said. "All of this. The Galactic Rebellion, the Arachnids—I want to  go ."

»  You are aware that two years ago, Quartermaster Purpled offered you a home among his brothers?  «

He does not want to think of that place. He does not want to speak the words aloud.

»  You are aware that you are the sole survivor of the Red Planet's Genocide that can accurately account the whole story?  «

"No," he murmured. "No. You—you—how do you know this?"

»  Quartermaster Purpled appeared to have nightmares when he first came onboard the L'manburg, and upon further pushing, would not visit one of the counselors that we have onboard. So I offered to talk to him, and he talked to me about what transpired until he fell asleep. He proceeded to do so for many stardates.  «

A slight pause as Tommy tried to grasp the fact that Purpled was alive. Again. There had been an inkling that it was another Purpled—he knew it hadn't been, but it had been nice to live in a fantasy world for a bit—and not his Purpled. 

»  As an AI, I cannot have emotions...but to use the breathing term, I expressed surprise upon finding that Purpled retained knowledge of you.  «

"And you told him, didn't you?" Tommy asked thickly. 

»  As I had received no prior orders to say otherwise—yes, Tommy. I told Quartermaster Purpled of your parents and the H.M.S Fran. He chose not to tell anyone else because it would lead to questions that he did not want to answer.  «

Tommy snorted. "We are still similar in that sense, then."

»  We arrived at our destinated floor three point seven two minutes ago, Tommy. Purpled is waiting outside, and he—much in the living fashion—grows impatient.  «

Tommy stood up, staring at the opaque door, and what he knew lay beyond. He took a breath. "You can—open the door, I suppose." The metal slid open smoothly without a response, and Tommy stared into magenta eyes that widened as they took him in.

Purpled—Purpled hadn't changed. He was still slightly shorter than Tommy, with his dirty blonde hair and fuschia eyes that held back pain—but he was undeniably Purpled.

"Holy shit—Tommy?"

"Hey," he said softly, and then Purpled was squeezing him half to death, and Tommy had to concentrate on breathing, laughing softly as he embraced his friend for the first time in two years.

"You dumb idiot," Purpled scowled as he stepped back, shedding a few tears. "I thought you were dead."

"Nah, I was just in prison."

"By—"

"No," he said shortly. "I flew into Arachnid airspace, and they were pretty interested since I'm the only living Avian."

Purpled tilted his head, eyes wary. He had explained that his eyes were a congenital disability of some kind—like Ranboo's albinism—but Tommy was still slightly unsettled when they tried to read him. "And—are you?"

"Am I what?"

Purpled snorted. "Don't play dumb, Tommy. I went to school with you, and you would play on the simulations all day and get perfect test scores."

Tommy sighed. "I don't know," he said. "Not anymore."

"Okay," Purpled said and left it at that. "Do you want to get food?" Tommy looked at him—and then laughed. Purpled frowned. "Did I say something funny?"

"No," he said. "It's just—well, I've never heard you ask me to go get food in years." He hesitated. "Not from you, at least."

Purpled smirked as he realized what Tommy was talking about. "Come on, you shithead," he said. "Do you still like the leafy shit?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yes. Carrots, if you have them. Golden apples?"

"Golden apples are highly addictive forms of food," Purpled said as if he was quoting something.

"Well, they didn't have proper food for Avians, so they gave me them," Tommy said. 

Purpled frowned. "I gotta tell Niki and—" He froze, glancing at Tommy. "—um, Ranboo."

"Ranboo's here?" Tommy asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yeah," Purpled said with a small smile as they traversed the white halls of L'manburg. As it was the same make as his home ship, Tommy kept expecting to round the corner and see his aunt or his dad standing there.

But no, they had been dead for nearly seven years. They were never coming back.

"He's a nurse under Niki and with my brother, Ponk," Purpled continued, not seeming to notice Tommy's internal battle. 

"And uh, does he..."

"Remember?" Purpled cut in. "No. Not much. Flashes. Feelings. Emotions." He frowned. "He knows—a bit. I told him about you, you know."

"And yet you didn't tell anyone else," Tommy noted sourly.

"No," Purpled murmured. "I said there was another, but I never talked about you to the crew or my family." He glanced away. "I knew you were alive, though. Not because there were signs—but because you've always been too stubborn to die."

"Thanks."

"Besides," Purpled continued. "Would you have—wanted me to tell them about our endeavors on the Red Planet?" He shot Tommy a shaky grin. "I  don't even know the full story, Tommy. I was half delirious out of my mind. I just remember you telling me about—you know. Them. The other three stars. There's...nothing else from my side. You went on the missions; you went to Pogtopia. You were there when—" He broke off.

"When they were executed," Tommy finished, his chest hurting as three faces floated in front of his face, reminding him of his failures. "Yeah. I know."

Chapter Text

'Tis better to have

loved and lost than never to

have loved at all.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

A brown-haired man with an oddly-sewn apron—purple and green and yellow and had a cyan swirl drawn in what looked like shitty markers on the front—had handed two plates to Purpled and Tommy after a second of speaking with the magenta-eyed boy. He hadn't questioned the random kid on the ship, instead choosing to make conversation with Purpled about some white castle and tree that they'd found on their last mission.

Whatever that meant.

Tommy didn't really care about that, but what he did care about were the best carrots of his life that sat in front of him. Holy shit, it was fucking amazing. 

"Slow down," Purpled told him, eating a slice of ham that had fallen out of his sandwich.

"Shut up," he said, spraying carrot bits everywhere. Purpled rolled his eyes good-naturedly and pretended to look disgusted. 

Tommy could barely remember the last time he'd had good food. It had been at least six years—almost seven, now. Before the Wasteland, food had been—had been that place—and then before that had been the Wasteland—again—so safe to say it had been a while. Needless to say, the carrots were really fucking good. "Do you have any golden apples?" he asked, almost in afterthought.

Purpled froze. "Uh—no, Tommy. Those are drugs."

"Drugs are cool."

"No—no, they're not," Purpled snorted. "I need to take you to Niki so she can get you medication for that."

"What's wrong with golden apples?" he demanded defensively. 

"They're a food substitute," Purpled said. "For lazy people. They're also highly addictive and mess up your liver—"

"Okay, okay," Tommy interrupted. "We get it; you're a nerd." He paused. "Please? Just one?"

"No," Purpled said firmly. "They're bad for you."

"They can't be that bad," he muttered, stabbing at his salad with the metal fork irritably. It was weird having a utensil that was actually sharp instead of the dulled-down ones at the prison. He could probably stab someone's eye out with this.

"They're awful," Purpled said, matter-of-factly. 

"I've eaten them for like two years."

"Yeah, and now you need to stop before you die," Purpled said.

"With that fuckhead still around, I'm probably gonna die anyway," he muttered.

Purpled froze, his sandwich dropping back onto the plate. Tommy had to muffle a laugh at the dumbstruck look on his pale face. Fortunately, the cafeteria was empty—standard time, it was the middle of the day. "He's alive?"

Tommy blinked. "Yeah. That's why I didn't want to leave the prison until good ol' Tubbo convinced me to board your shit. I mean ship."

Purpled pushed his face away, looking vaguely sick. He put his face in his hands, his dirty blonde hair falling over his fingers. Tommy frowned. "We reported him as dead," the magenta-eyed boy groaned. "You're telling me he's alive?"

"'Course," Tommy snorted, trying to remain upbeat and not think—of him. "He escaped into Arachnid space. That's how I got captured again." Tommy paused. "I don't think he knew where I was. That's why I stayed. So—" he swallowed. "—so I wouldn't have to go to any more boarding schools." Or, you know. Starve.

"We have to tell them," Purpled said.

"No," Tommy said firmly.

"He's a war criminal," Purpled insisted. "We—the Galactic Rebellion will send other people after him, looking, Tommy, you won't have to see a hide or hair." He managed a shaky grin. "Just—they have to know, or they won't look. We could—save people. Children, maybe. If he's doing the same thing."

As much as he loathed to admit it, Purpled was right. They had to tell the captain so he could contact—wait, no, they didn't.

"Can't you send a private message to—to your leader?" Tommy asked. "I don't—I don't want to talk about it."

"Sooner or later, you will," Purpled warned. 

"No, I won't."

"You will," Purpled said. "You know what they say, right? The past always catches up to you. You can't just keep hiding, Tommy." He hesitated. "Where—where were you planning to go, anyway?"

Tommy shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe become a transport pilot or something. Earn some credits. Then retire on an enjoyment planet—something like that. Enjoy the beach. See a beach."

"You're better than that, Tommy," Purpled said. "You're too good for that type of job." He tilted his head. "We saw how you flew. I—you have natural talent. You should—should join the Galactic Rebellion."

"What?"

"You should," Purpled insisted. "Look, Phil can probably get you a place." 

"But I don't..." Tommy trailed off. Sam had always talked about settling down for a few years and having Tommy go to a good flight school like the one his parents and aunt had. Then, he'd thought it would be some private school and hadn't wanted to.

Looking back, he knew that it was the Fleet school. That it was the school of the Galactic Rebellion, located on Terra. 

"I know you do," Purpled said. "You talked about it."

"That was a long time ago," Tommy said through gritted teeth, balling his hands under the table. 

"It was three years ago."

"A lot has changed in three years."

Purpled didn't argue, changing the subject. "I can't actually get a comms link through to Command. We'll have to go to Wilbur for that."

"Or we could sneak—"

"No," Purpled said firmly. "We're going to tell him or the entire crew. Your choice."

"That's not a choice and more of blackmail."

"Yes," Purpled said. "But I'm not keeping secrets when he could come looking for—for you and me and Ranboo."

Tommy swallowed, thinking of brown grass and screams and a body hitting the ground in front of him, their eyes open and unseeing. "Okay," he agreed in a small voice. "Fine."

Purpled flashed him a smile that was more menacing than it was friendly. "Good. Let's stop by medbay first." He glanced at Tommy's empty tray. "To uh—get you off your golden apple addiction."

"It's not an addiction; I can quit at any time," Tommy grumbled. "I just don't want to," he added.

"Uh-huh," Purpled said, getting up and stepping away from the bench. Tommy followed him as they headed down a different hallway. Despite having memorized the HMS Fran as a child, he'd forgotten where some places were. One of them being the medbay. "Five stages. The first one, denial."

"Five stages of grief, not fucking addiction," he pointed out. 

"You're grieving the loss of your golden apples."

"Shut up, bitch."

Purpled smirked as they turned the corner, nodding briefly to a Blazeborn in a red and black cloak, who smiled kindly and stepped by to let them pass. "You know," he said, once the—Tommy didn't know his position on the ship—Blazeborn passed. "You haven't changed much."

"I've gotten taller," he pointed out, remembering when he had just barely been taller than his friend. They'd both gotten taller, with Purpled still taller than him by a good inch, but there was no doubt that they were no longer the short children they'd been on Pogtopia.

"I meant personality-wise."

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome," Purpled said, stopping outside a door and placing his hand on the scanner. It opened to reveal what was clearly a hospital—or medbay, in this case. Tommy froze when he saw Tubbo sitting on one of the cots, his sister shining a bright light into his eyes, and the woman called Niki standing patiently by. In the background, organizing some tools, was an Enderian—half-albino—that had one green eye and one red, though he was not currently facing Tommy enough to see the familiar glimmering pupils.

"Hey, Tommy," Tubbo said quietly. 

Ranboo whirled, his eyes widening. Tommy winced quietly, and Purpled gave a quick shake of his head as Ranboo opened his mouth. Fortunately, despite having amnesia, Ranboo was able to discern to shut the hell up before he spilled every secret that Tommy had ever had to the three remaining members of the room. 

"Hey, Purpled!" Niki said brightly, turning to face them closely. Tommy wondered if the tube that fed water up to her nose so she could breathe was painful. "And—the kid that wouldn't tell me his name. Tommy, apparently."

"Right," Purpled said. "Hey, Tubbo. Niki. Lani." The shorter girl nodded before muttering something to Niki, who adjusted her hand slightly. 

"My eyes," Tubbo muttered.

"Oh, you can hold still for a second," Lani said briskly. 

"Ranboo," Purpled said. Ranboo was still staring at Tommy, his eyebrows furrowed. "Um, I brought Tommy here for..." he trailed off.

"Is he injured?" Niki asked, stepping closer, her bright eyes surveying him. 

"No, apparently I have an addiction," Tommy said.

"To what?" Niki asked as Ranboo's head shot up to meet his gaze, and Tubbo glanced at him before his sister adjusted his head so she could continue his...eye check-up, or whatever. She gestured to one of the cots closest to the door. "Sit down, please."

Tommy debated arguing but gave up and sat down heavily, tugging at his t-shirt uncomfortably. "It's not an addiction."

"It's an addiction," Purpled clarified from where he leaned against the doorframe, which was now closed. 

"It's not. I can stop at any time."

Niki snorted unprofessionally. "As if I haven't heard that before." She tilted her head, propping her hands on her hips. "Vape? You don't smell fruity. I don't think it's heroin, though you are thin—"

"Look, as much as enjoy the drug talk, I resent that," he interrupted. "I'm not a fucking heroin addict, okay? Or—or cocaine, or any of that shit. Not even weed, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Ranboo asked, and Tommy inhaled sharply. It had—been a while since he'd heard that voice. And even longer since he'd heard the Enderian speak a coherent word besides his mutterings that he'd had—then. 

"It's a joke," Purpled said. "Ah—Niki, it's golden apples."

"Ah," Niki sighed. "This is why I hate the Arachnids. They don't feed their prisoners properly."

"That's the only reason?" Tommy asked.

"No," Niki said. "But it's pretty high on the list."

"He's an Avian, Niki," Tubbo piped up. "I'm guessing they were too lazy to give him a proper diet, so they did golden apples."

"Which is never good," Niki lamented. "Well, at least it doesn't have too bad of withdrawal effects." She smiled kindly. "Sorry about that, though. We'll get you better in no time."

"But they taste good," he complained.

"Yeah, and that's never a good sign," Niki said. "Good things tend to be bad for you." Tommy snorted quietly. "How long have you been eating them?"

"Uh—two years," he said. Niki raised an eyebrow. "Um—well, four, actually—when I was ten 'till I was twelve, and then there was a..." he glanced at Purpled, who gave him an I'm-not-going-to-cover-your-ass look. "...surplus of greens, so I had a break until I was nearly fifteen. And then until now." Technically, he wasn't lying. 

Technically. 

"And you're...?"

"Seventeen," he said. Everyone in the room gave him that look, and he threw up his hands. "Four days away until seventeen."

"Really?" Purpled said. "Wow, I haven't celebrated your birthday—" he cut himself off. "I meant I hadn't celebrated a birthday in a while."

"Wasn't it Bad's birthday two days ago?" Niki asked.

"Yeah, but I meant like someone my age," Purpled said hastily.

Nice save,  Tommy thought wryly. 

"...okay," Niki said, clearly not believing him. "Well, I'll have Karl bake you a cake or something." At Tommy's frown, she clarified, "He's the guy in the makeshift apron."

"Oh, the weird-looking guy," Tommy said.

"We're all weird looking here," Tubbo called out as he batted away Lani's flashlight. "Okay, get that thing away from my face, Lani."

Lani grinned at Tommy, finally putting down the flashlight and flicking it off. "Wait, you're not going to shine that thing in my eyes, are you? Because I have naturally dilated pupils, what with being an Avian and all that." Tommy had literally no idea if that was true or not, he just didn't want a bright light in his eyes. 

"No," Niki said with a bit of merriment in her voice. "We don't plan on doing that. I was just showing Lani how to look at the corneas and retinas."

"Yeah, while blinding me," Tubbo grumbled. His sister poked him in the chest, and he shooed her away. 

"I have absolutely no idea what the fuck you just said," Tommy announced. 

"Good thing you're going to study piloting at Fleet School instead of medical, then," Purpled snorted.

Niki turned to look at him. "He's what?"

"That's not decided," Tommy said.

"No, wait, that's a good idea!" Tubbo said eagerly. "Then after you've graduated in a few years, you can come on this ship and learn under Dream or something!"

"What—no!" Tommy said. Tubbo jabbed a finger in Purpled's direction, the magenta-eyed boy maintaining his smug expression. "We didn't agree on that!"

"But you want to," Purpled said. "You really really do."

"I—" Tommy said. "That's beside the point. I have no plans to do that, or step foot in this stupid place after I'm dropped off."

"If you call my medbay stupid one more time, I will jab you with a paralyzation needle so hard that you'll be unable to move until your birthday," Niki said frostily.

He swallowed as Tubbo and Ranboo choked on a laugh. Purpled outright chuckled, and Tommy flipped him off before turning back to Niki. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's what I thought," she said. "And I think you'd do great at Fleet School, Tommy. Maybe you'll graduate in five years instead of the usual seven!"

"No," he said. "I have no intention of dying like—like my dad did."

"In a cool fiery explosion in space?" Lani asked. 

Tubbo hissed. "Lani, that was a terrible way of expressing your condolences." 

"It was?" Lani blinked. "Oh. Sorry." She seemed genuinely apologetic, which was at least something. "Who was your dad, anyway?" Tubbo cringed slightly as he knew the answer, and Ranboo and Purpled blinked rapidly.

"An Avian," Tommy said.

"That's not an answer."

"I don't care," he said. "I've already said too much." Tubbo rolled his eyes, and Purpled gave a loud sigh. Niki cleared her throat, and when Tommy turned to face her, he blanched at the silver hypospray in her hand. "I don't think that's quite necessary—"

"Try me," she said.

"I could sue for harassment," he warned, scooting down the cot as she took a threatening step closer. Purpled, Ranboo, Lani, and Tubbo, watched with merriment as he darted away. Fuck them. 

"My medbay, my rules," Niki said airly. 

"I don't think that's quite how it works."

A glint shined in the Merling's eyes, the shorter woman seeming suddenly deadly. "I could be using a protodynoplaser on you. Or an Osteogenic stimulator. Or a phoretic analyzer—" 

"No thanks," he said loudly. "And fuck you guys." This was directed at the other kids in the room, four of which were laughing loudly. Ranboo was at least still attempting to smother his grin. "If I die, you're not going in the will."

"You have no personal belongings," Purpled deadpanned.

"Fuck off," he snarled, and then Niki's hand was on the other side of his neck—she'd surprise-attacked him—and the needle from the hypospray was being injected into his neck. He yelped, reaching for it, but she's already pulled away. "Ranboo," she said as if she hadn't just nearly murdered him. "Can you put that in the cleanser in a bit?"

"Yeah," Ranboo said.

"Don't think I can't hear you, Tommy," Niki said, and Tommy froze from where he was muttering things under his breath. "Yes, that's what I thought." She tilted her head as Tommy scowled at the ground, rubbing his neck. "Hey, do you mind if I take a bit of bloodwork? I want to study your genes. The Avians were a very secretive people, so we don't really understand their genetics."

"This one would prefer if that strategy continued," he said, standing up furiously.

"Maybe later, Niki," Purpled said in a low voice. "I think we've already pushed him far enough today."

Niki let out a tiny breath. "Okay. The hypospray should remove some of the elements from your body," she told Tommy. "Just don't go eating any golden apples. And if you have some extreme withdrawals within twenty-four hours, then come right back here so we can monitor you. Different species react differently to the recession of golden apples from their body."

"Aren't you like...a sort of science officer?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be able to tell me how bad they'll be?"

"No," Niki said. "As I said, the Avians were a pretty secretive species. We don't even know if they're distinctive from being human, despite not being able to digest meats."

"Like if they have any epic magical abilities," Tubbo said eagerly.

"No," Niki sighed. "It would be psychological, or perhaps of the mind. It's not magic; it's biology."

"Whatever," Tubbo said. "So...do you have any magic, Tommy?"

"Um," Tommy said. He was the last of the Avians—at least, damn well close enough, he thought. They deserved to know something. "We can run faster," he offered weakly.

Niki raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's intriguing—"

"Boo, boring," Tubbo called.

"Tubbo, shut up," Ranboo said, smacking him across the back of his head. "You literally can't run because Shulkers have smaller lungs and are smaller people and don't have the capacity to move far at all."

"Lani can't run; I did track at school and was on Varsity—"

"Anything else?" Niki interrupted before the two boys formed a further argument. 

"Um..." Tommy said. "I—species secrets." 

"Fine, okay," Niki said. "But don't think I won't take your bloodwork before I leave," she called. 

"You won't," he said, pausing outside the medbay doors as they slid open smoothly for them.

"If we start bleeding out and I don't know your blood type, it's on you, then," Niki warned good-naturedly.

He paused in the doorframe, Purpled waving goodbye to his friends. "O negative," he said after a moment.

"What?" Ranboo asked.

"O negative," he repeated. "My blood type. It's O negative. For references, all Avians had O negative blood type, believe it or not." He vaguely remembered Sam telling him that.

Niki's eyes were wide. "Celestial blood donors," she said.

"Yes," Tommy said. "I am...well aware of how much people said we were worth because we could freely give humans our blood, and their bodies wouldn't reject it." He shook his head. "It is one of the reasons we stayed together. Much like the Elytrians would call a flock." Niki nodded knowingly as the door slid shut again, cutting off the four from Purpled and Tommy. 

"Niki's dying of curiosity, you know," Purpled said. "I think George would be pressuring you for a check-up as well, but he's fast asleep. As usual."

"George is...?" Tommy asked.

"Ah, the Chief Science Officer," Purpled said. "He's pretty smart...when he's not flirting with Dream, setting things on fire with Sapnap, or sleeping."

"Wait, Dream and George are dating?"

"No," Purpled said. "They're just bros doing bro things." He started walking down the hallway. "Let's go find Wilbur."

"Why do you need me?"

Tommy yelped, throwing up his hands in a low defensive position as he whirled to see Wilbur standing beside them in a corridor that had been empty a few seconds ago. "What the fuck?" The tall brown-haired man cocked an eyebrow at him, seemingly unimpressed.

"Hello, Ghostbur," Purpled said mockingly, as Tommy put his hands down carefully, trying to calm his racing heart. 

"Don't call me that," Wilbur said. "I'm a Phantom, not a ghost. You don't go around calling Eret Ghostet."

"Eret doesn't intrude upon private conversations," Purpled said.

"The conversation was about me."

"I'm pretty sure there are procedures and rules that ban you from doing that," Tommy pointed out. 

"How would you know?" Wilbur asked, his form flashing from tangible to transparent threateningly.

Tommy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I was born on a spaceship, you know," he said. "Avian and all that. I read the manuals for fun when my dad left for the missions on dangerous planets."

Wilbur looked confused. "They let a kid be on a spaceship alone?"

"No," Tommy scoffed. "There were engineers and nurses around." He grinned. "One time, when I was nine, I had to kickstart the H.M.S Fran into working because the helmsman was sprayed by some porous plant that caused her to hallucinate."

He didn't specify that the helmsman was his aunt.

"You mean Captain Puffy?" Wilbur said, voicing his thoughts but not his familial lines. "I never read about that in the reports. What happened to the second-in-command?"

"Dead," Tommy said stiffly. He'd never really met the Avian that had been Puffy's second, but he had remembered his father and aunt saddened by his never coming back from a scouting trip. He remembered the frantic searching, and he remembered a fiery pyre and downcast eyes of a sepulture outside a radiant white ship on a pink planet of perennials. 

"Oh. Right."

"I don't think they would put something that could get Puffy's captain license revoked in their reports," Purpled said, rolling his eyes. 

Wilbur snorted. "You learn more and more every day," he murmured, his eyes flashing to Tommy for a brief second before they returned to Purpled. "So. Why did you need to find me?"

"Not here," Purpled said briskly. "Too many ears."

"There are only two Phantoms on board, and as you like to point out, I'm the only one capable—sorry, rude enough to listen in," Wilbur said.

"It's secrets," Purpled said. "I don't want to risk it."

"Really?" Wilbur said, his lips crooking up into a shallow smile as his gaze once again halted on Tommy. "Secrets? I like secrets. It seems Tommy here is hiding more than a few things, eh?"

"So what?" he bristled as Purpled directed them down the corridor once more.

"So...don't you think that these secrets are important to tell?" Wilbur asked him. 

"That's why I'm telling you," he said. "Against my will."

"Yeah, I convinced him," Purpled called over his shoulder. 

"They can't be that bad, right?" Wilbur asked him.

Purpled typed in a code on the scanner, and Tommy was too distracted to try to remember it—unlike the elevator number—as his entire life flashed before his eyes. The room that opened up was a sitting room, but the lights flicked on as Tommy walked in, noting the chairs' positions and the seating arrangements. He sat down heavily on one of the plush couches, Wilbur settling across from him. After a second—and after the door had shut—Purpled sat down next to Tommy, but not close enough so they would accidentally touch. 

"Yeah," he muttered, his throat suddenly thick. "It's bad."

"So tell us."

"I don't want to," he said stubbornly.

Purpled sighed. "Tommy—"

"It's not like you're telling yours, either," Tommy huffed.

Purpled stiffened. "I don't need to talk about the Red Planet," he said in a low voice. "They got what they needed about—about—" he stuttered on the words. "—Chroma and the Children's Rebellion, and they didn't need the details."

Tommy closed his eyes briefly. He wished he was strong enough to say—say that name—he wished he was strong enough to think about that time.

But he wasn't, and so he ignored it instead. He was sure that wasn't a perfect coping method, but his parents weren't around to tell him differently, so...

"Hey, let's not compare your experiences to the Red Planet's Genocide," Wilbur said warningly, his eyes flashing. Purpled had his eyes squeezed shut, trying not to cry.

Tommy laughed dryly, rubbing his face. Little did they know that it was the same experience—except he was the leader of the Children's Rebellion, and he had been close—close enough—to Chroma, and he had watched children get executed on the streets below the watchful eye of a prideful man that had refused to call for help. 

Of three thousand, two hundred, and seventy-three, there were only two survivors known to history.

He was not one of them.

Chapter Text

Trying to avoid sadness

is trying to avoid life.

- Maxime Lagacé

"It's about—Chroma," Purpled choked out. Wilbur looked at him worryingly.

"Are you sure you don't want to see Bad, Purpled?" the Chief Communications Officer asked carefully.

Purpled shook his head stubbornly. "I've seen him enough," he muttered. "I have to—keep moving forward." His eyes flashed to Tommy before going back to his hands. "It's just practice, Wil. Just practice."

"Sounds more like a pain to me," Wilbur said.

"You have no idea," Purpled muttered, scrubbing at his eyes with the corner of his uniformed sleeve. "Anyway—um. Chroma—he's—" Purpled choked on his own words, and Tommy nudged him with his elbow.

"He's alive," Tommy spat, forcing the words out of his throat. Wilbur's brown eyes widened, and Tommy amended his statement. "Um...I think."

"No, no," Wilbur said, more in denial than disbelief. "No, he's dead."

"They're only dead if you see the body," Tommy said. "He's not dead. I've seen him."

"You what?"

"In—passing," Tommy lied. "It's not important."

"He's a murderer. I think it is."

"Look, Mr. I'm So Smart, I was in a prison full of war criminals and poor attempts at spies," Tommy said. "I saw a shit ton of people in my time."

"And one of them was Chroma?" Wilbur asked dubiously.

"Yes," Tommy said. "Well, I think."

"I think that's good enough for me," Purpled said. "Just—contact Command and tell them to restart their search?"

"At what? The world of a child?"

"At the word of the survivor of the H.M.S. Fran," he corrected. "I'm not some nobody."

Wilbur sighed. "Look, kid, I believe you. Phil believes you. But Command won't. Not without evidence of who you are."

"I have evidence," he said.

Purpled turned to him questioningly. "You do?"

"Yeah," he said. "Clementine?"

"She's not going to answer you," Wilbur snorted. "She was programmed to listen to the crew, and you are not—"

»  Yes, Tommy?  «

Tommy immensely enjoyed the dumbstruck look that befell Wilbur's face. "Hey, Clementine, who am I?"

»  You were born on Stardate 81883.28 on the H.M.S. Fran on a Terran Saturday, Tommy. As a child, you ran around the ship, causing mass mayhem. Do not be discouraged, though, for the crew loved you and the other children. I was saddened to hear of your death, though when the Chief Operations Officer contacted the ship and I recognized your voice, I was as gladdened as I could be as artificial intelligence.  «

"Thanks," he muttered. 

"Clementine remembers you," Wilbur noted.

»  That I do, Lieutenant Soot. Captain Philza dismissed wiping my databanks of the H.M.S. Fran, for he wanted to hear what happened to them. I remember Tommy quite well. The Avians were an enjoyable group of people. Unfortunately, you are one of the last of them.  «

Tommy closed his eyes, trying not to cry as Sam and Puffy's faces filled his peripheral, laughing as they tossed him up or fed him chocolate pudding. "You remember my parents, then?"

»  They were wonderful people.  «

He knew that Clementine would keep his secret—that she was, currently, keeping his secret. "Thanks, Clementine."

»  Of course, Tommy.  «

"You're not going to start crying, are you?" Wilbur asked him, brushing his brown hair out of his eyes.

"No," he snapped. "Tommy doesn't cry."

"Did you just speak about yourself in the third person?"

"He does that," Purpled said. 

Wilbur sighed. "Well, I suppose there could be worse coping methods due to traumatic experiences. I'll write you up to talk to Bad."

"What—wait, is Bad some kind of chiropractor or thera-therapist or some shit?" he said. "No, no, no, no—"

"You sort of have to see someone so they can check your mental health before you enter Fleet school," Purpled pointed out, helpful as usual. “Sometimes.”

"See, that's why I don't want to attend Fleet school," he said.

"I think you should," Wilbur said.

"I don't give a shit about your fucking opinion," Tommy snarled, his fists clenched. Wilbur blinked at him.

»  Tommy, you have wanted this for years. Think of the person you could be. The people you could save.  «

He pointed the finger at the ceiling angrily. "Shut the fuck up, Clementine! You're not helpful, as usual!"

»  I was designed to be helpful—  «

"And I was designed to kill people!" he said. "So shut up; otherwise, I'll find your little black box and rip it out myself!"

"Usually, I'd get mad for you for threatening Clementine, but I get the feeling that you're just ranting and wouldn't actually do jack shit," Wilbur sighed. "I—I'm gonna go send that message to Command. So that they could be on the lookout. Just. You know. In case."

"Oh," Tommy said. "Do you believe me?"

"I never said I didn't," Wilbur pointed out. "I...don't know you, Tommy. You seem like a childish gremlin with a perchance for murder and threats." He held up a hand as Tommy opened his mouth angrily. "You also seem like a nice kid that saved Tubbo and gave us some valuable information on the H.M.S. Fran. Do I trust you? No. But I trust him." He gestured to Purpled. "He trusts you."

"Thanks," Purpled said dryly.

Wilbur inclined his head in their direction before getting up to leave.

"Wait!" Tommy said. "You can't tell anyone else!"

"Yeah, actually, don't," Purpled said.

"That's against regulations," Wilbur said, his hand next to the door.

»  Need I remind you, Lieutenant Soot, that earlier today you broke regulation 34.5 B-4, in which it states— «

"Yeah, yeah," Wilbur said. "Still. What about—"

"I'll tell Ranboo myself," Purpled said. "But the others don't need to know. Especially not Ponk and Punz."

"Why?" Wilbur whispered. "This changes everything."

"It's not ours to deal with," Purpled said. 

"It is, actually."

"Just—don't, okay?" Purpled said.

"I'm sorry, Purpled, but I have to," Wilbur said. "It's part of my job."

"Wait," Tommy said as the door slid open with a breath of air. Wilbur turned to look at him, a tired glow filling his eyes for half a second as his Phantom half glimmered just under the surface. Tommy wasn't much phased. "Wilbur, you owe me a favor. I'm calling it now."

"What?" Wilbur said. "I—I literally met you a few hours ago, gremlin child."

Tommy snorted at the term of 'endearment.' "Nah. You met me seven years ago."

"I—did?"

"Yeah," he said, unphased and shoving his hands in his pockets. Even Purpled looked curious as he swung his magenta eyes to gaze at him. "Wilbur Soot. Seventeen. Messy brown hair and a broken guitar. Swore up and down, you were a musician, but the Arachnids didn't care, because of course, they didn't." Wilbur looked positively horrified by that point. "You were there accidentally, on a mission to—Snowshire, was it?"

"Snowchester," Wilbur corrected absentmindedly. "You-you're him." Surprise flickered in his eyes.

It wasn't really a question. So Tommy nodded jerkily.

"You didn't even tell me that!" Purpled complained.

"You guys haven't known each other that long," Wilbur said, sounding confused. "Why would he tell you?" Purpled shrugged, glancing at Tommy nervously. "Anyway, you're that kid that hacked me out."

"Yeah," he drawled. "I am. So you owe me a favor."

"I thought that was out of the goodness of your heart," Wilbur said, eyeing him with a slight frown.

Tommy laughed. "When you describe me, big man, good ain't a word you use." He paused theatrically. "Cynical, dishonest, vulgar, self-obsessed—"

"One might even say you have a superiority complex," Purpled pointed out helpfully. Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever, bitch," he snorted. "It doesn't matter. Technically, you owe me a favor." He crossed his arms. "So don't tell them about this."

Wilbur blinked at him. Several expressions crossed his face—anger, annoyance, and a bit of respect. "Fine," he said, finally, and walked through the closed door, his eyes flashing slightly as he activated his Phantom form.

"Clementine, make sure he's not here," Tommy said after a few seconds of silence, sitting down heavily on the couches.

»  The Lieutenant has withdrawn from his Phantom form and can be currently observed proceeding his way down Hallway 1A-6N. Do you require any additional information, Tommy Innes?  «

"No," Tommy said heavily. "I don't." The day's events suddenly came crashing down on him, and he felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes—but no! He wasn't weak!

Purpled seemed slightly in awe as he glanced around the room, probably looking for the speakers that Clementine's feminine voice emitted from. What he didn't know was that they were built into the walls in almost every room—though, cameras were only in the hold, the security center, the bridge, and the hallways. "I don't have clearance to do that," he said, almost dreamily. "Tubbo doesn't either, and he's my boss."

"Tubbo's your boss?" Tommy asked.

Purpled nodded. "Quartermaster falls under Operations...so yeah." He laughed dryly. "I have a kid that's younger than me as the Chief Operations Officer." Purpled paused, saw Tommy's incredulous look, and then inclined his head softly. "He deserves it, though. Tubbo is brilliant."

"He is, now?" Tommy didn't attempt to keep the doubtfulness out of his voice.

"As brilliant as you are," Purpled nodded. "If you applied yourself."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult," Tommy said.

"Both," Purpled laughed, elbowing him, and Tommy was reminded of golden grass and scarlet skies and staring at the night sky, mapping constellations and talking about a ship they'd have of their own one day. His chest hurt briefly—that dream was never meant to be, though, as much as he had loved it. "He's just a kid—a bit older than you by a few months, actually—but he's astute. He's the Chief Operations Officer, so that means he has the primary responsibility of ensuring that the ship functions—"

"—such that the use of the lateral sensor arrays does not interfere with one another. They must prioritize resource allocations so that the most critical activities can have every chance of success. If so required, they can curtail shipboard functions if they think they will interfere with the ship's current mission or routine operations," Tommy said robotically. Purpled looked at him, surprised. "Puffy made me memorize the book when I got in trouble."

"You must have gotten in trouble a lot," Purpled said.

Tommy shrugged. "I memorized the book, so they moved me on to memorizing the ship's blueprints. Every time I got in trouble—badly, more than a brief scolding—Dad would hand over a piece of paper, and I would get to draw the ship, room by room, centimeter by centimeter."

"You know," Purpled said after a moment. "It's still odd that—that people like Captain Puffy and Captain Sam were your family. Captain Sam was your father."

"Yes," he said. "And I didn't actually know they were part of the Galactic Rebellion until I figured it out for myself." He grinned lazily. "They weren't exactly secretive about it. I think they were waiting for me to figure it out myself."

"Still," Purpled said. "Being aboard the H.M.S. Fran? That must have been epic!"

Tommy laughed. "It was more than epic, Purpled," he said reproachfully. "It was home. I was born there. I grew up planet-hopping and going on missions—though I didn't know that at the time. It was...just a ship, in the end. As legendary as they were, nothing is invincible." He shrugged. "It was just home, to me."

At promptly 0700 the next day, Tommy heard a loud knock on the door. He grumbled, pulling the sheets over his head. 

"Fuck off," he called and rolled over and fell asleep.

