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[sbi-au-ideas]

The longest fic I’ve managed yet. It may not be impressively long, but this is my parting gift.

Tommy’s been floating for a while.

His mind sort of… separated from his body a while ago. He’s still vaguely aware of the things outside happening, but the events slip away from his thoughts too quickly to be of consequence. So now he’s floating. It feels peaceful, a soft existence of nothing, with the occasional mindless thought rising to the surface before bobbing back down.

Pain is a constant, weaving up and down like waves on the beach.

The blank space in his mind shifts, turning on its head and swirling like cream and coffee, falling into a memory on the beach.

Nothing happens in the memory, but he can remember the sensations; the strong fishy smell, the warm setting sun, hot and crusty sand covering the soles of his feet. He can taste the salt in the air, and hear the sound of glistening waves crashing against the shoreline; it’s a fond memory, even if he can’t recall why anymore.

He can feel someone slap him. He’s ripped from the beach violently, subject to screaming, putrid anger in a voice. He knows the voices name, but there’s secret satisfaction in pretending he could ever forget.

He wishes he could forget.

He wishes he could forget a lot of things.

His heart leaps into his throat like a bullfrog, sudden and overwhelming emotions clogging his throat and strangling him; taking their chance and filling every orifice with how he feels about this whole situation, choking him out, until everything begins to—

Drift,

and he’s floating again.

It gently eases his shoulders into relaxing, opening his lungs and filling his mind with clouds. It feels like fraying cotton has replaced his thoughts, and he can’t get a grasp on them. If he tries, it falls away and becomes clouds, leaving moisture on his fingertips.

At the beginning, when he started drifting, he would use techniques to draw himself out. Twitching his fingers, pinching himself if his hands were free (which wasn’t often), or counting the sensations he could feel.

It would work too, and he would be Back, but being Back means he can feel things, and that’s enough to reel him away, into his floating land of nothing.

He ponders briefly, that if he were to ever be rescued, if his cloud palace would be a problem. Before everything- he rarely went into a state like this, and times that he did quickly slipped his memory, suppressed by his subconscious. It’s definitely not normal.

Would he be forced out, when going into states like this? Probably. If his knight in shining armor decides to offer help beyond his rescue, Tommy’s gonna request therapy. Lots of it. Daily therapy, even! He could get two therapists, and do twice as much therapy!

If he ever gets rescued, he’ll miss this cloud-like state. It’s been the only thing he can actually rely on in this hellish nightmare, with everything else tainted in uncertainly and distrust and pain.

There’s yelling in the real world, he acknowledges. Yelling that isn’t directed at him.

Yelling is familiar. The vibrations are unique to every person, reverberating through Tommy’s person and identifying it’s user, it’s anger, it’s desire.

Two people are yelling at each other. One is angry but desperate, always lilting at the end but harshly and solid.

The other is undeniably Him, colored in anger, betrayal; backdropped in stubbornness and refusal.

There’s explosions happening somewhere above him, and for the first time in forever, Tommy is tempted to come back to reality. Something is happening, something big. Curiosity burns in him, rising, bubbling- but his fear fights back, dragging the cotton blanket further over his thoughts, muting any curiosity (or fear).

He keeps drifting, letting thoughts become dust and fall from his grasp. Things are happening, but they aren’t happening to Tommy yet. He can stay under for a little longer.

Just a little longer.

The explosions are closer. The yelling has stopped.

Like a hot shower to a mirror, the imagery fogs. His eyes are open but he isn’t seeing.

Just a little while longer.

The yelling has started again, but it’s different. New people, and lots of them. The explosions are really close to Tommy now, it might be a problem soon.

He’s strapped to a chair anyway. If he wanted to run away, he couldn’t.

Time drifts for a second, tipping and throwing his perspective off. Everything feels— off. The cloud only makes it worse.

The yelling is a lot closer, close to his room. Yelling causes fights, and he can’t fight back. Everything is inevitable. He’s just a leaf floating on a pond, unable to stop the rocks that skip and create ripples, uncaring if Tommy’s leaf-y existence is thrown under the water and drowned.

The roof explodes.

He needs to get out.

He needs to leave, he needs to do something-

Fog over his thoughts, clouding them.

He has to do something.

Clouds, cotton, sand on his soles and the warm setting sun on his face.

He exhales. Fuck, this is hopeless.

He inhales. The air tastes like concrete and ash.

Oh. Oh.

There’s fighting, yelling, right in front of him. He exhales, and his chest feels sore with the action.

Fuck.

He inhales, lungs burning, mouth powdery and dry. His lips are cracked, and he can taste blood.

Yelling. There’s a guy- three guys-? Maybe more. There’s two women, and Tommy can remember his favorite joke about how many wives he has.

He exhales. There’s a hand touching his shoulder. Someone is talking to him, but he can’t hear them, he wish he-

He inhales. The fog scatters hesitantly, and he focuses on the yelling. Except there’s no more yelling, there’s only talking, voices-

“-ear us?”

His eyes focus. There’s cracked floor underneath him, his arms aren’t tied to the chair anymore, they feel rough and sore. He looks up. His hair falls into his face.

“-kid?” Oh that reminds Tommy of another joke. It would be really funny to use it now, actually. Tommy coughs, weak and dry. It does the job.

“… ‘m not’a kid.” He smiles, and he might just cry. What did he think earlier? A therapist?

The person in front of him- a woman with huge curly puffs of hair, white like sheeps wool with a rainbow streak in the front- huffs amusedly. “Okay not-kid, can you tell us your name?”

Tommy grins again, mischievous. “Nah,” he coughs out, “I’m too big’a man to go… tellin’ strangers m’ name.”

She smiles at that, and Tommy’s pretty impressed to see no trace of pity or sadness in her eyes. He most definitely looks like crap.

Her teammates show it for all its worth. For all that sheep-lady is doing, keeping her expression friendly, her companions aren’t keeping up the illusion. They look depressed, frankly. Maybe Tommy doesn’t need therapy, they look like they need it more than him.

“I guess I’ll call you big man! We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?“ She looks over her shoulder, “Songbird, you’re carrying him.”

Someone approaches from the group, and Tommy is- honestly astonished at his height. Even though Tommy is sitting down, ‘Songbird’ clearly towers over everyone in their little entourage.

He’s wearing a superhero suit, with a clear theme of grey and blue. His face is covered by a black masquerade mask, but it hardly matters because of his hat.

It reminds Tommy of a witches hat, if the witch had style and also lined the rim with a black mesh that draped over their face. The mesh covers most of the heroes upper half, and leaves a lot of his facial features to be desired. At that point, why even wear the masquerade mask?

Tommy lets himself be picked up, purely because he isn’t sure he can do more than move his head and twitch his fingers at the moment.

He stares up at the black mesh. He wants the masquerade mask from underneath. He can’t see it clearly from behind the mesh, and Tommy is sure that it looks cool.

“Big man?” He hears sheep-lady ask softly, but Tommy hasn’t had a goal in-

-

-

- so he’s going to achieve this one.

He glares up at the mask. He could just ask for it? Or would it be better to steal it quickly, in order to run away faster.

“Kid?- I mean, big man?” Songbird asks nervously. Good, nervousness will make it easier for Tommy. He should guilt Songbird into giving him the mask. Tommy looks all sad and shit right now anyway, it can’t be that hard.

Ugh. There’s gotta be a simpler way.

He huffs, knocking his head into Songbirds shoulder and burying his face into it. He wants the mask.

“What was that all about?” Songbird whispers harshly, and Tommy can thankfully read the situation well enough to know the question wasn’t directed at him.

“-it might be a trauma response? Judging your character?” Someone pipes in from the back.

“No one told me carrying this kid would become a pop quiz on my character!”

“Suck it, bitch boy.” Tommy grumbles, voice muffled by the heroes blue sweater. God, now he wants the mask and the sweater.

“You are just a chaotic little gremlin aren’t you?” The hero shifts his grip slightly, carrying Tommy closer to his chest.

He gasps indignantly, “I am not-“ he coughs, voice raspy, “-fucking little, you hear me?” He hits his forehead into Songbirds chest to prove a point.

“Oh I definitely hear you,” Tommy could hear the mischievous glint to Songbird’s voice from a mile away, “Tiny man.”

Tommy gasps again, shuffling in the heroes grip halfheartedly, “Oh I’ll show you who’s tiny, fuckin’ bitch boy-“

“Tiny itty bitty baby man~” he coos, and oh Tommy is going to rip this fucker a new one.

“No pestering the civilian Song.” A man chastises from the back, and Tommy strains his neck to see over Songbirds shoulder.

“But he’s a gremlin!”

“Oh my god,” the hero wheezes, “you can bicker all you want at HQ I promise, but please focus on the mission for five seconds.” Tommy notes that the hero has a funny laugh. The man has a hat similar to Songbirds, but without the black mesh, and with a flat top. His face is all out in the open too! Not even a masquerade mask.

He’s got these weird green robes on, and his hat is green and white striped. Odd choice.

Tommy can’t help it when his brain fixates on the hat. It’s so- weird. So personalized, and it doesn’t even look strange on the hero! Tommy barely glanced at it, like it’s a normal fashion choice when he knows it’s not.

The hero notices Tommy’s look.

He wants the fucking hat. It’s a weird ass hat, but it’s weird in a good way and Tommy wants it.

He starts glaring without realizing, and his eyes trail the heroes hand as it uncomfortably runs along the rim of his hat. He has a nervous tick with the hat.

Tommy wants it even more.

“-Mate?” The cool-hat wearing hero asks.

He’s gonna ask for it. Tommy stops glaring immediately, decision made.

“Can I have your hat?” The hero stumbles, and starts doing his funny wheeze laugh.

“You- you want my hat? To have?”

Tommy tries to answer, but his voice gets stuck in his throat. He coughs, grumbling, before replying, “Preferably, yes.”

“But- why?”

“It’s a weird hat.” He explains, like it answers everything; by the astonished look on the heroes face though, it didn’t. The hero doesn’t immediately respond, so he asks again. “Can I have it?”

“I- y’know what mate? Sure, you can have the hat.” The hero dips the hat into his hand, and Tommy watches it get closer and closer, until finally the hero plonks it on his head.

“You are the best,” Tommy says in utmost honesty, eyes wide as he stares at the hero whose name he doesn’t even know. “You are officially my favorite hero, the best one, number one. If people ask me for my favorite hero I will say your name.”

