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“Phil! Phil!” Tommy runs up to the fence, his chest heaving as he throws himself over it. Phil bursts out of his door and comes running up to him.
“What’s wrong, Tommy?” Phil asks, taking Tommy in his arms and holding up his crossbow, pointing it to the woods Tommy had just come from.
“It’s– It’s Dream! He– He!” Tommy can’t breathe, his lungs aren’t taking in air anymore. He can’t–
Dream’s choking him again!
No, no he’s holding Tommy’s head under the water again!
Air isn’t entering his lungs, he can’t breathe–
Dream’s going to kill him and he’s–
He– Where’s–
“Easy, shh, I’ll keep you safe, mate, shh,” Phil’s hand scratches his head gently. “He can’t get you here. You’re safe now.”
“Phil, he– please!” Tommy hurries to grab his ex-father’s shirt. “Please, please, I’m s-scared!” He looks up and sees his dad staring back at him, worry and concern floating in familiar blue irises.
“I know, shh, it’s okay, come inside, I’ll keep you safe.”
Tommy nods and begins to head inside with Phil when something Dream said to him stops him.
“Where are you running to, little bird? Daddy helped me escape! You have nowhere to go! No one to run to.”
Tommy jerks away before looking up at Phil in fear. “You– you–”
“I what?” Phil tilts his head, in the way he did when something confused him or he didn’t understand.
He and his ex-brothers used to say it was because he was part bird, but Tommy has never gotten to find out for sure.
“You let him out! Dream! He– He’s gonna kill me!” Tommy grabs Phil’s hands and pulls them to his chest.
“No,” Phil pulls his hands away and wraps Tommy in a big hug. The kind of hug he hadn’t had since he was a little boy, where Phil would hug him and then wrap his wings around him.
It was how elytrians hugged their nestlings. Or avians, or whatever his dad decided to call himself that day.
“No, Tommy, he won’t kill you. I won’t let him. You’re mine. And I’ll rip his head off for thinking he could come anywhere near you.” Phil’s hands scratch his head and Tommy finds himself melting into the affection.
It’d been so long since he’d had anyone had touched him without hurting him. Even Tubbo when he’d hugged Tommy had hurt him, he had some sort of tool in his pocket and it had jabbed into Tommy’s side.
When Tommy had complained, Tubbo had brushed him off.
Tommy sobs and buries his face in Phil’s shirt again.
“I let him out, yes, but I didn’t know he’d hurt you,” his dad says, hugging Tommy close.
Tommy doesn’t try to pull away. He knows he can’t. Phil, although extremely frail-looking, was strong enough that he could easily take Techno down.
Tommy had no doubt that Phil could destroy Dream.
As long as Philza was nearby, Dream couldn’t hurt him.
“He did, he hurt me so much, Phil,” Tommy sobs.
“Ah ah ah, what’s my name?” Phil’s hand curls around the nape of Tommy’s neck.
“Philza?” Tommy’s confused.
Didn’t– wasn’t he disowned?
Phil only did this whole ‘what’s my name?’ thing once.
Wilbur and Techno had been rebelling against Phil and Phil was letting them do it. But the moment that Techno had called Phil…, well, Phil , rather than Dad, there’d been a shift. Tommy remembers watching Phil ask Techno twice what his name was, and each time Techno had responded with Phil.
He remembers being terrified out of his mind. He doesn’t know how no one seemed to notice the danger that was hovering in the air after Techno responded incorrectly twice.
And Techno had done it a third time, not listening to Phil and Wilbur joining in.
It was a mistake that none of them had tried a second time. Phil did not like to be called his real name by his sons.
“One more try, Toms,” Phil says, bringing Tommy back to the present. “I know you’re scared and broken, but you can’t be running around thinking like this.”
“But– but you–”
“Ah! What’s my name?” Phil tilts Tommy’s head back so he’s looking up into Phil’s eyes.
“D-D-Dad?”
“Very good!” Phil’s hand scratches again gently on Tommy’s head.
Tommy tries to pull away but Phil tightens his embrace. “D-Dad! You have to let go, I need to run- I–”
“No.” Phil’s hug tightens even more.
It’s no longer comforting.
It’s restricting.
He screams and thrashes.
“I’m not letting go of you. Not now. Not ever. You’re hurting, you’re broken, and I’m going to put you back together,” his dad coos. “Look at me.”
Philza was an elytrian, and the very first thing he’d told Tommy as soon as he was old enough to understand the concept of being adopted by an elytrian was that they were possessive. Not in the way piglins were.
Piglins hoarded and protected what was theirs, guided them and molded them to stay where they could protect.
There were roles that needed filled and when you were born, you fell into one of those two categories, piglin or not.