Five seconds later, the sheets are taken off his head, and Tommy yelped at the wave of cold air, curling into a ball.

"Time to get up," Tubbo chirped, flicking on the lights.

"What the fucking hell, you bitch!" he snarled, scrambling for a semblance of warmth, his sleeping clothes, given to him by a passing yeoman after Purpled had shown him his rooms, suddenly thin. "It's too early for this bullshit!"

"This is the standard start to every morning," Tubbo told him.

"Well, it's not mine, so I'm going back to bed."

"Nope!" Tubbo said, dodging Tommy—more like stepping back, but Tommy liked to think that he made a more astounding move than trying to blearily grab at the sheets in Tubbo's arms. "Phil told me to show you around—note, convince you to join Fleet school, under Wilbur and Purpled's proddings."

"Oh, great, so you're a glorified babysitter," Tommy said through gritted teeth. 

"Yep!" Tubbo said, pulling a pair of clothes—yeesh, ship uniforms—from his Shulker-storage-dimensional-thing—look, Tommy wasn't very good at explanations at seven in the morning—and tossing them at Tommy's chest. "Put those on. I'll be waiting outside."

With that, he was gone. Tommy blinked, trying to comprehend what in the hell just happened as he stared at the fourth-dimensional clothes in his hands.

Man, fuck that guy.

"Any chance you could lock the door and I could go back to sleep?" he asked Clementine hopefully, throwing a hand dramatically over his face.

»  While the order would technically go through, I sincerely recommend you follow the Chief Operations Officer. Also, I would have to notify Captain Philza of your negligence to follow Lieutenant Tubbo's management, and he would be less than pleased.  «

"So that's a no, then."

Clementine did not respond.

Tommy was not anymore awake when the clock read 0713, and he stumbled out the door. Tubbo bounced on the balls of his heels, his datapad disappearing into the fourth dimension. "Let's go get some breakfast!"

"It's...too early to have breakfast," he grumbled. Tubbo poked him in the arm.

"It's never too early for the most important meal of the day!"

Diligently, he followed Tubbo through the halls, half-asleep on his feet. It felt like a fever dream, wandering through the halls—as if he was still asleep and this wasn't his body. He'd blink and lose a few seconds and wondered if he could fall asleep and still accompany Tubbo. 

He did fall asleep on his arms at the table as Tubbo walked off to find them a plate of food—he'd adamantly refused to stand in that line to get his own because his feet were dead, and so was he—only to wake up to someone poking him in the arm.

"I swear to God, Tubbo, if you've woken me up again—" he muttered.

Only to come face to face with Ranboo. Tommy stared at the half-albino Enderian, suddenly wide awake. Ranboo blinked at him, one green eye and one red.

"I know you," Ranboo said.

"Yes," he answered, glancing nearby to see if anyone was convening near them. The most proximal crewmates were two tables down—the one called Bad and a blue-haired Merling were in a—lover's affair? Argument?—disagreement, waving their hands loudly and making exclamations. "You do. Ranboo."

Ranboo swallowed. "I remember you a bit, I think."

"You'd better. I'm super cool."

"Purpled told me—um, pieces," Ranboo said cautiously, looking slightly overwhelmed as he shifted in his chair. Tommy reminded himself that Ranboo didn't know him, not anymore, and this was not the same Enderian that he had shared jokes under a blood-red sky in fields of golden grass.

This one did not remember, and the other remembered very little at all. Tommy swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. Oh God, Ranboo didn't remember him except second-handed.

Oh God, Purpled hated him from walking away. For seeking revenge. He never said it, but Tommy knew that the Human held some resentment for him leaving and getting captured, and breaking his—promise. Perhaps it was a childish one, but sometimes Tommy stared at his pinky and wondered if that pinky promise was broken.

"I promise I'll come back, okay?"

"Pinky swear?"

He grins, wide and thin, and staring into dull magenta eyes. "Always," he says. "I'll come back alive."

To the world, he breaks that promise. To himself, he sits, and he stares, and he cries.

"Pinky swear," Ranboo muttered, tilting his head and shaking his half-white, half-black hair. "You promised to come back." Tommy knew that he was trying to remember—he did that a lot until the end. 

He grinned half-heartedly. "Yeah. And I did, didn't I?"

"You're late," Ranboo said reproachfully. "It's been—um—years."

"Three," he said. "And I'm Tommy Innes. I arrive precisely when I mean to."

"I didn't know you've read the Lord of the Rings!" Tubbo said delightedly, and Tommy jumped, glancing at Ranboo, who looked slightly confused. 

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked nervously. 

"Uh, just the quote. Why?"

"No reason," he said hurriedly. "As for—uh, reading. Yeah, I dabble. A bit. The prison had a library."

"It did?" Tubbo said. "That's pretty cool."

"They also killed people in there, Tubbo," Ranboo reminded the C.O.O. helpfully.

"Right," Tubbo said, as Tommy poked at some floating...grey things in the milk in front of him. It had raspberries and blueberries and some brown sugar on top. "That's less good."

"Yeah, it had the classics," Tommy said after a moment. "But they wouldn't give us datapads, so they were in Old Terran format. Books."

Tubbo whistled. "Damn, that's sick."

"I—that's—what?" Tommy asked, choking on a mouthful of whatever-the-fuck-the-breakfast was because it was from sweet hell and stung his mouth from the pure sugariness. 

Ranboo rolled his eyes. "Slang. It means cool."

God, if he wasn't going to have an aneurysm from golden apples, he was going to have an aneurysm from the breakfast and Tubbo. Mostly Tubbo.

"Can I just have golden apples?" he asked Tubbo.

"No," the boy said.

"Please?" he said. "Just one?"

"Um, nurse sitting right here," Ranboo said. "Hello? Maybe don't say that in front of a medical officer whose superior is trying to wean you off of drugs?"

He hesitated. "Right. How about—you know, you just forget that I said that?" He paused. "Literally?"

Tubbo choked on his—cereal? Death soup?—breakfast? "What."

"It's a joke," Tommy deadpanned.

"Um..." Ranboo said.

Tommy stabbed his spoon in the Enderian's direction. "You're not laughing. It's a joke. Laugh."

And so that was how he ended up in the medbay for the second time under twenty-four hours, trying not to scream as Lani shined a light in his eyes.

"Lani, I think he's going to tear your eyes out," Ranboo said, from where he was twiddling his thumbs. Tommy had never seen a person before Ranboo and after Ranboo that had ever quite literally twiddled their thumbs.

"I can take it," Tubbo's sister said dismissively.

"No, you can't," Ranboo replied nervously. 

Tommy pointed a finger at him, unable to give him a death-stare because of the bright light on his face. "I'm not done with you. How dare you fucking report me to—that—hey, Niki!"

"Hello, Tommy!" Niki said brightly as she entered the medbay, a hypospray in her hand. Tommy batted Lani's hand away from his eye and scooted away quickly.

"Oh, no, no, no, get that  thing  away from me, I will  not  be subjected to this—OUCH, WHAT THE FUCK!"

Niki stepped away, looking vaguely amused as she put the hypospray down on a sterilized tray. "You are aware that you're going to have to come back here for about a week for more of them?"

He gaped at her, rubbing at his neck. "What?"

"Up until we get to Terra," the Merling explained with a smile that Tommy was sure was filled with malice and not the warm smile she gave others. "Then I'll hand you off to a medical officer that can continue your treatment if you're not already better—which you should be, but if you aren't I'm not taking any chances."

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"You're recovering from an addiction," she corrected. Tommy huffed, blowing a strand of his hair out of his eyes. "Next week, I'm sending you to Bad."

"I don't need to see a therapist."

Niki threw up her hands. "Fine. Be my guest. But you are going to get those hyposprays so we can remove the remnants of the golden apples from your bloodstream, or so help me; I will strap you down and force you to remain in medbay for the rest of your journey."

"I don't even want to go to Terra," he muttered.

"You're lucky Captain Philza is choosing to vouch for you," Niki said absently, and Tommy forced the wave of surprise down at that. Sure—maybe he'd expected, at most, Wilbur to vouch for him, and Purpled for sure—but Philza? The Captain?

He'd spoken, like, twelve words to him. 

"See?" Tubbo said. "You can join Fleet school and join the crew in a few years!"

"Tubbo, it takes at least seven years to graduate," Niki said reproachfully. "Just because it took you three, and you enrolled at eleven and were top one percent of your class doesn't really mean anything. You had excellent schooling as a child and—well, not really supportive parents—but they signed off the papers for you to join the crew at fourteen."

Ranboo tentatively raised his hand. "I didn't even go to Fleet school. Nor did Purpled."

"Right, but that's because of your special circumstances," Niki said with a slight inclination of her smile as she gestures Lani through some tool movements—teaching and talking at the same time. "I don't think that Command would have been pleased to lose one of their top Medical Officers and Security Officers. They would have definitely left had Purpled been forced planetside." She sighed. "I'm glad that they weren't."

"What, you mean Ponk and Punz?" Tommy asked.

Niki nodded. "Yes. I'm sure you're aware they're Purpled's brothers. They—we—argued with Command about forcing them planetside. They were the—" She met Ranboo's eyes, the Enderian nodding slowly. "—survivors of the Red Planet's Genocide, if you weren't aware."

"I was," he said haltingly. 

"Ah," Niki said. "Yes, well, they would have faced publicity because of that, and as kids, we didn't really want that."

Lani grinned. "Attachment," she said. "I was new to the ship because our parents...passed—" Her voice hitched slightly, but she continued on. "—but I got attached to Ranboo. He was interested in medicine, and I thought the condition he was in was...fascinating. No offense, Ranboo," she added as an afterthought.

The Enderian shrugged. "None taken," he said. "I found it pretty interesting myself, though we never really found out why my body has the reaction it does to non-Enderian foods. So I decided to stick around. And you're right, I don't like flashing cameras anyway."

"The paparazzi wanted to see you?" Tommy asked. He hadn't thought about that—he hadn't thought what he'd left them to when he'd gone for revenge; a sick Human and an amnesiac Enderian, neither of whom fully remembered the story. 

Lani scoffed. "Oh, did they ever. The L'manburg was already an enigma because of me and Tubbo, you know, being kids and all that jazz, but then we got the temporary joke name Orphanage, and Mr. Techno got all mad."

"He doesn't like orphans," Niki said. Somehow that made Tommy let out a small choking laugh. "So that rumor was dispelled quickly. We had half the age requirements and twice as much to prove, though, but Captain Philza made it work."

"This ship wasn't new, but the crew was," Tubbo said, stretching and leaning against Ranboo like a cat. Tommy tilted his head at the form—Ranboo had to be twice as tall as Tubbo. "The old one died from mushroom spores."

"It wasn't mushroom spores; they were champignon—never mind," Niki sighed. "But yeah. It was a whole ordeal. We were patrolling sector seventy-four B—classic newbie flagship duties, not even near the border. But—then we got a distress call, and Command told us we were the closest...so we went for it."

The room was quieter now, and Tommy had a feeling he knew who had sent that distress call.

"By the time we reached Pogtopia," Niki said in a low whisper, her eyes solemn and sad. "Three thousand children were dead. There were other casualties—soldiers, guards, whatever. But all that mattered was that there were three thousand children dead. Had we arrived days earlier, we could have saved hundreds." She shook her head, her steady hands shaking from where they lay on her lap. "It was...a long few months. Purpled and Ranboo are all that remain." Tommy met Ranboo's eyes, the Enderian blinking at him questioningly, and Tommy shook his head. "The missions have been a bit easier since then, but none as hard. Ranboo and Purpled stuck to us like glue, and we haven't let go since."

"You're a kid; you can join!" Lani said.

"I'm not sure that's how joining a crew works," he told her absentmindedly, lost a bit in his memories. 

Lani frowned. "I haven't finished Fleet school," she told him. "I gotta stay with Tubbo because our guardians are dead and now Niki and Eret are our official guardians, so I'll take a few courses on shore leave when we drop you off—probably a month or so, enough for a few classes—then boom, back to the ship."

"At this rate, you'll graduate in twelve years," Tubbo said dryly.

"Eh," Lani said. "I'm already basically part of the crew. Technically, I'm a cadet, but around here, I'm a junior nurse. Ranboo is a nurse as well, though he's a senior nurse. He never went to Fleet school, but he did complete his schooling, even if it was on an odd place." Ranboo winced slightly, and Tommy was reminded of a schoolhouse full of laughter and a boarding house with roommates.

"I graduated in three years," Tubbo grinned, meeting Tommy's eyes. "I dare you to do better."

Later, Tommy would find he took that dare to heart.

Chapter Text

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SUCK IT, GREEN BOIIIIIII

- Wilbur Soot

"Why is he on the bridge?" Wilbur demanded, making eye contact from his chair as Tubbo and Tommy walked aboard, Tubbo saluting Phil half-heartedly.

Tommy had a massive shit-eating grin on his face. "Well, it was either that, or leave me with Purpled and Ranboo," he said, glancing out the window. They appeared to be over a planet—fueling up, it seemed, and just getting ready to leave that morning.

He couldn't believe it had only been an hour and a half since Tubbo had woken him up. He'd stolen a wake-up hypospray from Niki when she hadn't been looking—Ranboo had fortunately turned a blind eye—and that had helped loads, but his eye was twitching, and his hands were tapping against his thigh.

Maybe he should have just drunk coffee. 

Techno eyed him but returned to shifting through holograms of paperwork—doing what Philza didn't want to, probably—sipping from a mug of the good stuff every so often. Dream had his forehead leaning against his desk, resting his eyes as the bridge awaited the transmission that announced that their fuel receptors were satisfied. 

Tubbo took his seat at the Operations desk, and Tommy was immediately astounded by the new holographic technology—his father had manufactured his alone in their fifteen-year voyage in space, but they'd mostly been cut-off from Command.

A voice cutting through the air made Tommy tear his gaze away from the equations and speed that Tubbo's fingers flew across his desk as he sorted through papers and trashed them or handed them off to Techno by sliding them across the air. 

"Lieutenant Finn to Captain Philza," the man said, his voice ringing out clearly through the bridge. "The fuel cells are completely energized, sir. We're clear to leave."

"Thank you, mate," Phil said, a small smile that Finn—the Chief Engineer?—couldn't possibly see on his face. The transmission ended. "Dream? Get her moving."

"Huh?" Dream said, starting, his blonde hair messy and his eyes red. "Oh, yeah. Sure." Tommy watched with vivid interest as Dream's fingers moved across the controls, flicking switches and causing a slight hum—when listened closely to—to fill the air of the ship.

When he had first left the H.M.S Fran, he had been unable to sleep—not because of the lack of silence, but because of the silence itself. The humming of the ship had been a missing leg to him—much as the deaths of his family were. It was another thing missing, another puzzle piece that would never come home. He had slept fitfully for weeks in the prison until Chroma had picked him up.

On the Red Planet, he had been able to rest. At least...for a bit. Now, of course, he was back to not resting because of the experimentation. 

"Maximum warp, Dream," Philza said, fortunately, interrupting Tommy from his dreary thoughts. "Punch it."

"Aye aye, captain," Dream said.

The ship didn't move.

"Have you disengaged the external inertial dampener?" Technoblade asked as if this were an everyday occurrence.

Dream glared at him. "Yes. Shut up."

"Wow, you're a shitty pilot," Tommy commented.

The blonde-haired helmsman rolled his eyes. "Fine, if it's so easy, you do it," he said.

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Tubbo commented.

Tommy smirked, walking over. "Watch and learn, idiot," he said.

"I swear to God, if he fucks up this ship..." Philza warned. 

Yet...he didn't move. As if they were waiting for someone. They didn't move to stop him, and Dream left his seat so Tommy could read the labels.

"Clementine," he said clearly, crinkling his nose at the holographic controls that Dream had out. "Change the driving mode to Alpha Male."

"What—" Techno started.

» Of course, Tommy. «

He watched with joy as Sam's code programmed into Clementine's interface took effect, changing the controls into red and white and yellow and interfacing them the way he liked it. Noises of surprise sounded out around the room as Tommy cracked his knuckles.

Now, this—this was like old times. This was like the H.M.S Fran, which was like his aunt and father were alive again next to him—teaching him the controls, one by one. 

"Oh, yeah," he said. "This is a throwback." He tilted his head slightly, thinking about what the problem could be. "Clementine, what is the rotational axis of the flight dish?"

» Ninety point three degrees, Tommy. «

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to remember his father's words. "Make that eighty-nine point seven, please." A silence. Tommy twisted his spinny chair around to stare at Tubbo. "Ahem. Aren't you the Operations Chief person?"

"Um..." Tubbo said, staring at him with big brown eyes.

He snapped his fingers. "Get to it, Chief Operations Officer." Tubbo gulped and nodded, turning and tapping his fingers across his desk furiously. "Stupid idiot fuelers," Tommy muttered. "Must have knocked the disk off course."

"Uh, Tommy?" Tubbo said. Tommy turned to look at him. "Um...disk is at eighty-nine point seven."

"Hold on a second!" Techno barked. "Are you sure he isn't going to kill us?"

"Isn't the optimal disk rotation ninety?" Dream asked, holding up a hand to stop Techno from moving over and potentially unseating Tommy.

"That's what the manual says," Tommy said, rolling his eyes as he scanned the positional accords. "My—uh, you guys know Puffy? Captain Puffy? I learned a few tricks from her. She says that the manual is batshit and to burn it in fire." He shrugged. "I read all the manuals on the ship, but not that one."

"You got lessons from Puffy?" Wilbur asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah," he said, thinking about his aunt, and smiling as he remembered her kind lessons and warm hands around his. He'd never flown alone—he'd never flown alone before Tubbo, even—even he had been there to fly a fighter—but it was easy to take his lessons and apply them to situations, even if there was the absence of warmth from held hands. "Yo, Clementine, how many cores does this ship have?"

» Nine, Tommy. The tenth was traded four missions ago to a group of colonists—«

"Yeah, I don't care," he said, waving his hands. "Just curious. Nothing to do with flying." 

Dream blinked at him with green eyes. "So...do you know the problem?"

He scoffed. "What am I, five? I solved it the minute I looked over your shoulder. I was just fixing your shit. Like your disk rotational axis. It would have bugged Puffy, so I stopped her from rolling over in her space grave." Audibly, Tubbo choked, and Wilbur looked appalled at his apathy. 

People made dead family jokes all the time, though, right? It was a healthy coping mechanism! Or an unhealthy one. He wasn't sure and wasn't going to find out. 

Philza cleared his throat. "If you don't mind telling the rest of the crew," he said, amusement clear in his voice. "What exactly was the problem?"

Tommy dismissed his controls, immediately missing the red holograms as he stepped away, tilting his head and smiling. "You forgot the parking brake."

Dream gaped at him. "There is no way—" He sat down and paused, coughing slightly as he flipped a switch, the lights on the desk turning green. "Ready for warp, captain."

Philza laughed, shaking his head. "Kids amaze me," he sighed.

"Not a kid," Tommy reminded him.

"Sure," Techno drawled. 

"Punch it," Philza said as Tommy opened his mouth to argue with the annoying half-Piglin crewmember. 

Dream pulled the lever, and Tommy watched with glimmering eyes as the stars stretched into lines of pure light, and they entered warp speed. 

He shook his head, laughing to himself, feeling the looks upon the back of his head as he walked away, entering the elevator and inputting the codes that he'd memorized from Sapnap.

Perhaps he would find a way to get some golden apples from Karl. No, Niki would be mad. And then he'd have to endure more needles from hyposprays. Maybe he'd get some chocolate.

Yeah, chocolate sounded good.

Tommy was still smiling when the doors shut on the dumbstruck faces of the bridge crew.

After sitting in his room and giving Clementine strict orders to tell everyone who tried to enter that he wasn't here for about four hours, Tommy grew bored. And hungry. Clearly, Tubbo had been ordered to be his babysitter all day—but he'd felt the ship's engines drop out of warp—they shouldn't have; they should have been in warp until they reached Terra.

Something had happened, but it wasn't anything bad by the lack of red alerts and alarms. Tommy got the inkling of a feeling that they were making another stop—not for fueling—at another planet. Perhaps for a diplomatic mission. Unfortunately, despite having some give since he was the son of Clementine's creator, he wasn’t actually a crew member and didn’t have any clearance above civilian. Which sucked, but it was whatever.

Besides, he hated diplomatic missions. 

"Hey, Clementine?" he asked, after watching the ball he'd been throwing against the wall roll under the table across the room.

» Yes, Tommy? «

"Where's Tubbo?"

» As Alpha Shift has just ended, the Chief Operations Officer is currently in the gym with Captain Philza and Commander Techno. Lieutenant Soot— «

He waved her off, standing up and stretching. "I don't give a fuck about Wilbur," he said.

» That is untrue, Tommy. «

He snorted. "Yeah, whatever. How do I get to the gym?"

» It is the place that the gym has always been on for flagships, Tommy. Nothing has much changed. «

Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair and debating grabbing a pair of scissors and chopping through his overgrown locks. Eventually deciding against it, he stalked to the door and unlocked it with a few deft taps of the button.

While he didn't exactly have the entire ship's blueprints memorized anymore, Tommy did know where the gym was.

Though it was less of a gym and more of a...stadium. 

"Hey, Tommy," Ranboo greeted him as he rounded a corner, nearly bumping into the tall Enderian. "Where have you been for the past few hours? The bridge was in an uproar." He tilted his head. "Tubbo told me what happened.”

Tommy grimaced. Ranboo was a confusing element to his life—he was a survivor of the Red Planet's Genocide, yet he didn't remember a thing of that planet—or his life before that. So it was odd, knowing him...and yet not. It was an enigma he had yet to figure out.

And he hated not knowing things. Some might call it obsessive.

Tommy liked to call it being prepared. Purpled was the same way, except worse.

So...yeah. Ranboo was Ranboo, and Tommy had saved him, and Tommy knew him—had spent his best and worst moments, had shared classes and jokes that Ranboo would never remember.

Perhaps they could be friends again. Technically—they were. But both of them danced around a line of confusion—because Tommy wouldn't talk about it, Ranboo didn't know, and Purpled was just cross all the time. Cross at Tommy for not sharing, furious at the world for this mess, and bitter at his dreams for being nightmares.

"I was in my room," Tommy admitted after a moment, trying not to connect the dots between a skinny and malnourished Enderian who cried in his hands as his mind failed him and the person that stood in front of him—an Ensign to a ship that was full of other kids and brilliant people. 

Ranboo frowned. "Huh. Wilbur tried to find you to get you to explain, but Clementine said you weren't there."

"Clementine's on my side," he said with a slight grin.

"...don't I outrank you?"

Tommy was reminded that Ranboo didn't know that he was Captain Sam's son and Captain Puffy's nephew—Purpled, bless him, hadn't told a soul.

Though that may have been out of bitterness and not because Purpled had wanted to keep Tommy's secret.

"Yeah, Ensign," he said. "Seeing as my ship's gone, my rank no longer stands." Ranboo winced. "Fortunately, Clementine understands privacy."

Ranboo sighed. "I'll go inform the bridge that you didn't jump ship or rig the engine to blow up." Ranboo hesitated. "Can you even do that?"

Tommy grinned. It was an answer—and it wasn't a verbal one, though it made Ranboo pale slightly. 

He'd forgotten how gullible the Enderian was. Some things never changed.

Many things did.

» Ensign Ranboo is being dramatic, Tommy. Had you attempted to endanger the crew in any way or leave the ship in the middle of warp, I would have locked down the sector and informed the bridge of your attempt. «

He raised an eyebrow. "That wounds me, Clementine, that you think I wouldn't succeed."

» If my estimation of your character remains correct, then I do not think that you would try any of that. «

"You lied to me," Ranboo accused Clementine, glancing at the nearest camera, his eyebrows—one black, one white—furrowing slightly to convey his dismay. 

» I did nothing of the sort, Ranboo. Nor did I say that Tommy was not in his room. I did not answer your question as to whether he was in there or not—as living beings do, you merely jumped to your own conclusions. «

Ranboo shook his head, a slight grin coming to his face. "Sneaky AI's." Clementine didn't respond to his jab. "Oh, well. See you later, Tommy!" He dodged around the Avian, jogging down the rest of the hallway. Tommy watched him turn the corner with a sigh.

"Really?" he muttered. "The entire ship and I bump into him?"

» It was my estimation that you two, despite Ensign Ranboo's amnesia, that you two still remain friends, as you are with Quartermaster Purpled. «

He threw up his hands as he continued walking down the white hallways, turning corners like he knew the blueprints from the back of his hand.

Which, of course, he very nearly did.

"I don't know, Clementine," he grumbled. "It's like we know each other, but we don't at the same time. It's really awkward. He doesn't remember me, but Purpled and I know we should, and I don't  want  to remember what happened."

»  Perhaps you should do what the Chief Civilians Officer calls talking things out.  «

He raised an eyebrow. "That guy sounds like a bitch."

» Tubbo would not appreciate the title you are giving his guardian. «

Tommy snorted. Clementine almost sounded reproachful. Also—Tubbo's guardian as the Chief Civilians Officer? What had his name been? Eric? Erect? He couldn't quite remember, and that annoyed him. Whatever. It didn't matter. "Think of another alternative, Clementine," he muttered. "Talking it out isn't going to work."

"Talking about what?" Wilbur asked curiously.

Tommy yelped. "You—what the fuck?"

"I didn't go Phantom-form," Wilbur told him, as if knowing what he was going to ask. "I just caught sight of you while heading to the gym." 

"Oh hey, that's where I'm going too!" he said. 

"Can I join you on your walk?"

"No, bitch," he said. 

» Tommy. «

He sighed. "Fine, Wil-bitch."

"That's a terrible nickname," Wilbur told him, not even sounding annoyed—more amused, putting his hands at the small of his back. What a fucking forward prick. "I've heard worse from better people." 

He snarled angrily, kicking at the nearest wall and missing. Wilbur watched him with slight amusement, and Tommy really wanted to strangle him. 

"You know," Wilbur said. "I don't get why you hate me."

"I don't hate you," he corrected the older boy. "You're an insufferable idiot, but I hate very few people."

"Yet you saved my life," the Phantom noted softly. "And knew of the alleged return of Chroma." He hesitated. "Command already knew."

Tommy's head whipped around to stare at Wilbur, who had a somber look about him. "What?"

"Yeah," Wilbur sighed, rubbing his forehead. "There have been more sightings. More rumors. Yours greatly confirms it, though, because you're the sole survivor of the H.M.S Fran."

"And—why didn't they tell the survivors of the Red Planet?" he demanded.

"I don't know either," Wilbur hissed. 

"They're probably going to be targeted!" Tommy retorted. "They're the only ones that know the truth about the Red Planet and Pogtopia!" He gestured widely with his hands, and Wilbur stepped out of the way neatly to avoid being whacked in the face. "If they die, then nobody knows!" Tommy paused. "Right?"

"Yeah, that's correct," Wilbur sighed. "They gave statements to Command via comm calls, but nothing more—and that was years ago. They couldn't be ordered to give any official stories because Eret stepped in and claimed mental health issues—first with Ranboo, because, you know, amnesia—and then with Purpled, because it might be damaging and bring traumatic flashbacks. Command backed off for a bit, but when Purpled turns eighteen, they'll start harassing us until he tells."

Tommy ticked off a few fingers, counting the days in his head. "That's in...eight months? No, seven."

Wilbur tilted his head. "Huh. You know his birthday." Tommy blinked at him. "But yes. He hasn't told a soul, not even his brothers. We know a bit, but not a lot. I believe him when he says that he doesn't remember, only what the leader of the Children's Rebellion told him when he was sick."

Tommy frowned. He hadn't thought of himself as a leader...Purpled and Ranboo had been too sick to listen anyway, and the other three had just...followed him and made their decisions based on the shitty plans he'd created.

Perhaps, had they been better, he could have saved them. Perhaps they could be there; the six of them—like the six stars upon the flag, together, smiling.

Three will never show their faces above ground again. One does not remember, and still another lies angry, unwilling to talk to anyone.

The last is stubborn. He refuses to admit what happened—he blames himself, even though he was child, and there was close to nothing he could have done. Still, he keeps his lost heart inside, and he laughs, and he covers up the pain that hides behind his eyes.

Tommy closed his eyes and hid the world behind it. His world, his familys'. He closed his eyes, and he smiled, and he laughed, and he made stupid jokes, and everything was fine. At night he curled up like Purpled, awash with the sounds of gunfire and eyes that no longer see this plane of existence—because of him.  Because of him. It was his fault. Everything was his fault. "Leader," he murmured. Is that what he was? A leader to death, maybe. 

Wilbur mistook Tommy's words for a question and nodded. "Yes, they had a leader. He went missing—he wasn't...gone with the rest of them." That audible silence in the middle of Wilbur's sentence is louder than his voice. "But...he's dead now. He left, and we never found him. Chroma killed him."

So confident, Tommy thought. 

And yet...what were they supposed to think? That he had been alive—dwelling in a prison—after attempting to chase down an Avian that had already murdered three thousand, two hundred, and seventy other children? What were they supposed to think—he was another nameless boy that Purpled had not specified, another face to join the bodies. Just another person, another name lost to history. 

He had seen the murals in the halls, painted on the ships' walls to commemorate one of the first missions the L'manburg had ever flown. Also arguably the worst mission in Galactic Rebellion history, in his opinion—if the sick looks on Wilbur and Techno and Phil's faces said anything. He had seen the name wall, and he knew that his fake name—Tomathy David—was on there somewhere. Or perhaps Purpled had quietly erased it, and nobody had bothered to count the names.

He had felt sick when he had gazed upon that wall and seen a name that had made him turn on his heels and walk away. He could not do this. He wasn't strong enough.

He had never been strong enough. 

"Was it difficult?" he asked.

"What?" Wilbur asked him distractedly.

"To see the videos," he said. 

"Of...?"

"The executions."

Wilbur's head whipped around to stare at him, blinking with white light as he fought to control his Phantom form. "You've seen those?"

And—Tommy had slipped up. He had wondered, and he had made a mistake, and so now he had to lie. "Yeah. The Red Planet was in neutral space, remember? The Arachnids got ahold of a copy and forced us to watch." He swallowed, the deceit heaving in his stomach. "It wasn't pretty."

"No," Wilbur said, curiousness and disbelief written all over his face. "It wasn't."

He stands there in the crowd—fifty of them left, with Ranboo and Purpled in the caves, and he sees  [REDACTED] with the gun to their head, and their chin held high.  [REDACTED_2] 's wings are shackled to the ground, and  [REDACTED_3] sheds tears of regret and resilience. 

Tommy does not have a gun. He has other people to protect. If he dies here, then Ranboo and Purpled fall. If he dies here, then there is nobody left for his other friends. 

[REDACTED] catches his eye as the gun is put to their head. The crowd is silent, but there are no tears left to fall upon the dead and frozen ground of the famine. The children of Pogtopia look on with dark eyes—as their peers are murdered in front of them, and they can do nothing because they are children and have no power, no guns, no influence.

Tommy looks at  [REDACTED] in their torn and dirty outfit, their telltale paint cans missing from her pocket. They are thin and gangly and far too pale—he can see the bones of their jaw and their collarbones poke too far out.

He moves to step forward, but  [REDACTED_2] shakes their head at him, and someone—he does not know who, and he never learns—hauls him back as he cries, silent tears pouring down his face.

[REDACTED] raises their right hand and raises three fingers—their pointer, thumb, and middle finger.

The sign of the Children's Rebellion. 

[REDACTED] smiles at him, cold and sad and full of anger.

And then Chroma calls the order, and they fall. Tommy's scream is only within him, but he is rooted to the spot as he is forced to watch as the phasers fire and his friends die. He is forced to watch with someone's arm around his stomach, so he does not rush off and do something stupid. A sob rises in his chest as  [REDACTED_2]'s wings go limp, their eyes staring into nothingness, as  [REDACTED_3]'s green orbs close one last time, their hands still raised in rebellion.

He didn't want to see those videos. He had never seen those videos—he didn't need to. The memories, first-hand, lie within him forever. As much as he wished for them to be gone—he did not want to forget. He was jealous and envious of Ranboo for his inability to remember—forever to only know, second-hand—and yet...he would never forget them. He was saddened that Ranboo would never remember.

A mix of emotions, his fucking ass.

"They were only children," Wilbur said. "Only children."

Tommy knew that. Some part of him deep inside knew that he was still a child, that he should tell someone—that Purpled had every right to betray his trust and spill his secret. And yet—at the same time—he didn't want the media's attention and the crew on him. 

He wanted to leave and never look back. He wanted to—selfishly—wave goodbye and leave the problems to people who did not have nightmares and flashbacks and cried when nobody was looking. He wanted to turn his back and run.

And yet—

"The past always catches up with you. Might as well rip off the band-aid now."

He was not strong enough. Not now, and not ever.

Chapter Text

Experience is a hard teacher

because she gives the test first,

the lesson afterward.

- Vernon Law

The gym looked different from the one that had been aboard the H.M.S Fran. Tommy knew that, and he missed his gym—but at the same time, he was glad he could separate this one from that, glad of the dark red track that ran around a soccer field and the large lights. The soccer field was unused—ropes hung from the ceiling and a large cushion lay underneath. The field seemed to be in use from a large gymnastics routine set-up—Tommy wasn't quite sure—because when he and Wilbur entered, Tubbo stopped jumping on the trampoline, his hair sticking to his forehead as he stepped out. Techno and Phil were doing something with swords—an archaic set of tools, but Tommy supposed it managed for a workout. 

"Hey, Wilbur!" Tubbo greeted, grinning widely, like usual. "Come to work out?"

"Not really," Wilbur said with a slight twist of his lips. "It's about the new...mission details." He glanced at Tommy meaningfully.

Philza scoffed, his sword resting in front of him, wooden tip planted in the ground, his wings moving slightly as he turned. Techno looked more at ease, his Piglin ears twitching the only show that he was exhausted in the slightest. "Come on, mate, it's just a diplomacy meeting to reassure the colony that the Galactic Rebellion really does care."

"Do they?" Tommy asked.

"No," Technoblade said. Philza nudged him, and Wilbur rolled his eyes. "What? I'm just sayin'. Those guys are assholes."

"Oh, they must be Piglins, then."

"Heh? No! They're descendants of Terrans." Techno's ears twitched irritably. "Bunch of simple-minded bastards, the lot of 'em."

"You can't say that," Tubbo said diplomatically.

Wilbur snorted. "They are a bunch of backward people," he said. "But the outposts there are useful 'cause it borders neutral space. As much as we dislike the inhabitants—"

"I hate them," Techno said.

"—we gotta assure them that we don't hate them," Wilbur continued, voice rising over the half-Piglin's in a feeble attempt to override them. 

Tubbo crossed his arms. "We have to pretend to," he said. "Remember what happened last time?"

"Yeah, you got married to Ranboo," Philza snorted.

Tommy choked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah," Tubbo sighed. "That's done now. I'm divorced." For some reason, he looked slightly wistful. "Kristin and I went down as ambassadors, and when they found out she was already married to Mr. Philza Minecraft over here—" the Captain dipped his head in recognition, a smile on his lips. "—they decided it would be a great idea to marry their princess off to me in an attempt at unifying our people." He rolled his eyes. 

Tommy's eyes widened. "You're married?" he asked Philza.

"Yep."

"Damn, you're old."

"Wha—I'm not old!" Philza sputtered, and Wilbur snickered quietly. 

"You're married," Tommy declared. "That means you're old."

"Tubbo is married too!"

"No," Tubbo said solemnly. "I'm divorced." He heaved a mournful sigh.

"Why do you sound sad about that?!" Tommy yelled. And why hadn't Purpled told him earlier?

Tubbo sighed again. "I just commed the person that I thought would go along with whatever I said after they said I was going to get married to this random girl."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me that you think Ranboo is susceptible to other people's words?" Tubbo sputtered indignantly. "Because you're absolutely right. He absolutely is." 

"I can't even argue with that," Tubbo sighed. "Why are you here, Tommy?"

"I was bored, and the ball I was bouncing against the table rolled under the table, so I asked Clementine where you were," Tommy shrugged.

"Oh, you wanted to hang out with me?" Tubbo said, perking up.

He rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the warm feeling inside him. "No, Ranboo was busy..." he trailed off. "Wait, Ranboo went to the bridge looking for you guys."

"Well," Wilbur said. "Dream is there. He can take the message if it's important."

"Why would you leave Dream there alone?" Techno groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He'll crash the ship."