The hero grins, having caught onto Tommy’s foul play, “And my name is?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Big man’s favorite hero.” The hero wheezes, clapping his hands and bending over with a stupid grin on his face. “It’s probably a better name than what you used to have anyway, like green boi.”

The hero cackles loudly, hand outstretched to a nearby shoulder for stability as he doubles over. “Green boi-”

Tommy grins, heart alight with confidence.

Songbird whispers into his ear, grin prevalent in his voice, “His name is Philza Minecraft.”

Tommy gasps dramatically, whipping his head to look at Songbird bird before looking back at Philza Minecraft, his eyes reflecting nothing but of pure amazement.

“Philza Minecraft,” he whispers reverently. Philza cackles at the glimmer in Tommy’s eyes, and he could only relate it to a worshipper first meeting their god. That thought only sends him into another laughing fit.

“-uh, kid?”

“Big man.” Tommy corrects.

“Yes, big man, sorry.” A hero with green hair apologizes, “We’re almost to the surface of this whole facility, and we wanted to make sure you’re aware of what will happen when we get there.” Tommy nods. “When we get outside they’ll bring you to a group of other victims and start any immediate medical treatment, like disinfectant and wrapping up new wounds.

“Then, when we’re done clearing out the facility you’ll be brought to civilian med bay in HQ to treat any power induced injuries. They’ll ask a few questions, get your side of the story, and hopefully get you some connections to possible therapists.

“After that they’ll contact your parents or guardian, and you’ll be transported to a hospital closest to your living situation, and they’ll handle any long term injuries.” The hero smiles comfortingly.

Except there’s a big problem with that. Tommy doesn’t have parents, or a guardian, or a living situation. He’s been in the facility for a long time. Time moves strangely when you’re spaced out into oblivion, but Tommy knows it’s been a few months at least. The apartment he had has long since thrown all his shit out. Bet they didn’t even report him as missing, the bastards.

He hopes the cafe he used to work at noticed, at least. Niki was a good boss.

Songbird notices his uncertainty and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll get you home, yeah?”

They can’t though.

He doesn’t have a home anymore.

His expression sours. He doesn’t have a home. He doesn’t have a job. He doesn’t have any money, or even his phone! He was emancipated many months ago, and within 3 months he got himself kidnapped, and now he’s lost everything he worked to get.

This fucking sucks.

Tommy can’t say he’s surprised when the fog creeps into his mind, offering support, offering denial and safety in the ignorant.

His eyes unfocus, and the world around him slips away. The conversation melts into background noise. His aches become known again, but they’re easy to block out, and Tommy quickly finds himself surrounded in nothing.

Floating.

Someone notices, and Tommy can feel pressure on his shoulder, a small shake, he can feel the vibration of words targeted towards him. They’re confused.

Tommy retreats further into the clouds. He’s used to anger, shouting; he’s used to blocking out sharp slaps and punches that crack on impact.

Somehow? Blocking out the gentle coaxes is harder. The finger tracing his palm is too vivid in his mind, in a way that makes him uncomfortable. He unconsciously starts frowning.

It’s usually easy to disappear.

It’s not easy right now.

This knowledge only prompts him to dive deeper into the soft haze, but finding no escape from the finger on his palm, or the calm voice, or the pressure on his shoulder or the hum that reverberates into Tommy’s mind and takes up all the space, when it’s supposed to be empty.

Tommy grumbles in frustration, flicking his finger to the side and discovering that it’s a lot easier than his previous attempts. All because of some heroes who don’t want him to disappear.

He hates it even more that flicking his finger earns him encouragement, praise even.

Someone is breathing deeply, and Tommy is suddenly very aware of this fact. Particularly because Tommy can feel himself rise and fall with it.

He reluctantly breathes in sync with who he can only assume is Songbird, unless he got swapped to someone else and didn’t notice. Which would normally be a huge possibility, but the constant gentle touches and humming have kept him aware enough to not slip completely.

He can smell the ash and dust lingering in the air, but he also detects the classic scent of cleanliness that the upper floors always held, kept that way to prevent infection in their “patients.” That’s just a fancy word for lab rat.

Exhaling reminds him of the rasp in his throat, along with the tickling urge to cough. That tickle triggers something in him, because he almost dives straight back into the clouds, never to be seen again. He didn’t of course, but mostly out of spite. Also because he’s almost definitely used up the heroes patience at this point.

It’s time to come back. Unfortunately.

He wiggles his fingers more, focusing onto the conversation that’s happening around him.

“-ight, you’re alright, no one is going to hurt you-“ Songbird comforts idly, and Tommy finally puts a name to the finger tracing culprit.

“You think it was something Sam said?” Philza Minecraft. Best man. Oh, Tommy still has his hat. Pog.

“I don’t think he said anything that could trigger it? Maybe he got himself worked up; I’ve heard of clients sending themselves into a dissociative state over picking an ice cream flavor. Some things are just unavoidable.” Sheep-lady counters.

“Yeah, you’re right. Hey Song! How’s the big man?” Songbird rubs a thumb over his shoulder, briefly sorting through the mess on Tommy’s head and-

He blinks. Songbird pauses, noting a sudden change. Except Tommy’s tempted to stay in this half-way point, just listening, he likes eavesdropping y’know-

He runs his hand through Tommy’s hair again. He blinks. Tommy’s hand twitches and a new kind of awareness is brought out. Confusion.

His eyebrows pinch, glowering. The fuck?

Songbird runs his hand through Tommy’s hair a third time and Tommy snaps out of it completely, looking up at the preposterous hero.

Songbird only smiles and waves, some sort of victory in his eyes. Mask? Dumb mask.

Tommy coughs, clearing the itch in his throat, before saying, “I want your mask.”

Songbird looks at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Give me your mask bitch boy.” Tommy frowns seriously. A serious frown.

Songbird laughs, “But- that holds my identity behind it! I need my identity big man.”

Tommy does his best to cross his arms while being held. “My identity now. I will be known as Songbird the more competent.”

“Uh huh,” the hero muses, tucking Tommy closer to his chest, as if saying ‘and whose the one holding who?’

“I will, you’ll see. They’ll look at me and go ‘oh that is one competent hero, the most competent in fact’ besides Philza Minecraft-“ he raises his voice an octave for the voice, but drops it low when mentioning Philza Minecraft, best of men.

“You-“ Songbird laughs, “are the strangest child I have ever rescued.”

Tommy gasps in betrayal, lips curling into an over exaggerated frown. “I AM NOT A-“ he chokes suddenly, descending into a fit of coughs that he struggles to get himself out of.

“Okay, I think it’s time we head back with the others now.” Tommy recovers, wincing from the ache in his chest but finally noticing that only Sheep-lady, Philza Minecraft, and Songbird are still with him.

The guilt of going into cloud-land hits him then. Ironically, it almost triggers another one. Thankfully by quickly digging his fingernails into his palm, he stops it.

Songbird stands up from where he had let Tommy partially splay on the floor while he visited cotton-ville, having no issue with carrying Tommy’s frail, food deprived form. Tommy would probably guess he’s easily lost a dozen or so pounds from this “trip.”

As they all make their way to the surface Tommy absolutely does not shuffle closer to the hero. Songbird just— has him in a position where being closer is more comfortable. Tommy is exploiting the hero. For comfort. It’s very evil, believe him.

Tommy is great at exploiting people.

A yawn stretches it’s way out of his throat.

Maybe he’ll exploit a nap out of this whole scenario. He deserves it.

Tommy presses further into Songbirds chest, suddenly drowsy with exhaustion, eyes flickering shut.

Just a little nap.

Wilbur glances down at the child he’s acquired, something warm snuggling into his heart as the kids eyes slip closed. Great, another person he’s grown annoyingly fond of who will disappear forever into the crowds of the city.

He sighs. Absolutely unfair, his job is. This gremlins parents are goddamn lucky. They’ll cry when they get him back, no doubt.

Phil peaks over his shoulder, having noticed Wil’s change in posture. Sure enough, the kid is sound asleep, tucked against the cities current #6 hero.

Phil frowns. He hadn’t known who Phil was, which is confusing because Phil has been popular in the media for at least six months. Unless, of course, the kid was trapped here for six months. But that’s actually impossible, the kid looked fine! He spaced out pretty bad in the middle, but that was it! No flinching, or objection to touch, or even abnormal mood swings! He only wanted Phil’s hat- for some reason. And Wil’s mask, which was weird.

He’s a cute kid, Phil admits. Not because he looked at Phil with that pure, unadulterated adoration- despite not knowing anything about Phil whatsoever. No, that’d be unreasonable, kids look at Phil like that all the time.

Something tugs on his heart, familiar but foreign. Phil can’t quite put his finger on it, and probably won’t figure it out for a long time. His wings shift on his back restlessly.

Oh well.

Techno puts his book down. There’s a kid in med bay next to him, which is weird because this is the hero med bay, heroes only, it’s a whole rule.

Techno pushes up his glasses, facing the kid. He’s got blonde hair, blue eyes, and a faraway look that just screams dissociation. Oh god, not only is a kid next to him, it’s a traumatized kid.

Techno debates helping the kid out of it- he has plenty of experience with Wilbur- but the nurse comes in and he decides against it. Not his problem.

The nurse looks at his notebook, then at the kid. He coughs into his fist- obviously trying to get his attention- which isn’t effective at all. He gives up and walks up to the kid, waving the pen in front of his face in that typical ‘follow the tip’ fashion, before deducing the kid isn’t gonna respond.

The nurse accidentally looks at Techno and- oh no, they’ve made eye contact. Now he’s gonna have to figure out which Social Rule applies to this situation.

A quick think and- okay, Technos got this.

He looks at the kid with a quirk of his eyebrow, and out of the corner of his eye he watches the nurse look at him too, before looking back at Techno. Techno, of course, perfectly times his glance to fall back on the nurse. In sync. Now, time to initiate…Conversation.

“Need help?” He asks. The nurse smiles gratefully.

“Yes, please. I’m not too good with kids- I’m better with superhero’s.” Techno hums in acknowledgment, and decides he has successfully Conversed with the nurse. That was a short conversation, but really, it was an intense battle of wits.

He stands up from his chair, making the short walk over to the kid before analyzing him.

It’s obviously dissociation, yes, but for what reason?

He takes the kids farthest hand and interlaces it with his own.

Nothing actively harmful is happening, so it might be a safety response to the new situation. Best thing to do is to make him feel as comfortable with the new environment as possible, but Techno can only do that when the kid is actually aware.