Elytrians were different.
The Overworld wasn’t as dangerous as the Nether. It was easier to live in the Overworld where food was abundant and anything you needed (so long as you weren’t in a desert) was easily found.
But the Overworld came with its own problems that the Nether-people never needed to worry about, and elytrians came from the End.
The mixture between the two.
Chorus fruit held every nutrient that any body could need. The magical fruit was formed by the Goddess of Death and was made for the elytrians and dragons to eat. Phil claimed that there used to be a greater variety of plant life in the End, but then the Goddess of Death had to be called away to the more populous Overworld and Nether realms. Many elytrians had followed, but a few had stayed behind.
Those who had didn’t last long on Chorus fruit alone.
Phil didn’t tell them any more than that, but Tommy assumed that the elytrians who stayed were long gone now.
“N-No!” Tommy fights and pushes, but he would never overpower his father. He knew that.
But he was nothing if not spiteful and stupid, even when the odds were stacked against him.
“Oh, you don’t get a choice, darling,” Phil’s hand cups his chin and he looks up.
Before he can see Phil’s eyes, something curls in Tommy’s vision. Something green.
Something familiar.
A tactic in exile when Tommy was misbehaving.
One that he’s too familiar with.
And he doesn’t want to deal with nightmares powered by a control-hungry masked pervert right now.
Fear runs through him as he stops fighting to get away and instead fights to get closer.
Maybe, just maybe his dad could protect him from his nightmares.
It was such a childish notion, that his dad could stop his mental breakdowns, fight against nightmares and figments of his imagination.
But he couldn’t help but hope.
“D-D-Dad! Dad! I– he–” and he falls asleep.
—----
“Oh, Tommy,” his dad says, turning with a smile.
It’s wrong somehow, but when he tries to find what’s wrong about it, it fades.
“I need to give you to Dream, mate,” his dad looks too kind. Too compassionate.
His dad wasn’t kind. Wasn’t compassionate.
He was possessive. He did things only to get an advantage. All his dad cared about was his kids and Tommy had once thought he was part of that group.
But now he found that he was too scared to call Phil anything but Dad.
“No! No! You– You promised to give me the world! You said that I was–”
“That you were my world? Don’t be ridiculous. Why do I need you when I have the world at my fingertips?”
Tommy’s heart sinks.
“But–”
“Oh, no buts! What’s the first rule of exile?”
“Of… what?”
No.
No.
It–
It couldn’t be.
“Oh, Tommy~” A sing-song voice echoes from his ear. “You can’t hide for long! I’ll drag you out of that birdbrain’s house sooner or later!”
“Tommy.”
“D-D-Dream?”
“Tommy!” Dream’s eyes were close.
Too close.
He screams. “Get away!”
“Tommy!”
“No! No! I don’t want–”
“Tommy!!”
He wakes up with a gasp, throwing his fist in front of him. Phil catches his wrist easily before pushing a bottle against Tommy’s lips.
On instinct, he drinks it and his body begins to relax against the cushions.
“Tommy, hey, shh, it’s okay, it’ll kick in soon,” Phil coos. “I have so many things to ask you, are you ready?”
Tommy waits a minute, letting the potion settle in. The familiar heaviness of weakness settles on his bones before he nods.
“Did Dream hurt you?”
He nods.
“Can you tell me how?”
He shakes his head.
“Oh, you’re tired huh?” Phil cups his face and Tommy leans into it tiredly, nodding. “I’ll stick to yes and no questions then.”
And so his dad continues to go down a list of questions. Tommy vaguely recalls nearly fighting past the weakness effects at a couple of questions, but he can’t remember what they were.
Whatever questions he was answering seemed to make his dad happy. And as long as he was happy, Tommy was happy.
“Dad?” Tommy murmurs.
“Yes, baby, what is it?” Phil asks, his eyes wide with concern as his wings flutter behind him.
“Where’s Tech?” He blinks at his dad as his dad smiles softly.
“Oh, I’m not letting him in for a while. He’s got his own house, and besides, don’t you want some time alone with your dad?”
Tommy thinks for a minute before nodding.
“M’ssed you,” he mumbles, letting his eyes fall closed.
“I know, sweetheart.” His dad lifts him into his lap and begins to scratch his head again. It feels good.
Really good.
Better than anything else he’s had so far.
His dad’s communicator rings with a call and he watches his dad hesitate to answer it. “Stay quiet, okay?”
Tommy nods.
He could do that.
He could be good.
Anything to keep his dad here with him, giving him love that he hasn’t felt in nearly four years.
“Hello?” There’s a pause. “No, you can’t come in.”
Tommy freezes. Who could possibly be wanting in?