"We're in warp, Techno," Phil said. "He can't do anything of that sort."

"It's Dream. He'll find a way."

"You're just salty because he beat you in fencing a few years back." 

"I beat him a month ago, in front of everyone—!"

"Hey, Tommy," Tubbo said loudly, pointing over to the track. "Wanna race?"

As Wilbur gave them a curious cursory glance, Tommy blinked, and Philza and Technoblade paused in their mock argument. "W-what?"

"Race," Tubbo said. "It's when you—"

"I know what a race is," he said through gritted teeth. "Now? Here?"

"Well...yeah," Tubbo said. 

"You do realize that I just came back from a prison literally yesterday, and I lived mostly in a solitary cell for multiple years in a row," he deadpanned.

"Yep!" Tubbo said brightly. "You think you're up for it?"

"I..." he trailed off. "Sure." He flinched slightly as Tubbo grabbed his hand and dragged him off to the starting line, Techno and Wilbur trailing behind at a light jog. Philza, fuck him, used his wings to land neatly at the end line. Tommy tilted his head and marveled at the dark feathers as they cast a shadow over his head for a brief second.

"Just a hundred yards," Tubbo told him. 

"Why are you doing this, again?" Techno asked, his ears flicking and his red eyes narrowing in on Tommy—though Tommy thought it was interest, not anger. 

"I asked Ponk, 'cause he's in charge of species' medical records," Tubbo said, as Tommy bent down to touch his feet and stretched. "It had very little, compared to the other species, but it said that Avians were naturally faster. I wanted to test that."

"It only said that because I told you guys that," Tommy pointed out.

Tubbo tilted his head. "Oh, yeah."

He'd done this a million times before in a million different situations. He'd done this in another gym as his father instructed him on the Avian running ways—in what he could do, just as Tubbo could use a fourth-dimensional space and Philza could fly, and Wilbur could go into Phantom-form, and Technoblade was naturally stronger.

"I appreciate that I'm a lab rat," he said, stretching his thighs by jogging in place for a bit. Tubbo smirked at him.

"Tubbo's pretty fast," Wilbur said, more a warning than a mention of fact.

"I used to be as well," he said. 

"Used to?" Techno questioned.

"Yeah, I got some muscle atrophy in prison," he said with a slight shrug, squinting at the line that Philza stood at, a hundred yards away. "Starvation and drug abuse."

"Drug abuse?" Wilbur said, his voice slightly higher than average.

"Golden apples," Tubbo explained, and Wilbur relaxed slightly, though his eyes were still wide. 

"Hey, kid—" Tommy glared at Techno, who didn't look mollified in the slightest. "—Tubbo can't fight worth anything, so we got him into running. He was on varsity track for all his three years at Fleet school."

"Good," Tommy said. "I like a challenge."

Techno narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to win," he said. "His record is ten point eight seconds."

Tommy had to visibly keep his face straight at that. 

He was an Avian. They were considered the weakest species known to the galaxy—but they had their secrets, and they were his, now. The Avians had kept their secrets well.

"Count us down," he drawled, crouching down, so his hands touched the dirt. Tubbo mirrored his position, a smile of suspense on his face. 

"Are you sure about this?" Techno asked him. "If you go too fast, you could hurt yourself—"

"Nice that you care," he said with a smirk.

"No, I don't want you using up precious medical resources that could be used on actual crewmates," Techno said. Tommy blinked—he supposed he'd walked right into that one. But he'd met people who hated him, who didn't give one fuck about him—Techno was not one of those people. He knew that, and so he grinned and saluted the half-Piglin sharply. 

"Don't worry," Tubbo said. "We're only doing a hundred yards for a reason. If I really wanted to challenge him, we'd do four hundred. Maybe eight hundred, someday." He cocked his head. "If you can keep up."

Tommy snickered. "I'm an Avian."

"Yeah, you're naturally faster, or some shit," Wilbur said. "But Tubbo's been running for years."

So have I, Tommy thought dryly. Though perhaps it isn't the exact same type of running that he's been doing. He didn't say that out loud, though. He never could. "Hey, let's make a bet."

"Hmm?" Tubbo said.

"If I win, I want to go down with the landing party," he said—because...because he wanted to see grass again. He wanted to see the sky, to touch water, to feel gravity, natural gravity—to touch dirt and rocks and sand and feel the sunlight upon his skin and laugh like he had with his family. 

"Woah, woah," Wilbur said. "No way we're letting a civilian—"

"Relax, Wil," Techno said. "He won't win." He hesitated. "And on some off chance he does, then we can just assign him to be a cadet-in-training."

"You can do that?" Tommy asked.

"Sure," Techno said. "But if that happens, it means that you're definitely going to have to go to Fleet school because we're enrolling you."

Tommy sighed. Was it worth it—to see trees again? To see green—or whatever color the planet was? To look up and see the star—the sun—closest to them and bask in its warmth?

"Also, if you lose, I'm making you scour the cafeteria."

Yes, he decided. Yes, it was.

"Okay."

"This is a terrible idea," Wilbur groaned.

Yes, Tommy thought again. Yes, it is. For you.

"On your mark," the Phantom said, sounding slightly resigned. Tommy closed his eyes as he readied his feet, steadying his breathing. Breathe. In and out. Slowly. Like your dad said to. Concentrate. 

Feel.

"Get set."

He raised himself higher.

"Damn, you've done track?" Tubbo grumbled slightly.

"I was born to run," he said simply.

And—it was true. Avians were born to run, to feel the open air and wind, and glide and run. He was glad of the small furrow line that appeared between Tubbo's brown eyebrows—glad at the seed of doubt that was planted. 

"GO!"

Tommy felt the smirk appear on his face as Wilbur shouted that word, and he opened his eyes, pushed off the ground—pushed off the air—and ran.

Because while Elytrians were born to fly, Avians were born to run.

While Phantoms could change the particles that made themselves up—manipulate the atoms so that they could pass through solids at precisely the right frequency to pass through the masses that would otherwise be impassible—Avians could, biologically, manipulate the air particles around them.

His father had explained it to him when he was younger. It had been, from ancient Terran texts, some guy named Newton's first law in motion.

An object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

Take the ball in his room that Tommy had thrown, for example. It stopped moving because of the solid wall—but even if the wall hadn't been there, it would have been stopped anyway, drawn to fall by the pure force known as gravity. Avians, like himself—though it was just himself, now, and that hurt—could manipulate forces like gravity using the air molecules around them and parting them, much like parting milk with a spoon in cereal. Only temporarily, and only around him—but the air moved, and that made all the difference.

When running, people were slower because of the molecules that sat between them and their destination—namely, air. As they ran, their body pushed the molecules out of the way, though the molecules pushed back—called drag, which was caused by friction and differences in air pressure. The faster they moved, the more they needed to fight to push against the molecules—the more muscular they needed to be—and the more they pushed back. 

Tommy felt the air around him and bent it so that it would not push around him—centimeters, millimeters, in front of him—smaller than that, but the molecules did not push, and so he flew in only the way that Avians could.

Not literally.

It was over in seconds.

Nine point eight five seconds, to be precise. 

Tommy turned around and grinned widely, stopping on the white line and turning, taking one step back to step over the finish line, taking great pride in the flabbergasted look on Philza's face and Tubbo's astounded one—before he remembered the reason that Sam had hated how much he had run.

Right, because when he pushed the air molecules away, that included in front of his face.

Which meant no air flow...

"Shit," he said—and promptly blacked out.

He awoke to a hypospray injecting to his neck and sat up with a yell, blinking at the too-bright lights and the frantic medical officers that ran around in the room around him. He ripped off the respiratory mask—was that a tube running down his throat?—and took a gulp of fresh air, his lungs finally working on their own—because he, in his stupidity, had forgotten the first rule of Avians when running.

Don't forget to breathe.

Believe it or not, they had done that a lot. The professionals had learned how to let a small trickle of air into their lungs, but Tommy was far from a professional. Unfortunately.

In his weariness, he realized that it was Niki that had injected another one of her fucking hyposprays into his neck, and he did his best to glare at her as black spots danced in front of her eyes.

"He's breathing on his own," an unknown voice said with relief. Tommy glanced over to see a bronze-skinned man with short-cropped black hair.

"Oh, thank goodness," Ranboo groaned, sitting down heavily on the next bed over, looking exhausted. 

Niki put a hand on his chest, and he allowed her to push him back onto his back, though only because he still saw colorful spots that really shouldn't be there, and his lungs were still heaving with the effort. His heart really hurt. 

"You scared us, Tommy," she said and then raised a small black communicator to her lips and tapped something. "We got him stabilized." She glanced over at Lani, who looked white and pale, her hands shaking. "Lani, can you mark the time?"

"Yes," the girl said slowly, though Tommy got the inkling that was more for her benefit than the actual medical records. Something to do to stop her from shaking. "Right. 2138, time of stabilization." She glanced up, brown eyes meeting his. "Patient can breathe on his own." Tommy frowned. Wow, his father would be so mad at him. That was a whole disaster. Had he locked his breathing the entire time?

Whoops.

"It's 2138?" he said distractedly, his words halting and his lips chapped. 

"You were out for nearly four and a half hours," Niki said tightly, her eyes filled with worry. "It was...intense after Philza came in here, and then Tubbo was here demanding to know, and Techno and Wilbur—" She cut herself off. "We had to kick them out. They're locked out, as of now." She smirked. "Medical emergency, I outrank the captain."

"That's pretty cool," he admitted. 

"This is Ponk," she said, pointing at the unknown occupant of the room. "Medical officer." Ponk—Purpled's brother—waved at him. 

He blinked at the four of them. "What-what happened?"

"You tell us," Niki said. "They were shouting too much, but I think it has something to do with you being an Avian—at least, that's what I picked up before I kicked them out."

"Yeah," he said warily. Besides—whose secret was he leaking? He was very nearly the only Avian left. And he didn't really give a fuck about the other Avian, so... "Biology." Niki raised an eyebrow, and Tommy sighed.

The door slid open, and Tubbo tumbled in, a screwdriver and datapad in hand, looking slightly frazzled and like a deer caught in headlights as he scrambled to his feet.

»  I'm sorry for the interruption, Lieutenant Nihachu, but he was attempting to hack into the mainframe, and as I do not want lingering damage to the code of this ship with his name written on it, and the medical emergency was over, I thought it best to open the door.  «

Niki sighed. "It's fine, Clementine," she said warily. 

Tubbo scrambled to his feet. "TOMMY!" he shouted. Tommy winced at the loud noise in his ears. "Oops, sorry. But you're not dead!"

"Clearly," he said. 

"Right," Techno said, appearing in the doorway as Tubbo sat down next to his sister, his presence obviously calming the younger girl. "I'm interested in knowin' what the hell that little theatrical performance was."

"I cannot believe you rigged it so I couldn't walk through the door," Wilbur grumbled, pushing past the First Officer and marching over and waving a finger at Niki, his gaze just barely resting on Tommy.

Niki arched an eyebrow. "It was Dream's manufacture."

"That meddling bastard—" Niki glared at him, and Wilbur shut up, turning on Tommy. "And you, you fucking gremlin child!" Tommy would have been annoyed, but the tone in Wilbur's voice that leaked through showed his nervousness and worry. "What the hell was that?"

The medbay was silent as Tommy clasped his hands tried to find an answer. "It..." he trailed off finally. "I...um...I'm an Avian."

"That's not an answer," Wilbur said, jabbing a finger at his chest. 

"It's...a bit like a Phantom," Tommy said, trying to find the correct words. "You can manipulate the molecules of your own body so they can pass through solids, right?" Wilbur nodded wordlessly, and Tubbo straightened up, understanding dawning in his brown eyes. The rest of them looked confused. "Right, well, Avians are similar—except with outside molecules. You know about drag, right?"

"We all went to school, kid," Techno drawled.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, Avains can manipulate the air molecules so that the force—" He pushed his hands together to show this and then released one of them, so his left hand continued in its rightward motion. "—doesn't exist."

"Except that also restricts your airflow," Tubbo said. "That's cool!" Everyone turned to look at him, and he shrunk, mollified. "...and really dangerous."

"Right," Tommy nodded. "Because I was shut up in the prison, I sort of forgot about that." He grimaced. "Basically, I forgot to breathe, and so my body shut down." 

"Like Phantoms," Wilbur said, snapping his fingers. "It's why we don't teach our youngsters how to go into Phantom-form because they get overconfident and then die in solid objects from lack of air."

Tommy shuddered. "Please don't put that picture in my head," he frowned. "But yes, essentially. My body went into shutdown mode, and so my unconscious mind just never stopped my biology from obstructing the airflow."

There was silence.

"That's extremely dangerous," Niki said warily.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it is."

"So that's why the respirator didn't work," Ranboo breathed out. 

"Right, because pumping air wouldn't work," Tommy nodded. "You'd have to breach that small area that I was pushing away the molecules unconsciously."

"Which is why mouth-to-mouth resuscitation worked at first," Niki said, understanding filling her. "Because it crossed that line."

Tommy brought a horrified hand to his mouth. "Someone put their mouth to mine?"

"Would you rather have died?" Niki said, raising an eyebrow. "Ranboo did it."

"You cheated on me," Tubbo said playfully to the Enderian. 

"Oh, God, not this again," Lani groaned. 

"Right, anyway," Niki said. "The tube worked because it passed that line in a narrow space that overwhelmed your biology from working properly."

Tommy squinted. "How long was I not breathing for?"

"Five minutes and twenty-two seconds," Techno answered. Everyone turned to look at him, and the half-Piglin shrugged uncomfortably. "I counted the minutes that I finally got some peace and quiet."

"Oh, shut up," Tommy grumbled. No wonder his throat was sore—they'd shoved a breathing tube down it. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure," Niki said. "But not in your room. Here. In the medbay. Just in case it happens in your sleep."

He groaned. "That's not how it works."

"Unless you can give me a three-hundred-word book on Avian biology, as we have on all the other species, then you're not leaving."

"Kill me now."

"Fine with me," Techno said. 

"Get out of my medbay, Commander," Niki hissed, and Techno left without another word. "What, you think I'm not talking to the rest of you? Ponk, I need you to record Tommy's monitoring before you turn in for the night. Clementine, I want you to alert the entire medical crew if he ceases to breathe for over two seconds in an unconscious state—"

"—and me," Tubbo interrupted, tossing Tommy a slight smile that he reciprocated after a second of hesitation.

"—and no, that doesn't include the bullshit of holding your breath. There are cameras in here; if he falls unconscious, sound the fucking alarm," Niki said in one breath, pausing to glare at Tubbo.

»  Of course, Lieutenant.  «

"Ensign Lani," Niki continued. "You are cleared from duty. You're off-shift by three hours anyway. Ponk, you too. Ranboo, Tubbo—" She saw their looks. "—if you're going to say, be over there." She gestured to two medical cots in the corner. "Don't bother him. Ranboo, you're in charge."

"Wha—but I outrank him!" Tubbo cried out as Lani leaped for the open door, turning to give Tommy one final look before she fled for bed, tiredness seeping from her body. Wilbur followed her out, pausing at the doorframe like she had, but Ponk didn't look back, too busy tapping at his datapad.

Niki gave a nasty smile. "Medical officers outrank the rest of the crew in the medbay. You know that as well as I do." Tubbo rolled his eyes, and Tommy was reminded of his father's recounts of his mother's bossiness in the medbay as well. His heart lurched. "Ranboo, if you have to pull rank to get Mr. Lieutenant from pulling something stupid, then I, as your senior medical officer, order you to do so." With that, the pink-haired Merling pulled off her gloves, all but threw them into the sterilizer, and slammed the door of the office that bordered the medbay shut. 

"Damn," Tommy said in a low whisper as Tubbo sat down on one of the cots, and Ranboo remained in his. "She's scary."

Tubbo snorted. "She's a medical officer. They're all scary."

Tommy smiled. "My mom was a medical officer," he said, keeping his words simple carefully. He couldn't mention she was like Niki—she was a Lieutenant in her own damned right, and the C.M.O. "My father always said that she was scary too."

"She...died?" Ranboo asked carefully.

"Yes," Tommy said. "When I was three." 

"I'm sorry," Tubbo offered. 

"There's nothing you could have done," he said with a sad sort of smile, watching as the lights in the room dimmed—probably some contraption Niki had. "Don't be sorry. I loved my parents. I miss them," he added, after a moment. "A lot."

"Me too," Tubbo whispered. "Even though they didn't love me like they should have." Tommy felt a slight pang for the Shulker; his parents hadn't even cared for him like they had, allegedly, Lani.

"I don't remember my parents," Ranboo said, and Tommy nearly laughed for some reason. "But Purpled says that I said they died." Tommy heard the rustling of sheets as the Enderian shook his head from where he lay on the pillow. "I should miss them, but I don't. And I feel bad because of that."

"You can't miss someone you didn't know," Tommy told him. "I learned that lesson long ago. My father was never mad that I never missed mum. I was sad I never got to meet her, but I was never  missing  her like he was."

"Speaking of Purpled," Tubbo said. "He stopped by. Nearly had a heart attack when he found out what happened. He would have stayed longer, but he fell asleep, and I called Punz to take him to his room."

"It's nice to know he cares," Tommy said after a moment.

"Of course he does, Tommy," Ranboo said reproachfully, and Tommy knew that had more meaning that went unsaid because of the third person in the room that knew nothing about the secrets he was hiding. "Why wouldn't he?"

Because I'm the reason that everyone is dead, he thought, but he didn't say that—only rolled over and closed his eyes, ignoring the quiet murmurings of the other two occupants.

It's my fault.

Mine.

Chapter Text

At your absolute best,

you still won't be good enough

for the wrong person.

- Unknown

Tommy crossed his arms. "You promised," he said. "We pinky-swore."

"We didn't pinky-swear," Wilbur nearly snarled at him. Philza's wife, a nice black-haired woman named Kristin, blinked between them. "Kristin's an ambassador, and Tubbo's a Lieutenant. You're a citizen."

Tommy smirked. "Ensign, now," he corrected. "Philza got me enrolled in Fleet school online. He said I'm like Lani and Drista—whoever that is—except I'm under Dream."

"And why, exactly, would Kristin and Tubbo need a pilot?"

Tubbo cleared his throat from where he stood on the transporter. The Kitsune at the transporter control station—or, in fancy terms, the dematerialization and rematerialization automaton—looked mildly amused, his orange fox-like ears swiveling to better listen to the argument. "You know," Tubbo said. "We never know when we might need to make an escape."

"You'd have to steal a ship," Wilbur said.

"Never know when you might have to do that too," the Kitsune said.

Wilbur turned his pointed gaze upon him. "You're not helping, Fundy."

"I'm always helpful."

Tommy sighed. "Come on, please?" he said. "You promised."

"In my defense," Wilbur said slowly. "I didn't expect...that to happen. Congratulations, Tommy. You just shattered the record for the hundred-yard dash on the L'manburg." He threw up his hands. "Hell, with some months of practice—maybe even weeks—you could beat the cross-species record." 

"I'm just that cool."

"No, you're an unknown package of biology that Niki and George really want to get their grubby hands on," Wilbur corrected. "Kristin...is it okay?"

"YES!" Tommy whooped, without waiting for the Human's answer.

Kristin gave him a fond smile. "It's a short meeting, not a three-day one, Wil," she said kindly. "Tubbo won't even talk. It's just me and a few delegates planning a date that Command will send a few official representatives to negotiate with."

"Aren't you an official representative?" Tommy asked through furrowed eyebrows as he stepped onto the transporter.

"Well, yes," she said. "But I'm a Fleet representative. I went to Fleet school—I learned all the things that you're going to learn plus negotiation, debate, and a few other things on my major." She smiled. "Which included learning how to fire a phaser and how to rig a ship to explode." Kristin turned back to Wilbur. "I know where we're beaming down to. There's a field a little way into the forest that they can stay in. Negotiations are boring for kids anyway."

"I wish I could see the consistency of the plant's atoms," Tubbo said dreamily. "Apparently, they're mostly purple due to the increased atmosphere—even though they're an M-class planet." He shook his head. "Blue skies, too. But purple instead of green...?"

"I thought you were the C.O.O?" Tommy asked him.

"Yeah, but I was almost a science major," Tubbo told him. 

Wilbur coughed. "Don't do anything stupid," he told Tommy, though, by the extent that he eyed Tubbo, it was half at him as well.

Tommy saluted him smartly. "Yes, sir."

Kristin handed him a comm. "This is for contacting the different ship units," she explained, showing him the different buttons. "Though the auto-link is to Fundy."

Tommy nodded. "I had one back on the H.M.S Fran," he said, examining it. "Though it wasn't as advanced." He hooked it to the edge of his pants like Tubbo's was. Kristin's was in a bracelet around her wrist; a personal choice since she was wearing a lovely dress that didn't have anything around the waist that she could clip it to. 

"Right," Fundy said, bringing his own communicator near his mouth and pressing the one that would bring him in contact with Command. He waited for a second for the link to be accepted. "Junior Lieutenant Fundy to Ensign Quackity."

❯ You are cleared for transport, Lieutenant Fundy. ❮

"Thank you, Quackity," Fundy said before signing off. "Three to beam down." He glanced up once more for confirmation, and the three of them gave short quick nods. 

Tommy took a deep breath, readying himself for being on a planet for the first time in—how long had it been? Two years? 

"Energizing," Fundy said, and Tommy got that fuzzy feeling as his body was turned to energy and beamed down onto Falir VI. Immediately his ears were filled with that of wildlife—birdsong, he thought amicably, as he looked up at the clouds that weren't mere illusions, were natural—at the soil beneath his boots and the warm midday sun that shone upon him. The air felt...fresh, instead of the recycled stale one, and that he had forgotten.

They stood among ancient rock pillars on a stone dais, and when Tommy squinted, he could see century-old carvings in the stone, some worn away with age or lack of care. Standing about twenty yards away, three representatives—two women and one man—with bronze skin and odd tattoos beneath their eyes that had to be a specific custom that Tommy didn't understand stood waiting for them.

Kristin turned and smiled at them. "You two can go off. Just not too far—the Falirs don't like that. Don't burn the forest down."

"It's purple," Tubbo said reverently.

"Nerd," Tommy responded. 

Tubbo huffed. "Race you to the nearest tree," he said, pointing out a yellow trunk that had violet leaves. He was off before Tommy could agree.

"I was told that you shouldn't be doing that," Kristin said when Tommy made to follow him.

His communicator beeped, and Tommy opened the messaging part to see one in all caps from a certain Lieutenant.

Nihachu (Niki)

↳ NO EXERCISING

I MEAN IT

I WILL INJECT YOU WITH SO MANY HYPOSPRAYS

YOU WON'T  WAKE UP UNTIL WE GET TO EARTH

Tommy

↳ yeah yeah

Tommy walked after Tubbo, deciding to listen to the Lieutenant, who, though he doubted was listening, wasn't inclined to test whether she kept tabs on him. Kristin walked forward to meet the delegates, her mouth pouring out meaningless greetings that they would return after she finished. 

"Planetary classification seems sound," Tubbo was muttering as he reached the boy, who was picking at the bark from the trunk of the yellow tree. He had a scanner out, as well as a datapad, typing notes into it. "Gravity is zero point nine-nine, one percent lighter than that of Terra." He squinted at his readings. "Nearing Earth-Normal, sea-level."

"You're spouting bullshit," Tommy said.

"It's science."

"It's nerdy."

Tubbo rolled his eyes. "Dream, are you reading this?" he said excitedly, his communicator blinking with an active connection. When Tommy looked up and squinted, he wished he could see the gleaming hull of the ship. Unfortunately, being outside the atmosphere, they were far outside the viewing range that he had.

❯  Loud and clear, Tubbo.  ❮

"Shouldn't you be talking to the science officers instead of that green bitch?" Tommy asked.

❯  I was a science officer—nearly. I was the C.T.O before I was forced to become the helmsman, Tommy, and nearly the C.S.O before that. We're trying to find a replacement so I can go back to Science-ing with George. Also, what makes you think I'm green? I'm Human. ❮.

"I can do it, he offered. "Be a replacement."

❯  After you've graduated, maybe. Unlike my sister, this isn't a position that a cadet or even Ensign can have. I bet Phil would take you.  ❮

"Thanks," he said with a small smile.

Tubbo gasped. "This photosynthesis is crazy! Terra is lucky; I don't understand why plants don't choose the green energy and go for others."

❯  Because they adapted under different circumstances billions of years ago, Tubbo.  ❮

"Right," Tubbo said. "Remember the Nether? Everything there is in shades of red and brown!"

❯  That's also a magma-class planet, Tubbo. The reflection of green light—like Terra, and most M-class planets, is shunned, turning the plants green. Plants are the color they are because it reflects the wavelength that the photosynthesizers have shunned — typically those that aren't useful.  ❮

"Huh," Tubbo said, reaching out and plucking a violet leaf. Tommy only took the proffered thing because he hadn't touched an organism on a planet in two years. It felt...new. Crinkly. He let it go and watched it spin to the ground to join dozens of others that had fallen from the wind. "So these plants are taking in green light and not purple light."

❯  Right.  ❮

"Interesting," Tubbo said, and Tommy rolled his eyes. "So that means that we could have like bright blue leaves?"

❯  Theoretically? Yes. Realistically? No. Scientists think that ninety-nine point nine percent of all plants are keen to suck up blue light, which is high on energy.  ❮

"There's still the point zero one percent that it happens," Tubbo pointed out.

❯  There aren't enough planets in the Goldilocks zone that contains nature like this to prove your theory.  ❮

"No," Tubbo argued. "Doesn't that percentage mean one in a thousand?" He gestured towards the sky. "Surely there are a thousand planets out there?

❯  The nine repeats indefinitely. It would be a hundred percent, but scientists have managed to genetically engineer aqua-colored plants.  ❮

Tommy sighed and leaned against the tree, resting his head against the rough bark and letting Dream and Tubbo's nearly-meaningless conversation flutter into the back of his sleeping mind as he tuned them out; more inclined to feel the wind rustle through his overgrown hair and hear the...

...wait, why weren't the animals chirping?

"Hey, Tubbo," he asked nervously. "By chance, am I going deaf?"

Tubbo glanced at him mid-sentence. "What?"

"Why did the creatures stop in their song?"

Tubbo's eyes widened, and he tilted his head and listened. Even the wind had calmed down as if something was about to happen. "Oh, fuck."

❯  What? What's going on?  ❮

"Earthquake," Tubbo said. "Page me through to Jack; he's the one that knows how to measure natural disasters." Tubbo hesitated. "And sound the red alert. I don't know how bad it will be, but chances are a small one. Don't want to to take any risks though."

❯  Copy that.  ❮

"Earthquake?" Tommy asked bewilderedly. "How do you know that?"

Tubbo glanced at him. "Falir IV has a few unstable tectonic plates. Didn't you look over the briefing?"

He blinked stupidly. "No."

❯  Tubbo?  ❮

"Jack!" Tubbo said. "There's an earthquake coming. Can you get a reading on the scale of it?"

❯  It'll be hard, the magnetic plates interfere with my scanning abilities, but I'll try. It should be a mild one, though.  ❮

"Huh," Tommy said. "That rock is moving."

Tubbo glanced down at the rock that was indeed dancing across the grass and paled. "Um...sorry to tell you, Jack, but this one ain't mild."

❯  Holy shit—FUNDY! GET THEM OUT OF THERE!  ❮

❯  I can't! The magnetic readings are too strong! I can do it if they're on a surface and not moving, but—  ❮

"THREE TO BEAM UP!" Tubbo screeched. "NOW! IT'S A NINE!"

Tommy lurched as the ground rumbled dangerously, watching as a crack split open in the rock next to him. He grabbed Tubbo's hand and wrenched the boy out of the way of the tree that was falling—the same tree that he and Dream had been studying. Purple leaves just barely missed chopping their heads off.

❯  You have to stand still! I can't beam you up with the magnetics!  ❮

"Dammit, Fundy!" he shouted. "Find a way!" The rock under him split more, and he jumped across a growing chasm, horrified of the inky darkness that appeared below. "WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE SINKHOLES?!"

❯  The plates are unstable, Tommy!  ❮

"Almost there," Tubbo said, his voice growing faint as he was dematerialized. "Almost—KRISTIN!"

Tommy left the shorter boy there and ran. Kristin—Kristin had been friendly to him, and she was a nice person, and he watched with slow horror as the ground splintered below her feet; the colonists of the planet were already gone. Stupid bastards.

Niki's words were forgotten, and Tommy drew on his Avian self, and he sprinted, jumping over growing fractures, hearing Tubbo scream his name and Fundy profanities in the ear, and he ignored it, losing his earpiece somewhere along the way as he moved, pushing the air particles out of the way so he could make the leaps of pure faith.

He could not breathe, but Kristin was going to die.

He skidded to a halt, unable to reach her. "Jump!" he said, black spots dancing in front of his eyes as the ground crumbled around her. The stone columns were long gone, crumbled in the sinkhole, and cracks gradually forming near them. "JUMP!" he screamed louder. "I'll catch you!"

Kristin nodded. She moved to jump—and then under her feet, the rock crumbled away, and she fell screaming into blackness. He fumbled for her hand, their fingertips connecting—and he missed, watching with near-horror as she dropped. 

He fucking missed.

Tommy glanced behind him at the boy that looked onwards with horrified eyes, already half dematerialized, his hand outstretched.

He made his choice and jumped into the darkness after her. They collided with a grunt, and he grabbed her arms and tugged her upwards. He could not fly, he was not like Phil, but he could damned well try.

The Avians had always wanted to fly, but they never could. 

Tommy gathered the air under him, as solids did naturally against force, and pushed it upwards like a cushion.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't a good idea. He was already exhausted from the short sprint, already about to pass out, and so it wasn't dramatic or graceful by any means. He saw a small outcropping of stone and aimed for it, dropping every few feet as he struggled to maintain the glide towards the cliff face. 

They crashed into it with a horrifying crunch, and Tommy whimpered as his arm gave out, and he rolled to the solid ground, the pebbles and sharp facets scraping his face and knees and arms and everything bare.

He sat there, breathing hard, as he realized that they'd survived. Kristin blinked at him blearily from her position, the bottom and sleeves of her dress torn with large scraps of fabric hanging freely, but holy shit, they were alive. 

By the lack of rumbling, the earthquake was done.

Tommy blacked out the second he made eye contact with the worried eyes of the Human ambassador, a smile of victory on his face.

❯  I'm — I'm sorry, sir. We lost them.  ❮

Phil's grip tightened on the armrests, the dead silence of the bridge speaking measures, dawning terror filling him at his Junior Lieutenant's words. "All of them?"

❯  N-no. Tubbo's here. Tommy and Kristin fell.  ❮

He wouldn't cry in front of his crew. He wouldn't. He was stronger than that. Techno's hand resting on his shoulder wasn't helping, and all Philza wanted to do was sob because he'd lost the woman that had been his star in everything. "Oh God," he whispered. "Oh, God." 

He wished that they'd gone back to Elytra before it was too late. Just—to see if Kristin had been compatible, to make that link so he could know, in situations like this, if his wife still lived. Even though she was Human, she had tried so hard to fight for his species' lack of disdain, to prove herself to them. They did not think she was worthy, but to Phil, she was everything.

Nobody had a response to his words. Not even Wilbur—and his C.C.O had an answer for everything. "Can we send a search party down?"

❯  Jack has stated that the earthquake has subsided, sir. It seems only natural that we would...though I do not think we will find anything.  ❮

Phil breathed out. "Is there a chance?"

❯  I... if they are alive, we will find them. The median fall distance is four stories, but it is...possible to survive a long distance. I do warn you that the chances are objectionably small.  ❮

"Anything," he replied. 

"I'm with you," his First Officer said. "We're in this together, alright?"

"Okay," he said.

He wasn't okay by any means.

"Comms aren't working," Kristin said with some disgust. 

"I lost mine," he groaned. Fortunately, despite blacking out because of Avian-biology, he hadn't stopped breathing. Kristin had woken him up by shaking him and shouting his name for seven minutes straight. 

He'd broken his right arm and two fingers on his left hand. Hell knew what else he'd done. On the narrow shelf that they lay on—ten feet in width and about twenty in length—they could just barely see the sky, a crack of light maybe as wide as his finger. 

"We should climb," he said.

"That's a terrible idea," Kristin replied instantly. "Your right arm is messed up, and you can't grip anything with your left."

"Can't grip anything...legally," he said.

"I don't think that's quite the right word," the Human replied. "Plus, that's like...thousands of yards."

"I'm strong," he argued, nearly blacking out as he tried to point with his hand. 

Kristin raised an eyebrow. "Don't think I didn't see that."

"You didn't see anything," he said guiltily.

"Didn't Niki tell you not to use your Avian abilities?" she asked.

"Yeah, but you were falling..." he trailed off. "I...needed to save you."

"Thank you, Tommy," Kristin said sincerely. "I'm just worried about your health. My husband was concerned—that's an understatement—when you collapsed in the gym, and the medical officers were all but stumped on how to get you to breathe again. I don't want you to do that again." 

"I don't want you to fall."

"I didn't."

"Because I got you," he pointed out, and Kristin sighed graciously.

"I suppose you're right. But no climbing out. Otherwise, I'm telling Niki that you purposely tried to make your injuries worse."

"Now that's just blackmail," he grumbled with a slight shudder. "She would believe you, too."

"That's the point, Tommy."

"Well," he said, after a moment. "This is a pickle. I'd ask you to hand me the communicator, and I'd see if I could temporarily boost the power—but unfortunately, I'm limited at the hand movements."

Kristin scooted over, and he noted that she winced as her ankle got temporarily lodged on a rock. Ah, so she'd sprained or broken her foot. Well, that wasn't good. "I could be your hands," she said. "I don't really know how technology works. Languages were always my forte." She shook her head. "Not like Wilbur, though. I prefer speaking. He's more of a poet."

"Sure, whatever," he said, feeling drowsy. "Hold down the reset button; it'll cancel the attempts for the comm to link up with unlinkable sources."

Kristin stared at him. "But—that cancels our connection to the L'manburg."

"Yes," he agreed. "But they'll be scanning for any connections. If we cancel them, it boosts the power when we try to send a signal. We're not trying to send words; I'm trying to give it a boost so that they sense something down here."

"Don't worry," Kristin said. "They'll find us. They won't stop searching for a few days."

"But—" he said, swallowing, as he watched her press the necessary buttons to reset it, the commlinks to the separate stations on the L'manburg going dark one by one. "What if Command orders them home?"

"Then my husband gets a reprimand," Kirsten said with some amusement. "Probably a stern talking to for directly disobeying orders because of emotional compromise." She shrugged. "Worst-case scenario—they don't find us, Techno becomes captain, and the natives eventually find us."

"You think they well?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course. They search earthquakes—which happen pretty regularly, so they've developed technology to dematerialize out—for minerals. They'll find us within the week, and we'll get home." She reached out and patted his shoulder. Tommy winced as a shock of pain. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry—but they'll find us, okay? Someone will." She held up the comm. "Also, now what?"

"Press the main button every seven seconds on the dot," he instructed. "It sends out an electronic pulse that can be picked up by the scanners. Not enough to establish a connection, but enough so that they can trace it to us."

Kristin stared at him. "You're brilliant," she said finally.

"I know."

The Human rolled her eyes. "No—that's not what I meant," she sighed. "It's more of your ingenuity that amazes me. What doesn't amaze me is your capability to get injured."

He scoffed. "It's not my fault that bad things happen around me."

It was meant as a joke, but it hit a little close to home.

"Hey," Kristin said, seeing his face fall as she pressed the button, counting down the seconds. "It's not your liability, okay?"

"What?" he asked. She...couldn't know, could she?

"The H.M.S Fran," she said, and he deflated with relief. "You couldn't have known that the Arachnids would get it. There was nothing that could have been done."

"It was chasing us," he said, tucking his knees to his chest. "It—it was a trap, and we couldn't run, and then they decided to drive the rest of the ship into the Arachnids so that the survivors could have a chance of survival." He scowled. "I'm the only crew member left, and I wasn't even technically a crew member."

"But the Piglins and Hoglins are," Kristin reminded him gently. "We heard from Clementine's records that they were the only ones left of their species."

"So were the Avians," he pointed out. "Now look how few we number." He shook his head. "I don't know anymore."

"Techno was on that ship," Kristin said softly. "That mission was an important one. The fifteen-year mission your parents were part of was highly secretive. We only heard about it after—and Captain Sam encrypted Clementine's black box so that only long strings of specific code words and letters can open them." She shook her head. "The special forces missions and runs have never been uncovered, and Command never told the public if they ever figured it out."