With the hand closest to Techno, he starts tracing intricate patterns on the palm, occasionally straying to the fingertips where he knows more nerves lie. His fingernails barely touch the kids skin, but he knows that the contrast between skin and fingernail is dramatic. He’s also had these moments before.

Techno watches the kids eyes dilate, noticing a new pinch in his eyebrows. The kids fingers’ twitch as Techno runs his finger over his pinky.

After a minute or so of this, the kid blinks. It’s a different blink than what he had been doing, looking less automatic and more willful.

Deciding the kid is present enough, he lets go of the kids farthest hand- continuing to trace with his other- and grabs the book he had been reading. The story of Prometheus.

Techno starts reading from the beginning, and ignores any sign of the kid coming back to reality.

Although he does notice the nurse step out of the room.

After a few minutes of reading out loud, he makes a break through. The kid coughs, harsh and dry. Techno offers him a water cup, and the kid takes it without a word.

He continues reading.

Another minute later.

“What are you reading?”

Techno breathes. “It’s the story of Prometheus. I borrowed it from the library a few days ago.” He looks up at the kid, who is staring back with a curious look. “What is it?”

“Isn’t that a Greek story?” Techno nods dumbly. “I used to know an old lady who read those books too. She was nice.” Techno hums.

They fall into a brief silence that makes Techno frantically contemplate what question he could ask that would free him of the suffocating vacuum consuming their space. He then realizes, with nothing less than shame and embarrassment, what he should ask.

“So, what’s your name kid?”

The kid glares at him. “I’m not a kid.” He pauses. “Bitch.”

“Eloquent.” Techno comments passively. At least it isn’t quiet any more.

“The fuck does that word mean?”

“Oh.” he thinks, “It’s like… smooth. A way to say, ‘Well said.’”

“Well, I think it’s a dumb word.” They fall back into a silence, and Techno is sent back into a panic. Does he ask the question again? Does he wait for not-kid-kid to say something else? Does he start reading the book again?

The not-kid-kid answers it for him. “My uh… my name is Tommy. I- I haven’t told any of your other hero buddies yet, so you can’t go snitching on me- okay?”

Techno nods easily. Telling anyone the kids name wasn’t even on the forefront of his mind, so it was an unnecessary precaution on Tommy’s part. Still, Techno is nothing if not loyal to a fault.

The nurse peeks his head back in after a roughly 30 seconds, before entering the room completely when he sees Tommy up and aware. “Hello! I’m the nurse that will be overseeing your stay here, and you can call me Charger. What’s your name?”

“You have a dumb name.” Tommy says without skipping a beat. Charger hesitates, tapping his pen against the side of his clipboard nervously.

“Heh, well thanks- I guess. But- if you could tell me your name, that would be very appreciated.” Tommy continues staring at Nurse Charger blankly. The nurse sends a look at Techno, which prompts Tommy to give Techno A Look which roughly translates to, ‘don’t snitch or you’ll regret it.’

Of course, Techno just shrugs ignorantly. What? The kid asked him not to! When someone politely asks Techno to do or not to do something, Techno is Legally Obligated to keep his promise.

“Okay,” the nurse drawls, “Well, normally we can’t start procedures without some background information- so that we don’t accidentally administer anything our patients are allergic to…” Nurse Charger gives Tommy a pleading look, but Tommy just stares back. He sighs in defeat. “But… I can ask some of my superiors if we can make an exception for you.”

Tommy visibly relaxes, sinking into the sheets and releasing a tension that he had apparently been holding for this entire time, even when he had been dissociating. Of course, Nurse Charger also notices this, and says with more confidence, “I’m sure that they’d be willing to pull some strings too, as long as you’re comfortable answering any medical history questions on your own.”

Tommy sighs as Nurse Charger leaves the room, turning to Techno. He stares at him intensely, big blue eyes boring holes into Technos own eyes. Techno doesn’t shift uncomfortably, although he does run a finger along the edge of his book. Tommy’s eyes flick down to the book, before lighting up and looking back at Techno with the same intensity as before. “Can you read the book again?”

Techno blinks. He nods slowly, quirking an eyebrow at Tommy, before opening his book back up and starting from where he had left off.

Slowly, as the minutes tick by, Techno watches Tommy relax further into the white sheets of his hospital bed.

Silently, without halting his reading, Techno shifts his chair to be closer to Tommy’s bed when he drifts off to nap time completely. Not because he’s concerned for the kid at all- no, Techno would never care for a child, his reputation would be ruined- it’s because the kid would probably ask Techno to move closer anyway.

Ignoring the fact that every social situation that Techno runs through his mind excludes that possibility- Tommy would just… think the request really loudly- and, well, who is Techno to deny a telepathic kid’s wishes? He’s just five steps ahead of the game, nothing to it.

Someone shakes him awake. Expecting to be hit, berated, or dragged off by the back of his shirt, Tommy zones out of reality to make it easier on his conscious, disregarding the dull conversation outside of his bubble. The way he falls through the realm of sleep into the empty void of clouds is disorienting but familiar. His aches slowly awaken, but Tommy sinks further into his mind and they dissolve easily.

He floats for a while, letting thoughts drift through his mind before falling back without pausing.

Someone’s touching his palm.

Tommy disappears quickly, expecting the touch to descend into sharp pain. He doesn’t hold his breath. He simply waits; the breaking point is always soon.

He waits.

Maybe today is a good day.

He waits.

Someone is holding his other hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

This is a weird day, Tommy decides. A very weird day. The talking outside of his bubble is still calm, but he doesn’t know why because ——— always gets impatient after a certain point.

Maybe today is a weird good day.

…

He feels his chest decompress, air flooding out of his lungs in a painful huff. He thinks he can feel a slight wheeze in it too.

He feels himself inhale again, and the air is cold. Sanitized. So he’s in the upper levels? That’s bad. That’s always bad. That’s always always always always bad.

…

He inhales. The air tastes like concrete and ash.

The upper levels were destroyed already though. He’s- not there. No, not anymore.

“I guess I’ll call you big man! We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?”

So where is he?

The conversation is still calm, but Tommy can hear the calmness in the tone, a specific call in the words that sound like waiting.

He breathes. The air is cold and sanitized, but there’s a different scent to it. He breathes again, and focuses on the feeling of the thumb running over his knuckles. He breathes, blinking and clearing the fog from his eyes.

It takes a moment to gather his senses together, but eventually-

“-must’ve gone through some shit if it’s taking this long, huh?”

“He’s coming back, just give the dude a second.”

“Yeah Sapnap, chill. Oh- Hey Techno, did he tell you his name?” Tommy blinks, inhaling. Is ‘Techno’ the guy he’s thinking of?

“Nope.” It is! Good thing the book reading guy is still on his side. Tommy twitches his fingers, and Techno- who he presumes is the one tracing his palm, cuz he was the one doing it last time- notices, moving his hand to tap instead.

The tapping helps Tommy regain control over his hand, and he slowly relaxes that feeling through his arm, shoulder, before finally inhaling and sitting up.

With a clear view, he can finally identify the people in the room with him.

“Oh! You’re all here, that’s good!” Says a brown haired guy, with purple, pink, and green colored swirly glasses that obscure his eyes. He’s wearing a white doctors coat and in his hand is a clipboard. “My name is Doctor Karl, and I’ll be asking you some questions today!”

Someone next to Dr Karl huffs. “It’s so weird seeing you in ‘professional mode.’ You’re like a different person.” This one has black hair and a strange white strip of cloth wrapped around his forehead. Unlike Dr Karl, he isn’t dawning a white coat, and instead he wears jeans and a white T-shirt with a fire emblem in the center.

“Sapnap, shut it.” The third member elbows fire-emblem shirt guy. He’s got a cool scar on his left eye (Tommy’s right) and also has black hair, although it’s straighter and neater than Sapnap’s. He doesn’t look like a doctor either, with a blue beanie covering most of his hair and a Las Nevadas branded shirt with a yellow duck and an Ace embroidered onto the top left side.

Tommy glances at Techno, who has stuck his nose into the book he had been reading. He must notice Tommy’s look, because he meets his eyes half a second later.

Techno offers him a small smile, before looking back down into his book. Tommy notices that his chair is closer to Tommy’s bed that it had been before he fell asleep.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Dr Karl steps closer, while Sapnap and the mysterious third member walk away to stand near the door, observing.

“Nurse Charger was supposed to take your vitals and all of that, but he said you didn’t look comfortable at the time with being touched. Also, he’s bad with kids.” He winks. “So I’ll be doing all the work for now, and then we can get started with the questions.”

He breathes. Staying… present, is hard. Dr Karl begins his examination, doing all the routine checks that a nurse would do (Tommy can only assume. He hasn’t been to a proper doctor in years).

With every touch, every brush of skin against cold metal, Tommy finds himself inadvertently flinching. Even as Dr Karl explains everything he’s going to do, the feeling of-metal against skin

-metal against skin

-metal against skin

-metal against skin forces him to aggressively throw himself out of the way. Then, he falls into the clouds, drifting for a second before he reminds himself over and over “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay” so he can return to his body, only to be forced to go through that loop again,

and again,

and again.

Dr Karl prompts Tommy to take a deep breath. He inhales, and finds himself lost in his head for a moment. It smells like (the upper levels) the doctors office, with a hint of home and lemon.

He exhales. Dr Karl mutters something about how well Tommy is doing, and how he’s going to get him a sticker once they finish with the physical portion. Tommy grins, not quite reaching his eyes. He better get a fuckin’ sticker after everything he’s been through.

.,.,.,.,.,.;:;:;:;:;:;.,.,.,.,.,.,

VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvV

.,.,.,.,.,.;:;:;:;:;:;.,.,.,.,.,.,

His dissociation is actually both caused by trauma and an ability.

The way magic develops in this world is complicated. You don’t just… Get a power at birth. Nor does a power appear at a certain age.

A power starts developing at a random time, on a random day. It will go through a “growth” period, where it cannot be accessed but is present in an individual. It will stay in this growth period for months, and up to a year at most. Environmental factors have a very minor effect on what type of power someone develops, but in cases where the individual is constantly under stress, it can affect the power to an extent.

Tommy’s power went into its growth period while he was with ———. When Tommy stopped forcing himself out of dissociation, instead giving in and staying out of his mind, his power was forced to grow into that empty space.

After 2 months of being with ———, the growth period began. And then, after 5 months of being in the growth period, his power finished, and Tommy was able to access it. He never purposely tapped into it, but every time he dissociated he would subconsciously use it.