Tommy raised his head, thinking of the single string of numbers and symbols that his father had told him before he had rushed off to die. It meant something—perhaps an encoding of a final critical mission that he needed to take back to Command.

His father had told him not to trust anyone.

Tommy closed his mouth.

❯  Hey, Phil?  ❮

"Yeah, Wil?" Philza sighed tiredly, from where he was soaring over the purple vegetation.

❯  Minx contacted me. You know how she specializes in computerized communications? Comm links and all that?  ❮

"Yes."

❯  Well...she thinks that she found something.  ❮

"Patch them through," he said instantly.

❯  Not like that. It's a signal, nothing more. Not enough to establish a stable connection.  ❮

"Then trace it," he said, motioning to the only other Elytrian on the ship that he'd had come with him; an Ensign to Sapnap nicknamed Hannah Rose. He needed her wings to fly with him; it was faster than getting a means of transport and having crew members search on foot. Which they were doing —but this covered more ground.

❯  Yes, captain. Sending you the coordinates now.  ❮

Tommy heard movement and heard Kristin cry out in a mix of choked laughter and love, and he watched with relaxed relief as Philza landed next to his wife and drew her into a careful hug, noting as she hissed when he touched her ankle. Another girl with wings—though hers were a deep rose-red—landed next to Philza, her eyes looking over Tommy carefully.

"You two okay?" Phil asked finally, wiping tears of joy onto his captain's uniform.

"Lucky fall," the Elytrian girl guessed.

"No," Kristin said. "I would have died without Tommy. He..." she trailed off, unable to explain.

"I glided," he said proudly. He would have done jazz hands, but his arms were all sorts of fucked up. 

"Avian?" Philza guessed with narrow eyes.

He nodded, sulking slightly. "Increased the force of air beneath me. It's an advanced skill—and unfortunately, one I never really mastered. I learned it about eight years ago."

"Well," Phil said. "Thank you, Tommy. For saving my wife."

"No problem," he said. "We were falling anyway."

"That's a lie," the Elytrian girl objected. "Tubbo said you jumped in after her right when you should have been dematerialized."

He pointed a hand at her, wincing at the pain. "That's not true. Tubbo's spreading rumors again."

"Are your fingers broken?" Phil asked.

"His hand is too," Kristin said helpfully.

Tommy sighed.

Chapter Text

You can't master your future

if you're a slave to your past.

- Unknown

"Four to beam up," Philza said into his communicator when they had breached the surface. Tommy clung to the Elytrian girl—her name was Hannah—as they landed on the rock. He winced as his hand moved, and Hannah muttered a small apology.

❯ You found them, Captain?! ❮

Phil smiled at Fundy's excited voice. Tommy decided to speak up. "No!" he shouted. "Phil just picked up some orphans!"

Purpled, Ranboo, Niki, Techno, and Tubbo were waiting for them as they rematerialized away from Falir VI. Which he was glad for. He was never going back to that fucking ball of unstable rocks. 

"Injuries?" Niki demanded, whipping out a scanner and going to Kristin first.

"Sprained ankle," the Human said, leaning on her husband. "He's the worse one-off."

Niki descended on him with a rage of a thousand suns, and she had Techno carry him to medbay, the half-Piglin surprisingly gentle as Kristin ambled beside them.

"Wait a second," Purpled said, as Techno set him on a cot with a certain dexterity that made him sigh with relief. "Aren't we orphans?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "No, no more hyposprays, Niki, please, I'm—OW! What the hell?"

"Numbing," the Merling said through narrowed eyes, tossing one to Ranboo, who administered it a bit gentler to Kristin in the bed over. "You're staying overnight. You're a mess."

"But Kristin doesn't have to," he whined as she pulled out a bone knitter.

Niki clucked her tongue. "Kristin doesn't get into a medical mess every twenty-four hours," she pointed out. "Also, I trust her not to sprint everywhere the moment she can put weight on her ankle."

"That's just rude."

"To be fair, Tommy, you were suggesting we climb out," Kristin said.

"You were trying to WHAT?" Niki shouted, looking crazier and crazier by the second. 

"I wasn't!" he said. "It was merely a delusional statement!" Tubbo snickered, and Purpled rolled his eyes. "Please don't give me another hypospray."

"Don't worry," Niki drawled. "You're only allowed to have seven within the hour anyway. Here's six more."

"NO!"

"Stop being a baby," she chastised him. "It's just a needle."

"What if it breaks inside?" he asked, as she held down his arm and pushed another numbing hypospray inside. He refused to admit in the slightest that it helped the pain—he wouldn't.

"We're on a spaceship, Tommy. Modern technology has evolved. It's not going to break inside." She glanced over at Ranboo. "His wrist isn't broken. It's fractured, and the bone knitter isn't going to cut it. Can you go get the microscopic laser?"

"EXCUSE ME?" he shouted.

"Shh," Niki said. "We'll knock you out. When you're awake, your arm will be in a cast and your fingers in a splint. You should be out of it tomorrow—hell, if it were anyone else, I'd let them leave after a bit of rest with a careful warning. You? No. You're staying."

"But Niki..."

"That's Lieutenant Nihachu to you."

Tommy cast a pleading gaze to the rest of the room's occupants, including the three boys around his own age, but everyone had varying degrees of amusement on their faces—save Techno, who just looked bored. 

"So," Niki said, spinning around. Tommy yelped as he spied the hypospray in her left hand. She pulled a mask over her face and glared at everyone else. "The rest of you need to move over. Ranboo, I need you to be my assistant for this surgery." She rolled her eyes at Tommy's reaction. "Oh, relax. It's minor."

"So am I," he snarked.

"Do you want to be awake while I painstakingly put your bones back together, or not?" she asked.

"Out," he said instantly.

"Good," she said. "Then stop being sarcastic and arguing with me; otherwise, I'll strap you down and forgo the painkillers."

"That sounds like torture," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "Everyone else, go over in the corner. Any noise, and I'm kicking you out. Ready?  Go ." In the same motion, she slammed the hypospray with absolutely more force than was necessary into Tommy's thigh.

He was out before he could throw her the middle finger.

Tommy ended up disembarking from Terra with a brace around his wrist. Fortunately, he was able to get out of a full-body cast—though Niki argued for it heavily. Officers were waiting for them, some of them welcoming the bridge crew with familiarity. Still, Tommy mostly stayed with Lani and Dream's sister, Drista, waiting for the shuttle that was supposed to take them to Fleet school so he could start his first classes and they could continue their studies.

"You know," Purpled said, from where he was standing next to Tommy, the Terran sun making his magenta eyes shine all the brighter. Ranboo was a silent force behind them, though Tommy saw many eyes glance their direction. He had to remind himself that it wasn't him they were looking at, yet instead the two known survivors of the Red Planet's Genocide. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"Why?" he asked curiously.

"The media," the Human grumbled. "We'll be staying aboard the L'manburg, fortunately, but I'm still worried. They want to know the details of what happened." Tommy bit his lip and thought of the spaceship that was currently docked in space, rotating around Terra. They had taken a shuttle down to the landing zone. 

"That's awfully invasive," Lani put in, frowning. 

"It's the media," Drista pointed out. "They think that they have a right to every inch of private life that everyone has."

"Fair point," Purpled grumbled, and they all watched from under the overhang of the space transport as a tall Phantom male with brown hair stepped in front of someone that was trying to shove a microphone in Tubbo's face. "I sort of feel bad for him."

"He loves his job," Lani murmured. "There are downsides to shore leave. But don't worry, he'll go back to his archaic video games and will stay shut up screaming about swords and missing jumps and—" she cut herself off with a small laugh. "He—we wouldn't give this up for anything."

Purpled made a slight noise of agreement. "At least there's the ability to online game here."

"So," Tommy asked. "Drista." The blonde-haired girl looked over at him. "What're you studying at school?"

"The regular stuff," she said. "Chemistry. Calculus. Physics. Astronomy. Technology. History."

"No," he snorted. "Like...major?"

"Oh," Drista said, chewing at her lip. "I'm not on the Command path, if you're wondering," she said. "Fortunately. They're supposed to be worked really hard." The girl shuddered at the thought. "I'm following my brother. When I was little, I wanted to be different, but we're similar because we're family, so I figured out that liking the same thing was okay. I'm a Junior Tactical Officer."

Tommy tilted his head. "Is that why the chair is empty in the Tactical Officer spot?" he asked. "because Dream is the C.T.O?"

"Exactly," Drista said, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "Before the pilot sort of died, and he filled in temporarily. Or, well, it was supposed to be temporary but it sort of turned full-time."

"But—he talked about Science Officers and some guy named George..." Tommy trailed off.

Drista rolled his eyes. "He dabbles in just about everything, the show-off. Yes, he spends a lot of time in the science department. And he's such a nerd, too! You would think he would've majored in science—but no, he went into internal security instead." She threw up her hands. "From the amount of time I hear him talking about plants and trees and thermology, it's a wonder that he gets anything done." 

"I'm the one that talks about thermology," Lani said. 

"Whatever."

Tommy glanced over with a slight pain in his chest as the two girls argued playfully, and Purpled saw his look and gave a sad little reminiscent smile. There was little they could say at the moment, though. "Apparently, I have to go speak with the Admiral because I missed testing a few months ago?"

"Makes sense," Drista mused thoughtfully. "Phil wrote you a letter of recommendation, right?"

He blinked. "Uh—yeah, yeah, he did." The piece of paper that he hadn't opened and read—even though Phil had told him he could—lay in his back pocket. "Is that going to help?"

Purpled snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Tommy, you'd get into Fleet school regardless of that letter or not. Here's to hoping they're smart enough to bump you up a few years."

"Ooh," Lani said. "Maybe you'll join some of my classes. I have a couple of Year Three ones and some Year Four." She tilted her head. "Barring the medical ones, of course, besides basic field medicine." Tommy opened his mouth to ask another nervous question, but Lani interrupted him. "If you're worried about what classes to pick, don't worry. The Admiral is pretty smart. We're all pretty aware that you want to be a pilot. You'll probably have to take some of the normal classes plus those ones."

"But what about the ones I'll skip?" he asked.

"You can probably skip Survival Strategies," Purpled said. Tommy glared at him, unamused. "And Basic Flight Control too. And—well, it doesn't matter. If you know the class, tell the instructor, and they'll probably let you skip it if you can demonstrate the knowledge. It happens, sometimes. It happened with Tubbo a lot."

"God, they hated him," Lani said. "Not really," she explained when she saw Tommy's nervous look. "It was just funny—he'd enter a class at the beginning of a term, and people would make bets on whether he knew the contents already."

Speaking of Tubbo...

"Tommy!"

He looked up and saw Tubbo waving them over. The five of them made their way through the slightly calmer crowd, Tommy dropping back and then stepping to the side, so Ranboo and Purpled were in the center. He ignored every question thrown his way as he made his way to one of the transports, which the bridge crew was already in, the other branches of the team in various other transports. Techno, with his pink hair and tusks poking out of his lower lip, was still attempting his bored look—though by now, Tommy knew better and saw the shifty glances he was giving the crowd, and the phaser strapped to his waist. 

Phil and Kristin looked far more at ease, though Phil sat a bit too close to his wife—even if they were married—and Kristin rolled her eyes when he raised his eyebrows.

"Bastard is overprotective," she said, winking. 

Phil ruffled indignantly, his wings shifting in an annoyed fashion. "Excuse me; I   didn't nearly die by falling down a fault from an earthquake."

It sounded like they'd had this argument a million times.

"I'm so glad I'm not married," Tommy said, receiving a huffing laugh from Techno and a full-out one from Wilbur. Purpled rolled his eyes. 

"I wish I were married again," Tubbo said wistfully.

"Stop," Ranboo said, rolling his eyes.

"Being divorced is just so difficult." 

"This transport is going to Fleet school, right?" Drista interrupted, sitting down next to her brother as the plexiglass door closed, effectively shutting off the sound. Tommy shoved Tubbo playfully into Ranboo and sat down in the space between the smaller boy and the C.C.O, who stuck out his tongue. 

"Yeah," Phil answered as the transport shuttle took off.

"What are you guys doing at Fleet school?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I know why Lani and Drista are there, and they gotta get their dorms and shit before classes tomorrow—so that makes sense why Tubbo and Dream are there, being family...what the fuck are the rest of you doing?"

"Well, Kristin wanted to see how you did on your test," Phil said. "And I'm not leaving her alone anytime soon—who knows what kind of trouble she'll get into—"

"At least Niki didn't call me a walking trainwreck," Kristin pointed out, eyeing Tommy. 

He threw up his hands. "I don't understand! Why does she think I'll end up dying if I'm not with someone every ten seconds?"

"Well," Techno said. "That could be because your first meeting was holding a boy who had just gotten stabbed." Tubbo snorted. "And then when you met her again—I think it was drug abuse?"

"Yes," Purpled said, amused. "It was."

"Recovering," he corrected. "She still gave me daily hyposprays to wean me off the effects."

"Still plans to," Wilbur chortled. Tommy glared. "It's sort of funny. She's like an overprotective mother hen."

"That likes shoving needles in their fledglings," he muttered. "Sick, twisted mother hens."

"I'm not done yet," Techno said. "Apparently, you relapsed—"

"I made a joke that everyone took seriously."

"—relapsed, and then you raced Tubbo in the gym and stopped breathing, and she and her team had to shove a tube down your throat because you decided that you just didn't want to live and blocked all air from coming into your body. Then you had the brilliant decision to leap into a hole—which, good job, by the way, you saved Kristin, so it wasn't completely stupid, just mostly stupid—and fractured your wrist and broke two of your fingers." Techno raised an eyebrow. "Might I remind you that all of this was over four days? Fortunately, we've had two days since that bout, but that's because Niki locked you up in medbay."

"I—" he started.

"Oh my God," Purpled interrupted, magenta eyes widening. "It's been six days since he's arrived?"

"Uh, yeah?" Techno said.

Purpled turned in his seat to glare at Tommy. "It was your birthday the day before yesterday!"

He sunk lower in his seat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Purpled pointed an accusing finger at him. "No! I cannot believe you spent your birthday in the medbay!"

"How old are you?" Wilbur asked him quietly.

"Seventeen," he said.

Phil put his head in his hands. "That's why you didn't want to answer when I first asked you," he said. "God, you're seventeen—by a few days!"

He scowled. "I've had worse weeks."

"That really doesn't make it better," Dream said. 

"I don't get it," Lani said. "I'm fourteen. Drista is fifteen. What's so bad about him being seventeen?"

"I wouldn't have let him down with the landing party," Philza snapped.

"That's why I didn't tell you," he said. "How old did you think I was?"

"Eighteen?" Wilbur said, looking slightly nauseated. Tommy snorted, shaking his head. 

"I knew," Tubbo pointed out.

"So did I," Purpled added.

"Okay," Phil sighed. "Raise of hands, who knew that Tommy was sixteen before his birthday—uh, two days ago?"

Ranboo, Lani, Tubbo, and Purpled raised their hands.

Phil threw up his hands. "Great," he said. "The children are rebelling against me." Purpled winced slightly, and Tommy's stomach lurched. Wilbur nudged the Elytrian, and Phil blanched. "I—sorry, that wasn't what I meant."

"It's okay," Purpled muttered, for the benefit of Tommy and Ranboo. 

Tommy pressed a hand to the window and gazed at the teeming city below. It had been—well, he had never seen Terra in person, actually. He'd been in simulations that were real-as-life to this one, but now he knew he was here. They were in—California, apparently—and in the distance, he saw the rusted bridge that crossed the ocean of whatever-body-of-water-that-was. The Golden Gate bridge?

It wasn't golden, and so Tommy was just confused. 

"Niki knew," Lani pointed out. "The only reason the rest of us know is because we were in the room when Tommy said it."

"Okay, no wonder Niki was a mother hen," Phil said. Tommy closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. His aunt—Puffy—had used to call him a duckling. "Sheesh, Tommy. You're a literal child."

"And you're old," he said, and Wilbur choked. 

"Happy birthday," Tubbo said.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said, crossing his arms. "I don't like celebrating birthdays." 

"That's stupid," Drista sniffed. Dream hissed something under his breath, but his blonde-haired sister didn't listen. "You shouldn't let your past change the actions in the future."

"That's...really not how it works," he said. "You learn from the past, and you apply it to your future." Drista snorted. "I nearly died on my last birthday. Seven times. And before that..." he trailed off.

Before that, he had celebrated his birthday on the Red Planet. That had been even less enjoyable than nearly dying seven times. Somehow. 

"So you had a few shitty birthdays—"

"I've had seven shitty birthdays ever since I watched my family blow up in an explosion," he said quietly, and every single person in the transport flinched. "Birthday is just another year older. Older means less protection."

"Why didn't they just kill you?" Wilbur asked.

He lifted his chin. "Because I am the last known living Avian, and even if Chroma—" he spat the name, and both Ranboo and Purpled blanched heavily. "—still lives, then I'm still the last child."

"Chroma's an Avian?" Phil said. 

He closed his eyes. Well, he hadn't known they didn't know. "Yes," he said finally. "He is." Tommy let out a shaky breath. "Anyway, the Arachnids were curious about—us. About our species. Since we're so secretive." He grinned, but it was forced and shaky and wrong.

"You can control air," Dream said quietly.

"Well—" he saw Dream's look. "—basically, yeah. Without getting into specifics."

"Anything else important we should know?" Phil asked. 

Tommy glanced out the window at the swift approaching Fleet school building and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, bordered by the setting sun. 

So much. He had so much inside. "I can't eat meat. I need to sleep at high places, or else I get nightmares and headaches." He forced another smile. "But that's not because I'm an Avian. That's just because the Arachnids fucked with my brain."

"They...what?" Phil said with a dangerous calm.

He raised an eyebrow. "You think they just watched me every time I was in prison, Captain? Nah." He tapped his head. "When I was eleven, they messed up, and I had seizures for a few months before they suck some tech in my head to stop that. When I was twelve, I shattered my femur because I had too many painkillers, and I had to—again—have microscopic laser surgery." Wilbur looked vaguely sick, Phil horrified, and even Techno had lost his bored expression. Purpled's was forced straight because he knew—Tommy had told him before. Tubbo's eyes were comically wide. "Eight months ago, they thought it would be cool to give me—like a permanent stimulant—"

"That's incredibly dangerous," Dream interrupted.

"I know," he said carefully, shrugging. "But what can one do? I certainly couldn't do a thing. Anyway, it fucked my brain, so now I can only sleep in places with artificial gravity or in high places."

"How the fuck does that work?" Tubbo asked curiously.

"Hell if I know," he snorted. "It's not like I ever tested it." Purpled blinked at him. "The few planets we've had 'field trips' to—" he made air quotes with his fingers. "—I've either slept in trees or a dormitory. It's not that I  can't  sleep lower to the ground, it's just hard to fall asleep, and I get nightmares."

"Perhaps we could get in contact with a neuroscientist," Wilbur suggested. "There has to be one that owes you a favor, right, Dream?"

The green-eyed man rubbed his chin. "Hmm. I think I know one or two."

Techno rolled his eyes. "You know everyone."

"That's because I have the capability to be social, instead of you, Mr. Stand-There-And-Look-Scary." 

"Okay!" Tubbo said, clapping his hands. "New plan! Tommy goes and takes his entrance exam, Lani and Drista gets their dorm room settled, and the rest of us throw a birthday party!"

"No," he said firmly.

Everyone ignored him.

"Don't let Ranboo bake the cake," Drista warned. "He puts too much frosting on it."

"I do not!" Ranboo said, rolling his eyes. "It's the perfect amount of frosting!"

The Human girl smirked, mimicking holding a jar. "We have not one, not two, not three..." she paused dramatically. "We have three cans of frosting."

Tommy wrinkled his nose. "I haven't had frosting in years, and that sounds gross."

"It's not!" Ranboo said defensively. "It was to drown amount the sheer power of the chocolate M&M's I put on there!"

Phil sighed, but he had a slight smile on his face. "Remind me to tell Karl never to let you into the kitchen again."

"Karl wasn't there," Tubbo said. "Karl also wasn't there when Ranboo put spaghetti in everyone's cereal."

Dream looked slightly disgusted. "Oh, George thought those were snakes."

"Snakes?" Ranboo said. "It's pasta."

Dream shrugged. "He's colorblind."

There was a pause. 

"That's not how colorblindness works," Purpled pointed out, always the diplomat. 

Tommy sighed. "I don't want a birthday party," he said.

"Why?" Tubbo asked him.

"Because—" he cut himself off, floundering for an answer. "Um...I don't want to bother you?"

"It was my idea," Tubbo said. "Therefore, you're not bothering me." Tommy raised an eyebrow. "So! Birthday party! Ranboo isn't baking—maybe I'll get Bad to do it. He's good at baking."

"He'll drag Skeppy into it, and then the entire kitchen will be a mess," Techno pointed out. 

"The one with the blue hair?" Tommy asked. "His boyfriend, right?"

Tubbo snickered. "That's what I thought too. Nah, they're just friends."

"Oh," Tommy said, his face red.

Wilbur patted him on the back. "Trust me; they're sus sometimes. There's the friend boundary—and then there's Skeppy and Bad dynamic, which closely mirrors the Dream and George dynamic." He shrugged. "A lot of people think both pairs are dating."

"I wouldn't be opposed," Dream said with a teasing grin.

Drista pointed a finger at her brother. "You don't make the rumors dispel."

"Why should I make the rumors dispel?" the green-eyed Human asked. 

"Uh..." Ranboo said. "Because they're not true?"

"Yeah, but it's funny."

Phil cleared his throat. "We're here, Tommy."

Tommy glanced towards the door, which slid open as he watched to reveal a bustling campus of red-uniformed people—Humans and other species alike. Fleet school was here, but Command was a space station...somewhere. Apparently, it was classified. 

To be fair, everything was classified.

"Good luck!" Tubbo chirped, waving goodbye to him as he stood up.

Purpled tugged on his arm as he made to step onto the pavement of Terra. "If it means anything..." the magenta-eyed Human said in a low voice. "Then I am sorry, because I did not know you still lived."

"What?" Tommy asked, but Purpled had shoved him out to stand next to Phil, the rest of the crew staying on. Purpled smiled at him apologetically, pressing a hand against the glass as the transport once again took off to go to another destination—probably the dorms, if Tommy had followed the conversation correctly. 

"Come on, Tommy," Philza murmured. "Let's go."

Tommy huffed as he watched the transport leave, Purpled's ominous words leaving him slightly confused. Movement around them paused as the current students—most of whom were preparing for the term to start the next day—glanced at them. 

Yet—for once—they weren't staring at him. Oh, sure, some of them were. But not for who he was. For who the person next to him was. For the first time, Tommy was reminded that Phil was, in fact, a legend among the Galactic Rebellion. And even if some people didn't know who he was, they sure as hell knew what the L'manburg was. 

Like, come it. It was a pretty diverse ship with a very young crew. And not only that—it was highly successful. 

One of the students—from what Tommy could see, they were a Merling, with the same tube that Niki had in their nose—came up to Phil. "Captain?" she said, her voice slightly shaky. 

"Cadet," Phil returned, dipping his head.

"I was wondering if you could give me a brief retelling of the Hardcore mission?" she asked.

Phil smiled somberly, putting a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I have to escort Tommy here to the Admiral. We have an important appointment." Tommy noticed that Phil's wings ruffled as if they had a mind of their own. 

"O-of course," the Merling sputtered. "Sorry to bother you."

"It is of no consequence," the Elytrian assured her. "I suggest you check out my First Officer's logs. They're...wordy, but they give a lot of valuable information that my reports do not."

"Oh!" the girl said. "Thank you so much, Captain!"

Phil watched her go with a fond look. Tommy tilted his head. "You know her?" he asked.

"No," Phil said as they entered the building. It was mostly empty; students were preferably staying outside in the late day sun. "She reminds me of Niki."

"Ah," Tommy said, swallowing. "I don't see the connection."

Phil laughed softly, shaking his head. "You will," he promised, as they walked up two flights of stairs, his wings slightly outstretched for balance. "If you get to know her, you'll see that curious side of her as well."

"Hopefully, that doesn't involve hyposprays," he muttered. 

"That's not all Niki is."

"Really?" he questioned. "Because all I feel is needle pain whenever I see her. I think I have PTSD or some shit."

Philza smiled at him again with deep blue eyes, and Tommy—politely—turned away so the captain could type in a code down a staff-only hallway. It was cooler here—nicer carpets and even some modern paintings that Tommy didn't understand. They reached a seating room first, and Phil sat down on one of the chairs. 

"Go on," the Elytrian said. "He's waiting for you."

Tommy glanced at the silver doors and gulped, pushing them gently. They gave way with relative ease, and he glanced once more back at Phil, who motioned him to continue. Tommy slipped through the crack, feeling like his doom had just come over him as the doors closed. 

It was a pleasant office, with a window overlooking the bay area and a padded seat, along with a few floating holographic models of the muted newsfeed—Tommy saw the L'manburg flash—and some lists of ship and tech parts.

A—Human?—male sat in the command chair, tapping something onto his datapad with practiced hands. He had short-cropped hair and tanned skin, and Tommy recognized the Admiral pin upon his dark aqua uniform.

"Sir," he said uneasily, folding his arms behind the small of his back.

The Admiral looked up at him, smiling with a familiarity Tommy hadn't known they shared. "Ah," he said, with an all-knowing voice that greatly reminded Tommy of—well, of Chroma. "Tommy Innes. So we meet at last."

Chapter Text

The past is a monster.

The question is, can you 

defeat that monster?

Or will it control your mind?

- Aria Cinabun

Tommy's jaw dropped as the male smiled at him, with his chin propped up on his hands. "How—how the fuck do you know who I am?"

"I know everything."

Tommy stared at him.

"Just kidding," the Admiral laughed. "I only know some things. We do have a file on you," he added, typing something into his datapad and then holding it out. Tommy took it with slightly shaking hands, still in shock that the Admiral knew about—him. Who his parents were—or at least, who Sam was. 

Thomas Innes

↳ Age

  ↳ 17 Standard Years

↳ Species

  ↳ Avian

↳ Family

  ↳ Son of (deceased) Captain Sam Innes & (deceased) Lieutenant Clara Innes of the H.M.S Fran

  ↳ Nephew to (deceased) co-Captain Cara Puffy of the H.M.S Fran

  ↳ Brother to (deceased)  Clementine Innes (aged four months)

↳ Additional Notes

  ↳ The only known crew survivor of the  H.M.S Fran; could possibly contain information on Captain Sam's lost missions

  ↳ One of the three known survivors of the Red Planet's Genocide, and also the leader of the Children's Rebellion. See Purpled and Ranboo for more information.

  ↳ Spent nearly a total of five years in the asteroid prison known as the Wasteland

  ↳ One of the last remaining Avians in the universe

He nearly dropped the datapad from the shock as he read the contents. The Admiral caught it with a deft hand, placing it back down on the desk. 

"How—how the fuck do you know all this?" he demanded, hands clenched in fists.

"It's relatively easy to figure out who you were," the Admiral said quietly, no anger returned in his eyes. "I've known you've existed ever since you were born."

"And the rest of the Rebellion...?" he asked.

"Your file is classified," the Admiral responded. "I'm the only one who's seen it, as technically, Avians as a species fall under my line of knowledge. Usually, there'd be a species leader, but...well." So he was Human.

"But I don't get it," Tommy said, staring at his hands like they were going to bite. "How do you have this information?"

"Your parents sent me the details of your birth when you were born," the Admiral admitted. "Your...sister's, as well, before she passed." Tommy winced, squeezing his eyes shut. "I learned the rest from your friend. Purpled."

So that's what he meant by 'I'm sorry,'  Tommy thought with dawning horror. "He...told you?"

"He told someone for the benefit of the Galactic Rebellion," the Admiral corrected. "About Pogtopia. About Alyssa...Foolish...Grian...and a boy named Tommy who had walked away to get revenge. Captain Philza sent me a comm about an uninvited guest they'd picked up on their mission—namely you—and he mentioned that you were extremely talented." The Admiral shrugged. "After he said you were an Avian, I put the pieces together."

Tommy swallowed, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the letter of recommendation. "I...have this for you," he said, stuttering slightly. 

The Admiral took it and set it on the desk without unrolling it. "You're already in, kid. I have your names and classes. You said you wanted to follow the Command path and become a pilot?"

"What?" he spluttered. "Don't I—isn't there an entrance exam?"

"Yes," the Admiral said. "It's quite interesting, actually. It has a hundred and fifty-one questions. The first hundred and forty have to do with algebra and biology—the school subjects that you learn before you come here, of course. The next ten is more personal. What-if situations. No-win scenarios. Choices that people might have to make should they join the Galactic Rebellion."

"And the last?" Tommy asked with a dry mouth.

"The last was added recently," the Admiral said slowly. "Within the past year and a half, actually. It's...well, it's about you, in a way. It's...a scenario about a situation similar to Pogtopia. You're a kid—you're the leader of the Children's Rebellion, and there are many details and choices you have to make." Tommy bit his lip. "It's a simulation. We don't really focus on the first hundred and forty. Sure, they matter—but even if you get a perfect score on the, we mostly focus on the free-response ones. Knowledge—equations, memorization—that we can change easily. Heart—now that has always been more difficult to change."

"You don't want another Chroma," Tommy said flatly.

"Yes," the Admiral said sadly. "We do not want another graduate from Fleet school to walk away and use their lessons learned for the purposes of a greater evil." 

"But—can't they lie?"

"Of course," the Admiral said. "And they do. But the lies are easier to tell. The lies always go with the easiest, best decision. They don't make the right decision, and that is how they fail. They choose to save the people that are being executed—and so they die."

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and thought of the girl with her hand in the air and defiance in her gaze. He thought of the Elytrian with purple wings and his arm raised as he fought for freedom—as the Phantom with glowing wings died and fell with the rest of them. 

As the other three members of the Children's Rebellion were executed in front of him.

"My team and I scanned the security cameras," the Admiral said after Tommy had—attempted—to gather himself. "I saw you in the crowd. I saw the choice you made."

"Was it the right one?" he asked in a broken whisper.

"Yes," the Admiral said without hesitation. "It is the hardest choice that anybody must make—but had you gone to save them, Ranboo and Purpled would not be here, and neither would you. Nobody would be here, and the Red Planet would have been a complete genocide."

"I watched them die."

"And you see them live," he said, swiping to pull up a picture of Purpled on his datapad and spinning the datapad around to show Tommy. He looked on as the Admiral swiped to reveal a laughing half-albino Enderian—a picture frozen in time, three tubes of frosting next to an ugly-looking cake. Tommy's heart hurt just looking at it. "You made the right choice, like it or not," the Admiral told him softly. 

"It's my fault they're dead," he insisted, a singular tear rolling down his face.

"No," the Admiral said. "It is my fault that my friends are dead, but it is not your fault that yours are." He shook his head. "My mistakes were my fault, and they are so clearly there, but yours...yours were not. If you blame anybody, blame the Avian called Chroma." 

"He's alive, you know."

"I know," the Admiral said. "I know he's been alive for a long time. There was no body—that means he was alive."

"I chased him," Tommy said thickly. "Then I was captured."

The Admiral stared at him. "Have you heard of the Mira?" he asked. 

"No," Tommy said truthfully.

The Admiral gave a small, sad smile. "It's not a very happy story, I'm afraid. But I think you'd like to hear it." Tommy inclined his head. "I was a Captain once. My best friends were—well, my entire crew were my best friends. But—but the people I knew the longest and trusted the most were my First Officer, my Chief Communications Officer, and my Chief Security Officer." The Admiral let out a small breath as if he were far away on his ship. "One day, our ship got infested. We realized that two of our crewmates were already dead and had been replaced with mirror-image copies—memories, talents, and looks were all the same, but they were going to kill us all."

"That sounds...terrible," Tommy admitted.

"It was," the Admiral said. "It was awful. I didn't know who to trust. My closest friends could have been my greatest enemies. And so in our state of unease, after my First Officer acted ominous when the power grid failed, we expelled him and my Chief Security Officer onto the nearest planet." Tommy's eyes widened. "It was the hardest decision of my life. It was also the wrong decision because we found the real...imposters a few days later and got rid of them. By then, three members were dead—not including the two that had been originally replaced—and two of my best friends were on an unknown planet."

"But...don't you know where they were?" Tommy asked.

"No," the Admiral said. "I looked. I looked for so long." He rubbed his face. "We looked. We—my Chief Communications Officer and I—we will live with the wrong decision for the rest of our lives. The navigation was shut down, so it never recorded where we exited warp to discharge them."

"I'm so sorry," Tommy said honestly.

"I am too," the Admiral said. "That was nearly three years ago, and I swore to hang up my badge and walk away." He snorted. "Of course, I'm an Admiral now...so what can you do?"

"And...they're dead?" Tommy said quietly.

"I think...if they could have come back, they would have," the Admiral said. 

"What about your C.C.O?"

"He searches, still," the Admiral admitted. "We both do, occasionally. It hurts to see each other—to see the entire crew. But we force the reunions, and they hurt every damn time. But we have to live with the wrong that we did...not by ignoring it." He closed his eyes. "This mission was strictly confidential. Nobody knows what happened—why I stepped down, or why two of the smartest people in the Galactic Rebellion stopped showing up to parties." Tommy let out a slow breath. "It's hard, sometimes. I see old acquaintances whispering in the halls, and they ask me—jokingly, of course—what secret mission two of my best friends are on."

"Why can't you just tell the public?" he asked.

"Because—" the Admiral laughed, but it wasn't one of humor. "Because there are more important things than the truth, Tommy. If the general public knows that monsters exist out there that can take the exact places of their friends—yet are murderers, aliens to the very core?" The Admiral shrugged. "Mass panic."

"And so you would lie to them?" Tommy said. "Keep the truth from them?"

"It was not my choice."

"But you are the Admiral."

"You will learn, Tommy," the male said, sounding tired. "That even if you seem like the top, there are always people ahead of you. I am an Admiral and head of the school and Earth as it is. I am, in the end, Human. But I am only a Vice Admiral. There are many people in Command above me. They decided to keep it secret—to keep the deaths of my best friends secret and have a private funeral where I could not invite everyone they've known except the current crew and immediate families. So that I have to pretend, when I hear their names, that somewhere out there, they are still alive and searching for useful information."

"So why not go off on your ship?" Tommy suggested. "Why retire and listen to these words?"

"Because every time I step on that ship, I am reminded of what I did," the Admiral said quietly. "And I cannot possibly go on a new ship—I am a Captain, or I was, anyway. We were a team. I...made poor decisions, and now I must pay for it." The Admiral steepled his fingers. "Every tough decision out there will have its downfalls. Had I not thrown two of my best friends off the ship, the imposters wouldn't have gotten cocky, and I bet my entire crew would have died, flown back to Command, and this entire Galactic Rebellion would be gone."

"So then you made the right decision," Tommy concluded.

"Yes," the Admiral said. "And unless I find another way, should I need to make that decision again, I would. I combed through every possible situation in my head. That was the only way that I've seen would have worked, accidental as it was." 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked weakly.

"Well, now you know something about me that nobody should know," the Admiral pointed out. "Now we both have dirt on each other." He smiled sharply. "But that's not the full point. I wanted you to realize that there is nothing you can do about the past except learn from it. Purpled had a long, arduous recovery. He still goes to therapy."

"I don't need therapy," he snapped.

"One day," the Admiral said. "You'll learn that blocking everything out just makes a worse build-up. You won't listen to me now—" Sure enough, Tommy was scowling. "—and maybe you're right. Maybe it will clear up. But should we capture Chroma, you will have to testify publically."

"Why?" he cried out. "Isn't there enough evidence?"

"Videos can be fakes," the Admiral said. "At least, that's what his attorney will argue. A first-hand witness—that is something they cannot contend with." He tilted his head. "Unless, of course, you don't want him to be put away forever?"

"Of course I do," Tommy snapped. "Why can't you just ask Purpled?"

"Because Purpled was delirious, and they could claim madness."

Tommy fell into silence. He hadn't realized that if the Galactic Rebellion ever recaptured Chroma, that he would have to testify. Some part of him wanted the Avian never to be found—and the other part of him immediately crushed that selfish, intrusive thought. 