His power has 2 abilities.

1. Numbing pain

2. Healing

The numbing part helped him dissociate on another level, because anything his brain registered as ‘harmful’ would be diluted, allowing him to peacefully sink into the clouds, regardless of the pain he was in.

During everything that I’ve currently written, Tommy has been continuously using his numbing ability. It isn’t overpowered, and it can’t take away all pain nor stop him from feeling pain in the moment (when he was slapped) but it does help for focusing on conversation, and when he was being held by Songbird.

He doesn’t know he can heal yet, because his power won’t let him use the numbing and the healing at the same time. If he used the numbing, his mind doesn’t know what is wrong with him, so he can’t heal it with his magic. In order to heal himself, he has to experience all of his normal pain.

•••

I likely won’t be writing anymore, but Karl would eventually figure out the full extent of Tommy’s injuries and be completely in shock that Tommy isn’t having more of a reaction, which would lead to their discovery of his numbing ability.

How they discover his healing ability is on the table, and will remain on the table. Anyone is free to continue this if they feel like it.

[sbi-au-ideas]

I am retiring this account. I do not feel comfortable writing any more SBI content after the news, and I thank everyone who enjoyed this blog with all my heart, you truly made my life better every day. Thank you especially @sunnyvicky, you were always my favorite. Adiós nerds.

Also, with my departure, I will announce that I also owned the side-blog @sbi-fic-rec. I will also be discontinuing that one. I don’t fault anyone for continuing to read SBI fic related things, but it personally makes me far too uncomfortable. I won’t be deleting either of these blogs, but I will likely never be returning to them. Consider this, my official signing off.

However, right before I depart forever, I felt an obligation to release my 5k-ish SBI fic that I’ve been working on for a while and have hinted at in the past. I won’t release it with any fandom tags, it will just be something that people can find on their own, should they discover this blog. It will end as abruptly as the middle of a WIP would.

[sbi-au-ideas]

Wilbur hasn’t felt safe in months. Everyday feels as if his very world could come to an abrupt end, and he would be forgotten, lost in the piles of bodies that roam the Earth.

It’s a very bleak existence. Danger on all fronts, constant paranoia crushing his mind as he fears becoming one of them.

They’re not quite husks, not quite zombies. They’re mimics. Or, as the public has named them- underwalkers. They act and sound exactly like people- when they are anything but. Wilbur doesn’t trust them. They’ve hunted him for his entire life, and anyone who lets their guard down is a fool.

Phil hums to himself, carrying his bag along as he carefully pushes past the horde, exclaiming the occasional “Sorry!” when he bumps into one. They grumble back with a “Whatever,” before moving on to shuffling with the horde.

He smiles to himself. They’re pretty friendly, all in all, and Phil has never felt endangered around them. He brushes against a particularly decayed underwalker, and their arm falls off.

Phil hurries to pick it up, meeting the underwalker’s rotting eye with an apologetic smile. “Oops! My bad mate, here you go!”

The underwalker coughs, grabbing their arm before giving Phil a melted grin. “Thaaannnnkkksss Phhhiiilllll.” Their voice is shrill, and they have to wheeze out a crackly whisper to make any sound. Phil pats them gently on the back before trodding off, continuing his endless battle to reach the end of the crowd.

He squints when he finally gets out of the cluster. In the distance, a tall man with healthy brown hair is trying to climb a two story house. Ah! A neighbor! Phil should come say hi.

Techno wields his sword with a battle cry, cutting another wretched beast in half as the bloodthirsty bodies hurl themselves at him with a vengeance. His clothes have been bloodstained for months, and he hasn’t known peace since the beginning of the Under Rising.

He cuts down the last Underwalker and swiftly sheathes his sword, stepping over the putrid bodies with a sneer. Subs, what he would do for a shower and a bed. Sighing, he sets his bag down to take a drink of water, feeling substantially safe enough to let his guard down.

Unbeknownst to him, an underwalker spots him in the distance. They take a second to observe, before shrugging and wandering off in the opposite direction.

They’re looking for something that tastes a little more like fear anyways.

Tommy runs into the street, right in front of the giant, breathing mass of underwalkers. Tubbo said that it most likely used to be from the old days, when bodies were tossed into big pits, rather than having individual graves. Now, they’ve merged into one giant, hulking pile of corpses that wanders the streets with the mind of a whole. Many thoughts congealed into one.

“HEY- YOU GIANT ASS FUCKER!”

It pauses, all of its hands, knees, and feet halting to listen. “CAN YOU TURN AROUND PLEASE? YOU CAN’T GO THIS WAY!”

The sound that it makes is deafening. A moaning, agonized cry that rattles the windows of the nearby buildings. It sounds like it’s mourning, hundreds of years having been spent melting into its friends and family. Some of the cries sound fresher, and Tommy doesn’t doubt that it’s recently added a few victims into its rotting hug.

“NOPE! PLEASE TURN AROUND, I’M SURE THERE ARE PLENTY OF PEOPLE TO EAT ON THE NEXT STREET OVER!” The response is quieter and more grumbly than the last, and its limbs begin sluggishly shuffling in the opposite direction.

Tommy makes sure to scream out a “THANK YOU!” right before it leaves. It groans back something that- if you were blackout drunk and had never heard a real person speak- sounds vaguely like a ‘you’re welcome.’

Tommy starts walking back to office building where Tubbo and Ranboo are hiding. Tubbo is great at feeling safe around the underwalkers most of the time, especially because feeling safe makes him literally safe- but Ranboo has really bad anxiety that makes him a beacon for any passing undead.

So their plan is usually- Tommy, the most fearless fucker alive, goes out and asks as politely as he can for the underwalker(s) to leave. Meanwhile, Tubbo and Ranboo hide in a far off building so Tubbo can comfort Ranboo and make sure he feels as safe as possible.

They’ve only had a few incidents, and that was at the beginning when Ranboo first joined the group. Now his anxiety has been getting better as his feelings of safety proves to be effective.

Tommy watches a man approach him in the glaring sun. His hair is pink and covered in rotting goo, and his face is covered by a gas mask.

He stops in front of Tommy. They stay at a standstill for a moment, examining each other, neither wanting to make the first move. Tommy is sure he looks completely out of place. He’s got relatively clean clothes on, and his blonde hair is still bright and fluffy from the lake he cleaned it in.

The pink haired man looks hesitant, and Tommy can hear the beginning of a word on the edge of his throat.

Then the ground starts shaking. The thunderous pounding of hundreds- maybe thousands- of underwalkers, as they migrate in one massive herd. They migrate in herds for community, Tommy learned a few weeks ago, and they don’t particularly think about the murderous part of them until they get a whiff of fear. Then, the herd turns into a horde, and they become unstoppable.

Pinky spins around, creating a sword out of nothing and taking a step in the direction of the horde. Tommy grabs his shirt, because he knows; has been near enough hordes to know their size from their strength.

This horde? A sword won’t be able to stop it. A freshly sharpened blade would sooner dull than cut every single underwalker down. Only confidence, safety, and unwavering strength will save them today.

“King,” he begins, “You have a fucking death wish if you think that sword is gonna save you from this horde.”

Pinky glances at him. “I’ve taken out plenty of hordes kid. You should run off though, this is gonna get messy.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Nope. I have my own tricks for dealing with hordes, and they’re pretty damn effective. So you better fucking listen to me, or you’re going to join their ranks as Pain in the Ass #1.” Pinky sighs, ready to argue, but he looks down at Tommy’s clean appearance and hesitates. Tommy sees the first few underwalkers start to peek over the horizon and swears.

Tommy quickly yanks on Pinky’s shirt, dragging him over to the buildings opposite of where Tubbo and Ranboo are. They know that Tommy will be okay, and they’ll have felt the horde already. Hopefully Tubbo can keep a wrap on Ranboos anxiety long enough for them to pass.

Pinky follows, and Tommy begins explaining. “So- think of this like a game. The underwalkers are a boss fight, and they have this exploit that very few people know about, and it lets you bypass the boss fight completely. It’s weird, and you’re going to have to trust me on this, because if you don’t- you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Pinky hums along, and Tommy aggressively begins searching the building, which just so happens to be an apartment complex. Thankfully, one of the doors is unlocked, and he pulls Pinky inside.

“This exploit is really simple, okay? If you think you’re safe- bam! You’re safe.” Pinky goes to lock the door, but Tommy stops him. “Nope. Confidence is everything boss man. We are going to chill in here, with the door unlocked and everything, and the underwalkers are gonna leave us alone.”

Pinky grimaces, nervously gripping his sword. “I feel like you’re leading me into a death trap kid, not gonna lie.” But Tommy is looking at the sword.

The horde is drawing closer.

“Okay-“ he breathes, taking control of the situation. “First off, take your sword and put it in the closet over there.” Pinky reels, but Tommy doesn’t stop. “Next, you’re going to breathe, and I’m going to start singing, and we are going to be a-okay. As long as you trust me, and have full confidence that the horde outside can’t get you in here- they’ll ignore you.”

The rumbling outside worsens as the horde tramples through the streets, and Tommy looks into Pinky’s gas mask eyes.

Pinky sighs heavily, unsheathing his sword and putting it in the closet. Tommy grins, bounding over to him and harnessing his carelessness. He clears his throat, grinning.

“JUMP IN THE CADILLAC-“ Pinky is so startled that he almost falls into the closet, while Tommy continues belting out the lyrics in a show of pure confidence and control.

The rooms shaking grows worse, and the abandoned pots and kettles clatter and fall to the floor as the apartment complex rattles and groans with the force of the horde. Tommy grabs Pinky’s hand and starts dancing, kicking a fallen pan in his way.

Pinky swallows and Tommy laughs wholeheartedly. Pinky relaxes as the rumbling doesn’t stop in front of them, instead passing over the carefree apartment.

Pinky lifts his gas mask off his face and Tommy shrieks in dramatic shock, ridding the room of anxiety. He cackles, ignoring Pinky’s young face and picking up in song again.

This goes on for several minutes, occasionally broken off by Tommy loudly asking Pinky distracting questions like “what’s the worst swear word you know?” And “dogs or puppies?”

It’s a good day. They also survive the massive horde, which means it’s an even better day! Although Tommy only lets them both leave when the vibrations completely disappear. Time to find his friends!

Wilbur watches from his perch on the windowsill as a short blonde man stumbles out of the horde. Without getting attacked. Clearly this man is secretly an underwalker, a wretched beast, a horrible freak of nature, and- oh fuck he saw him.

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

Inspired by @sunnyvicky’s dream!

[sbi-au-ideas]

Okay so THIS dream's premise is soemthing quite generic with a twist.

Corpses have been coming back as undead, and hunting down humans, but then there are three things quite new.

First of all they're intelligent and apart from the need to murder they're exactly the same as they were as humans, and they can also still be tricked (in the dream after all else failed I just dressed up as undead and joined in)

They're also still very social and quite a few of them are friendly, they live just like any other people! Excluding the murder again.

Also the last thing, there is one guaranteed trick against them, if you believe you're safe, you're safe. If you think what you're doing is keeping you safe they can't get you no matter how stupid it is (my intrusive thoughts fricked me over during this by making me constantly doubt my safety)

You can literally, as long as you believe it, keep yourself safe by offering them muffins, or chilling behind an unlocked door, or just straight up doing nothing and just chilling with confidence.

This ends up with some people having stable safety by just being very good at believing, and in some places life can even continue as normal! Same if you just get yourself some sick undead themed makeup!

I think this could make a pretty fun au! Though it depends most if you want or don't want to write about it! I'm already happy you're willing to hear about it.

I am having Thoughts

[sbi-au-ideas]

I had another cool dream, would you like to hear about the premise?

Ofc!

[sbi-au-ideas]

Wilbur is a normal aspiring musician.

Phil? He’s a normal dad who owns a quaint little cafe.

Techno likes plants and potatoes! He’s just a guy with normal interests.

Tommy? He normally fights crime and normally comes to work with normal injuries and normally lies about them while he normally chats with his coworkers who are normal!

That last part was true, at least. His coworkers may be charismatic and interesting, but they also say things like “Tommy, coming to work covered in bruises all the time isn’t healthy!” and “Tommy are you limping again?!” and keep trying to hold this weird thing they call an, “intervention.” In Tommy’s opinion? They’re the odd ones.

Tommy is a minor who gets indoctrinated into an illegal vigilante group, which is led by people who don’t care what age you are- anyone can fight crime!

They say that the hero association is corrupt, villains are just good people doing bad things, and that vigilantes are the real good guys. The middle ground! The grey area that’s not actually grey haha because that would insinuate that they do bad things! They’re the super good guys. The normal ones, y’know? They’re extraordinary, but also extra-ordinary.

Everyone is concerned about Tommy. People assume that he’s being abused at home, but Techno- who’s studying psychology- has suspicions that he’s actually a vigilante. More specifically, part of the group of vigilantes that’s been growing and has… questionable morals. Tommy just so happens to aggressively align with those morals.

Techno brings it up with his family, who also connect the dots and agree. Wilbur comes up with a plan. The vigilante group thinks that heroes are terribly evil and corrupt, (they’re not wrong about some things, but frankly, they blow it wildly out of proportion) but they aren’t immediately abject to villains. They’re scared of them, sure, but they also have alliances with a few of them.

So- what if they became villains?

Wilbur affixes his mask onto his face. They got Niki in on their plan, and she fixed them up some villain costumes. She used to be a villain, actually! Then she stepped down to simply designing villain outfits for paying customers, and then stepped down further to quit being associated with villains entirely. With a hefty money bribe, she agreed to return to her previous life for a time.

Wilbur’s costume consists of a turtleneck, which has some weird half-black half-yellow design. Niki also convinced him to wear a heavy ass dark blue trench coat and ankle combat boots with it, for some reason, even though in his opinion the turtleneck was fine on its own.

Techno has a poet’s shirt, black pants, and some slim calf boots with a tall heel. Which is already cool enough, but that’s not the end of it, because the main part of his outfit is a huge royal mantle- the red cloak that kings and queens wore in the olden days. Oh, and his kickass sword, because he really likes being a dramatic fuck.

Phil’s outfit is a large green hooded cloak, and a green and white striped hat. His cloak has strange red hearts embroidered into it, along with his undershirt that has ribbed feather designs. His shoes are… the most normal shoes out of all of them, some sneakers. Niki said she couldn’t risk Phil having an embarrassing landing because she gave him clunky shoes.

Nerves brew in his stomach. Techno had assured him that, once they announce their status as villains to the public in some display of violence, then no one will dare to fight against that sentiment. It’s just- will the vigilantes argue? They won’t exactly be robbing banks every other week, but they’ll need to keep up appearances somehow.

Phil brought up their powers recently. Their friends know what their powers are, they can’t just go out using those powers willy nilly or they’re going to get caught- and they would really prefer not going to jail.

Phil suggested skewing their powers. For example- Wilbur can manipulate peoples emotions with his music, but his villain persona will only be able to bring up negative emotions. Techno said he could lie as well, and say that his power also brings up bad memories.

Which- he’s not wrong, obviously if you get a specific bad feeling then you’ll remember the event you associate with it- but Wilbur can’t help but feel bad.

Techno’s power, which is the semi-omnipotent voices that rattle about in his head 24/7, will be written off as the “bloodthirsty screams of ghosts who want revenge on humanity.” He says that he wants the public to think that his actions are being compelled out of a lack of self control, so they don’t blow his evil-ness out of proportion. Wilbur just thinks that it sounds like an edgy power Wilbur would’ve made up when he was a teenager.

Phil- well, Phil had to get a bit creative. Technically speaking, Phil doesn’t have a power. He has wings, and he can sort of change their color a bit (Not much, they’re still very dark wings, but if he wants them to be a bit purple, he can make them a very dark shade of purple. Same goes for all the other colors, which means he can activate all of them at once and just have black wings), but that couldn’t be spun into an evil power if he tried, so lying it is.

His fake power will be the ability to speak with the embodiment of death (he just wanted an excuse to have his wife be part of his power) and because he held so much charm, Death Herself granted him dark green wings.

Wilbur thinks it’s all very silly. So, he swallows the butterflies in his throat and they make their stunning entrance.

It all goes wrong.

They didn’t mean to get the full attention of the heroes association on them, it’s just- well, Wilbur’s power can affect more people than he thought, Techno’s omnipotent voices assisted a little too well for a few hero fights (who knew that his voices can give really good combat advice), and Phil set the mayors hall on fire.

That last part was mostly an accident. You see, he set a warehouse on fire first, but it was a little bit too close to the mayors hall and they had been transporting some new fireworks that day, which caused a huge chain reaction that eventually led to 15 fire trucks being sent out and 12 heroes put on the case.

Yeah. One good thing came out of it though! They caught a vigilantes attention! Unfortunately (or fortunately) it wasn’t their Tommy- he was far too tall, and their senses of humor were different enough that they could make that call. Some vigilante named Particle that came out specifically to find them.

He had been cautious at first, but apparently they were still a bit of a bumbling mess and Particle quickly jumped at the opportunity to make fun of them.

After getting mocked for the better part of a quarter hour, Particle had pressed his fingers to his ear and murmured an affirmative, before bidding his adieu and teleporting away, leaving a temporary silhouette of purple particles.

Techno’s voices gave him some good information though. Apparently, Particle has some relations to vigilante Tommy, although they had been specific about the fact that Particle “wasn’t completely involved” with the notorious vigilante group, and was instead only there “for a friend.”

Interesting.

“Particle, can you stop chatting with the villains and come back to the house?”

“Yup, on it.” Tubbo spins around in his chair, catching the moment that Ranboo’s particles fill the air before Ranboo takes their place and stands solidly on the ground.

Tubbo takes his pen and throws it, hitting him in the chest. “So? Evil or not Boo?” Ranboo shakes his head, chuckling to himself. He bends down to pick up the pen.

“I’m gonna solidly say that they aren’t evil. They tried to hide it, but they were absolutely panicking about how much coverage their stunts got. Definitely first time villains, that’s for sure.” Sometimes a high ranking villain would take on a new identity to shake things up, so they send out Ranboo to spy and gather information on newcomer villains- since he has such an easy escape option.

Tommy also wanted them to do personality and power checks. He really likes to mess with villains, so Ranboo agreed to try out bantering to see where it lands him. Otherwise, Tommy would figure out how receptive they are to it on his own.

Ranboo winces. Good luck to those fuckers, next time they make an appearance Tommy will definitely not hesitate to show up and chat.

[sbi-au-ideas]

I shall proceed to excitedly stim like a maniac at your amazing writing

:DD I’m glad you like it!

[sbi-au-ideas]

Wilbur is assigned to be the Prince’s Knight of the Week, a special title reserved for only the best of knights.

Or well, it used to be.

Now, the Prince goes through Knights like a cat to clean paper, and the answer as to why they leave so fast is kept behind zipped lips and linked pinkies.

Wilbur figures that it will be closer to baby sitting, and resigns himself for a boring week of watching a spoiled brat prance around the castle. Of course, he reasons. That has to be the reason why no knight ever signs up for a second week.

He is proven very wrong. With the startling discovery that the Prince can outsmart the entire castle’s guard system, where he uses his charisma and agility to disorient and dodge the guards who are double or triple his senior, to escape the castle and run among the commoners. Which makes sense, because if the rumors hold true- that means Technoblade himself took the honor of teaching this kid his masterful strategies and evasive maneuvers. Which is just fucking fantastic isn’t it?

Now, as he watches the castle scramble after the nimble Prince, he has a choice. He can try to be one step ahead, play an intense game of minds in order to capture the Prince and wrangle him back to the castle- or- he can run alongside the Prince, escaping into the commonwealth together, hand in hand. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, as the saying goes.

An unexpected duo, the lonely Prince in a castle depraved of personality, that has infrequent exceptions he must savor for everything they’re worth— and the reluctant knight who lacks something he never had, with a knack for little ecosystems in sealed glass jars.

One week to gain the favor of Prince Tom, he thinks.

One very, very boring week it will be.

Wilbur and Dream stand at attention, waiting for their orders.

“Wilbur Soot,” he stays stock still, eyes concentrated on his sergeant. “You have been elected to protect Prince Tom for this week. Should you win Prince Tom’s favor, you will have many opportunities in your future, so take this job seriously.” Internally, Wilbur groans. Babysitting? Really? Just when thought he was finally getting some respect in this damned place.

“Dream Morrow, you have been elected to protect George Lost, a high noble that will be traveling towards Kinoko Kingdom in the East. You will accompany him for the entire journey.”

The sergeant rattles off more orders and instructions for the two of them, but it’s all the same as it always is.