"You don't have to say anything now," the Admiral said. "In fact, when I registered you for your classes at Captain Philza's askance, I put your species as Human." He nodded, more to himself. "As your doctor is Nihachu—she volunteered, saying something about self-destructive teenagers—" the Admiral looked vaguely amused. "—you do not need to tell anyone the truth until you are ready."

"Really?" he said, his voice cracking.

"Yes," the Admiral said. "But know that it will come out sooner than later, and the longer you wait, the less it will be on your terms."

"Wait," Tommy said. "If you lied about my species—does that mean I'm not the only one left?"

"That information is classified," the Admiral said. Tommy's heart fell. "And while it is classified, you deserve to know something—so I must tell you this. Yes, you are the only Avian that walks this planet." Tommy deflated. "But that does not mean you—and Chroma—are the last Avians left." 

His eyes widened. "You mean—there are others?"

"You think every Avian was aboard the H.M.S Fran?" the Admiral said, raising an eyebrow. "Your parents told you that, yes?" Tommy nodded. "They weren't lying to you, if you're wondering. They didn't know. Your species numbered few, and Avians work better in flocks—as you probably know." Like Elytrians. 

"But why put us all in one space?" he demanded. "One that endangered us further in one swell swoop?"

"Like I said," the Admiral said. "Avians are stronger in groups." He shook his head. "I don't know much. Your people were very secretive."

Tommy threw up his hands. "Great, that's helpful," he muttered. "I would love to have a book on this stuff."

Inside, he giddily exclaimed, I am not the last one left.

I am not the last good one left. 

"Sir?" he asked. "Can I ask a question?"

"That is a question, but go ahead."

"Why were the Avians hunted to extinction?"

The Admiral looked at him with sharp brown eyes. "Now that information is classified and something I cannot tell you." 

"Why?" he asked desperately.

"Kid, the less you know about that mess, the better."

"But they're my species!"

"And you're not even graduated from Fleet school," the Admiral said sharply. "Maybe in a few years. It's not that I don't trust you with information; it's just that that sort of information is extremely volatile."

"For the Arachnids?"

"Yes."

Tommy sighed. "When I graduate, will you tell me?"

The Admiral smiled, standing up and walking around the desk. "Tell you what, kid. I'll tell you within three years." His eyes twinkled. "Something tells me that the crew of the L'manburg is going to swoop you up like they did the rest of the cadets on there."

Tommy blinked. "I still don't get how that's allowed."

"It's not," the Admiral admitted. "Quartermaster Purpled and Ensign Ranboo took online courses, and Ensigns Drista and Lani take a break when the crew goes on shore leave to come back here. Lieutenant Tubbo graduated super early—some think that the crew isn't good enough." The Admiral smirked. "The L'manburg has some of the best mission records I've ever seen, barring my own ship, of course."

"Of course," Tommy said, his own mouth twisting into a slight smirk. 

"Captain Phil—pardon my language—doesn't give a shit about what other people think. I think he's setting a good example that it doesn't matter how old you are, only how good you are." The Admiral leaned closer. "And let me tell you, they are very good."

"And you think they're going to take me?" Tommy asked, confused.

"I think they would have if you had been a cadet."

"...why?" he asked.

"Well," the Admiral said, picking up Phil's letter of recommendation and reading through it. "Maybe it's because you have a 'selfless sense of skewed honor,' or perhaps it's your 'brilliance on the field,' or—this is a good one—it's because of your 'happiness when you see your friends, and what they remind you of—of happier times, of better people. I see his face sometimes when he thinks nobody is looking. It's broody, to say the least. I don't want to push or ask questions, but I know Tommy has seen things that no person—never mind a child—should ever see. I think that this kid is one of the best people that could ever graduate from Fleet and join one of our starships one day.' " The Admiral looked up. "Phil doesn't say those things lightly, kid." 

"He—he said that about me?" Tommy sputtered, now earnestly wishing he'd read the entire letter. Or even a little bit of it.  

"Like I said," the Admiral grinned, reaching out and patting Tommy on the shoulder. Tommy was surprised to find that he didn't flinch at the touch, despite it being from someone he'd barely met. "The entire crew gets attached very quickly. It was a whole-ass custody fight after they picked up Purpled and Ranboo from Pogtopia. I even had a group of Ensigns down here, begging me not to take them away." The Admiral shook his head. "Not that I would have pulled Ensign Purpled away from his brothers, nor Ensign Ranboo away from the only person that he remembered."

"Thanks, I suppose," Tommy said. 

The Admiral smiled. "No need to thank me. Just make sure that when you tell your new friends what actually happened that it's because  you  want to, not because time dictates you should." Tommy swallowed and nodded. "Right. Let's go out to the sitting room. A few minutes ago, I got an alert that a few people entered." 

Tommy frowned. "Why the fuck are more people here?" The Admiral raised an eyebrow. "Uh, pardon my language. Sir."

"It's fine, cadet," the Admiral said with some amusement. "You do have some reason to be surprised. But I will repeat this, for the final time. The crew of the L'manburg gets very, very attached."

"I'm pretty sure Techno hates me. Uh, Commander Techno...blade. Technoblade."

The Admiral sighed. "He does not hate you. In fact, if I were him, I think he would be interested in you. After all, it was your parents that sacrificed their lives so his people could live."

"He doesn't know that," Tommy pointed out.

The Admiral put one hand on the door and paused. "But you are still the single surviving crew member of the H.M.S Fran. The Piglins are debt-fulfilling people. He cannot repay anybody else, so he will repay you."

"I don't even know him!" Tommy cried out.

"I'm not saying how things should be; I'm saying how they are, Cadet Innes," the Admiral said, and Tommy let out a breath at the title. He was a cadet at Fleet school, despite not having taken the entrance exam. 

"Are you sure I shouldn't take the—"

"Yes."

Tommy shut up. The Admiral smiled at him and pushed open the metal doors. Tommy blinked in surprise when he saw Tubbo, Purpled, and Ranboo in one corner, playing some kind of card game. Philza was still sitting in the chair, swiping through a datapad, one of his wings now curled around the wife that sat next to him, reading from a thin device, her lips pursed. Wilbur—why the Phantom had an old Terran instrument, he had no idea—but the lieutenant was strumming a guitar quietly, the notes floating in the silence of the quiet space. Techno leaned against the wall, an old-fashioned book in his hands. Tommy tilted his head curiously. Usually, books like that—especially ones that seemed to be on Ancient...he couldn't read that word...well, ancient stories. That meant it had to be written sometime around the twenty-first century—he would have expected that book to be in a museum or used for decoration, not as reading material. 

The Admiral cleared his throat, and eight heads shot up to stare at him. There was a moment of silence, and Tommy saw—were they his friends, now?—the crew members of the L'manburg, clearly impatient, bite back their questions.

"He passed," the Admiral said.

"YES!" Tubbo screamed, and Tommy flinched. Philza whirled around and glared at the poor Shulker, who cringed. "Uh. Sorry, sir. Sirs, I mean."

"It is quite fine, lieutenant," the Admiral assured him. Tubbo let out a small breath of relief. "Kids will be kids."

"I'm so sorry, Admiral—" Philza started.

The Admiral held up a hand. "Your lieutenant was merely showing his delight that his friend got into the institution and could potentially join your crew—if you so wish—in the near future." 

"Of course, Admiral," Phil said. 

"I do not punish people for not being respectful around me," the Admiral continued. "I'm sure you've all heard about my old ship—the Mira, remember?"

"Oh, the classified one," Techno said, closing his book. Tommy blinked at him, glancing at the now-readable title. Ancient Grecian Myths.  "Yeah, I have." 

"Yes, Commander, the classified one," the Admiral said. "I suppose you know the stories by now."

"The ones where you spent four months convincing your entire crew to call you by your nickname and not your title?" Techno said. 

"That one, yes." The Admiral inclined his head. 

"The higher-ups hated you for that," Techno drawled.

"I believed in a better connection within the crew," the Admiral said.

Little good that did, Tommy thought sadly. He immediately hated that stupid idea. It was sort of harsh—although true. 

"Anyway," the Admiral said. "Good luck at school, cadet." He paused by the doorway. "Oh, I also put him down as a Human. Just...as a little extra wall. Don't get him in trouble because I  will  plead plausible deniability if people find out he's an Avian and all roads lead back to me." Another small pause. "Happy belated birthday, Tommy." 

Tommy watched as the office doors swung shut.

Chapter Text

Music can heal the wounds

that medicine cannot touch.

- Debasish Mridha

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOMMY!"

He clapped two hands over his ears as light plundered his eyes, hurting more than every retina scan or injury he'd ever had. He blinked again and saw nearly a dozen and a half people standing around a Victoria sponge cake, seventeen red and white candles burning. Tommy spun to see a proud-looking Tubbo next to him, the boy having instigated a conversation outside the door that the rest of the crew had filed through.

He hadn't even noticed that they'd left the hallway, too busy talking about cosmetology and the—current—popular theory that space-time could be superfluid. Apparently—it was split down the line—many physicists believed that while stars, galaxies, planets rotated, the universe itself did not. Tubbo, like many people, assumed that the universe was the same in every direction. Rotation itself required an axis, though general relativity could allow the universe to rotate. Assuming that the universe had a cosmic axis of rotation would make it seem like a particular direction of the universe—namely, down its axis. Superfluidity—the property of a fluid with zero viscosity that flowed without the loss of any kinetic energy; indefinite movement could apply to the universe in Tommy's argument. He reasoned that the lower the superfluid's viscosity, the more turbulent the fluid is—something commonly observed at the beginning of a black hole. After all, people had been searching for years for ways to get gravity to agree with quantum mechanics. And it was just a theory.

Anyway, it was safe to say that Tubbo had perfectly distracted Tommy enough for them to shout happy birthday. 

And scare the shit out of him—not that anybody except Purpled saw his slight flinch. Perhaps Tubbo did as well because his eyes narrowed slightly, but the bright smile on Tommy's face deterred any evidence that he had cringed at the sudden yelling.

The past should stay in the past. 

There were gifts too. Tommy blew out his candles—after making a wish—and he was surprised when he found out the crew had apparently gone and gotten him gifts. Some of them had apologized for not getting him something perfect, as they'd had short notice.

Tommy had admitted these were the first birthday gifts—minus the ones on the Red Planet—he'd gotten in seven years. He sat down and cried, Wilbur made fun of him, Tommy called him a bitch boy, and Niki threatened to stick him with a hypospray.

All in all, a great birthday party. And the first one he spent with something akin to a family; even in Pogtopia, there had been few of them, and they had always had a sense of foreboding. 

Tubbo got him a stuffed cow that he named Henry. He made a big deal out of calling it a children's toy, but he tucked it under his arm and didn't let go. Later, in a dorm assigned to him by Fleet school—he was alone and didn't have a roommate; not that he cared—he put it on his bedside table and stroked the soft synthetic fur, smiling. 

Niki got him a set of hyposprays. He rolled his eyes as she listed off the malady's they were supposed to cure—apparently it was because he hasn't gotten his vaccinations yet—and then when he was eating cake, she snuck up and used them one by one every time he looked away. He hissed at her every time as well and threatened to beat her up. She was, after all, only five feet and five inches. He was also terrified of her. 

Techno got him a book—an actual book—labeled The Myth of Theseus. Apparently, it was a Greek myth, like the ones the half-Piglin had been reading in the sitting room waiting for Tommy. Tommy hugged it to his chest and tried not to cry. Books were damn expensive, and little did Techno know that this myth was his favorite one. Puffy used to read it to him when he was little, and she always said that Tommy reminded her of Theseus.

Phil's gift was a little more straightforward—it was his own datapad, for school, which he was glad for, and immediately created his own account and went around adding all the crew contacts. He pointedly avoided Wilbur and then added it when the Phantom wasn't looking. Phil also explained that communicators like Tommy had used on Falir VI are military-grade, and even cadets like himself aren't allowed to use or carry them. Tommy resolved to steal one from the L'manburg when he could. 

Purpled got him a butterfly knife, and Tommy smiled at him as he was reminded of the hot pink knife back on Pogtopia he'd used to cut apples. This one was pink as well, but it was made of shiny metal and folded up nicely. 

Wilbur was thoughtful—perhaps more thoughtful than Tommy thought he was capable of—and instead of a joke book or something equally stupid, he handed Tommy two boxes of LED strips—something about twenty-first-century kids and decorating their room. Tommy had a bright grin on his face as he hugged them to his chest, resolving to put them up later that night. He did, eventually, and flicked between them on an ancient remote that doesn't work as fast as he wanted to—but he basked in the dark navy light, and he smiled into the near-darkness. 

Ranboo got him three cans of frosting, and Tommy threw one at the Enderian's head. 

In the same breath, Dream got him a booster seat, clapped him on the shoulders, and begged him to take the seat as the pilot. Apparently, they were missing a C.T.O and an official navigator, which explained the bridge's missing seats. Fortunately, they hadn't needed a C.T.O in the past missions, and Techno had been taking over navigation duties. Unlike other ships, Phil had been steady in saying they didn't need a navigator—Techno did the work of a navigator perfectly fine, as he had been one before he'd been promoted to First Officer by his captain. Tommy had taken out the knife Purpled had given him and stabbed the booster seat in front of Dream's eyes for good measure, throwing the Human the middle finger.

Drista was a bit more thoughtful than her idiotic older brother and teamed up with Lani to buy him a keyboard piano. He stared at her, shocked, and Purpled had admitted to telling them Tommy had once played piano, long ago. When asked how Purpled knew that, the magenta-eyed boy glanced at Tommy with a slight furrow and then went on to lie that Tommy had told him. 

Which wasn't too far from the truth.

But Tommy had told him years and years ago and hadn't expected Purpled to remember . He knew he wouldn't play piano for a good while—it had been a long time—but his heart went out to the two girls he barely knew, who had gotten him an instrument after asking one of his friends. 

"I didn't know you played piano," Tubbo told him as he put a hand on the plastic cover that encased the pretty thing after the two of them had lugged it into his dorm late that—well, it was morning now. 

"I don't," he said. "Well, I did. I haven't played in half a decade." He doesn't say that his love of the piano died with his parents; he doesn't say that he turned to another instrument so he could ignore his past. 

"I play piano," Tubbo told him; as Tommy withdrew the knife Purpled had gotten him to cut off the plastic casing. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to play the piano.

He did. So badly. But every time he sat down and put his fingers on the keys, he was reminded of gentle hands over his as they taught him the notes. Every time he heard the notes, he was reminded of quiet laughter and hot apple cider and a better time and a naive child. Tommy stepped away and gestured towards a chair they'd pulled up from the tiny built-in kitchen.

"What?" Tubbo asked him. "Now?" 

"Why not?" he said.

"It's your piano."

"And I'm so out of practice that I would sound like a dying cat," he said. "Besides, you said you play."

Tubbo smiled as he sat down, putting his hands on the newly uncovered piano keys. "There's a piano in the rec room on the L'manburg," he said, pausing. "Fundy plays it sometimes. I do too." Tommy nodded as Tubbo played the first notes of an unfamiliar song in the dorm room's LED-lit darkness. 

He thought the two minutes that the Shulker played the song were two minutes he could forget everything that had happened to him. For those two minutes, he could hold his breath and pretend that things were only going to get better from here. For two minutes, he could close his eyes and pretend that everything was going to be okay. 

When those two minutes were over, he felt emptier than he had before. He felt like something had come back and then left, creating a more significant gap as it ripped through his heart. He wiped the tears away from his face and twisted away as Tubbo smiled proudly, turning towards him.

"That was called Rosemary's Theme!" the Shulker said. "It's an old Terran song that was derived from a book." 

"It's very pretty," he said, his voice cracking halfway through as he blinked to dispel the tears, glad of the darkness. 

Tubbo was silent as Tommy stared at the unfamiliar walls of his doors. "You know," his friend said quietly. "I cried when I listened to it."

"Oh," he said.

"It's okay to cry," Tubbo said, and he felt an arm pat him awkward on his back as he breathed through his nose and told himself in the same breath that he shouldn't be crying. "It's okay, Tommy."

"It's not—the music," he said.

"I'm glad you think that my instrumental skills are bad enough that you tuned out and thought of someone else."

Tommy laughed wetly, turning to face Tubbo. He knew that the Shulker saw the tears shining on his face in the dim lighting, but there wasn't even pity—just understanding. "It's not you, I promise."

"I've heard that before," Tubbo assured him, the corner of his mouth twisting into something akin to a smirk. "It's not me; it's you, isn't it?"

"I—we're not in a relationship," he said, biting back the laughter. 

"You're right," Tubbo said seriously. "I'm married to Ranboo. I think he would hate if I cheated on him."

"Didn't you guys get divorced?"

"Only officially," Tubbo said dreamily.

Tommy stared at him. "You're in love with Ranboo?" It wasn't that he believed that—he didn't; neither of them gave off that vibe—but he was just making sure. 

"What?" Tubbo said, staring at him as if he'd grown a third leg. "No! What gave you that idea?"

"I don't know," Tommy said wryly. "Maybe it's because you talk about marrying him all the time."

Tubbo rolled his eyes. "We're in a platonic relationship, Tommy."

"Is this...platonic relationship...consensual?"

"He's fine with it," Tubbo said, pausing. "Sometimes." 

"That's...helpful," Tommy said, glancing at the piano behind Tubbo and swallowing, the slight reprieve that he'd gotten withdrawing and releasing a flood of emotions. 

Tubbo saw his look and smiled caringly. "The piano reminded you of something?"

"What?" he said, glancing at the shorter boy. "I dunno. I think it's PTSD or some shit."

"I could probably get Niki to diagnose—"

"No," he said firmly, louder than he probably should have. "I'm—it's fine, Tubbo. I think I was joking." Tubbo looked at him doubtfully. "It's—well, my dad used to teach me the piano."

"Sam?" Tubbo asked.

"No," he said sarcastically. "My other father.  Yes, Sam." Tubbo rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I stopped playing after he died. For both obvious reasons and mental ones."

"You still remember the keys?"

"Yes," he said instantly. "It's not that I don't want to play. I do. But it hurts."

"Then don't play," Tubbo told him.

"But Lani and Drista—"

"Will understand," Tubbo said. He tilted his head. "How did Purpled know you played the piano?"

"I...told him," Tommy said. "Sort of. I just mentioned it in passing. It's not his fault." He did not mention that he didn't tell Purpled that he had switched instruments. There had only been two people who knew his current one—or at least, the one that he knew the best—and that one is full of bad memories as well. 

He did not mention that the two people who knew he could play the instrument he had learned after his parent's death would never tell anyone again. 

"Besides," he said. "It's the thought that counts." And...that was true. He's glad that Lani and Drista—and technically Purpled—contributed to getting him a piano, even if it gave him uncontrollable emotions.

Even after Tubbo is long gone, Tommy sat on the chair and placed his hands on the keys, just centimeters away from pressing down. 

He couldn't bring himself to play a single note.

A single tear rolled down his face, and he watched as it plopped onto the new white keys, and he cried because he was weak.

Tommy got his schedule the next day. He had seven classes, one of which wasn't even supposed to be a class that he should take—Human history, taught to people who didn't come from Earth. 

This would not be very pleasant. He was listed as a Human, after all. 

He was pretty interested in the classes the Admiral had signed him up for—besides Human history—Survival Strategies—if only he'd had that on the Red Planet—Early Galactic Rebellion History—that one was mandatory, and Tommy knew he could pass that class if he slept through every one; thanks to his dad and aunt. There was also Advanced Subspace Geometry, which sounded interesting enough, Interspecies Protocol, Flight Control, and Basic Leadership.

Flight Control was an elective for the helmsman command path; he knew that much. Puffy had spoken of it with a fond look on her face, sometimes claiming that she enjoyed one-upping the males in her class that often told her that she would never be as good as them. Despite all her setbacks—despite the poor welcoming she had received, what with female Felines having a reputation of...well, as prostitutes. That had been a very long time ago and had been a horrible history that the Felines fought so hard to free themselves from...but the reputation existed, and so did the racialists. 

His aunt, after all, was not an Avian. Nor was she related to him by blood. That had never bothered him before, and it didn't now. Puffy had fought for her position through tears and blood and racism, and she had damn-well earned it. He knew that. Sam knew that. Their crew had known that. 

And that was what mattered.

There were two Felines on the L'manburg that Tommy knew of, drawing up the mental list he had easily pulled off the public records. Dream's...not-boyfriend, George, and Harvey, who had temporarily replaced Tubbo on the bridge when they had been in prison.

And, of course, Techno, who was half-Piglin and half-Feline. Techno didn't bear the typical Feline traits—no ears or vertical pupils, but if Tommy didn't know better, he would say that Techno could probably, like all Felines, jump higher or perhaps have an easier time landing. He didn't know. 

He sat in the back of his classes and waved at Lani and Drista when he saw they shared his second-period class, Survival Strategies. Drista also shared his Basic Leadership class, and Tommy quickly found out that Lani did not have that class, as she was not on the Command path, unlike him and the blonde-haired Human girl.

He also found out that there were way too many assholes in Fleet school. Even worse than Wilbur—and that was saying something because Wilbur was seriously annoying. Drista and Lani were decently well-known—they were, after all, the youngest to serve on a starship, with Lani's brother being the youngest ever to serve as a Lieutenant. He nearly punched a guy in the face after he said a snide comment about Tommy sleeping with one of them—fuck that guy, seriously—but saw the expression on Lani and spit in the guy's face instead.

"You should join track," Drista told him after he'd successfully outrun the guy through the hallways and to his final class, Basic Leadership. "You'd be good at it."

"Niki would kill me," he told her, only half-listening as their Elytrian teacher read out the term's knowledge objectives from the syllabus. 

"She'd kill you if you did what you did in the gym," Drista pointed out. "I know Tubbo, being a Shulker, had to work hard to get on Varsity track." Shulkers exhausted quicker; something to do with the stamina of biologically being able to tap into that fourth-dimensional space. Perhaps he'd learn about that in Interspecies Protocol. "But—Avians were made to run." 

"I think I was made to hide," he muttered, tapping his datapad against the desk.

"Thomas Michaels?"

It took him a while to glance up, as that was not his real name. Nor had it been the name that he'd gone under in Pogtopia—that would be too easy to connect; too easy to look at the name that was on the mural in the  L'manburg —and no doubt elsewhere, as the names of the deceased were quite public. "Yes?"

"Were you paying attention, Mr. Michaels?"

"No," he said truthfully, and half the class snickered.

The teacher, a female Blazeborn with red hair and golden eyes, sighed. "Can you please name the ranks of the Galactic Rebellion?"

"Sure," he said. "The Admiral is the highest. Then comes the Rear Admiral, the Branch Admiral, the Vice-Admiral, the Commodore, the Fleet Captain, the Captain, Commander, Lieutenant Commander—"

"Mr. Michaels, you can stop right there," their teacher—he was pretty sure her name was Ms. Carpenter. "Did you study the class beforehand?"

He blinked, glancing at Drista nervously. The Human girl offered him an unreadable look. "Um...no, ma'am. This is my second day on Earth."

By now, he was cringing at his desk as the entire class was looking at him.

"You are Human?"

"...yes," he said. "But I was born on a spaceship. I've always wanted to go to Fleet school...so here we are." He didn't mention any of the in-between. He didn't mention his parents were dead; or that he was from the  H.M.S Fran —even though he'd gotten the okay from the Admiral to say so. He'd spoken with the Vice-Admiral about the H.M.S Fran over a video call at breakfast. It was...interesting, to say the least. 

The only thing he hadn't mentioned was the string of code because they had told him to trust nobody. And so he hadn't. 

"And you, the Human girl next to Mr. Michaels?" Ms. Carpenter asked Drista sharply, who was smirking openly. "Can you name the rest of the ranks that Mr. Michaels so kindly started?"

"Sure," Drista said. "Where were we?"

"Lieutenant Commander," Tommy said.

"Right," Drista nodded. "Then comes Lieutenants, Junior Lieutenants, and then Ensigns. If you want to get into cadets, then comes Midshipmen, and then them." She waved her hand. "Cadets." Tommy noted she didn't include herself in the mixing.

"I suppose you grew up on a spaceship too?" Ms. Carpenter said disbelievingly.

"Ma'am, I am a Junior Tactical Officer aboard the L'manburg," Drista said evenly, not able to completely keep the arrogance out of her voice. 

"You must be Drista, then." The blonde-haired Human inclined her head gracefully at the recognition. "Welcome back." 

"Thanks."

Ms. Carpenter moved on to questioning other students, but Tommy noted the lingering glances that he and Drista both received. Still, that was to be expected, and he smiled as Lani and Drista met after class in the hallways.

"You coming to the L'manburg with us?" Lani asked him after hugging her friend.

"Is that allowed?" he asked dryly.

"We're part of the crew...what are they going to do, not let us on?"

"Fair point," Tommy said. "I don't know if they want me there, though."

"Don't worry," Drista said. "They do."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Tommy's going to join track," Drista said, scowling at the older Elytrian who shoved her out of the way. Lani put a calming hand on her shoulder. "So he's not coming back to the ship right away."

"I never agreed to that," he argued.

"But you're going to do it," Drista said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. 

"I—" he cut himself off. "...maybe."

"Great!" Lani said. "I'll tell Tubbo and the rest of them. The track is just outside—" she rattled off a bunch of directions that left his head spinning. 

"You'll be the only...Human, probably," Drista said. "Listed officially, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do Humans not join track?"

"No," she said. "They do. Very occasionally. The problem lies in the fact that you're allowed to use your racial abilities. Not wings, though." Drista tilted her head. "That's why all of the long jumpers and pole vaulters are Felines."

"So..." he said. "Phantoms can just go into their Phantom state?"

"I mean...I suppose," Lani cut in doubtfully. "There's a no-harming-other-competitors rule—so for the Enderians, they can't just push people with their minds 'cause they feel like it. And I wouldn't see the point of using the Phantom state; it's not like it's any faster. Felines dominate that industry, like Merlings do swimming. There's a separate team for the Elytrians."

"Good to know," he said. "What about teleporting?"

"Ranboo can do that when he tries," Drista said. "I don't know if you knew this, but it's a scarce ability. And not one that would work in track, as it takes time for the particles to gather. Also, it's only short distances."

"I knew some of that," he muttered. He'd only seen Ranboo teleport twice—once because the Children's Rebellion members had wanted to see it, and once to get away from Tommy as he tried to feed him food. It wasn't like he could leak that he knew. 

"See you after the meet, Tommy," Lani said with a bright smile as she pulled Drista away from a glaring cadet.

"Why does everyone hate you so much?" he called after them.

"Jealousy," Drista shouted, flipping off the next person that gave her a skeptical look that was more than just a cursory glance. "They're just envious I'm cooler than they are."

"That sounds like something I'd say," he muttered, as he turned and began making his way through the hallways, the stream of cadets growing less and less as he headed further into the school. 

Eventually, after finding two dead ends and asking random teachers directions, he made his way outside to the back of Fleet school and to the track and soccer field. A conjugation of students had already gathered in the corner of the red-flecked track field in their customary blue uniforms that Tommy despised almost as much as he despised Wilbur. He plastered an amicable look on his face and wandered over there, feeling slightly out of place in the grouping. He noted that ninety percent of the students here were Felines; with their different-colored ears and vertical pupils, he also noted with surprise that there were a few Merlings there, two Enderians, a trio of Phantoms, and one other Human. They sneered at him when they saw him; already doubting his abilities with their petty racism—despite quite literally being on the planet designated and the origin of Humans.

Well, he was fucked.

He was also going to get top marks, even if it killed him.

Actually, if it did kill him, Niki would find some way to revive him, and he'd spend the rest of his days with hyposprays sticking out of his neck. 

That almost made him debate not using his Avian biology, but...well, he wanted to win. He wanted to be the best. He was the best.

He was Tommy-fucking-Innes, and he would spit in their faces and see them on the finish line.

Chapter Text

You may be the only person left

who believes in you,

but it's enough.

It takes just one star to pierce

the universe of darkness.

Never give up.

- Richelle E. Goodrich

"Right!" the head coach said, clapping his hands. His ears, vanilla with chocolate tips, flicked as the ghost of a breath of wind sped over the group. "Hope you all brought your running shoes because this term is going to go by quickly—you're old enough to know that we aren't going to teach you how to run, only get you to compete. I'm Coach Ant, but just call me Ant. This is the other coach—" The Feline with orange ears waved eagerly. "—Velvet, but he's my boyfriend, so don't hit on him." A smattering of laughter ran over the crowd. "Have any of you never been on a track team?"

Tommy raised his hand. He was the only one. 

Ant rubbed his forehead. "Son, are you sure you should be here?"

"Yes," he said. "I ran track fields all the time back home." He didn't mention that home was a spaceship, but he recognized at least one person from his Survival Studies class—so they were bound to know. Not that they spoke up.

"Okay," Ant said, slight disbelief behind his tone. Tommy shrugged, uncaring of the Feline's opinion of him. It would change soon enough.

The coaches had them do a jog around the track, which was pleasant enough in the spring—though Tommy admitted that he had to draw on his abilities as an Avian to make the run; he really needed to train more—and he sort of relished the slight burn in his legs and the heaving in his lungs as he finished.

After that, they were sort of divided into groups based on the running they wanted to do—Tommy knew Niki would kill him if he did anything more than a hundred yards—she was probably going to kill him anyway. Still, he wanted as minor damage as possible from the Merling doctor.

There were about twelve students in his group, including the singular Human girl, who was shying away from a group of Felines that were laughing at her and muttering things. 

"Hey," he said in greeting.

She glanced at him nervously. "Hi."

"I'm Tommy," he said. "You're Human too?"

She flinched as one of the Felines nearby shouted something derogatory that made Tommy glare at them. "Ignore the accent. Elytrian parents brought me up."

"Oh," he said. "That's pretty cool."

"Not when you're the only one that can't fly," she said with a sigh. "Anyway, that's why I joined Fleet school. Not that I'm trying to put my whole life story on you."

"You seem nicer than those dickheads," he said, raising his voice so they could hear as the group watched the tryouts of the four-hundred-yard runners. 

"I—I suppose." She smiled at him, her blue eyes more like the sky than the ocean, as Tubbo's was. 

"What's your name?"

"Sni'yfyer'ich." 

"What?" he asked. 

"Sni'yfyer'ich," she repeated, a slight hesitation in her gaze. "It's Elytrian for ‘fallen angel’." 

“Ah," he said, trying to make sense of the nonsensical word. "I'm going to call you Sniff."

"...why?"

"Because I can't pronounce your name," he admitted.

She shrugged, adjusting her headband in her hair. "Fine with me. It's better than the name-calling that I get in class."

"They're assholes," he said stoutly. "Ignore them."

"That's...not quite how it works."

"Then go deaf," he told her. Sniff laughed in disbelief, covering her mouth slightly and falling silent as the students around them turned to look at the duo. "Why are you giving me that look?"

"I'm not going to give myself a disability."

"Why not?"

Sniff paused, amusement in her sky-blue eyes. "Because that would make things more difficult." Her shoulders shifted, as if she imagined something behind her. 

"But you could ignore bullies," he protested. "You could—not get the procedure to fix your ears and just go around with a remote control and turn off your hearing aids when you feel like it."

"That seems counter-productive." 

"It would be epic."

"Mr. Michaels, and Ms..." Velvet trailed off as he glanced down at the clipboard.

"Sniff," she said, glancing at Tommy, who inclined his head. "I go by Sniff."

"That's such a fucking stupid name," the Feline next to Tommy snorted.

"And your name is fucking Jacob," he retorted, as Sniff looked at her feet, quiet. "Imagine being your parents and not having an abortion—and then naming their bitch of a child Jacob?" He shook his head. "Couldn't be my parents. My parents actually had some self-worth."

"You—!" the Feline snarled, looking slightly surprised that Tommy knew his name. Of course, he'd nearly been hit by a basketball thrown from one of Jacob's friends, so he did know the asshole's name.

"Now, now," Velvet said, hiding a smirk behind his clipboard. Tommy liked him immediately. "No arguing. We want to be a team here, after all."

Jacob crossed his arms. "I don't want to be on a team with him, Coach. I doubt he could even make junior Varsity."

"Oh, yeah?" he snarled. "Try me, fucker."

"Oh, you wanna go?"

"No, I want to beat you." Tommy paused. "And I am going to beat you, you turtle fuck."

"What's wrong with turtles?" Sniff asked.

He glanced at her. "They're slow and green." 

"What's wrong with being slow and green?" the girl responded, her lips twisting slightly as she held back her smirk. 

"Everything," he hissed. "Green is the worst color—it's like, the color of vomit and grass and trees."

"...don't plants give you oxygen?"

"Stop questioning me!" he snapped.

"O-kay," Velvet said, interrupting with what was definitely a smirk on his face. Jacob had a dumbstruck look on his face, and the rest of the group was dead silent. Sniff subsided with a funny look on her face. Tommy stuck out his tongue at her. "We're just going to proceed with tryouts...seeing as the rest of the groups are done." Tommy glanced behind him and realized that, yeah, the rest of the groups were watching his. "I need you to line up in groups of two. The first will race, and then the second. Since you'll be racing a hundred yards, we'll have a breather, and then you'll do it again in the same order. Got it?"

Wordlessly, Tommy moved to the back of the line, at position four, and after a second, Sniff moved into group two at position five. Jacob sneered at him and pushed one of his buddies ahead of him, jostling Tommy slightly.

"You think you're so great, huh?" the Feline said.

"I know I'm great," Tommy told him. "It's only a matter of proving it."

"You're such a fucking smartass."

"I'm brilliant," he said, a quick grin filling his face. People like Jacob didn't particularly bother him, though he wasn't one to judge when other people were bothered by their behavior. Tommy took a quick word from his excellent buddy Wilbur Soot. "I've heard worse from better people." Wilbur had been joking when he'd said it; Tommy said it matter-of-fact and straightforward with no hint of sarcasm. 

He had a feeling that Jacob would have punched him in the face had they not been around a group of people. Instead, Jacob snarled in his face—he thought that Felines were more the Terran equivalent of a cat, not a fucking dog—and Tommy grinned brightly, rolling his eyes. 

Oh, he knew how to—what was the Human saying?—press people's buttons. 

"You're dead."

"And you're a bitch," he said, watching as the first group reached the finish line. Sniff looked slightly nervous as she approached the white line, Velvet standing there slightly imposingly, Ant waiting at the finish line with his own clipboard. 

"Must you antagonize him?" Sniff hissed under her breath as she put her hands on the track. 

"It's not my fault his mother didn't swallow when she had the chance."

"Please refrain from talking as we approach the start of the match, Mr. Michaels," Velvet drawled, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Jacob looked halfway between wanting to strangle Tommy and just—well, just shocked. "Coach, he insulted my family!"

"What?" Velvet said, raising a scarlet eyebrow, his red fox ears twitching. "Can't take it? Come on, Jacob. You're nineteen. Tommy here is seventeen by a week. You're taller than him and more muscular. If you're so keen to show off, then  beat him  in this run." As his eyes ran over the six in the group—four of them deadly quiet—Tommy could have sworn that Velvet winked at him. "I'm your coach, not your protector. You can damn well do that yourself. Now, are you ready?" It was a rhetorical question, and for once, Tommy kept his mouth shut. "Good. Three. Two. One. Go."

Tommy drew on his Avian self, felt the smirk grow on his face, and fucking ran. 

Tommy (Big Man)

 ↳ how the fuck am I supposed to get up there????

fucking guard says that I need a pass

Tubbo, I don't have a pass

get me a fucking pass

Tubbo

 ↳ yeesh, I told them to let you up

Tommy (Big Man)

 ↳ how, exactly, did you describe me?

Tubbo

↳ I didn't; I had Wilbur do it because I was busy

Tommy (Big Man)

↳ ...fuck.

Tubbo

↳ ???

Tommy (Big Man)

↳ HE WON'T LET ME INTO THE FUCKING TRANSPORT ROOM

I DON'T UNDERSTAND

FUCKING LET ME INNNNNNNNNNNN

Tubbo

↳ I'll have Quackity give security a call.

Also, I seriously gotta ask Wilbur what he made your description...?

Tommy (Big Man)

↳ Gremlin child. My description was fucking GREMLIN CHILD

I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL THE DICKHEAD

PUSSY

BITCH

Tubbo

↳ Okay, Tommy. 

Whatever you say

He collapsed in the captain's chair with a theatrical groan, rubbing his face and sliding down until his spine was half bent over. 

"Out," Philza told him, but there was no malice in his voice. 