1. make sure they don’t die

2. don’t disrespect them

3. be prepared to give up your life over a dropped fork

When they’re dismissed, Dream immediately elbows him. “So, you get to watch the prince laze around all day huh?” Wilbur shoves him, albeit a little harder than he intended. Dream picks up on his sour mood and laughs. “Oh c’mon, it’ll be easy. Hey, maybe Prince Tom will even give you his favor!”

“Fuck off man,” Wilbur grits his teeth. “You know that Prince Tom hasn’t given his favor ever since he met that Technoblade guy.”

Technoblade was a fierce warrior, known for his unbeaten nature and terse conversations. He ended up spending four weeks with Prince Tom, after which he was given the Princes favor and dropped off the face of the earth. Rumors have it that he serves the King now. Wilbur doesn’t doubt it.

“Hey! You never know, what if he likes your banter and oddly specific knowledge about sealed glass jars?”

He rolls his eyes. “They’re bottled ecosystems, Dream, and you fucking know it.” Dream laughs, bumping his side into Wilbur and letting the tenseness from before melt away.

Their conversation keeps within banter boundaries, and Wilbur briefly forgets about his oncoming duty with the Prince.

That night when they’re packing, Dream tells him to keep plenty of diapers on hand. Wilbur throws his shoe at him for it.

Wilbur mentally prepares himself to meet with Prince Tom. He needs to make a good impression- professional, short worded, all of his usual mannerisms when handling the rich and esteemed. Maybe I can even get the kids favor, he muses.

Yeah, right.

He waits alongside his commander. The King came around earlier to share a few words with Wilbur, but after a minute or so of idle chat- the King left the room once more.

Then back to waiting.

His commander gives him a command to stay where he is, and walks off to talk with someone- presumably about Prince Tom’s absence.

He doesn’t return. Wilbur resigns himself to waiting for a long time, relaxing his posture ever so slightly. No one else is here, after all.

“Hey, knight.” A young voice asks behind him. Against his previous instructions, and out of pure impulse and curiosity- Wilbur turns around.

Prince Tom stands behind him, an easy grin on his face. “Hi.”

Wilbur absolutely does not jump, or reach for his sword as if to strike royalty, because that would be treason. Prince Tom cackles at his reaction, and Wilbur fumes, heat radiating from his ears.

“Your majesty-“ Wilbur tries for a scolding tone, “that was incredibly inappropriate, and-”

“-and irresponsible, unjustly, childish, commoner play, un-princely behavior- all that shit, uh huh. I hear you big man.” Prince Tom rests an arm on Wilbur’s shoulder, barely tall enough to reach. “I’ve heard it all, no need to worry yourself over teaching me a lesson!” He pats Wil’s chest plate, as if to comfort the man in his dilemma. It just feels demeaning.

Wilbur clenches his fists. This is going to be a long week. “Your highness,” he forces his tone to be relaxed, but by the Princes growing grin he must be able to hear the tension behind it. “Can you explain why you were hiding in this room, when we were supposed to be greeted together, with the kings presence?” That had especially confused him. The king didn’t even wait that long for his son, despite how his sergeant had informed him that they would come in a pair; father and son.

“Oh he knows I do this,” Tom leans on Wilbur, gesticulating flippantly with his hands. “That’s why he never stays. Everyone is so stuck up, y’know? So I just hide and wait for everyone in the room to go off in search of me, until just my lovely bodyguard is left- you!”

Prince Tom slides off of Wilbur’s form, appearing to glide across the room with his arms out to either side. He spins around once he’s in front of Wilbur, hands intertwined behind his back and raising his chin with a big grin. “So now I can talk to you by myself!”

Wilbur refuses to admit how smart that is- because it isn’t- they’ll have plenty of one on one time, Prince Tom doesn’t need to do this at all. It’s completely unnecessary.

It’s a little funny- but that’s besides the point. Wilbur is professional right now. “Prince Tom, you really shouldn’t-”

“Ah ah ah,” Prince Tom tsks, “You can’t say my name, we haven’t been introduced yet!” He sticks his hand out to Wilbur, and it looks far more rehearsed than Wilbur has seen with him during their entire interaction.

Wilbur tries to go for confidence, but his hand still hesitates for a fraction of a second before grabbing Prince Tom’s.

Prince Tom dramatically clears his throat, declaring loudly into the empty room, “Hello good sir!” He lowers his voice an octave, as if pretending to be an old diplomat from a visiting kingdom. “My name is Tom, but I insist you call me Tommy. What is your name, tall sir?”

He has to admit, the casual presence that the Prince gives off is very effective, and Wil plays into the theatrical exaggeration without thinking.

He dips into a slight bow, pressing his free hand to his chest. In an equally dramatized voice, he proclaims, “Hello my good sire Tommy,” he stands up straight, curling the hand on his chest into a fist. “My name is Wilbur Soot, but I encourage you to shorten my name to your liking. I will be your brave knight for this long week, and I hope you accept me as such.”

Prince Tommy grins, and Wilbur watches the kids posture become exaggerated and flourishing. “Oh Wiblurien Chimney, I would be happy to accept your position as my knight!” Wilbur scrunches his nose at his butchered name, and Tommy laughs in glee.

The door opens just then, and Wilbur corrects his posture immediately. He gives Prince Tommy’s hand a firm shake, before letting go. Tommy wilts.

“Oh, Prince Tom, there you are.” A frazzled maid slumps in relief.

His sergeant walks in from behind her, looking over the situation. “I see you have already made introductions then. Prince Tom-”

“I know what a knight entails sergeant,” Tommy cuts him off blandly. “This is the 16th one I’ve had. I can tell him anything he needs to know. You’re dismissed” Tommy waves him off with one hand.

The disrespect shows clearly on the sergeants face, but he doesn’t act on it. He nods, spinning on his heel and exiting the room. The maid follows right behind him.

Tommy turns back to Wilbur and gives him a look over. He must not like what he sees, because he sighs and gestures for Wilbur to follow without a word, lacking all the energy he had before.

Wilbur trails behind him, unable to shake the feeling that he’s failed some sort of test.

VvVvVvVvVvVvV

My Interpretation

Before you go off thinking that Philza is a neglectful dad to Tommy- in the mini story I’ve cooked up in my head, Phil stops by Tommy’s room every night to exchange laughs and brief overviews of their day. Phil is constantly swamped with work, but tries his best to save as much time as possible for the end of his day so he can spend it with Tommy, even if that will sometimes end up being a few moments to stop and say hello. He also makes sure to initiate small talk regularly with whatever knight has been assigned to Tommy, and will always privately ask Tommy what his opinion on the knight is. He was the one to set up the ‘favor’ system, if only to encourage knights to be on their best behavior. He does what he can to keep Tommy entertained, but in the end, it’s never enough, and he can only hope that whatever knight has been assigned to Tommy will be able to keep up with him for at least the full week.

Technoblade was one of Tommy’s first knights, back when his knights were chosen for their high ranks. Eventually when Tommy had been through all the exceptionally good knights, they had to start. With Techno, Tommy had recognized the glint in his eyes that spoke of something more. He could tell that Techno wasn’t as stiff as he tried to be- and he tried hard. Tommy was right, and he quickly cracked Techno’s hard exterior and released the dry humor and clever deadpan comments for all to see. His father, the king, found that Techno’s ability to be both lighthearted and serious in the same moment was exactly the type of knight that he needed, as a king with too much on his plate and a desperation for release from its both monotonous and chaotic nature. He spoke to Tommy about it first, and his son had agreed, saying that “maybe he can fix the scowl on your face- it’s starting to become permanent.” Phil bapped him on the head with a hollow tube for that.

Although- even when Techno transferred to being Phil’s personal knight- he still plays the occasional game with Tommy; such as intense castle tag, or slow games of chess on the days when he has time.

Wilbur, of course, has no idea.

[sbi-au-ideas]

[sbi-au-ideas]

Tommy used to love this wings. He lived out in the rainforest, in a big treehouse that held 12 other avians like him. They were hiding from Wingless humans, after the declaration that Avian humans were an endangered species 20 years ago.

His mother had taken her family and friends and fled to the rainforest after they declared it, and had Tommy a few years after.

Tommy knew why they lived out in the rainforest, but his mother spared him on a few very important details. So, when he went into the big city searching for a gift, he wasn’t as afraid as he should’ve been.

He ended up meeting a lovely wingless man named Technoblade, who tried to lead Tommy into the backroom, away from the spying eyes of the patrons of his bookshop. Tommy, ever trusting, let himself be pulled away. There, he met someone else named Wilbur!

With hindsight, he realizes that they had been trying to keep him from getting spotted. Past Tommy didn’t know this however, and after they hung out for a few hours and he was given two beautiful antique disks, he flew out of their shop.

He learned to regret that decision almost immediately.

They caught him. Using technology far more advanced than Tommy had ever seen, they tore him out of the sky and stuffed him into a cage.

What his mother never told him was how avians like him are treated.

When he made it to the Main Enclosure (he hates that name-) a friendly avian named Phil explained what his mother never did.

Avians are exactly like wingless humans. Same relative intelligence level, same emotional complexity- hell, most Avians have learned and fluently speak other wingless languages! They lived together peacefully for hundreds of years! Logically, there should be no reason for Avians to not be treated with the same respect as other humans. The only difference between them and the wingless are the appendages on Tommy’s back.

Yet, here Tommy is, locked away in a something called a “nature reserve” all because of the two, beautiful wings that he used to love.

Avian’s are an “Endangered Species,” although Phil says that they only started really hunting them down 15 years ago. After most Avians were captured, the public quickly stopped considering them intelligent, instead regarding Avians as animals who excelled at mimicry.

Phil doesn’t leave his side for a moment after Tommy admits to his youth, and- although he would never say it out loud- he appreciates the comfort that Phil’s presence brings, especially with him being so far from his home.

He refuses to stay here, though. No matter what- he will find a way out.

Unbeknownst to Tommy, a revolution begins to stir on the streets.

Wilbur finds the two antique disks he gave Tommy, the young, bright Avian that stumbled into his and Techno’s shop that afternoon. He finds them on the dirty alleyway floor, both cracked down the center and broken in every which way.

No other evidence is there, but Wil knows what happened.

Tommy. The boy that had spoke with him and Techno for hours after closing in fluent English, that rattled off his passion for animals and birds like his second nature.

The Avian that has been sent away to spend the rest of his life in a “Nature Reserve.”

Something Wilbur could’ve stopped- but he didn’t. He hadn’t tried hard enough, and now the blonde haired, blue eyed boy with a charm unlike any in the city- is gone.