"How'd you get on the ship?" Wilbur demanded.

"No fucking thanks to you," he muttered, rubbing his face. "I got a pass, though." He held up an ID card. "Also, no fucking thanks to you guys." The transport had been fun to ride—about a ten-minute trip from Earth's surface to the space station the L'manburg was docked at and meeting Tubbo there so he could get his ID. 

"Drista told me you tried out for the track team," Dream said, spinning around in his own chair. "How'd it go?"

"Oh, you did?" Techno said, suddenly interested. 

"Yeah, son, how did your first day of school go?" Philza said with a slight mocking smirk.

"Terrible," he muttered. "All they did was talk about syllabuses and shit that I already knew."

"Drista also said you were a smartass in Basic Leadership," Dream continued.

Tommy groaned. "It's not my fault they asked me a question that I already knew the answer to." He paused. "Besides, she was too. She finished the answer after the teacher interrupted me."

"Of course she left that out," the blonde-haired Human muttered. 

"Back to the topic at hand," Phil said, amusement in his voice. "How'd track go? Did you do good?"

"GOOD?!" Tubbo said, bursting through the door as the elevator arrived on the floor of the bridge. "Look at this!" He shoved his datapad into Phil's arms, and Tommy groaned again, staring at the white lights of the ceiling.

"What the hell," Phil said flatly.

Techno plucked the datapad right out of his grip, the half-Piglin—for some reason—curious about the whole endeavor. He paused and then squinted, rereading it. "Heh. You made the top spot on Varsity." 

"Oh, Niki's gonna kill you," Wilbur said happily. 

Tommy pointed an accusing finger at him. "Don't you fucking tell her. It wasn't in my original plan, but fucking Jacob decided to bully this woman friend that I made—and then I insulted his mother, but that's not important—so I beat him. Unfortunately, he was faster than I expected, so I had to use my amazing Avian-ness to win."

"His name is Jacob?" Wilbur said in disbelief. "Wow. I feel sorry for him. What kind of parents would ever do that to a poor kid? That's like asking for an asshole of a kid."

"That's what I said!" Tommy exclaimed. "He took it personally, for some reason."

"Gee," Phil said dryly, handing the datapad back to an ecstatic Tubbo with a careful hand, his wings shuffling slightly. "I wonder why." He crooked a finger at Tommy. "Out of my chair, mate." 

Tommy gave another theatrical groan, dragging himself out of the chair and onto the floor. He lay there as Phil took his seat in the chair, amusement written all over the captain's face. "I'm dying."

"Why?" Techno said, in such a bored tone that Dream cackled.

"Because my parents are dead," he groaned, throwing an arm over his face. He sat up in the awkward silence, finding five pairs of eyes on him in various portions of pity. "That's not what I meant. I meant that nobody could sign my syllabus forms."

"That's...not quite true," Phil said after a moment, swallowing awkwardly. "I'm signed off as your temporary guardian."

"You are?" he asked, keeping the lightheartedness in his voice and the darkness out. He...did not know why Phil did that. Why he'd ever want someone as broken as Tommy in his custody. 

"Yeah, mate," Phil said, and Techno frowned at him. Wilbur just looked curious. "You said you have something for me to sign?"

Tommy unhooked the datapad from his belt and chucked it at the captain. Philza caught it with a deft hand, raising an eyebrow at him as he swiped through the seven different papers. "You're in Interspecies Protocol?"

Tommy opened his mouth to answer, but Wilbur beat him to it. "Maybe he'll learn some respect in that class."

"Fuck you—"

"Not likely, though," the Phantom continued, drawling the last words as he flipped Tommy off.

"Wil," Phil said, not looking up from where he was signing off the first of seven papers with his finger.

"Gremlin child," Wilbur finished.

"Don't you have some transmissions to elucidate?" Dream asked.

"I still don't understand why there are seven Argustine dialects—!"

"Get to it, then, nerd," Techno drawled, and Wilbur leveled a slight glare at him, no real heat behind it. The Phantom threw up his hands and turned his chair around, muttering some choice words under his breath that the bridge pretended not to hear. 

"Why are you on the floor, Tommy?" Tubbo sighed, leaning over Tommy's face and blocking the light.

"I'm dying," he told the boy thoughtfully. 

"You should go see Niki—"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT—"

He ended up seeing Niki anyway. The doctor was not happy that he joined track, never mind the fact he'd used his abilities to beat a bully. Fortunately, after his daily dosage of anti-golden-apples, Niki let him off with a warning not to hurt himself.

He intended to keep that promise.

He ended up not.

It wasn't even his fault. 

Really,  it wasn't.

Ask anyone!

("It was your fault," Sniff told him later.)

"It was definitely your fault," Wilbur said, eyes furrowed with worry as he tapped his fingers on the side of Tommy's medical bed. "Just—be careful? Please? You had us worried."

"Tommy..." Tubbo said, his brown eyes sad.

"What the fuck, mate," Phil said flatly. 

"You should have fought back," Techno told him, eyes narrowed. If Tommy didn't know better, he would have said the half-Piglin was angry. Not at Tommy, but at...someone else. 

Of course, he didn't know better.

"I couldn't," he told them, time and time again. "I—I couldn't."

And...maybe that was a lie. 

It was a week later that the incident occurred that left Tommy in that horrific medical state. 

It was a typical day after track practice. Ant and Velvet loved Tommy—more so than they ever had Jacob—and Tommy made sure to rub that in the Feline's face. Which, looking back, was a terrible idea. Tommy was chock-full of terrible ideas. 

What started as an insult-flung competition turned into a fight.

It wasn't really a fight. Tommy reviewed the security footage and hated every moment of it. Still, he'd had to because he couldn't remember it in person—memories overwhelmed him when Jacob's fist came flying at his face, and he wasn't strong enough to take it.

"TOMMY!"

Ant and Red were somewhere else, he didn't know, but Sniff's scream of pure terror got them coming—yet they were too late, and Tommy was Tommy, and he was lost in his damn nightmares, and he was too weak—but he'd always been too weak, too stupid to save them, too dumb and small to fight back. 

He'd learned to take it in the prison, and so he lay on the ground with blood on his face and took the blows and kicks to his ribs as Sniff, bless her, tugged at Jacob's arm and screamed profanities with all she could muster.

She didn't do much, but it was the thought that counted, and it was her screams that ended the one-sided brawl. 

Tommy didn't really...remember that. He remembered the pain and the feeling of Jacob's foot slamming into his ribs and white-hot pain filling him; he remembered the fists against his face and the sound of his nose breaking; he remembered squeezing his eyes shut and lifting his arms over his head and sobbing like the fucking coward he was as the foot slammed into his chest again and again and again and again—

He remembered it stopping, and he remembered medics there, and he remembered something being shoved over his mouth because holy fuck, Jacob had broken his ribs, and one of them had punctured his lung, and he had nearly died. He remembered staring up at the bright lights and masked doctors and just lying there, wondering if this was where it ended.

Sort of...wishing this was it. 

He had watched his friends die, and so his story should end here. It was only humane, right? 

He fell unconscious a few times and woke up to Wilbur screaming obscenities and Tubbo shouting something as well and wanting to yell at them to be fucking quiet so that he could die in peace. Still, perhaps he'd said that out loud because everything went deathly silent, and he was standing in a tunnel of blackness with light at the end.

And it was calm there.

It was peaceful.

And Tommy thought, this is where I die. 

And he wasn't strictly opposed to that idea, either, and that was what hurt him the most. 

But it wasn't. It wasn't, because he stood there waiting and he could have sworn there were five figures there; three teenagers and two adults, and he knew their identities—but the miracles of modern medicine brought him back, and he felt the electricity arc through his chest as his heart beat once more, and the thought—

—I want this to end.

This...pain. This constant state of living with the memories of everything he had ever experienced, like Atlas from Techno's book of Greek Myths. He felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he wanted it just to drop it and let it flatten fucking everything. 

He didn't want to carry the memories of an Avian with gas-colored hair and a brilliant, lying smile of teeth and misleading love. He didn't want to carry the empty bonds of his parents and aunt, who had been his world for ten years. He didn't want the pressure of being the only fucking one in the whole fucking universe who knew the full story of the Children's Rebellion and the Red Planet. He didn't want to be the last surviving child Avian that was known—fuck the Admiral, anyway. He didn't want to be the only living crew member of the H.M.S Fran—he didn't, hadn't ever wanted any of this.

He got it all anyway, and it fucking hurt every step of the way. 

But Tommy picked himself up. He pushed his problems aside, and he got up with a bounding step and a grin on his face, and he pretended that the reason his heart failed three times was not because he had willed it to. He pretended that he wanted to be here, wandering on the L'manburg, doing his homework—joking with Wilbur, rolling his eyes as Tubbo facetiously flirted with Ranboo, beaming as Purpled showed him something new—and he pretended that everything was okay.

Eventually, that thin band would snap, and Tommy wouldn't ever be able to sew it together again.

But that time is not now, and so for the time being, he is okay.

He opened his eyes to a beeping heart monitor and dim lighting.

Tommy groaned, feeling as if he'd gotten run over by a train, and he sat up, noting the IV in his arm and the pulse oximeter on his middle finger. He blinked, like there were rocks attached to his eyelids, and he knew that he should, medically, be in more pain, but if the used hyposprays piled on a cart said anything, it was that he was as high on painkillers as an addict was on heroin. 

He tilted his head as he glanced down at his body. If the throbbing in his eyes meant anything, it was probably that he had some black eyes. And stitches in his forehead and his nose fucking hurt—well, he'd broken that.

He wondered why they hadn't used the regenerator on him yet.

He shouldn't have a cast around his wrist, and his leg shouldn't be elevated—he should have a bone knitter in here, and sure enough, glancing around, it's abandoned in the corner—but why his leg is still healing confounded him.

Surely Niki wouldn't put him through this much pain on purpose?

The office door burst open and said Merling is standing there in her pink-haired glory, breathing hard.

"Oh my God, you're awake," she said, and Tommy blinked at her, lips thick. Niki slammed her hand on a red button by her door, and Tommy cringed as the lights started to flash, wincing from the pain. She saw his look, pursed her lips, and then pressed it again.

Thankfully, the light stopped.

"'M I 'posed to be 'nythin' else?" he slurred.

"Yeah," Niki said. "You should be dead."

"D'you wan' me ta be?"

"What—no!" Niki exclaimed. "Of course not, Tommy! Why would you—why would you say that?"

He tilted his head, thinking. "Dunno." 

Lani came bursting through the door, her eyes wide, and Ranboo followed shortly after. 

"You're awake," Tubbo's sister breathed out, relief painting her face. "I thought—we thought we were going to lose you."

"Nearly did," Ranboo admitted.

Tommy blinked slowly. "Wha—wha 'appened?" 

Niki tapped her fingers on the metal table for attention. "You—your heart stopped," she said, not really looking very professional at the moment. At that moment, Tommy saw the dark circles under her eyes and wondered how long it had been. "Three times. We thought—we didn't know if you'd make it."

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Ponk is running tests...but I don't know. We don't know. Nobody in the Fleet knows." Tommy had a horrible inkling of an idea, but he doesn't say it out loud. "I—every time we tried to use the regenerator or the—or any tech, your heart would stop, and we'd be forced to revive you."

"It was horrible," Lani said, with tears in her eyes. 

"We watched you die," Ranboo said, blinking at him with his heterochromatic eyes. His voice shook slightly—thought people who didn't know him that well wouldn't have noticed. Tommy wasn't supposed to know him that properly, but...well. 

And maybe...maybe he wanted to die, but that inkling of doubt trickling in made Tommy question everything—did he? Did he really?

Maybe.

That scared him more than anything.

Chapter Text

This is where the fun begins.

- Anikin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano

When they next used the regenerator on him, it worked with little fanfare, though Tommy was afraid his heart would stop. 

(Was he?)

It didn't, and Ponk, though he had a few theories, never figured out why they hadn't been able to use medicinal technology while he had been unconscious.

Speaking of being unconscious, apparently, he'd been out for three days. And despite modern medicine being a thing, because of the...occurrences, they hadn't been sure whether he'd live or not. 

"You had a moderate concussion, a cracked cranium, four broken ribs, a shattered femoral shaft, a fractured wrist in your left hand, a cracked one in your right, and hemorrhage, briefly, before we treated that," Niki told him, looking slightly affronted when he'd asked. He sat on the edge of his medical cot and twisted his wrist slightly, glad they had things to help him—otherwise, he might have been injured for six months or more.

It was also Tubbo, unsurprisingly, who was the first one to visit him, the brown-haired Shulker bursting into the room and screaming about how his husband had told him that a certain Avian was actually awake. Niki told him to shut up, and Tommy cracked a weak grin.

"You look like shit," Tubbo told him quietly. It turned out they were at the Fleet hospital, which made a lot of sense. The alarms that Niki had pressed had led to her assistants' bracelets—Lani and Ranboo and Ponk, who were staying on Terra for the time being. 

"Thanks," he said dryly.

"Seriously," Tubbo said seriously. "The aftermath of that fucking Feline was terrible." He wrinkled his nose. "We were up on the bridge, talking, and suddenly we get a call—and it's an emergency—so of course we think it's a mission, and then it's Fleet school, and they're fucking telling us that your heart keeps failing."

"I'm...sorry?" he tried.

Tubbo waved a hand at him. "Not your fault." Tommy didn't have the heart to tell him it might be. "So we rush down there, and it's a huge mess—apparently Niki was notified first, and Lani is rushing around grabbing things, and Ranboo is there as well, and every time they use the regenerator or the bone knitter on you, your heart fails—"

"—and I'm pressing my hand against the glass and wondering if this stupid gremlin child I knew was going to die," Wilbur continued, hands in his lap. Tommy frowned, wondering if he'd always cared like that. "Seriously, Tommy. You were in manual surgery for seventeen hours. There were only four qualified medical officers who knew how to do manual surgery."

"Including Niki?"

"Of course," Wilbur scoffed. "Niki knows everything."

"I can’t imagine how you felt," Purpled told him as Tommy spooned cocoa puffs into his mouth. 

He glanced up, swallowing. "What?"

"How you felt," Purpled said sadly, bumping Tommy's shoulder. Fortunately, they were alone, for once. "When you watched them die."

"Oh," he said.

Purpled gave him that look, and Tommy didn't like that look. "Was it..." he trailed off as they finally started to breach an area that Tommy never thought he'd have to talk about again. "Was it easy, at least?"

"To watch them die?" Tommy snorted. "Never."

"No," Purpled said. "Their deaths. Was it fast?"

"Yes," he told the Human. "In an instant."

"I'm glad that it wasn't painful," Purpled said with a sad smile.

"Did you not watch the executions videos?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I—did," Purpled admitted. "But—but hearing firsthand, from you, was far better than any of those black and white grainy moving images ever were." Tommy was silent for a moment, contemplating that. "When I saw you were back, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was—it was everything I had ever imagined, but you have this permanent cloud about your head that I don't think anybody else sees because they didn't know you...before."

"Before Pogtopia," he muttered.

"Yes," Purpled said. "Before Chroma." He paused. "It—living with...this has never been easy, and then I stood with Wilbur and Tubbo and Techno and Phil and your track friend, I can't pronounce her name, and all the others you'd met aboard the L'manburg, and I watched Niki with the defibrillator, and Ranboo and Lani were removed from the room because they couldn't be professional enough—"

"—emotionally compromised," Tommy said. 

"—and we watched your heart fail three times, and we held our breaths and prayed that you would come back to us," Purpled said, and Tommy realized that the magenta-eyed Human boy was crying. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I don't think any of us got very much rest that night, or the next night, even when the doctors said you were stabilized." He reached over and hugged Tommy's shoulders quickly. "I—watching you die was one of the worst things I've ever seen," Purpled said quietly. "And that moment, that horrible moment where she removed the pads from your chest, and we had to pray to whatever universal being exists that you would breathe again—to stand there, helpless—I will say, without a doubt, that that was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Techno asked him.

Tommy glanced at the pink-haired half-Piglin. "I—what?"

"I watched the security footage," Techno told him. "You didn't fight back." He gestured at the room. "Half of this could have been avoided had you fought back. You wouldn't have nearly—nearly died three times." Tommy was surprised at the small break in the commander's voice—he hadn't known that Techno had cared that much. "You didn't even try. Sniff tried harder than you."

"Sniff?" he asked.

"Yeah, your friend, nerd," Techno snorted, glancing away. "The one that Elytrian parents brought up." Tommy frowned. "Phil recognized the name." Ah, that made more sense. "You just...lay there and took it."

"So what?" he said. "Now he can't claim self-defense."

"And you could be dead." 

"So what?" he spat out, and Techno recoiled, looking horrified.

The half-Piglin stalked out, and Tommy did not feel sorry in the slightest, though he was regretful that he'd said that out loud for someone to hear.

Phil sat down carefully on the bed as Tommy swiped through his datapad, reading an article on wormholes. It was pretty enjoyable, really.

"Mate—" Phil started. 

"The theory of general relativity could support the existence of wormholes or bridges through space," Tommy interrupted, not particularly keen on having a conversation with his guardian. He was still in the medbay—L'manburg's medbay, this time, even though he'd been cleared from the Fleet hospital. Drista and Lani had explained what happened in classes when he was gone—and he'd been happy to know that Jacob had gotten expelled, unable even to claim self-defense, since Tommy hadn't started it nor fought back. 

"Mate, Tommy," Phil said warningly. Tommy sighed and turned off his datapad. "We need to talk."

"We are talking," he said warily.

"No," Phil said. "Talk. About what happened."

"Jacob beat the shit out of me is what happened," he snorted. "I was antagonizing him. I sort of deserved it."

"Nobody deserves that," Phil said in a near-snarl, and Tommy glanced at him, surprised. Huh. Perhaps these guys actually cared. "Also, Techno told me what you said. Did you really mean that?"

Tommy thought about his words that he'd said to Phil's First Officer. "No," he said finally, and it was only half the truth. "I didn't mean it."

"Good," Phil said, though he didn't sound like he completely believed him. "But that's beside the point. My point is that you're extremely indifferent to the situation at hand."

"Believe it or not, Phil," Tommy smirked. "I've been through worse."

"That is not comforting."

"I know, I'm so great," he snarked. "But seriously, it's fine. I'm fine." To clarify, he was never fine. But he was dealing with it—see: neglecting it—and so he was as fine as he had ever been. Perhaps a bit more aware. 

"It...that's not particularly how it works," Phil said. "I'm just here to tell you something."

"What?" he said warily.

"There was a distress call, and Command is sending the L'manburg to check it out," Phil said, and Tommy felt a pang in his heart. "We ship out in four hours."

Well, fuck.

Sniff brought him a bag of jellybeans and a note from his coaches to get well. Tommy huffed in his dorm room as he let her in. He'd refused to watch the L'manburg leave or say goodbye to anybody but Phil, though he'd got some messages on his datapad. Drista and Lani were left behind as well—they were in a terrible mood too.

"I'm glad you're awake," the Human told him as he munched on the strawberry and blueberry candies and contemplated blocking Tubbo—the Shulker boy had sent him messages that he hadn't read. "That was scary."

"Thanks for getting help," he told her warily.

Sniff smiled as she curled up in the only chair that he wasn't using. She had her supplies—a drawing notebook and a bag of paints and pens and other drawing materials he didn't understand. "It's nothing," she told him. "Captain Philza was very nice."

He tilted his head. "Because he's an Elytrian?"

"I—well, I suppose," Sniff said. "Apparently he's heard of my parents, seeing as they work at diplomatic negotiations from Elytra's side. He told me to follow my dreams." She sighed. "Think he'll accept my application on the L'manburg when I graduate?"

"Of course," Tommy told her sincerely. "You technically did save my life."

Sniff gave him that look but drew out her Copic markers and started coloring in her sketch. Tommy didn't really know her techniques; he wasn't an artist by any means. 

He was just glad she was one of the only ones asking him why he hadn't fought back. She'd been there, too. Unlike the rest of his...whatever they were, she'd seen his face. But she didn't ask questions, just sat and drew while he munched on jellybeans.

"This is shit," he declared, after around three minutes of silence. 

"What, the jellybeans?" Sniff asked him, glancing up, her blonde eyebrows furrowed. "I can get different—"

"Don't touch my candy," he said. Sniff gave a small coughing laugh as he huddled protectively over his candy. "No, I meant this situation."

"Like...Jacob?" Sniff asked hesitantly. "You know he's expelled, right?"

"No," he said. "The L'manburg leaving."

"It was a distress call, Tommy," Sniff said patiently. "When you wouldn't answer your messages, Captain Philza messaged me." She looked slightly in awe. "The Captain Philza!"

"Yeah, you can stop simping now," he told her. "Trust me; he's just old."

"But he's the Philza Minecraft!"

"Fair enough," he sighed. "Phil is basically just the best man ever, but that's beside the point. The point is they left me!"

"Um...you're not part of the crew...?" Sniff told him.

He huffed. "I should be."

"Maybe, but they also left Lani and Drista," the Human girl said diplomatically. "And those two are actually part of the crew."

"Thanks for your pity."

"You're welcome."

"How's track going?" Tommy asked, changing the subject. 

"Huh?" Sniff said. "Oh, it's going fine." She paused, switching out one of her markers. "We talked about jealousy and stuff. Ant and Velvet were worried about you." Tommy, glancing at the get-well card on his beside, made a slight noise of agreement. "We had a few practices. Our first meet isn't for a week or so...and you're still the top spot by a mile." She tilted her head. "You're really fast."

"Of course I am," Tommy said, reaching over and grabbing his datapad. He powered it on before continuing his conversation. "I'm Tommy-fucking-Michaels." He almost slipped up on that last word but slipped in the fake last name. "I'm the greatest, most amazing person in existence."

"Of course, Tommy," Sniff said, amused, as she bent further over her drawing and added some line art with a black pen. 

"Some would call me the coolest person in the entire universe—" he cut himself off as he saw Tubbo's messages. Sniff frowned at him, but Tommy was too busy reading them to pay attention to her. 

Tubbo

 ↳ Hey, Tommy

Phil told me you weren't responding to messages :(

That's okay

I get it; you're mad

:(

Ranboo says hi

The ship is taking off

Wilbur says that he misses you

oops apparently, I wasn't supposed to say that

Tubbo

 ↳ We're getting far away now

About to be out of messaging contact

at least, datapad to datapad

technology is pretty cool :D

anyway

I thought you might like this

It's a picture of a bee!!!!!!

↳ <File Attatched>

↳ oh wait, that's not a bee

ahahaha

uh that's the mission debriefing

ignore that lol

:>

don't tell Phil I accidentally sent that

he'd be mad 

D:

anyway, here's the bee

↳ <Image Attatched>

↳ cute, isn't it?

Tommy, we're leaving message range :(

I miss you

is that stupid???

oh well

see ya in a week or so

depending on how the mission goes

Phil says it's one of those boring ones

>:(

bye Tommy

No.

No fucking way.

No way in fucking hell. It—this—NO. 

He clicked off Tubbo's message and pushed himself off the bed, sprinting to the doorway. He remembered Sniff after a second, his hand on the door handle. 

She looked confused.

He hesitated. "I—I have to save my ship," he admitted.

Sniff stood up, her eyes wide. "Is it in danger?" she said.

"Yes," he said. "And—and they're in warp four and are out of the contact zone—not to mention that nobody is gonna believe me—I gotta go, Sniff."

"Okay," she said and reached into her pocket and withdrew a set of keys. He caught them offhandedly, frowning at them. "That's my ship."

"You have a ship?"

"My parents bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday," Sniff explained. "I'm not much of a pilot...but I believe you. Go."

"Okay," he said and opened the door. "I—thank you."

She smiled at him. "Go!"

He left, sprinting down the hallway with the ship's engine keys firmly in his hands. The stairway pounded as he walked down it and opened the door to ground level, chest heaving and old wounds zinging with pain. He sprinted across campus to the shipyard, where older students kept their ships. 

Thank fucking goodness for Sniff.

He slammed into two students as he rounded the corner to the shipyard, nearly falling on his ass. 

"Tommy?! What the hell are you doing here?"

He glanced up to see Drista and Lani there, one of them carrying a phaser. "Why do you have a gun?"

"That's—that's beside the point," Drista snorted. "Aren't you supposed to be in your dorm?"

"I need you to listen to me," he said. "I read the briefing—"

"Hold on; you don't have clearance to do that," Lani said.

"Tubbo accidentally sent it to me," he explained quickly. "The L'manburg is in danger, and everyone is going to die if we don't get there in time."

There was a moment of silence.

"What?" Drista asked disbelievingly. 

"It's a trap!" he said. "The briefing—the mission—everything is a trap set by the Arachnids, and they're going to kill everyone on the L'manburg!"

"You can't know that," Lani insisted.

"I can!" he nearly shouted. "It's the same mission that murdered the H.M.S Fran!" He remembered it, too. The briefing, the message. It was all the same—or far too similar for it to be a fucking coincidence.

"Okay," Drista said, suddenly serious. "You're sure?"

"One hundred percent," he said. 

"How do you plan to send a message?" Lani asked him, fear suddenly palpable on her face. 

He held up Sniff's ship keys. "I don't plan on sending anything but myself."

"We're coming with you," Drista announced. Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but the blonde-haired Human cut across him. "No. This is our family too, Tommy. Our friends. If this is truly a trap—and I think it is, or at least  you  believe it to be, then I'm not going to sit back and let it happen."

Tommy snapped his mouth shut. It was exactly something he would have said—something that reminded him of Purpled's words. He hated being helpless and forcing Lani and Drista to stay while their family—more than he'd ever had—was running into a trap that would kill all of them—that was something that he would not do. It wasn't right. 

"Okay," he said. "Come on." 

He would save them. He would save the Children's Rebellion members—they would not die as his father and aunt had. He could prevent this.

He just had to be fast. Fast enough. And fucking hell, he was an Avian. If he could be fast...if he wasn't fast enough...no, he wouldn't lose another group of friends. 

They found Sniff's ship soon enough, an L-class fighter of Elytrian make that, to Tommy's knowledge, could push warp five if need be. He silently thanked Sniff's creator and everything about her and unlocked it, rushing straight to the pilots' seat. 

"Drista," he said. "Co-pilot. Lani, communications."

"What about tactical?" the blonde-haired girl asked as she sat down dutifully in the seat Tommy had gestured to, glancing at the controls as the hatch slid close with a smooth hiss. 

"If we need tactical, then the L'manburg is dead," he said coolly, and Drista swallowed and nodded.

Tommy flexed his fingers, put his hands on the unfamiliar controls, and began the process of learning how to fly this ship. Lani yelped as they swung left, nearly clipping the wing of a neighboring ship. Internally, he winced.

Externally, he was cold and callous, and he needed to save his friends.

Fuck, he would not watch them die again. He would not. He would never let that happen again. He didn't know if he could take it twice. Phil was his guardian. Tubbo was his friend. Purpled and Ranboo were, essentially, his family.

He would not watch them die. He wouldn't. 

Tommy finally righted the ship and shot them out of Earth's atmosphere, flicking a few switches to enable the artificial gravity and the shields. He refused to think about what would happen should he fail.

No, he wouldn't fail.

"Shouldn't we be getting clearance?" Lani asked suddenly as the communications crackled.

"Yes," he said. "But we're breaking a lot of rules, and I don't fucking give a shit." Lani and Drista had the intelligence not to question him as he held down the lever, and they shot into warp-five, the ship shaking slightly under the pressure.

"What now?" Lani said.

"We wait," Tommy said. "It should be about fifty minutes to catch up with them. Each warp level up is—it's complicated, but square roots. Yeah."

"Wait, but they left like...five hours ago," Drista said, as Lani snorted at his poor attempt at explaining warp factor travel. 

"Yeah, but they had to go through the clearance process," he said. "Plus, chances are, they're actually going warp factor three and a half or something."

"We're gonna get there in time, right?" Lani said, curling up slightly. Drista stood up and walked over to the younger girl, hugging her awkwardly.

Tommy paused, his heart panging. "I can't promise anything," he said, thinking of the promise a family member had made to him a million years ago. "But—we might. Only just." They'd broken that promise, and he had wanted to believe that they would keep it one day. They had never had, and so Tommy refused to make promises that he knew he wouldn't keep. 

"How do you even know this is a trap, Tommy?" Drista asked him. 

He sighed. "I told you. The H.M.S Fran took on a similar mission. It was a trap that ended in the death of my dad and aunt and everyone I'd ever known." He swallowed. "It got me put in that prison for a—a while, and the Piglins were trapped on that planet for a few months."

"Yeah, but most missions are secret," Drista said. "Especially from a civilian."

"My dad was Captain Sam Innes," he deadpanned. "Nothing was ever really secret aboard the H.M.S Fran to me." Two different jaws dropped. Tommy flinched, glancing out the window at the stars that spun fast. This was really not how he'd wanted to tell them. The Admiral had been right. 

"Seriously?" Drista nearly shouted. "What the hell?!"

"Yeah," he said. "My aunt was Cara Puffy."

"Dammit, Tommy," Drista groaned, whereas Lani looked speechless. "Really?" He nodded. "Fucking hell." She gave a sort of screaming laugh that was half maniacal and half disbelievingly. "That—that sort of explains a lot, actually."

"Yeah," he said, this throat suddenly thick. "I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner. The L'manburg is chock-full of mini geniuses." He didn't think about the fact that the L'manburg would be nothing but a pile of steel in space if they didn't get there fast enough.

"It was never recorded that Captain Sam had a kid," Lani pointed out warily.

"It was fifteen-year-mission," he said. "The Vice Admiral back on Earth knows. He showed me my file. It showed—it showed a lot of things that have never seen the light of day." 

"Well, I suppose that explains Clementine's odd reaction to you," Drista sighed. 

"I've known her for a while," he said quietly. "She was named after my dead sister."

"You have—had a sister?" Lani asked softly, tilting her head at him, brown eyes surveying him. Drista just had one of those pitying looks she hated on her face. 

"Yeah," he responded. "I never...knew her. I was...what, four or five? My mom came down with some sort of mania sickness that she died from, and Clementine died with her." He shrugged. "Dad built an A.I. after that. After the sister I could never have."

"I'm sorry," Drista told him.

He laughed dryly. "People keep telling me that, you know. I'm sorry—for what? I'm sorry your parents are dead, Tommy? I'm sorry—that doesn't do anything unless you were part of the problem. You guys were toddlers when it happened, and so the dilemma is not with you." Lani was giving him a puzzling look. "Just...I'm tired of apologies. It is what it is. Life goes on, and then you die."

Drista made a strangled sound in her throat. "That's a horrible saying."

"Life is horrible," he told her. "That's...sort of how it works."

"Uh, no," Lani said, crossing her arms. "Life is sometimes good too."

"Is it?"

"Well, you met Tubbo, right?" the Shulker pointed out. "And Purpled, and Wilbur and Philza and Sniff..." she trailed off. "And me and Drista, I suppose." 

Tommy didn't respond to that.

They catch up with the L'manburg three minutes after the predicted fifty that Tommy had. He'd spent those long seconds in a long internal debate on whether or not they would get there in time or if he would appear in a scrapyard with the remnants of a crew that had become his friends in such a short period.

If after everything he had done to save Purpled and Ranboo, he would lose them again. If after making new friends—somehow obtaining a guardian, for some reason—if after all the problems he had caused and fixed, all the things they knew, they would die as he tried to save them, and failed, as he had so many times. 

Yet...they make it, and Tommy jumped as he heard the telltale crackles of the public frequency he'd instructed Lani to leave open. The girl in question looked up at it, making eye contact with the other two passengers as she pressed the transmit button.

"Hello?" she said. "This is Lani Underscore. Can anyone hear me?"

There was a bit of silence.

 ❯  What the hell.  ❮

"Fundy!" Tommy shouted, springing to his feet, walking over to the communications board, and putting his face nearer to the microphone. "You need to beam us aboard!"

❯  Tommy? Lani? What the fuck is going on?  ❮

"I'm here too," Drista drawled.

❯  Drista?!  ❮

"That's beside the point," Tommy said. "Fundy, you need to get us aboard the L'manburg now." 

❯ I think I need to contact the bridge —  ❮

"IF YOU DO NOT BEAM US ABOARD, THEN IN TEN MINUTES, EVERYONE ABOARD THE  L'MANBURG  IS GOING TO DIE!" he roared, making Drista fall out of her chair, and Lani flinch widely. 

Another bout of silence.

❯  Energizing. Prepare for teleportation.  ❮

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, throwing a small apology to a Human girl all the way back on the planet known as Terra that had lent him this ship. It was as good as gone, but he promised himself that he would get her a new one if he survived this. Or get Phil to. Somehow. If they didn't live...well, she would have other things to deal with that were more important than a missing civilian ship, expensive as it had been. 

He opened his eyes on the transport deck of the L'manburg, a horrified orange-haired Kitsune facing him.

Chapter Text

Nothing makes a room feel emptier

than wanting someone in it.

- Calla Quinn

"What the hell are you talking about, Tommy?" Fundy breathed out, fixing him with a look.

"It's a trap," he said grimly. "I—I need to warn the bridge."

"I can comm—"

"NO!" he shouted. "They won't believe you, and I don't have time to argue. I can  prove  that it's a fucking trap, and I need to do it up there with Clementine and—and the holograms—"

"Is he okay?" Fundy asked, glancing at Lani and Drista, who stood behind him.

"Unfortunately, he's serious," Drista said. "I believe him, and the evidence is staggering."

Fundy nodded once, and Tommy sprinted past him into the hallway. He didn't draw on his Avian abilities—he couldn't risk it, and besides, ever since Jacob, he just...hadn't. Hadn't felt like it, hadn't wanted to. The second time using his biology to beat the track kids had been far more manageable—and less dangerous—than the first. He'd known that it would be hard to breathe and so had held his breath for the ten seconds it took him to run the length of the track.

He skidded to a halt next to the elevator, vividly remembering the code Sapnap had typed in the first time he had been on the ship and tapped it in with slightly shaking hands. The lift slid open, and the three of them stepped inside.

"Dream isn't going to like this," Drista muttered as Tommy paced irritably, the computerized elevator starting its ascent. 

He ignored her. "Clementine," he said. "You knew this was a trap. And you still let them go on this mission?" Lani frowned, glancing at the white steel around her. 

»  That information is in my classified records, Tommy, and as such, I cannot speak of them to those that do not hold a clearance. This includes everyone from Command.  «

Drista jumped, clearly surprised that the A.I. had responded. "Clementine," Lani murmured, a new understanding entering her eyes.

Tommy hissed through his teeth. "So you knew this was a trap?" There was no response. "Consider Ensigns Lani and Drista with clearance to those records, Clementine."

»   Of course, Tommy. Yes, I was aware this was a trap. Unfortunately, it is against my rules to break my coding and override such commands.  «

"But don't you care for the crew?" he burst out.

»  Of course I do. But commands are commands, and I must stand by them.  «

"Even if hundreds die?"

»  I am not alive, Tommy. You know that. I do not have the emotions that you beings have. I admit that I would be saddened to see the crew of the L'manburg gone, but affection is not something that I am available to have.  «

"You said you were glad to see me," he pointed out through clenched teeth, his knuckles white. "When we first met after seven years.  You said you were glad to see me. "

»  A standard greeting among the living, unless I am mistaken?  «

"No, you aren't," Lani answered when Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and didn't respond. "People say that."

»  Unfortunately, Tommy, you will find that I am nothing like what you imagine your sister could have been. I am an artificial intelligence, and nothing tangible. I realize that saying something as callous as this may seem harmful to your mental well-being, but I must point out that while I was named after your dead sibling, I am nothing like her. I am not a real person, and therefore, cannot feel emotions outside of the coding that I was given.  «

Tommy felt a tear roll down his cheek as he pivoted away from Drista and Lani. Somehow, in his separation from...from Clementine, he had forgotten. Something in his brain had somehow put the mental picture that Clementine actually cared—that she was an illegal A.I., one with feelings and actual thoughts besides lines of code.

Of course, she wasn't. She was right—Clementine was always right; she was programmed to be correct. 

He didn't have time to think more than that because the doors slid open on the bridge, and five pairs of eyes meet his.

"Drista...?" Dream shouted, and he was the first one to talk as he nearly leaped out of his chair, green eyes wide.

"Lani?!" Tubbo gasped.

"Tommy?" Wilbur asked, rubbing his eyes. 

"What the fuck," Philza said flatly. 

"It's a trap," Tommy said instantly. "You're all going to fucking die if you keep this up with no shields and no warning." He crossed his arms. "Well, here's your warning. This mission is a trap."

"How do you know?" Techno asked instantly, not looking surprised in the slightest, though he couldn't have possibly known Tommy was going to pull this. 

"Because I read the mission debriefing," he said, stepping into the bridge. Tubbo flinched slightly, and Philza swung his head to glare at him. "This is a trap, and you're walking right into that."

"You can't possibly know—" Dream started.

"It's the same damned mission that caused the deaths aboard the H.M.S Fran," he snapped. "The same words, the same situation. It's a fucking trap, and I'm not about to let you walk into it." Tommy rubbed his face. "I read the transcript that we received aboard the bridge on my ship twenty-seven minutes before Captain Sam Innes and Captain Cara Puffy drove the ship right into the side of the attacking one. I know it by heart, and believe me when I say it's the same one."

"But—mission briefs aren't for civilians or even the regular crew..." Wilbur trailed off.

"My father was the captain, so I typed in the passcode and read it," he said bluntly.

Phil turned sharply to look at him, wings bristling. "Your father was Captain Sam Innes?"

"Yes," he said. "And my aunt was Puffy."

"God fucking dammit," Dream cursed. "Seriously?"

"That was my reaction," Drista said dryly. "We were aboard the lift, and Clementine talked about it. I believe him."

"I don't not believe him," Phil groaned. "But—it's hard to accept."

Tommy stared at him for a second. "Clementine," he said after a moment. "Activate hologram seven four two nine. Password is TommyInnit."

»  Shall I skip to the end?  «

He waved his hand, ignoring the confused faces of everyone currently on the bridge. "Only the final moments, please."

»  Of course, Tommy.  «

"Hologram?" Phil muttered.

"You don't have clearance to access them, nor know of their existence," he told the captain, watching with his heart in his throat as the motion cameras activated. Dream jumped slightly as the hologram's thin plane covered his controls, changing them to look a lot like Tommy's setup temporarily integrated at the fueling station. Phil stood up from his seat, and the other remaining bridge members watched in wonder as a light blue, slightly glitchy hologram covered the bridge until it resembled the H.M.S Fran's bridge—minus the color.

"Sam?"

Tommy spun to look behind him, clapping a hand over his mouth as a woman—a Feline—stepped out of the lift, wiping tears away from her eyes. Her white curly hair, now a pale blue in the technological light, fell around her shoulders, and her ears twitched with agitation. It was achingly realistic for a 3D hologram that flickered ever so slightly and radiated cerulean light.

"Puffy," his father's voice said, and Tommy resisted falling to his knees and screaming, for his heart fucking hurt and the voices of his family were nearly too much to handle. 

Sam sat in the chair that Philza had vacated, looking as blue and as fake as his aunt did, but the voice recording was there. He had known this hologram—and many like it—had existed, but he had never dared to see them until now. 

"You don't plan to keep your promise, do you?" Puffy said in a low voice, walking over and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder as they stared out the window at the battle that, for them, was playing on the other side. Wilbur jumped out of the way to let her, though she would have passed right through the Phantom. "Sam, you promised your son that you would be okay."

"That's not what I said," his father responded. "I said I would see him again."

Puffy was silent, contemplating. Tommy noted the furrow between her eyes that appeared when she was mad. "You lied to him."

"I...did not," his father said. "I made a choice. Tommy simply inferred based on the information that he was given." At his name, about seven pairs of eyes whipped around to look at him, but Tommy was glued on the envisionments of his family. "Are the Piglins and Hoglins safe?"

"They are on the escape pods," Puffy responded. Techno tilted his head slightly. "As are the crew. And Tommy."

"Get your ass on one of them and eject them," Sam told her. "That's an order."

"No," Puffy said firmly. 

"Puffy."

"No," the Feline told him. "I know what you plan to do."

"It is what must be done," Sam told her firmly.

"I'm not saying it's not," Puffy said grimly. "I'm just saying I don't like it."

"Go with Tommy," Sam told her. "Tell him I'm sorry." And in that desperate moment, Tommy knew that his father had tried to make it so he was not alone. So he would not be alone. 

Puffy was silent. "Autopilot is broken," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"I estimate a thirty percent chance at success should you attempt to follow through with your plan," Puffy told him. "Clementine is in her black box, already ejected. You will not succeed."

"I might."

"But then it does not matter, for everyone, should you fail, including Tommy and me, will die," Puffy said. She reached over Sam's shoulder and pressed the big red button.

The entire bridge crew of the L'manburg watched as the words ESCAPE PODS EJECTED  flashed across the screen. Tommy could have sworn that he heard his younger self scream, though he doubted it was possible. 

"What are you doing?" Sam asked her quietly.

"Upping their chances," Puffy told him. "We must save the Piglins and the Hoglins. Our crew, your son." Techno looked away from the scene, the hand on his face picking at one of the tusks protruding from his mouth. He looked deep in thought, though Tommy hardly spared him a glance before looking back at his family.

"So he will have neither of us."

"At least he will live."

"And if he does not?"

He had lived, but at what cost? At what cost to his sanity, to the thousands of tears, to the blood that had long dissolved into the earth—he had lived, he had scrambled and fought for a damn place in this universe—it had not been given to him without blood, without sweat, and without tears. He had lived, but his shoulders were thousands of pounds heavier and his heart shattered into pieces.

"Then it could not have been prevented anyway," Puffy said, sitting down in Dream's seat—her seat, in this hologram. "Manually programming the ship now." She pointed at the Operations desk. "Go sit over there and type what I tell you to." 

Tubbo lept a foot in the air and scampered away with a small yelp as the hologram of Tommy's father got up from the Captain's chair and walked over to his desk. Puffy rambled off some words that Tommy didn't particularly understand—or care to hear—and Sam tapped them in dutifully.

"On my mark," Puffy said. "Pull the red lever."

Sam nodded.

"Go."

Together, they pulled their respective levers, and Tommy could almost envision the ship lurching forward, partially on fire, missing one of its engines—he could remember screaming as it soared towards the Arachnid's ship; the Piglin and Hoglin escape pods heading towards the surface of the only nearby planet.

The blast was so large that his escape pod had failed, and he'd been dead in space for a different group of Arachnids to pick up. 

Puffy stood up and walked over to Sam, the Avian standing up and meeting her halfway, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," the Avian breathed out, speaking as if he knew that this conversation—this mass observation—would somehow occur in the future. "I want you to live."

He had not understood. He had been ten, and he had not understood. He did, now. He knew. He knew what they had done and why they had done it. He did not like it, but God knew he understood why.

Puffy was crying, and he knew why, and he knew that if he walked around to the other side of the bridge, he would see his father crying too, but he was glued in place, and he could not. He could not see his father cry, and he could barely stand to see his aunt.

"Love you," Puffy whispered, and he startled as her hologram made direct eye contact—as if she too knew, one day, that he would be watching.

Then there was a loud explosion, and the hologram fizzled out. 

»  Last recorded hologram, Terran Wednesday, 1107. No other recordings have since been made aboard the  H.M.S Fran .  «

"Miss you," Tommy whispered into the emptiness of his heart, Clementine's words doing nothing to help the jolt in his heart.

There was no response. There never would be. Seven years ago, his family had passed. 

"Tommy?" Tubbo asked.

Tommy blinked, wiping away his tears. Glancing around the room, he noted that they were all looking at him with varying degrees of pity and sadness. "Uh. Anyway. That's my proof. This is a trap. Put up your fucking shields."

Tubbo glanced at Phil, who nodded quickly, his blue eyes shinier than usual. The Shulker sat down at his station, from where he'd vacated it getting away from Sam's hologram. "Raising shields."

"Arriving in T-minus twelve seconds," Dream warned suddenly, and Wilbur spun from looking at Tommy to look at the window. He reached out and steadied himself on the wall, Lani and Drista on either side of him. "Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One—"

They slammed to a halt in the middle of empty space, a large Arachnid ship blocking the light of a thousand stars.

"SHIT!" Tubbo screamed, voicing all of their thoughts in one singular word.

"Drista!" Dream snapped. "Take control of tactical!" His sister leaped into action, sitting down in the chair and pressing a few of the buttons. Tommy stood there awkwardly as the bridge paused, waiting for commands from Phil. 

The Arachnid ship fired, and the L'manburg shuddered. Tommy cursed as he nearly fell on his face, grabbing onto the back of the captain's chair to steady himself. He seized Lani's arms before the Shulker could introduce her face to the harsh floor, and the girl gave him a weak smile in response.

"Shields at eighty-seven percent!" Tubbo called out, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Drista, fire back," Phil ordered, somehow maintaining his calm as the bridge moved into a frenzy. Wilbur was shouting orders down the comm at some engineers, explaining the situation, and Techno was tapping rapidly at his table, doing who-knew-what. "Dream, get us out of here."

"Permission to use full firepower, sir?" Drista asked, brushing a bit of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Permission granted."

"Doing so," Drista said. She stared at her screen for a second, and Tommy stumbled again, once more grabbing Lani's arm to stop her from falling as the ship heaved once more. "Phil—Captain, I...it didn't do anything, the ship is too big! Barely one percent of their shields have been damaged!"

"Fuck," Phil muttered.

"The warp drives are overheating," Wilbur announced, and Tommy felt his heart drop. "Got a call from Engineering. They want to know what's going on."

Dream cursed rapidly, lifting his hands off the controls. "Tommy—"

"No info!" he snapped, his heartbeat loud in his own ears. "They retreated once my dad drove the ship into the side of it! It was never destroyed!"

"Shields at forty-three percent!" Tubbo shouted over the commotion. 

Phil grimaced. "Where's the nearest planet?"

"Nowhere," Techno said. "We're in empty space, four light-years away from the nearest solar system or planet of any kind." He was deadly calm for the horrifying situation they were in, for which Tommy was glad. If he was going to die, it would not be by freaking out.

Phil looked calmer than Tommy had ever felt. "Drista, are the weapons—"

"—they're not doing much!" the Human girl cried out, tapping the buttons rapidly. "I'm trying to aim for the weak points, but I have no idea where they are!"

"Don't ask me!" Tommy cried out, as four separate people glanced at him. "I was a prisoner, not a fucking engineer! Besides, this isn't a regular Arachnid ship!" 

"Shields at fifteen percent," Tubbo said, voice wavering, and Tommy watched with horror as the red flashes of lasers coming from the Arachnid ship made the L'manburg  falter again. "They're tearing through us!"

"Captain, we're getting a transmission from the enemy vessel," Wilbur said. Tommy watched as the red lasers stopped, the imposing ship stopping in its tracks of destruction. "I've also sent a message to the branches of the ship explaining that we're being attacked and to get to a safe space." Nobody mentioned how if the Arachnid ship broke through their shields, it wouldn't matter anymore.

"Drista, stop firing," Phil said, putting up a hand.

Techno glanced up. "Phil—"

"Stop firing; that's an order," Phil said, cutting across his First Officer. Drista spun around in her chair and listened to him, her hands rapidly moving across the controls. Tommy watched as the blue lasers from the L'manburg dwindled, the tactical team relaying the orders. "Wil, patch them through."

Tommy's breath hitched as the window in front of them flickered to reveal the transmission. He'd known this would come—it had come for the H.M.S Fran too, yet he hadn't been a hundred percent sure. 

It was the same fucking person. 

Beady black eyes, mandibles poking from his lower lip—nothing could hide the person that had murdered his parents, not even half his head plated in metal, and a red robotic eye was gleaming from his face. 

Serves you fucking right, Tommy thought imprudently. 

"Captain Philza of the L'manburg," the Arachnid drawled, resting his chin on the back of one of his palms. "How lovely to meet you at last."

"I can't say I've ever heard of you," Phil said in a steady voice. Tommy noted that his hands were white-knuckled and clenched. 

The Arachnid's eyes flashed with distaste before he calmed down. "I suppose that's a good thing," he murmured. "It matters not. I am Merikh Rience."

"Still haven't heard of you, mate," Phil said warily.

"What?" Merikh said, drawing back sharply. "What of the H.M.S Fran?"

"Unfortunately, leaving no survivors can do that type of thing." Tommy bit his lip until he drew blood at Phil's words.

"I destroyed that ship to smithereens."

"They drove it into the side of your starship and killed themselves." Well, true, but harsh.

"Semantics. They are dead, and I am not." Merikh's eyes paused on Tommy for a second too long before continuing his scroll across the people on the bridge crew. "Hmm. Quite a party you have here, Captain."

"What do you want with my ship?" Philza asked, ignoring the question. 

"I don't care about your stupid little ship," Merikh sneered. "I wonder...do you know anything on the survival of the Avians?"

Philza, to his credit, didn't miss a beat. "Didn't their species die out?"

"Oh, no," the Arachnid purred. "See, now you're just lying." His beady eyes landed on Tommy and stayed there. "I bet he knows that I know who he is." Tommy jerked slightly. "There he goes. It's been a while, Tommy Innes."

"Don't call me that," he said in a low voice. "I hate you." Philza frowned at him, though not because of his words. Techno looked wary.

"Hate is a strong word."

"I can't think of anything worse—actually, wait, I can," Tommy snarled. "Motherfucker, dickhead, douche, bastard, a bitchboy, coward, arsehole, a fucking joke—"

"You haven't changed a bit," Merikh said, leaning forward in his chair, and Tommy cut himself off. He noted with an internal smirk that Wilbur was hiding a smile behind his hand. "You know what the deal is. It's the same one that I asked of your lovely father and aunt. Look what refusing got them."

"Freedom?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Merikh hissed in distaste, his mandibles making a really awful clicking sound. "Death."

"One might say that chosen death is another word for freedom," he let out through clenched teeth. "You murdered them."

"They refused to comply with my wishes," Merikh said. "And so now the choice falls to you." He turned back to Phil. "Give me one of the last living Avians, and I won't blow your ship to kingdom come." He examined his hand, at the end of which rested a set of sharp talons. "Give me Tommy Innes, and you won't be found in the remains of your escape pods like the other members of the H.M.S Fran's were. You have one hour."

"No fucking way," Phil said, but the link had already dispersed.

"You can't be serious!" Tubbo shouted. "Absolutely not!"

"Yeah, as much as I pretend to dislike Tommy, that's a no from me," Techno rumbled, his lips peeling back from his teeth to further reveal his lower tusks. 

Tommy opened his mouth, but Phil cut him off. "If the next words out of your mouth are something along the lines of I'm going, then you can stop right there." He snapped his mouth shut. "Yeah, I thought so. Look, Tommy. Nobody is going to let you do that."

"But—"

"But nothing," Phil said firmly. "We'll figure a way out of this that doesn't involve giving away a child to a bloodthirsty leader." He glanced at Tubbo. "Can you escort him to his room, please?"

"I want to stay," Tommy said weakly.

"No," Phil said. "You're not supposed to be on the ship anyway." He raised an eyebrow. "I appreciate everything, mate—I really do, but you  stowaways  need to back off for a bit." Drista made to get up, but he waved her down. "Not you. I need you at the Tactical deck."

"Why do I have to go?" Tubbo protested.

"Because Tommy's more likely to listen to you than any of us," Wilbur spoke up dryly. "So fucking tell him to stop being self-destructive."

Well, that hit a bit too close to home. Tubbo wandered over, grabbing Tommy's hand and dragging him into the lift, his sister following after a second thought. Tommy managed to see Phil walk over to Techno and point at something on his datapad before the doors slid shut.

"Why are you here, Lani?" Tubbo asked, sounding exhausted.

"You were going to die," his sister said coldly.

"Niki's gonna kill me."

"Too bad we're going to die anyway," Tommy muttered. Tubbo glanced at him. "Come on, man. You don't like this choice any better than I do. They have all the advantages."

"Chances are they'll take you prisoner and blow us all to kingdom come anyway," Tubbo pointed out dutifully.

"I have to try," he protested as the elevator doors slid open, and they started walking down the hallway. "Wait, this isn't the district floor...?"

"No," Tubbo said grimly. "It's not." Lani whipped her head around to look at him. "Come on, Tommy. I know you better than that. How many plans did you have of sneaking out of your quarters if I left?" Tommy didn't answer. "That's what I thought."

"You...want me to leave?" Tommy asked uncertainly.

"Surely not!" Tubbo said. "But it's not like I can stop you." 

Fair enough, Tommy thought irritably. He would have snuck away had he needed to. He'd already made his choice the moment that Merikh had given it to him. The choice his family had—rightfully—refused. "You could tell Phil my plan."

"Yeah, he really should have had someone else escort you," Tubbo sighed. "Sometimes he still sees me as a kid, even though I'm his C.O.O.," Tubbo sighed again, more profound and filled with tiredness. "Well, it worked out for you in the end."

"Wait, what's going on?" Lani interrupted. 

"I'm giving myself up to the Arachnids," Tommy told her, a thread of fear flying through him as he voiced his decision.

"What—no!"

"Yes," he said, and Tubbo looked at the ground. "I will go through you if I have to."

"Will you?" she asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "To save the entire crew? Yes."

"Even at the cost of yourself?"

"That's not much," he scoffed. "Not really."

Lani stared at him. "You fucking idiot," she said. "If you survive this, I'm telling Niki."

"You do that," he told her warily as they rounded the corner back into the transport room. He paused when he saw the fox-eared Kitsune slumped over the controls, drooling slightly. A blonde-haired, magenta-eyed boy leaned against the wall, playing with a knife. He looked up when he saw the trio enter the room. "Purpled."

"Tommy," Purpled returned, a cold smile on his face. "How lovely."

"What'd you do to Fundy?" Tubbo asked.

"I gave him some alcohol with sleeping powder," Purpled said.

"That's illegal," Lani spoke up.

"What we're about to do is illegal," Purpled snapped. "Disobeying direct orders—taking control of a transport room? Boarding an enemy vessel?"

"Wait, hang on," Tommy said, holding up his hands. "You're not coming with me." He didn't even want to know how Purpled had listened in on the transmission.

"Yes, I am," Purpled said. 

"I am, too," Tubbo announced.

"I'm not," Lani said, crossing her arms. "Someone has to beam you out, anyway." She wrinkled her nose at Fundy. "And tell the bridge crew that you guys are suicidal idiots."

"Not suicidal," Tommy corrected. "Just self-destructive." Lani didn't look very amused. Tubbo grinned, but it wasn't friendly. 

Purpled walked further into the room, reaching to the side to grab a box that leaned against the wall. He pulled out three phasers, clipping one to his belt and tossing the other two to Tommy and Tubbo. The Shulker made his disappear with a flick of his wrist, whereas Tommy just held it, glancing at it. 

"I really hope you know how to use that," Tubbo said.

"Sort of," he murmured. Sure, he was lying. He hadn't used a phaser in a very long time. How hard could it be? "I still don't get why you guys are coming with me."

"To go on the Arachnid ship?" Purpled said, tossing something to Tubbo that vaguely resembled a bomb. He sure as fuck hoped it wasn't a bomb, and as Tubbo blinked it away, that it wouldn't explode. "Duh."

"Yeah..." he trailed off. "But like...why?"

"We're gonna blow it up," Tubbo announced as Purpled pulled out four commlinks and tossed it to the three of them. Tommy placed his right behind his ear, watching as they synced up, beeping a green light of acceptance. "Obviously."

His jaw dropped. "What." This plan was changing very, very quickly.

Tubbo reached over and tapped his chin until his mouth closed. "Keep the air in your mouth, big man. Where we're going, we'll need it." He conjured his datapad and squinted at it, walking over to the control panel and pushing Fundy off of it. Tommy winced as the Kitsune hit the floor. "Oops."

"What are you doing?" Lani asked her brother.

"I'm inputting an equation that Clementine showed me," Tubbo said. "To get us on the Arachnid ship."

"That exists?" Tommy asked.

"It does now," Tubbo said. "One of the mathematicians on your ship came up with it years ago. Unfortunately, they're dead, so their brilliance never saw the light of day." He glanced up as Lani took Fundy's vacated seat. 

"We really should get trained professionals to do this," Tommy protested weakly.

"Hey, this was your idea," Purpled said, stepping onto the transporter pad. 

"It...no," Tommy said. "My idea was a lot more self-destructive than leading a bunch of seventeen-year-olds to blow up a fucking starship." He squinted at the magenta-eyed-Human. "Shouldn't we get...I don't know, trained professionals involved in this?"

"They're adults," Tubbo said as he finished tapping in whatever transport equation that he'd done and padding over to the transporter and dragging Tommy behind him. "They're not as foolish as us."

"Is that what we are?" Purpled murmured, meeting Tommy's eyes. "Foolish?"

He coughed. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Foolish. That's exactly what we are."

"...okay," Tubbo said, clearly not understanding. "Lani, energize."

"I'm gonna get fired," the girl groaned under her breath. "If you don't get out of there alive, I'll kill you."

"Redundant," Purpled grinned. 

Lani raised an eyebrow and slammed her hand on the bright red button. "Energizing," she said. Tommy closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose as his particles started rearranging. 

And just like that, a trio set off to blow up a starship.

Chapter Text

Nothing great was ever

accomplished without making

sacrifices.

- Anonymous

The Arachnid ship was a dark place full of hissing mechanisms and tubes of what definitely wasn't blood, but totally looked like blood.

"That's totally blood," Tubbo said.

"That's—that's not blood," he explained patiently.

"It's red."

"Stars are red."

"Stars give out radiation. Radiation is cool. Blood is cool."

"Blood is warm."

"Not for cold-blooded—"

"Would you two stop having that lovely conversation?" Purpled hissed. Tommy rolled his eyes, hand playing with the phaser in his palm as he glanced around.

"Relax, Trigger Happy," he snorted, being his usual, hypocritical, self. "We're in the hold. Nobody is here."

"That's what you think."

"Hey, if you don't want to be here, you can just call Lani, and she can beam you back—" Tommy pointed out. 

"No thanks," Purpled said coldly, glancing behind him once more. "This was my idea."

❯  Damn terrible idea too.  ❮

"Shut up, Lani," Purpled snapped, and Tommy reached up and turned down the volume of his earpiece a little bit.

❯  Hey, when you guys get yourselves killed, I'm pleading the fifth.  ❮

"Which reminds me..." Tommy trailed off. "I have a better idea than us sneaking down to the engine room and planting bombs there."

Purpled's eye twitched. Tubbo glanced between the two of them, likely wondering if the only bombs in the room were the ones in his fourth-dimensional space. Tommy had to admit that his friendship with Purpled was a giant ticking time explosive. Purpled was clearly annoyed that he wouldn't talk about everything, and Tommy wasn't willing to talk about anything. "Yeah?" the Human said after a moment. "Go on."

"A distraction," Tommy said, drawing himself up. "I give myself up; you guys plant the explosives. Lani gets us out of there, and we blow it up. Boom."

"That's a really shitty idea," Purpled growled at him, narrowing his eyes.

"No," Tubbo said, holding up his hand. "They'll be preoccupied with Tommy and less inclined to check the engine room..."

"You can't be serious," Purpled said. "He'll get himself killed." He glared at Tommy. "Not that he fucking cares." Tommy winced, glancing away from the Human boy. 

Tubbo let out a breath. "Look, I don't want to get in between whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you, but you need to knock it off. Purpled, as much as I hate Tommy's awful plan, it might actually work. Tommy, you need to stop having a self-destructive arc. I thought it was bad before, but obviously, since you got into that fight, it's gotten worse."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered.

"There you fucking go," Purpled sneered at him. "Refusing to talk about anything." 

❯  Would you guys stop arguing before you notify the entire ship of your presence?  ❮

"Thank you, Lani," Tubbo sighed. "Tommy. Your ideas are shit, and you need help."

"You keep going through with them," he said warily.

Tubbo threw up his hands. "Because I don't have a better one," he hissed. "I hate your ideas. I hate the look Phil's going to give me when we get back."

"If we get back," Purpled muttered.

"Be positive," Tubbo told him. "The problem is that Mi—whatever his name is—is probably going to take you to the bridge and flaunt you in front of the L'manburg, you know, like bad guys do." Tommy had a growing sense of horror. "Yeah. We're in huge trouble. Can't play this one off. Or downplay it."

"It either works, or it doesn't," Tommy pointed out helpfully. "If it works out, he can't be too mad, right? If it doesn't work out, we're dead. He can't be mad at dead bodies."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Purpled said.

"No problem." 

"Look," Tubbo said. "I want to grab your arm and drag you down and tie you to a chair, so you stop—stop doing that—" He gestured at Tommy in general, which made Purpled snicker and just confused Tommy. "—but I can't, and I doubt I'll be able to stop you."

Tommy smirked. "True."

"Bitch," Purpled hissed. "If you die, I'll kill you."

❯  That's redundant.  ❮

Purpled muttered something under his breath that made Tommy choke and was certainly something he'd never repeat. Tubbo snorted, rolling his eyes as he surged forward and hugged Tommy. 

Tommy was forced to deal with the sudden roil of emotions as he hugged the brown-haired teenager back.

"You better come back, you hear me?" Tubbo sniffed. "We still haven't watched Frozen together."

"The fuck is Frozen?" he asked.

"Exactly," Tubbo said. "Stop being stupid. Don't antagonize the crew."

"No promises," Tommy said. "Some people just like hurting me." It was a joke, but both Tubbo and Purpled winced.

"Look, Tommy," Purpled said, sounding tired. "You—you can't die after everything."

"Some things were just meant to be," he told them dismissively.

"Stop being a fucking idiot and live," Purpled told him. 

"I'll try," he told them.

(Would he?)

Honestly, Tommy didn't particularly care. His aunt and father's faces hung in his head, and all he wanted was to see them again—yet for now, he resided in the world of the living, and that held him back. 

The Arachnids found him. He wasn't exactly hiding. Tommy hated them. Hated the extra hair they had when they grabbed his arms, hair that pricked his skin and made goosebumps rise up on his neck and arms. Hated the sticky cobwebs they produced to bind his hands. Hated their beady eyes and hated the mandibles that poked out of their lower lips. He remained silent as he was marched up to the bridge, dreading the subsequent encounter. Not with Merikh—but with a video call and a particular ship. 

"So, Tommy Innes," Merikh said when he'd reached the bridge. He was even more ugly looking in person, what with his half-robotic face and awful limp.

"You're even more ugly looking in person," Tommy said and then flinched when one of the Arachnid guards at his shoulders raised a hand to slap him. 

Merikh raised a hand. "Don't. He's not worth it." Tommy bristled angrily but didn't respond to the jibe. "Now, Tommy, I have a few questions for you."

"Ask away," he muttered, thinking of the earpiece in his left ear that was covered by his hair. Lani was listening to the whole thing—recording, hopefully, if she was doing what he asked of her. 

"Where are the remaining Avians?"

Tommy paused. Okay, he hadn't been expecting that question, because that bitch had already asked Phil. "Um..." he said. "Are you Catholic or Christian, by chance? If so, Heaven. I don't know much about the afterlives of other religions, but—"

"No, you fool," Merikh hissed, and Tommy was suddenly aware of the danger he was in. He shut up. "The planet. Where is your home planet?"

Tommy frowned. He was genuinely confused. "I was born on the H.M.S Fran." 

Merikh clearly had enough of him because he grabbed Tommy's shirt and slammed him against the metal wall. Tommy debated making a dirty joke but thought against it because that would undoubtedly make the Arachnid that had murdered his family even madder.

"You stupid boy," the Arachnid snarled. "I am asking you a simple question. Your pitiful father knew the location of your species' home planet. Where is it?"

Tommy blinked at him stupidly. "The Avians have a home planet?" Merikh looked surprised. "Look, buddy, I don't know if you knew this, but I didn't even know my parents were in the Galactic Rebellion until I figured it out for myself."

Merikh blinked at him. "They—did not tell you?"

He eyed the Arachnid warily. "I was ten, you dumb bitch. Adults don't tell kids anything."

"But certainly you feel animosity towards them for that?" Merikh said, searching for a weak point. 

He snorted. "No. I don't fucking care. I had a big mouth as a kid. I would have spilled it the second I wanted to show someone how cool I was." He shrugged. "They would have told me when I was older."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Stop fucking trying to drive a wedge between my family and me," he spat. "It's not gonna work, you fucking dickhead."

Merikh sneered, drawing a phaser from his stupid black leather holster. He flipped the safety off for a second, staring at it and then turning to an Arachnid that was sitting at a desk. "Establish a connection between the L'manburg and us." Tommy's breath hitched. "You think that I don't know anything about what's going on with this ship. You think that I'm stupid?"

"Yes," Tommy said honestly. 

"You're wrong," Merikh said. 

"No, no," he said. "I don't think I am."

"We caught your little friends on the way to the engine room," Merikh said, and Tommy's eyes widened. No, no—they couldn't have, Tubbo and Purpled were safe— "Ah. I see you know them."

"No," he stuttered. "No, no—"

And then turned as the lift doors opened and Purpled and Tubbo were shoved through, followed by three guards. Purpled gave him a sorrowful look, but Tubbo had one of silent victory that he quickly arranged to dread. Tommy saw it, though, and wondered of it. 

"Sir, the L'manburg has accepted our hail," the Arachnid at the Communications desk said.

"Good," Merikh said. "Patch them through." He played with the phaser in his hand for a second, weighing it. 

And then Tommy watched as he aimed the gun at Tubbo's head. He surged forward, anger filling him—fear filling him—and one of the Arachnid guards grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. 

Tubbo stood, frozen, and Purpled was blinking rapidly, but the three of them had their arms tied behind their back with technology akin to spiderwebs, and Tommy was, once again, helpless.

He was always, in the end, helpless.

The window in front of the bridge flickered to reveal the bright interior of the L'manburg. Tommy saw immediately as everyone realized what was going on, who was on the fucking enemy ship—

"Uh, uh," Merikh said, waggling a finger with his android arm as Wilbur shouted something that Tommy could not hear. "You're muted from this side. We can't hear you. I don't care how many demands you make; you aren't going to get anything. There's only one person who can save the life of this...thing—" Tubbo stuck out his tongue childishly. "—and that's him." He pointed at Tommy without removing his eyes from the Shulker. 

"Fucking let go of him!" Tommy shouted, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone on the bridge of the L'manburg as he stared down the Arachnid. His world was crumbling. He was crumbling.

They were on their feet now—Phil and Wilbur and Dream and Techno and Drista. Fear. So much fear. 

"Then answer my questions, Avian," Merikh said.

"I already told you!" Tommy said furiously. "I don't know the location of the Avian home planet!" Tubbo's eyes widened minusculey, and Purpled looked curious. 

"I know," Merikh said calmly, and Tommy tried not to cry. "But I want to know the location of the final member of the Children's Rebellion."

Time froze. Tommy's jaw dropped, and for once, Purpled looked stricken.

"I know you know," Merikh crooned. "Chroma told me." Tommy felt the tears slide from his eyes. "What—there's the Human—here—" he turned the gun to Purpled for a split second, and Tommy's heart, if possible, broke further. "And there's the albino Enderian. I don't care about him. I want the leader. I know he exists. There were three survivors, not two."

"What are you talking about?" Tubbo cried out. "There were only two; I was there—" And both Tommy and Purpled locked eyesight and they knew, they knew that somehow Chroma had told them—

"No, dear boy," Merikh said, turning the phaser back to the Shulker, who flinched violently, the Arachnid guards behind him making him unable to move away from certain death. "There were three. Your friend knows that." He gestured to Purpled, who looked away and didn't answer. "The leader. The one who watched the executions. The one who wasn't sick in a cave and who didn't get amnesia."

"They were executed!" Tubbo said. "Nobody lived!"

"Clearly, your friends have been keeping secrets from you," Merikh said. "There's another one. And Tommy here knows where he is."

Tommy laughed, then. He laughed as tears poured down his face, and he felt like everything was broken. Merikh wanted him. Holy shit—Merikh wanted the leader of the Children's Rebellion. Tubbo stared at him confoundedly, and Purpled gave him a sad look. "Fuck off," he snarled. "He doesn't need anything else to deal with." Tubbo's eyes widened. "He's already been through enough."

"You sure?" Merikh said. "I'll kill them." He tilted his head. "You know I will."

Tommy knew. "I..." he said.

"Tell me where the leader of the Children's Rebellion is," Merikh said, his finger drawing nearer to the trigger.

"Don't," Purpled warned. "It's not worth it. They just want to erase Pogtopia from existence." He sneered. "Pretend it never fucking happened. Well, history will always be remembered, Merikh Rience."

"History is written by the victors, you stupid boy."

Purpled's eyes flashed with childish rebellion—a notion, Tommy thought wryly, that was one of the reasons that they sat here, alive. "Then to fucking hells with you," he spat. "You will never win. You will never be remembered as a hero. You are pitiful and weak and even if I die here today, I will be remembered as a hero. You will die in shame and I will laugh at you from whatever afterlife comes after." He shook his head. "Pogtopia will be remembered for what it was."

"It was a mistake," Merikh hissed at him. "Nothing more."

"THEY MURDERED CHILDREN!" Purpled screamed at him, losing his cool. "THEY EXECUTED MY FRIENDS!" He spoke the words that Tommy never could. He screamed the anger that Tommy never would, especially in front of an audience. His emotions bore what Alyssa and Grian and Foolish would never have, for they were dead and gone amongst the bodies of others wrongfully killed.

"Survival of the fittest. Only the best survive."

"They. Killed. My. Friends," Purpled said with a ferociousness that surprised everyone listening but Tommy—there was a reason that Purpled had survived the bloodbath, a reason that he had lived. "You and your buddies killed over three thousand teenagers and children—half of whom starved to death." He crossed his arms. "I talked with the Vice-Admiral about the warehouses. If—if Chroma had called for aid, even from your species, and he had rationed properly, we could have all lived." Purpled laughed dryly. "But instead, I sat in a cave because my name was on a list for which I should have been executed."

"I didn't know that," Tubbo whispered. "I thought that you—that you were chosen to survive."

"No," Purpled said. "Ranboo and I were first round." He met Tommy's eyes. "He—my leader—told us to run. He stayed behind and followed us later and gave us food." Purpled shook his head. "He lives. He does not want to talk about it, but he lives." 

"That information is useless," Merikh scoffed. "I want his location."

"Fuck off," Purpled said, spitting at his feet. "Over my fucking dead body."

"That can be arranged," Merikh said, turning the phaser onto the seething magenta-eyed boy. "One less survivor for Chroma deal with." He glanced at the transmission screen, where the crew is scrambling to try to get them—they wouldn't get there in time, but they were trying. Phil looked up for one second, lost, his eyes meeting Tommy's.

Merikh Rience pressed the trigger.

Tommy screamed. The lights flashed, and the transmission flickered.

He would not let Purpled die.

Tubbo shouted something, and Purpled was flung to the side, the phaser scorching by his cheek and ripping through his ear. The Human screamed as he fell to the ground, blood pouring from his ears. His eyes flickered shut, and Tommy did not know if his heart still beat. 

Merikh snarled, turning the phaser upon Tommy. "Kill them all," he said, waving a hand at his crewmates, who drew their phasers. "Save the Avian for me."

One by one, they raise their fingers to form the signs, and Tommy's hands shake as he does so, wetness dripping down his face as he glares at the guards.

"Kill them all," Chroma growls, and if his eyes glance over Tommy, he does not know. He does not know because something in him shatters and hurts but separates him from his feelings, and he realizes that he hates Chroma and he wants the other Avian to die. 

Something in him fragmented, and Tommy felt blood leak down his nose as Merikh was pushed across the room with the force of the air and Tommy grabbed and tore, and then he heard eight thumps and turned to see the Arachnid guards and members of the crew drop, some of them with their eyes open, glazed, because they were dead—

Later, they would call it the Red Planet's Genocide. They would talk of the Children's Rebellion and what it did; they would look over the camera footage and see the fire in Alyssa's eyes as she did one last act of rebellion. They would pour over the pictures and words scrawled upon the walls, and it would talk about the six members of the Children's Rebellion—a Phantom, a Human, an Elytrian, a Feline, an Enderian, and an Avian. 

He was screaming. He was screaming, and there were flashing lights, and it was then that he realized he was no longer on the Arachnid ship, and there was a loud explosion, and he clapped his hands over his ears and pretended not to see the bright colors of the H.M.S Fran slamming into the enemy ship.

People were shouting, and Tommy was screaming, and then he ran out of breath, and he could not breathe. He tried, he tried, he tried, but nothing was coming in.

What had he done? 

He had let Tubbo and Purpled die—

—wait, no, they lived—

Did they?