When Wilbur comes back home with the shattered remains of Cat and Mellohi, and Techno looks at them with a pinch in his eyebrows, Wil can tell he’s made the same conclusion.

They have to save him. Save all the avians that the government has abused in their cry of “serving the weak.”

But they’re going to need the cities help. Luckily, Wilbur and Techno already have experience with convincing the government to listen.

Wilbur opens the group chat labeled “L’manburg.”

Inspiration taken from @sunnyvicky’s dream!

[sbi-au-ideas]

So in the dream there were two species of human, normal and Avian.

Avian humans had big wings they could fly with, but the downside of being an avian is they are rarer and therefore more commonly victims of human trafficking.

To combat this the government kidnaps avians to put them in nature reserves, but they don't see avians as human, more like endangered animals, so the reserves aren't really meant for humans, which is what most avians don't want and are usually forced into going with the government to the reserves.

Some avians go into hiding or on the run specifically to avoid this.

I think it could fit a pretty good AU of avian sbi

:OOOO that is a great AU idea! Do you want me to spin it into an SBI AU sounding format? All the credit would go to you of course ^-^

[sbi-au-ideas]

I had a cool dream with some lore that I think would fit an sbi au, wanna hear it?

Absolutely!

[sbi-au-ideas]

Techno is freshly 19 when the world turns on its head.

A timer shows up on everyone’s wrists. It starts counting down immediately. Of course, with everyone’s timer’s showing different numbers and everyone’s time running out just as fast as anyone else’s- the world flips shit.

Some people are exceptions. They may have two timers, or even three timers. No one knows what it means, no one wants to find out- but no one has a choice.

Anyway, Techno has four timers.

Three years later, and it’s figured out. The timer is counting down to a changing point in a person’s life. Specifically, a changing point that will also alter someone else’s fate. Majorly.

Techno has four timers.

It could mean a lot of things. You could meet your “destined soulmate” or find the person who you want to be best friends with forever; or it could be the act of you getting hit by a truck and getting paralyzed from the waist down, causing your significant other to have to support you and them, while struggling to keep afloat in this ableist society.

Techno has four timers.

One thing everyone is relieved about, is that it doesn’t tick down to your death! Nor will it ever tick down to someone’s death. Plenty of… testing- was done to clear that out of the picture. So no death! But plenty of room for random chance to alter you forever.

Techno has four timers.

Also, no one has ever seen their timer hit zero. Watching it intensely? A car blows up outside and redirects your attention. You try recording it? The tattoos don’t show up on picture, video, or any form of visual wavelength that the government has its hands on. Hell, fate makes it so that you don’t even remember your timer is low before the event happens. There’s always something that takes you away from watching. Takes everyone away from watching.

Techno has four timers.

Most governments have banned showing your tattoo out in public- because they’re afraid of something. No one knows what, but they found out something about the timers that they don’t like, and they’re keeping it a secret from everyone.

Techno has four timers.

The timers are selective too. Not just any life-changing event will make it out as a timer. It’s always one, sometimes two, and rarely three.

Techno has four timers.

He hasn’t told anyone. He keeps his wrist covered up, just as anyone else. He checks the internet everyday, using whatever browser will safely discard any information gathered from him, and looks up the chance that someone is talking about a fourth timer. Every day, there’s no luck. Everyday, he sees the headline “always one, sometimes two, and rarely three.” -and it never mentions four. There’s been talk, ideas of what it would be like if someone got four, but never a report. No headline. No mention.

Techno has four timers.

No one can fake a timer. Getting a tattoo won’t work, because it needs to be counting down- to the second. Video editing won’t work because they don’t even show up on cameras. It’s pretty much impossible to fake a tattoo, and there has been no report of someone having a fourth timer.

Techno has four timers.

He contemplates going to the press about it- but that would require talking to someone, talking to the media, talking to interviewers, talking to people who want to witness the mysterious fourth timer guy- so he quickly discards that idea.

Which leaves Techno with four timers and a lie.

Wilbur has three timers.

He’s not sure what they’re counting down to, but he certainly hopes it’s good. He hopes he meets the love of his life. He hopes he wins the lottery. He hopes he gets a good job that rocks his world and he becomes rich and successful. In a crazy world, he achieves all of them.

Wilbur has three timers.

There’s so many possibilities. He thinks he’s pretty lucky, having three chances at greatness. His friends tell him he trusts fate too much, but he disagrees! Really, he can just kick his feet back and rely on pure chance. Y’know, statistics say that people with three timers have a much higher chance at doing the impossible! And guess what?

Wilbur has three timers.

So he’s going to trust that fate has his happy ending wrapped up for him, nice and pretty, kick his feet back, and relax.

Because Wilbur has three timers and a university letter on the way.

Phil has two timers.

He doesn’t care too much about timers, having lived the large majority of his life without one, so he keeps his tattoos hidden all day round and never puts too much thought into it. Besides, life is going to work itself out either way. Hopefully in a good direction.

Phil has two timers.

He lives with his wife Kristin, who he met before all the tattoo chaos. She has one timer, but neither of them care too much about the ticking on their wrists. He tries not to think about how his life will change dramatically twice, but hers will only change once. He prays to fate that it does not separate them.

Phil has two timers and three to ignore.

Tommy has one timer.

It ticks down slowly.

Tommy has one timer.

He watches it constantly, hypnotized by the silent, ticking numbers.

Tommy has one timer.

Dream doesn’t like his timer. He’s tried to cut it out of Tommy’s skin, but the tattoo just flickered and showed up somewhere else near his wrist, on unblemished skin. Dream cut him a lot that day. When there wasn’t enough skin on his arm to show up on, it just flickered again and teleported to his other wrist, on his other arm. Once both arms were out of the picture? It just moved on to the shoulder. When the scars healed, the timer eventually went back to his wrist. Tommy has a lot of scars.

Tommy has one timer.

It isn’t close to ending, not yet, but every second that goes by- every minute that ticks down- every hour that passes- is one step closer to the day being over, and 24 hours disappearing from the numbers on his wrist. Tommy finds safety in this, in the inevitable.

Tommy has one timer.

He knows Dream is scared of it. Dream tried to hide the truth about the timer, but the green haired man that sneaks in granola bars and candy told him. The timer will end when something happens that rocks Tommy’s world. That could be a lot of things, Tommy thinks. He really tries not to hope.

Tommy has one timer. It’s all he has.

[sbi-au-ideas]

Tommys magic is subtle.

It’s not like the girl across the street, who drips with neon green and has plants turning at her presence.

It’s not like the boy next door, whose eyes always glow a vibrant purple when he focuses too hard on something.

No, Tommy isn’t like them. His magic is quite shy in reality, a parallel to Tommy’s own personality. It rarely blinks into life for more than a moment, a dull gold that could be easily dismissed as a sun ray.

Nobody really notices the way his blonde hair seems to glow, how the yellow leaves that fall in autumn appear more vibrant when Tommy is around. Still, it affects them, brightening the atmosphere and widening smiles in the slightest way. No, Tommy’s magic isn’t anything extravagant- but when he sees his friends stare into the golden sunset, mesmerized- he thinks he’s okay with that.

Phil adores his magic. The way translucent green pours out of his palms, stretching out over the land before rising, bringing to life his architectural imaginations. The magic glitters in the sun at the right angle, and he could spend all day in the sweltering heat just building. Bringing his magic to life and getting to share it with other people.

His magic is more personal than others. While the green is vibrant to Phil, his wife Kristin describes it as faint- “as if I was looking at it through a fog”- so he makes sure to sketch out the designs on paper, too, so he can ask Kristin for her opinion on all of his new projects.

He discovered that he can create whatever he wants and hold it there. So, during his younger years when all he wanted to do was fly, he brought a pair of green wings to life, and rested them on his back. He hasn’t let up those wings for years, and now they react with his emotions, moving and gesticulating along with him. They feel natural.

Pink has followed Techno around for as long as he’s been alive. It drags along with his movements, highlighting the stroke of his arm as he brings his sword down on his opponent. When he jogs, the pink gradient leaves a trail, one that disintegrates as he progresses further in his run.

He used to despise the pink, which tainted his life and had him mocked in school. Then- when he got into wrestling, and took down his tournament partner with a flourishing swing- he watched the video back and found himself entranced; the pink highlighting his movements in the same way a streamer would follow the arc of a dancer. Amazing.

He snuck out that night and bought hair dye. Pink- the same shade as his magic- and he dyed his short head of hair in an act of defiance.

His parents were angry, sure, but the connection he finally felt with his magic made the arguments worth it. He grew his hair out as long as possible, after that, and reveled in the way his hair swung with his movements in the same way his magic did.

Wilbur thought he was powerless for a long time. No matter what he did, or tried, or risked, his magic never showed up. It made him feel empty, like a piece of himself was missing and he was convinced it would never show up.

He was angry for a long time- and sad- but mostly angry. He fought with kids at school, with his teachers, with his parents. Any time they tried to ask him what was wrong, he couldn’t form the words to explain.

But then, one year when he forgot to list out what he wanted his elective to be and got randomly placed in the boys choir, something happened. A spark- something blue and curly and bright- lit up his vision while he was humming the tune they were learning in class.

He cried that day. He went home a bumbling mess as he sobbed and sniffled, a stupid grin on his face as he tried to tell his parents what had happened. They let him stay home, and after he sung his voice to the heavens and back before losing it, his parents bought him a guitar and a keyboard.

He slowly learned that his magic isn’t bound to his voice, but to whatever music he created. So he strummed nonsensical tunes and pressed random keys until those blue, twirly and bright sparks lit up around him again, and he cried.

As he grows up, expanding his musical dictionary as far as it can go, he meets other new, magical people.

He meets the boy with golden hair, who lights up the world around him with only his presence and a cheeky grin.

He meets the man with faint green wings, who laughs readily and loves just as easily as he creates.

He meets the guy with a pink silhouette, who dyed his hair pink to spite the world, and whose sense of humor is as sharp as his sword.

“Yes,” he sings into the theater, blue sparks exploding with the last strum of his guitar, “I think I will be alright.”

[sbi-au-ideas]

Tommy can speak to animals.

Normally, someone with this power would become a vet, or work in a pet shelter- but Tommy saw potential in his power- and after months of grinding and saving, he finally burrowed away enough money to do what he’s always wanted to.

He makes a coffee shop- for people and animals.

Now, Tommy knows that stray cats and raccoons don’t seem like wealthy company, but if he communicates with them appropriately, he can turn his 4-legged friends into petty thieves.