They did.

He had saved them.

He had killed them—

No, he had not. He had killed the Arachnids. Chroma—Chroma was after the survivors of Pogtopia. Chroma was after him. After all this time, he would die. He and Purpled and Ranboo would die, and join—

—join them.

Join Alyssa with her careful smile and her pretty singing voice that made the stars dance with joy. Join Foolish with his glowing eyes and stupid dance that made everyone laugh among the golden grass. Join Grian with his purple wings and his penchance for pranks and his wide grin. Join Puffy with her piloting skills and her wonderful way of figuring out Tommy's secrets. Join his father, join Sam... after everything.

Perhaps, he thought, he wanted it to happen. 

No, was his immediate follow-up thought. No, he wanted to live. He had to. He had to protect Purpled and Ranboo—and Tubbo now. He was the leader of the Children's Rebellion and a survivor of the Red Planet. It was his duty. No, I will live.

I will live, and I will overcome everything that was meant to destroy me.

(Am I lying?)

Waking up was a slow process. His eyelids stuck together as if they had been glued, and his arms and feet felt heavy—unmoveable, perhaps. Everything was too bright and then too dark, and he opened his eyes to darkness. 

He was in the medbay again.

Tommy choked out a tiny bit of laughter, his throat dry and hurting with the motion. He was always in the medbay, lately. Perhaps whoever had said that whenever he saw Niki, it was when he was injured, was right. 

Speaking of the Chief Medical Officer...he saw her sitting next to him, staring at him. Not creepily—he'd saw her raise her head when he'd coughed.

"Hey," he whispered. 

"Hi, Tommy," she said crisply.

He cringed slightly. "Am I in trouble?"

"Yes," she said and then handed him a glass of water with a straw. She steadied his hand when he took it, shaking slightly as he scooted himself up until he was sitting up. It wasn't anything like waking up in the medbay before—from Jacob's fight—it wasn't exactly painful. He just felt tired. Tommy sipped the water, grateful for the immediate relief he felt from the cool liquid. He was...not surprised at Niki's answer, though the time was 0243 Standard, so he supposed that was why Phil wasn't screaming at him yet.

At this point, he wouldn't even be surprised if he got kicked out of Fleet school. He decided right then and there that he wouldn't be sorry because he wasn't fucking sorry and never would be. Perhaps Lani and Drista were—they'd gotten roped into this mess—but he certainly wasn't.

"Are Tubbo and Purpled...?" he croaked out.

"They were released from medbay yesterday morning with salves for rope burn," Niki said pleasantly. "No other injuries."

"O-oh," he said. "That's good, then." A huge weight was released from his chest—they had lived, they were okay. 

"Yes," Niki said tartly. "It is."

"Are you..." he handed the glass back to her. "...mad?"

Niki snorted, placing the glass down a tad harder than was necessary. "Of course I'm mad," she snapped. "I'm pissed. I'm horribly annoyed that you keep ending up here." Tommy glanced down at his hands, concentrating on the feeling of the sheets against his legs and letting it ground him. "I'm beginning to think there's more to you than being reckless," she said.

"If you want an apology, I'm not giving you one," he said warily.

"I wasn't going to ask," Niki told him. "I'm also not going to blame you for what happened on that ship because I was told it was Purpled's idea for you teenagers to sneak onto a starship and blow it up."

He sat up straighter, remembering the sound of the explosion before he'd fainted. "It worked?"

"Yeah," Niki said. "They faked it as if they hadn't planted the explosions when they heard the guards coming and turned around." She shrugged. "When Lani finally managed to beam you out, Tubbo took out the detonator and blew it up. The bridge watched it explode. Apparently, it was Purpled's idea—he got it from some stupid book. Peter Johnson or something."

"Oh," he said. "Pretty cool." 

"No, actually, it was stupid," Niki said. "But I'm not going to yell at you. I'll leave that to the rest of the people who had to watch you three get nearly executed."

He shrunk lower in his seat. "Am I in trouble?" he asked again.

Niki shrugged. "Honestly? Yes." She didn't change her answer, and Tommy hadn't really expected her to.

She walked out and told Tommy to get some sleep before she left.

Tommy did not get any sleep. 

Purpled and Tubbo visited him the next day, early, before visiting hours. 

"We're in trouble," Tubbo told him miserably. "I temporarily demoted from Chief Operations Officer for going against a direct order."

"I wasn't demoted," Purpled told him. "I still have to do my paperwork." He rolled his eyes. "They refused to talk to us until you woke up, so Tubbo and I just stayed in a storage room and hid."

"What about Lani and Drista?" he asked.

"They...are sort of in trouble," Tubbo said thoughtfully. "I mean, you stole...Snifferish's—"

"Sniff," he corrected absentmindedly. "And she gave it to us."

"—and abandoned her ship in the middle of warp, but Mr. Captain seems to think that you coerced Lani and Drista into coming—which they denied, and said that they insisted on it when you told them no—and  then  you were going to disobey Philza's direct orders again to stay on the ship and transport to the Arachnid starship."

"Which we did," Purpled said.

"Yeah," Tubbo sighed. "And then the bridge nearly watched Purpled, and I get executed, and then you freaked out and—" He cut himself off.

"Killed the Arachnids," he said, twisting his hands on his lap. He knew that Tubbo and Purpled were both looking at them. "I—I know. I felt it break."

"You mean their hearts?" Purpled said.

"No, he stopped the airflow, not exploded their hearts," Tubbo said, pushing Purpled's arm slightly. 

"Am I getting tried for murder?" he asked softly.

"No," Purpled said. "You might get a commendation for that." Tommy looked up at the magenta-eyed boy sharply, and the Human shrugged. "The only thing you're going to get yelled at is for disobeying the captain's orders. Twice."

"But it worked," he protested.

Tubbo sighed. "Unfortunately," he said softly. "That's not how it works."

Chapter Text

Loyalty means nothing

unless it has at its heart

the absolute principle of

self-sacrifice.

- Woodrow Wilson

Tommy still hadn't spoken to any of the ship's crew members—besides Niki, Tubbo, and Purpled—when they docked on Terra. He still hadn't spoken to any of them when Sniff met them at the disembarking station and hugged him. 

"I lost your ship," he told her, ignoring the gazes that drove into his head from the rest of the crew members of the L'manburg. He knew he'd been avoiding them—had locked himself in his cabin after hearing of his trial. He knew they'd tried to talk to him, but he didn't want to talk to them. Not when they would tell him to leave.

He was already going to be kicked out of Fleet school...what did they care for him?

"I don't care," Sniff said. "You saved your crew. That's what's important." And he smiled because she was his friend and forgave him. 

"They're not my anything," he said, loud enough that, to his right, Tubbo winced. Sniff subsided into a sullen silence after that, but she did exchange a brief inclination with Phil.

The five of them had a trial that day. 

Tommy knew that Wilbur tried to talk to him before they entered the courtroom, but he ducked out of the way of the Phantom, letting the Fleet guards bar Wilbur's way into that part of the courtroom. 

There were seven people dressed in black robes, sitting behind counters made of dark wood. Tommy recognized one of them to be the Admiral—or, rather, the Vice-Admiral, who sat to the left of the middle seat. 

He did not look behind him as the auditorium filled with people that he had grown to care for—and curious students as well. He stood in the middle, Lani and Drista to his left, and Purpled and Tubbo to his right. 

It was like he was the leader of this. Technically, he had been the leader. 

"This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter," the Admiral—the actual Admiral, the Rear Admiral, Tommy was sure—said. "Thomas Innes, please step forward."

He blinked as Tubbo gave him an encouraging smile, and the courthouse exploded into murmurs—because, of course, everyone knew that last name. "Present, sir," he said evenly.

"Cadet Innes," the Rear Admiral said. "You have been called in front of his council today on charges of failing to disobey an order and regulation—not once, but twice."

He huffed a small breath. "It was...technically once. Captain Philza never said I couldn't come on." Lani winced. 

"Okay, fine," the Rear Admiral said, dipping his head slightly. "Still...boarding a federal starship?"

"I did do that," he allowed. 

"Lani Underscore and Drista Taken," the Rear Admiral continued. "You also did this."

"Yes, sir," the two girls chorused. 

"I convinced him to let us come in the first place," Drista continued. "He argued strongly against it, but then eventually let us because we were in a short time frame."

"And this ship...you stole it?" the Rear Admiral said.

"No," Tommy said. "My friend, Sniff, gave it to me."

"...Sniff?" the Rear Admiral asked. "There is no such person in our databanks." Tommy resisted rolling his eyes. There was no way that this guy knew everyone.

"That's my nickname, sir," a girl said, and Tommy glanced over his shoulder to see Sniff standing up in the audience. She met his eyes once as she folded her hands in front of her stomach and straightened her back under the gazes of the occupants in the room. "My name is Sni'yfyer'ich. I have Elytrian parents."

"Ah, of course," the Vice Admiral said, grinning slightly. "Yes, it is in our records that you have a ship."

"Had," she corrected. "It's gone now." She didn't seem that mad about it, either. 

"Well, Cadet Sni'yfyer'ich, you can sit down now," the Rear Admiral said, and Sniff sat down without a second word. "So, let me get this straight. Your friend, Cadet Sni'yfyer'ich, lent you a ship, and you used that ship to sneak aboard the L'manburg—"

"Objection," Drista said, and Tommy breathed out sharply. "We didn't sneak on, sir. Junior Lieutenant Fundy beamed us aboard as soon as he heard our pleas."

The Vice-Admiral leaned in and whispered something in the Rear Admiral's ear, who nodded once. "Ensign Drista, while we appreciate your correction, we are merely trying to state the full story."

"Then get it right," Drista muttered, and Tommy was sure half the courthouse heard her.

"Now, Cadet Innes, you were aware of the transmission because of a misclick that Lieutenant Underscore—" Tubbo winced. "—sent while trying to send a picture of...a bumblebee—" There were some laughs. "—and connected the dots to the death of your father, the late Captain Sam of the H.M.S Fran."

"Yes," he said, his throat thick. "I...recognized the transmission as a trap, and because they were out of range, I sought to save...the ship and its crewmembers." 

"Brave," the Rear Admiral allowed. "But stupid. Very, very stupid." Tommy looked down at his shoes. "However, I will give you this. Had you three—" He glanced between Lani, Drista, and Tommy. "—not warned the L'manburg, it would have fallen. So while you will be punished, I also commend you for your bravery, even if you stepped outside the rules while doing so."

That doesn't fucking make any sense, Tommy grumbled internally, but he stayed quiet. 

"Now," the Rear Admiral said. "On to the second part. Shortly after you got into contact with the Arachnid known as Merikh Rience, Lieutenant—pardon me, Senior Operations Officer Tubbo Underscore, Quartermaster Purpled, and Cadet Thomas Innes knocked out Junior Lieutenant Fundy and beamed themselves aboard the Arachnid starship." Tommy noted that he'd left Lani out—nobody must have told him that Lani had been where Fundy had stood. That was good. "In doing so, you went directly against the orders of your captain, broke about fifty Galactic Rebellion regulations in the process, and nearly got the three of yourselves killed."

Purpled swallowed. "It was—my idea, sir," he said. "Tommy would have gone alone and sacrificed himself so that the L'manburg could go free." Tommy lifted his chin, seeing the Council members lean forward, some of them surveying him with little interest. "I...suggested that we blow up the ship instead. So we had a compromise. Tubbo and I would plant bombs in the engine room, and Tommy would cause a distraction. Then we'd get beamed out. End of story."

"Except it wasn't," the Rear Admiral said. "There was a fascinating conversation that took place across the communications screen." Tommy stiffened, making eye contact with the Vice-Admiral, who—shook his head?

What?

"I don't see what sort of point that entails," Purpled said tightly.

"About the Red Planet's Genocide? About Pogtopia? Quartermaster, I think that makes all the difference."

"I think you're fishing for information," the magenta-eyed boy said furiously.

"Purpled..." Tommy murmured warningly.

"Peace, Admiral," the Vice Admiral said, putting an arm on the Rear Admiral's forearm. "I talked with Quartermaster Purpled after the incident occurred. The file is blocked." 

Tommy saw it in his eyes, then. Even from them, the file was blocked.

Nobody knew.

Holy shit, nobody fucking knew—save himself, Purpled, Ranboo, and the Vice-Admiral.

"A third lives," the Rear Admiral continued, ignoring his colleague. "The leader of the Children's Rebellion. You know this."

"Yes," Purpled said, eventually, among the muttering in the crowd. Tommy was mildly uncomfortable about the conversation that wasn't entirely about him but also was about him. 

"And you told nobody?"

"It wasn't important."

"It wasn't important—that boy is the only one that can fully recount the events of the Children's Rebellion!" Tommy closed his eyes and bit his lip, tasting blood. "Who can testify against the person that committed the mass war crimes!"

"You have the full story! Me, the cameras—you have the pieces and the full puzzle!" Purpled said, nearly shouting now. "You won't get him too! He wants his peace, so fucking give it to him! The moment you have Chroma in your hands, he will come—he will testify. He will." Tommy blinked. "But you don't have Chroma. You don't have hide nor hair of him, or his possible location." 

The Rear Admiral looked at him for a second. The courtroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. "And what if I ordered you to tell me about him, cadet?"

Purpled's mouth was a thin line as he tore out the pin that signified the Galactic Rebellion and held it out in his palm. "Then I would resign," he said. "He was my leader before you ever were. He saved my life a thousand times over, and if I walked away so he would get his peace—then I would. Just like that." Purpled tossed the pin up and caught it, clenching his fist tightly. "Try me. You know I would." Unruffled admiration and awe filled Tommy as he stared at his gallant friend, who stared down the Admirals with silent fury and determination. 

"And what of you, Cadet Innes?" the Rear Admiral said quietly. "How do you know of the Children's Rebellion leader?"

He started from staring at Purpled. "I know him," he said quietly. "Pretty cool guy, if you ask me." Purpled scoffed under his breath. "We were in prison—the Wasteland—together." It was...odd. Talking about himself, in the third person.

"And do you know where he is now?"

"Not there," he said honestly. "But I'm not telling you his name or what he looks like either. Purpled got the gist of it."

"Admiral, Quartermaster Purpled is right," the Vice Admiral said, and Tommy let out a small breath. "We have the full story. Let the kid have his rest. Let the cadets keep their secrets."

"Fine, Toast," the Rear Admiral said, and Tommy started at the nickname. "Keep your secrets too." He glanced at his friend. "I know you know whom we speak of."

"Of course," the Vice-Admiral—Toast?—said. "We've spoken, too." His gaze passed over Tommy without pausing. "I didn't push him because it was a traumatic experience, and the poor kid was refusing to tell anyone. I only found out because Quartermaster Purpled told me about him." Tommy smiled slightly.

"Cadet Innes," the Rear Admiral said, finally. "You are grounded for the next nine months from any missions that might come your way, training or no." Toast leaned his head in and whispered in his ear. "Barring your track meets, in which you will be under strict watch from your coaches." Tommy frowned. Wasn't he kicked out? "Senior Officer Tubbo Underscore. Your demotion is merely temporary, and when the L'manburg lifts off the ground after repairs in about two months, you will join them with your previous position. Until then, you will retain your current standings and will do fifty hours of community service until then. Quartermaster Purpled, you are also commissioned to do fifty hours of community service, and you will be going through old records and rewriting them. By hand. Ensigns Lani and Drista—you are grounded for four weeks. All five of you will also receive commendations for your work in saving a federal starship."

Tommy was surprised they got off so quickly. Nine months was a fucking long time, but he'd been surprised he hadn't been kicked out. Purpled looked slightly annoyed—Tommy remembered he'd expressed his distaste for paperwork—but Lani and Drista looked slightly relieved. Tubbo just looked cautious. Oh, well. The L'manburg would be fixed in two months, and then his friends would be off again—off to see the stars. Maybe when they got back, he could have advanced a few levels and gotten closer to his goal of completing Fleet school in under three years.

"Dismissed," the Rear Admiral said coolly, and with that, the courtroom adjourned.

Tommy stood there for a moment before walking out, ignoring the people that shouted after him. 

He didn't know when he'd started to care about the Galactic Rebellion.

Before, he had hated it. He hated it because his parents had died for its cause, because of the people in the Wasteland that thought that their cause was magical and promising and good. 

And then...he had come to understand that it was the Arachnids that were the menace and that they had killed his family, who made their own choices and allegiances.

He had followed them, far after they were gone. Sometimes he didn't know exactly what he was fighting for—but he knew that the Arachnids had long ago been the downfall of his species and the cause of the war. He knew of the Artifact, which the Avians had supposedly taken—that both sides searched for, one with destruction and malice and hate and the other with hope and desperation for an end. 

He avoided the crew of the L'manburg for four days before they found him. Avoided their calls, their messages on his datapad—hung out with Sniff a bit but stopped when she told him to answer his calls. 

"Tommy!"

Tommy turned from where he was walking in one of the Fleet school gardens, this one filled with early-spring cherry blossoms and pink petals that stuck to his hair and covered the pathways. He sighed inwardly when he saw Wilbur running towards him. "Hey," he said warily.

"We've been looking for you ever since you disappeared after your discussion with the Council," Wilbur said, panting slightly as he caught up to Tommy, his unruly brown hair tilting with the rest of his head as he regarded Tommy.

He snorted. Sure, the Phantom was, perhaps, correct. He had been avoiding the crew of the L'manburg, even Tubbo, and Purpled. He'd been studying in the library and had fallen asleep in there more often than not in the four days since they had disembarked onto Terra. He just...needed a break or something. 

"I was avoiding you," he said. "And I plan to continue doing so, so fuck off." Tommy turned to walk off, an ugly feeling filling his chest as he made to move away. 

"We never got to talk after what happened," Wilbur called after him, and Tommy froze. "You—well, you avoided us."

"Yeah, that's sorta the point, bitch," he snapped.

"Why?" Wilbur asked simply.

"Because I didn't want to talk to you," he said. 

"Why?"

"Because—I thought maybe you'd leave," he admitted. Wilbur frowned at him. "I...yeah, I disobeyed a direct order, and I thought that you would force an apology out of me, but—"

"You're not sorry," Wilbur noted.

"No," he said stoutly. "I'm not."

"Good," Wilbur said, surprising him. "Tommy, you're my friend. Or—or whatever, annoying little brother, as Phil likes to call it. I care for you, okay? You saved my life. You saved all of our lives by doing what you did—it was you who intercepted Tubbo's misclick and you who figured out that it was a trap." Wilbur wrinkled his nose. "You potentially were giving up everything—Fleet school and a home on Terra—for us." Tommy stared at him. "Don't pretend I don't know that. Sure, Tubbo and Purpled did too—but they have things to fall back on. You don't. You don't have anyone."

"Ouch," he muttered.

"And—you chose to maybe give it up, for me," Wilbur continued. "For us. And—well, I appreciate that, you stupid gremlin child. More than you could ever imagine." The Phantom let out a small breath. "Phil does too, and Techno, and Dream—everyone does. They know what you did. They understood what you were trying to do."

"What's that?" he asked warily.

"Save us," Wilbur said simply. "Save people who you barely knew—oh, don't give me that, you barely know us—and you did it without hesitation. Sniff approached us when we couldn't find you; and told us you were regularly attending track—good job, by the way—and she admitted that you'd dropped everything when you got Tubbo's messages and ran."

"So?" he whispered. 

"So—so you didn't hesitate." Wilbur put a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "You didn't even think before rushing off to save us."

"I know," he grumbled, pushing Wilbur's hand off his shoulder, suddenly feeling cold despite the warm sunshine. "I'm stupid. I get it."

"No," Wilbur told him. "You're not stupid. You're the damn-well bravest person I've ever met. You're a fucking hero, Tommy. Plain and simple." 

"Merikh Rience," Techno started.

Tommy glared at him from over the edge of his copy of The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. How the fuck had this idiot found him after he'd fled from Wilbur in the gardens nine hours ago? It was one in the fucking morning. "Yeah?" he seethed. "What about him?"

"I talked to him," Techno said, talking about the Arachnid prisoner that Tommy had pushed out of his mind and pretended to forget about. Purpled had told him that he'd been transported back with the trio and taken prisoner.

"Okay," he said. 

"He's Chroma's lackey."

"Okay."

"Chroma wants you."

A burst of fear flashed through Tommy before he stomped it under his foot and quelled it without blinking. "No shit." 

Techno sighed, running a hand through his pink hair. Tommy tilted his head, suddenly wondering whether the half-Piglin dyed it or not. "You know, if it's anything to you, I'm not mad at you."

"I don't care about your opinion," he said through his teeth.

"That's a lie," Techno told him.

"I'm not lying," he said, lying. "Just—go back to your ship or something. I know you can, even if it's under repairs for the next two months. Fuck off. Leave me alone. Stop—stop fucking bothering me, and tell Wilbur to do the fucking same. You two are stalking me, and it's fucking creepy."

Techno stared at him for a second, and Tommy looked away, unsettled. "Do you really believe that?" Tommy opened his mouth but shut it after a moment. "Look, Tommy, when you appeared on the bridge and told us that we were all going to die if we didn't listen to you—never mind the fact that you're the son of Sam Innes—I didn't believe you."

"Thanks," Tommy muttered.

"But then..." Techno said. "Then you proved us wrong and then disobeyed direct orders with Purpled and Tubbo to blow up an Arachnid ship." He scoffed. "Good job, by the way. Lots of paperwork, but good job."

"You're not...mad?" Tommy asked cautiously.

"Mad?" Techno repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Tommy, nobody on the L'manburg is mad that you blew up the warship. They're only mad that you nearly died in the process."

"Because I'm reckless," Tommy muttered. "Yeah, I get it."

"You're not reckless," Techno told him darkly. "People that are reckless actually care about their health." Tommy stiffened. "Yeah, don't think I don't get it. You're not only self-destructive, but you don't give a damned about what happens to you."

He couldn't even argue. Because fucking Technoblade was right.

"Also," Techno added. "I won't tell Niki. But I'm keeping an eye on you. If I force Wilbur as well, that's two eyes." He smirked. "Or four."

"Why the hell do you care so much?" he asked.

"Because seven years ago, your father and your aunt sacrificed themselves so that my people could live," Techno said firmly, with no trace of sarcasm on his face—because he was dead serious. "And since I can't repay the favor to them, I'll save you."

"I don't need saving," he told Techno.

"Yeah, you do," the half-Piglin replied. "You're spiraling, and if I were a better person, I'd tell you to get some help because you're a thousand ways messed up, but I'm not a better person, and I know if I push you, you'll run and never look back." 

"Hey, kid," Phil said quietly.

He slammed his plate down on the table. "How do you fuckers keep finding me? First Wilbur, yesterday, in the cherry blossom gardens—then Techno at the library at one in the morning—can I just be somewhere alone?"

Philza regarded him for a second, ocean blue eyes wary. "Mate, you're avoiding everyone. Even Tubbo and Purpled."

"So?" he said in a near-snarl, spooning cinnamon toast crunch into his mouth. It was a bit sugary for his tastes but still good. He scoffed when he realized that he had an opinion on food, now. Oh, how the...how did the proverb go? Oh, how the turns had tabled? Whatever. 

"So your friends are getting worried," Phil told him.

"Oh, and do you include yourself on that minuscule list?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I included your father on my list," Phil told him, and Tommy started suddenly. "We went to school together, Tommy. He left on his fifteen-year mission and never came back. We were never  best  friends, but I would have considered us good friends." Phil looked slightly nostalgic. "You're a lot like him."

"Self-destructive?"

"No," Phil said lightly. "Smart. Caring to the point of too caring. Brilliant."

"You already said I was smart. That's repetitive. Come on, Captain, learn the language better."

Phil rolled his eyes. "I meant smart as in emotionally smart."

Tommy gaped at him. "Are you kidding? I fucking suck at emotions."

"Your own emotions," Phil corrected blandly. "You ignore just about everything."

"I insult everyone."

"On purpose, because you're afraid of making friends."

Tommy glared at him. Phil just looked slightly amused. "Who are you, my fucking therapist?"

"No, but you should get one," Phil told him.

Tommy scoffed. "No fucking way. Then I'd actually have to say everything, and people would give me pitiful looks, and I'd be arrested..."

Phil jumped slightly. "You've done things that would get you arrested?"

"I literally snuck onto two separate starships under thirty minutes," he deadpanned. "But no. I was joking. Sort of."

"Sort of," Phil repeated.

"Yes."

"I'm just going to ignore that," Phil told him. "Anyway, you don't have to get a therapist, Tommy. I do recommend it, though. Purpled and Ranboo and Tubbo all had one."

"Ah, so the children are fucked up."

"That's...not what I meant."

"I get it, big man, I'm fucked up too," Tommy snorted. "But there's nothing that I can do—hey, that rhymes!—so I just soldier through it." He brightened. "Did you see my amazing poem?"

"Yes, Tommy," Phil said dryly. "We are all aware of your terrible coping methods."

"They're great, just like me. I'm amazing. Shut the fuck up."

The Elytrian stared at him for a second, the only thing moving his feathers. "I can see why you're friends with Purpled."

"Because we're both amazing and cool and big men—I mean, obviously, I'm greater—"

"Because you both have superiority complexes," Phil interrupted, rolling his eyes. 

"I thought I had a savior complex."

"Yeah, and narcissism." 

"Isn't that a good thing?" he deadpanned.

"Mate—fuck—"

"I'm kidding," he said, only half-kidding. "Jeez, old man. Relax."

"Don't call me old. You're a literal child."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're old," Tommy said, pausing to loudly slurp at the milk that was left in the bowl. He saw the disgusted look on Phil's face and threw him the middle finger gleefully. "And I'm not a child. I'm the legal age of consent in some places on Terra."

"I did not need to hear that. Anyway, you're not Human."

"Isn't Avia uninhabitable anymore?"

Phil considered that for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "It was our sister planet for billions of years, and then—" he cut himself on. "I'll take you to see Elytra later. It's family movie night today. Want to come to watch?"

"I'm not part of your family," Tommy said instantly.

"You might as well be, for how many times Wilbur bitches about you, and Dream exclaims that you could replace him and he could go back to being the C.T.O," Phil said, rolling his eyes. "The crew is our family. One big extended family."

"Great," he said. "I don't want to see a dumb movie."

He hadn't watched a movie in years.

"That's a lie," Philza said.

"I'm not lying," he said, again, lying.

Phil didn't blink, instead cracking a grin. "You're coming to movie night. I know you have a pass up to the L'manburg."

"I thought I wasn't—"

"You're not allowed to go on missions. We're watching a movie. I'll send Techno to get you if there are any problems," Phil said, as if it were final, standing up. "Good luck with your classes today. Oh, by the way, you have four missing assignments—get to it." Tommy gaped at him. "Tommy, I'm your guardian. The only messages I want from the school are from the teachers singing your praises."

"It's not my fault you needed saving."

Chapter Text

We all hate moral ambiguity

in some sense, and yet it is

also absolutely necessary. 

In writing a story, it is the place

where I begin.

- Amy Tan

Tommy twirled his student I.D. card in his hands, giving a bored look at the officer who blocked his entrance to the transport over to the space station.

"Sorry, kid," the officer said, not sounding sorry at all. "That I.D. could be fake."

"I'm Tommy-fucking-Innes," he drawled. "Avian extraordinaire." That too had become a simple fact known throughout the school, and Velvet and Ant talked to him about it. He'd fibbed a bit and told him it made him a bit faster—none of the fancy science stuff to back it up. Tommy smirked when the officer moved to hide his unlocked datapad—one that had his face plastered on it and something about Captain Sam in the title. "Yeah, I ain't buying that," he drawled. "You fucking know who I am. Let me through."

"You don't have clearance—"

"I was invited for movie night on the L'manburg," he said, picking at the beds of his nails. "Maybe you're jealous of my epicness or something." 

"I doubt that, nerd," Tommy heard someone say, and he turned, a tiny bit of relief filling him as Technoblade spoke, his pink hair tied in a braid down his back, his First Officer uniform pristine and sparkling. "But, officer, you might what to let him pass. He's already late." Techno tilted his head. "Of course, I could always get you into contact with Captain Philza? I'm sure he would love to talk to you about why you're holdin' up family movie night."

"Of—of course, Commander," the officer gulped, stepping aside. Tommy stuck out his tongue and flipped the man off. Techno put a hand on his shoulder and led him on the transport, pressing the button to close the doors. 

"I hate people like that," Techno grumbled. "Stuck-up bastards."

"You're a stuck-up bastard," Tommy reminded him.

"Yes, but I'm a high-ranking official," Techno drawled, sitting down on one of the seats. Tommy sat down across from him, listening as the engines started and the ship took off, heading for the space station. "Hey, you know, not that I care or anything, but why were you late?"

"Hmm?" he asked, pressing a hand to the window and basking in the giddiness that followed as they left the planet behind, the beautiful waters and lush green plants fading into one blob. They passed the clouds, and Tommy leaned back, disappointed that he didn't get to see the rest of it.

"You're late," Techno said again, face bland and observing. "By an hour. So is Drista and Lani."

"Yeah, well," he said. "Shit happens."

"Can you just answer your messages next time?"

"We weren't allowed to use our datapads, 'n mine's dead anyway," he grumbled. At Techno's curious look, Tommy sighed and sunk lower in his seat. "We got detention."

"It's your first day back!" Techno said, incredulous.

"Yeah, well, shitty first day," he snapped. "Everyone knows I'm a fucking Avian and the son of Sam Innes. Sorta draws people's attention, you know?"

They didn't speak for the rest of the trip, and Tommy stared out the glass once more, watching as they approached the massive space station that docked the ships, one of which included the L'manburg—the ship in question surrounded by smaller ships as it was gradually repaired. Of course, Tommy wasn't stupid enough to think it was that easy. The frame would be the easiest to fix—other problems would be far harder to solve—the L'manburg had greatly suffered under the shield-ripping firing of Merikh Rience. Then there were diagnostics and testing, and...yeah, it would take a while.

"You're late," Philza told him as he walked into a room that he'd never been to on any ship, H.M.S Fran included. He frowned at the scene—it was an in-home movie theatre, the majority of the crew already in their seats, scrolling through their datapads. Purpled waved at him from the back—was that Sniff?

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked the girl incredulously. 

"Phil got me a new ship and then asked if I wanted to stay for movie night," the Human said, rolling her eyes at him. "But you're late by like an hour. Fortunately, there are far more interesting people than you to hang out with in this place."

He snorted, plopping down in a seat next to the aisle, Purpled and Tubbo across the gap and Sniff to his right. Techno slunk over to sit next to Wilbur, who had a bucket of popcorn and a magazine in his hands. 

"Where are Drista and Lani?" Tubbo asked loudly.

Tommy groaned. "We got detention," he said. 

"It's been seven hours since I saw you!" Phil said. "What the hell, mate!"

"Wait, Lani got detention?" Tubbo said loudly. "I get Drista; she takes after Dream and his anger issues—"

"HEY!" Dream said incredulously. The two sitting next to him, Sapnap and a guy with brown hair that Tommy hadn't seen before, snorted loudly. 

"—but Lani?" Tubbo continued, face confused in the darkened lighting of the theatre. "Detention?"

Tommy watched as Sniff grimaced; Survival Strategies, the class they'd gotten detention in, was only Tommy's second period. There had been some trouble with his first-period class—Human history—but there wasn't an Avian history class, and he'd opted to stay in it when asked because he did want to learn more about Terra. Sniff was in his fourth period, Advanced Subspace Geometry, and his fifth, Interspecies Protocol, so she had had the luxury of hearing him bitch about his shitty Survival Strategies teacher. He'd just...forgotten to mention that the three of them had gotten detention.

Whoops.

"She was an 'enabler,'" Tommy explained, making vague air quotes. Phil raised an eyebrow. "Look, my Survival Strategies teacher is a real arse."

"Is she, now?" Wilbur asked, finally looking up and adjusting his unnecessary circular glasses he refused to get rid of. 

Tommy glared at him. "Yes, she—"

"I AM GOING TO KILL THAT BITCH!" Drista screamed, marching into the room, intention to kill written all over her face. Lani followed her in, looking slightly regretful. Dream jumped slightly at his sister's scream, turning around worriedly. By now, the occupants of the room were all listening.

"O-kay," Phil said, drawing out the two-syllable word, as Drista huffed angrily, her face red. "What the hell happened?"

"She was being an asshat, that's what—" Drista started, seething. 

"Ms. Zahendia thought it would be a good idea to call Tommy out in class," Lani said reasonably, elbowing a seething Drista to get her to shut up. "About being an Avian, y'know. I thought it would be a question about his biology and the topic we were speaking about, but no." Lani let out a small breath. "No, it wasn't."

"What was it?" Techno asked when Lani didn't elaborate.

"Something xenophobic," Tommy grumbled.

"She did not," Phil said. 

"She did," the three of them chorused. Phil looked slightly appalled.

"Don't worry, I handled it," Drista said sweetly.

"Not very well," Lani grumbled. "Drista jumped up and said something remarkably objectionable about the hair between her eyebrows—don't give me that look, Drista, you know I'm right—and had some very...creative ideas to where Ms. Zahendia could shove her bullshit."

There was a long moment of silence. Tommy thought that some of it was shocked.

"I sense it she didn't take it well?" Wilbur choked out, looking half-proud and half angry. 

"Nah," Drista said. "She told me I didn't belong on the L'manburg and that the Council should have thrown me out." Tommy noted that Drista, now no longer annoyed, just seemed generally amused—a tactic that her brother shared. Philza looked ready to march off the L'manburg and give Ms. Zahendia a piece of his mind, though. "Apparently, I was too young and had somehow cheated my way into being a junior officer."

"I jumped to her defense," Lani said. "I was trying to be nice about it—"

"And then I said she was jealous that she wasn't as cool and amazing as the three of us and that we were teenagers and smarter and better than her old ass," Tommy finished.

"What the fuck," Techno deadpanned.

"In my defense, she deserved it," Tommy snorted.

"Also, don't message the school," Drista said, and Lani nodded. "We dealt with it. We can stand up for ourselves. I'm not really bothered by it. I get those comments all the time."

"Yeah, and Tommy gets the sleeping with someone one," Lani said dutifully.

"Shut the fuck up," he told the Shulker girl.

"What kind of place—" Philza said.

"It's school, Phil," Purpled said warily. "No school we've ever been to is perfect." He made eye contact with Tommy, who internally agreed. 

"Yeah, sure, but teachers also shouldn't verbally berate their students with the intention to hurt or harm," Wilbur pointed out. "That's abusing a position of power."

"As if Techno doesn't do that too," Tommy pointed out, and Techno inclined his head. "Just—drop it, okay?" Drista made a noise of agreement, dragging Lani to sit on the right of Sniff. 

"Hey, I'm Lani," the girl said with a bright grin.

"Sni'yfyer'ich, but you can call me Sniff," the Human girl replied, reaching out and shaking Lani's hand. 

"Thanks for letting us borrow your ship," Drista said.

"Tommy already said that," Sniff laughed. "But you're welcome. Captain Philza actually invited me here so I could get a replacement but ended up encouraging me to stay for movie night." She looked slightly nervous.

"You're Human, right?" Lani asked her.

"Oh," Sniff replied, blinking slightly. "My parents are Elytrian, though."

"Adopted?"

"I—I mean, they didn't kidnap me off the streets," Sniff laughed, and Lani nodded. 

Wilbur leaned over. "Are you wearing a cow sweater?" he asked incredulously.

Sniff blinked at him. "It's the peak fashion," she said defensively.

"No, I have the same one—I was curious because mine was hand-made."

"Yeah, so was mine."

There was silence.

"They lied to me!" Wilbur hissed. 

"Okay, children," Phil said, amused. "Shut up so we can watch the movie."

"What movie are we watching?" Tubbo asked curiously.

"The Hunger Games," Purpled spoke up. There were some sounds of curiosity. "It's a twentieth-century film, but like we're watching the revamped version, so the special effects are better. It's pretty good."

"Yeah, after you stopped screaming," Ranboo muttered under his breath, and Tubbo elbowed him. Tommy was pretty sure that Purpled pretended not to hear the Enderian because the magenta-eyed boy didn't react. 

"Fuck Gale, honestly," Niki spoke up from her seat in the front row. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tommy asked.

"You'll find out," Sniff told him. "I think I've watched this movie once before."

"And if you have to go to the bathroom, just go," Purpled told them, and Tommy was confused why his eyes were explicitly on him. Did Purpled think he had a small bladder or something?