Because one thing that all of nature can agree on, is that shiny = good.

So while people are coming into his shop for coffee, idle talks, and a little free entertainment from his company; the crows are bringing him jewelry and stray coins, the raccoons are retrieving broken technology from the garbage, and the stray cats and dogs are bringing in customers.

Tommy, in return for the animals hard work, gets them “gifts.” As much of a gift that you can give creatures that don’t care for money or things that are particularly more tasty than the last thing they ate.

So, the crows are fed to the brim with seeds and dishes overflowing with bread crumbs, and while they eat they rest on his shoulder and nip at his ears while he works. He talks to them while customers are low, and they show off what amazing customers they are by chirping and crowing right back. No one else can understand them, but Tommy does, and he cackles loudly along with the murder of crows resting on his countertop.

When the raccoons wander into his shop, grumpy and untrusting as always, he directs them to a dish of fresh water to clean off in and listens to their chitter chatters, nodding solemnly as they review their memories with him. They’ll leave his shop cleaner and more well-fed than when they entered, and return the next day with gifts from the garbage to acquire another dip in fresh water and a warm biscuit.

The stray cats and dogs are interesting characters with varying needs. They might just be looking for a temporary shelter, or maybe they want saucer of water and ground beef. Sometimes their requests are more time consuming than others, like the dogs that wander up to his counter and whine for a bath to get rid of any flees and ticks. There was even a cat who demanded he stop his work and scratch behind her ears immediately. When he tried to resist, she gave him some pretty aggressive scratches. Well, some customers are nicer than others.

He feels good about his work. He especially feels good when he looks at the statistics of animals on the streets, which have gone down dramatically from his cafe keeping them clean and fed, raising the number of strays that get adopted or taken in by shelters.

Everything is going well!

Until a murder of crows fly up to his door at the end of a long shift, carrying one of the most powerful objects in the world:

The Power Orb.

The Power Orb is a powerful ability enhancer- once they figure out how to utilize it, anyway- that the Heroes and Villains have been fighting over for months, desperate to gain an upper hand over the other in their ongoing war of morals and superpowers.

And Tommy has it in his hands. The ones that are covered in flour, age-old coffee burns, and faint red claw marks.

…

It’s smaller than he was expecting it to be… and was there always this giant crack in the side?

Phil clutches the Power Orb in his arms as he runs through the chaos. Neither side knows he has it yet, so the fighting continues, abilities clashing in magic, fire, water, lightning, and illusions. His side is bleeding thickly, and his right wing burns as his healing ability fights to keep up with the damage he’s sustained.

There’s a crack in the Orb. No one knows what or who caused it, but the fighting only crescendoed when the Orbs power leaked into the air, uncontrolled. Even now, as Phil hugs the blue, translucent ball to his chest, he can feel his legs shake as it hums throughout his person.

He whistles sharply when he makes it far enough away from the fighting, some dingy alleyway on Southside. Quickly, his crows descend around him, cawing and crowing in a cacophony of sound.

He hands them the damaged Power Orb, rattling off orders about finding a safe place to keep it, and his voice cracks painfully as his entire body shakes with adrenaline.

The murder flies off just as quickly as they arrived, and Phil collapses to the ground, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth as bile crawls up his throat. He hits the emergency button on his wrist, before rolling over to rest his back on the dirty alley wall, gasping in air greedily.

Fuck. He can only hope those damn birds even know the definition of a “safe place.”

[sbi-au-ideas]

Dreamons are disgusting.

They’re nightmares to deal with too, preying on specific people with no discernible pattern. They start small, a white mask laying on a counter somewhere, easily dismissed as nothing to be threatened over. Then they grow, black goo oozing out of the back, forming a gross mass.

The only people who can see dreamons are the Hunted. They constantly live with the threat of their personal Dreamon smelling their fear and murdering them in cold blood. If a Hunted even thinks about asking for help? It’s a death sentence.

The Hunted have to subconsciously rely on someone figuring out they have a Dreamon, without letting the Dreamon think they’re thinking about someone else thinking they need help.

Wilbur, Techno, and Phil are Dreamon hunters. They know a bit of magic that can temporarily give them Hunted sight. They’ll walk around, find someone with a Dreamon, approach them as subtly as possible, and lure the Hunted into a place where they can fight the Dreamon safely. After that, they go through a grueling battle, taxing on the mind and body, before the Dreamon is defeated and the Hunted is given therapy and other various things. Sometimes they demand a Hunter knife, enchanted to cut through a Dreamons viscous, goopy form.

Most Dreamons they encounter are as small as a water bottle. Sometimes they’re the size of a mini boulder.

Wilbur casts his Hunted sight on a whim one day, while in his favorite cafe.

He’s expecting the quivering girl a few seats away to have one, or the elderly man with a few ghosts in his eyes.

He doesn’t expect to see a Dreamon clinging to the ceiling, as big as Wilbur’s convertible outside, staring down at the nonchalant barista.

Tommy.

The Dreamon gurgles and spits, black tar dripping onto the counter. Tommy doesn’t flinch, glancing up from his work to see Wilbur. He grins and the Dreamon hisses aggressively, white mask leaning down from the ceiling to be closer to Tommy.

Wilbur swallows. He doesn’t have his Hunter weapons on him right now.

Tommy notices the way Wilbur glances towards the ceiling with worry and his smile tightens.

“Hey Wil!” His voice doesn’t waver, which makes sense- because the Dreamon is so large, has had so much time to grow, of course Tommy’s gotten used to it.

“Hi Tommy,” Wilbur can’t help the nervous twinge in his voice. “Um, I’ll have the… coffee. Black.”

Wilbur never drinks his coffee black, but he hopes Tommy gets the message. Black like a Dreamon. Black like the oozing goo.

Tommy smiles at Wilbur, tapping on the counter when Wilbur’s eyes stray back to the threat right above them. Wilbur makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Tommy after that.

“On it king! So, what have you been up to? Burn any bridges lately?” Fire is the only thing that works on Dreamons besides enchantments.

“Ah, of course. Lots of bridges Toms, so many. I uh, think I’ll be burning a pretty big one soon too!”

The Dreamon twitches above them, white mask spinning in place, staring at the blonde underneath. Tommy keeps up his smile, subtly raising his index finger to his lips.

‘Be quiet’

“That’s great Wil! But let’s not talk about bridges in this here cafe you know?” He chuckles “Who knows what could be listening?” His eyes widen jokingly, wiggling his eyebrows in a very Tommy™ way.

Wilbur hums, sweat trailing down his neck. The Dreamon’s mask twitches again, leaning down, breathing against Tommy’s neck.

“So Toms, you wanted to tell me about the new game you played yesterday?”

“Yeah!” Tommy jumps at the change of conversation, and Wilbur relaxes as the Dreamon backs off, curling against the ceiling. “It’s called Stormy Days, and it’s so good!”

Wilbur half-listens to Tommy’s rant, half-brain storms the best way to trap the Dreamon. He’s never dealt with one so big.

Tommy finishes Wilbur’s coffee, having disregarded the fake-code order and made the coffee Wilbur usually asks for.

Wilbur doesn’t want to leave the coffee shop but has to admit that he’s only making Tommy’s facade harder to keep up. He texts the Dreamon Hunter group chat immediately after he leaves.

Soot boi: guys we have a serious problem

Soot boi: Hunted has a dreamon the size of a small car

Oldza: oh fuck

Oldza: do we know who

Soot boi: its tommy the barista i told u abt

Oldza: ah shit

Technology: ill call quackity and his crew

Technology: he owes me a favor

Soot boi: thank u techno

Oldza: he’ll be ok m8

Technology: nothing stops SBI

Tommy exhales as Wilbur leaves. Okay, so Wil is a Dreamon hunter. Great. Tommy pushes away at the thoughts of asking for help. Of the very idea of help. Packs away the anxiety into a tiny little box and throws it into the ocean.

It’ll only make the Dreamon grow hungrier

He takes the next customers order with a smile. 6 years. He’s had his Dreamon for 6 years. He can handle anything at this point. The idea of help? Doesn’t exist. Asking for help? What a preposterous thing to think of!

His Dreamon’s void-like tar drips onto his arm. It feels cold, and leaves a faint red mark on his skin that blisters similarly to hives, or a bad rash. He doesn’t know how people haven’t suspected a Dreamon sooner, he has all the signs and more. Not that he would want them to think he has a Dreamon of course, he adds to the thought. He can feel the Dreamon’s cold breath against his neck. A threat.

He would never want to get rid of his Dreamon.

He hears it creep back against the wall, hissing and wheezing and twitching like any good friend would do. All Tommy’s friends do that! Like his Dreamon. His best friend.

The Dreamon purrs.

He takes the next order with a smile.

[sbi-au-ideas]

Wilbur is stuck in the radio tower. As if it couldn’t get any worse, the stairs down have collapsed, his food is running low- and did he mention the zombie apocalypse? He should probably mention the zombie apocalypse.

While Wilbur stares death in the eyes, he decides to broadcast his last moments. For weeks, he talks. He tells jokes, sings songs on his guitar, and talks about the days before the apocalypse. He goes on hour long segments where he simply talks about the smell of the ocean. How the modern hyperfixation on roses reeks of capitalism. The awful long period of his childhood where he would sneak off to go eat sand on the beach.

He reminisces about the old times, mostly. he forgets that no one is listening to the radio, especially not during the apocalypse.

He may forget what he knows, but reality often contradicts those lost in misery.

Because of him, people begin to seek out radios, playing them quietly- or loudly, if they need a convenient distraction for the hoards of zombies. They search for his voice, and spread the word of a young man who never went radio silent, even when everyone else did.

Then Wilbur admits something. Near the end of one of his longer rants, he whispers, hushed into the microphone. “I don’t know how much longer I have.” There’s a beat, a quick intake of air in a shuddered breath. “It’s so cold. I don’t- I don’t have much food left.”

In his voice, listening closely, it’s possible to hear a smile. A sad one; a little tired, and slightly hysterical.

“I’m sorry.”

Two men, brutal conquerors of the rotten wasteland, stand up. They exchange no words, but begin to pack their horses up for travel.

Three boys; young, foolish, and impulsive; look at each other in the dim candlelight and silently grab their bags, making their way into the treacherous city of risen corpses to save a dying man.

If those groups clash along the way- well, that’s nobody’s business but theirs, and hopefully soon, a certain lonely radio spokesman.