Chapter Text
Theseus collapses to his knees, his entire body shaking because of a mix of fear and anticipation.
“Someone please, please help me!” The teenager desperately pleads, hoping anyone, anything will take pity upon him and save him. Take pity upon him and take him millions of miles away from the crowd roaring before him. Away from the wooden stage-like podium that creaks every so often. Away from his family, who all avoid eye contact with him, all standing next to him, ignoring the way tears gush in his eyes. Away from the executioner behind him, rope in hand, ready to hang him.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his father, King Philza, stares at him. Hope fills Theseus’s heart, tears still falling down his face, down onto the elevated floorboards.
”Prince Theseus of the Sleeping Empire, you have been charged with attempted murder, distribution of illegal substances, treason, and association with an enemy group. As a result, you will be hung by the neck until dead.”
Theseus’s heart dropped. Right onto the ground in front of him. Hands grabbed onto his upper arms, and he started screaming.
“No, no! Father, my brothers! Please, I would never—no! Please, someone, help! Help me!” The prince begged, his father looked away, toward the crowd. He was lifted to his feet, and dragged back. “NO!” He cried, “Wilbur, Techno! Help me! Tell them it’s not true! I would never—I would never go against you! Please!”
Technoblade remained stoic-faced, staring intently at his father. Wilbur turned to look at his little brother as a rope was placed around his neck. Theseus cried out loud when his eldest brother simply glared and scoffed, looking away again.
Theseus lost any motivation at that moment, his head dipping, sobbing softly as the crowd, the citizens all but told him to die. Told him how disgusting he was. Told him how they wished to kill him by their own hand.
Theseus spotted Ranboo in the crowd, who smirked at him. Rage didn’t even fill his heart this time. If it weren’t for the rope tied tightly around his neck, he would’ve collapsed again.
Philza turned around, staring at the prince in the eyes. “Proceed.” He said loudly, the absolute intention in his voice made Theseus’s sobs amplify.
Theseus heard the sound of a lever being pushed. The floor under him disappeared, and he fell. He couldn’t even scream before his neck snapped, broken.
He died.
And his family didn’t even show a hint of remorse. Nothing.
Tommy gasped awake, his hands clawing at his throat. “Holy—!” He cut himself off, staring at his shabby bedroom. “Thank fuck…” he murmured, shoulders practically dropping to the floor from relief.
That was probably the worst dream I’ve had in a while. Tommy dragged a hand down his face. Oh, wait.
That dream wasn’t just any other brain-rotted nightmare. That was from the goddamn book he was reading. He was reading it last night; he only has a few chapters left. Literally like fifty pages. Tommy has to say he is pretty proud of himself. He has never been a reader, but all his friends were and shoot him in the face if he was about to be left out again. Fuck no, that already happened when his friends read some shitty book called ‘The Fourth Leg” or some shit by Becca Yarros or something. Sure, they said it was hot garbage, but he wanted to talk shit too.
Tommy squinted over to his alarm clock, wondering why the fuck the piece of shit didn’t wake him up.
“Holy shit!” Tommy practically flew out of his bed. Fucking cafe opens in literally ten minutes. Fucking fucker fuck! He can’t be late to his job again!
Tommy made sure to throw his alarm clock at the wall. To hell with it if it can’t do one goddamn job.
After throwing on the first articles of clothing he saw in his drawer and lifting his backpack from under his bed, he sprinted downstairs. Listen, he would brush his teeth and all, hate cavities, and he can vouch after gaining at least five in his lifetime, but he’s no goddamn Disney XD character brushing teeth on the way to school, that shit is far more embarrassing than not brushing his teeth for one morning.
His goddamn shoes aren’t even tied or fully on his foot, and his hair looks like he fell down Mount Everest, but he didn’t ask for his hair to be normal and get fucked up and all.
His manager is surely gonna kick his ass, but better than being late.
Tommy literally sprints his ass down the street, crashing into multiple children on the way, but they can sob later because holy hell rent prices have gone insanely high. Like they need to do that but the opposite. Fully uno reverse that bullshit. No, no. That meme is so dead, stop using it, Tommy.
“No, no, no, no, no, no!” Tommy sings with zero rhythm, looking at his phone to see he is indeed late.
“I’msofuckedI’msofuckedI’msofucked!” Tommy laughs with a smile, scaring the old lady he just passed. ”How am I supposed to live, laugh, love in these conditions?”
When Tommy finally gets to the coffee shop, he all but slams the door open, scaring nearly every single person in it. Wait, he’s the cashier, so how are people getting their drinks—?
Oh shit.
His manager glares at him from the register. This is going to be a long day.
Tommy’s manager called him to the back for a moment, excusing himself politely to a lady trying to get a cappuccino.
“Tommy, where the hell were you? This is the third time this week you’ve been late!”
Well, it was because Tommy had been staying up late, reading a fucking book, but his manager doesn’t need to know that.
“Um, just a lot of things are happening in my personal life right now.” The best lies are sprinkled with bits of the truth. His life has been chaotic recently.
His manager just sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but this place is already sinking. I’ll have no choice but to fire you if this happens again. Do you understand me, Tommy?”
Tommy flinches. Well, that went fucking awful. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, now get to your post.”
As Tommy returns to the cashier, finishing taking the order of that woman, he sighs. Sure, he was being a bit manipulative, but she didn’t fall for his deception. How annoying.
Tommy smirks to himself, god, I’m being such a bitch; just accept that you fucked up and you have to deal. And she let you off easy.
As Tommy continues his job, he thinks of the book. He’s excited to get back home so he can finish the fucking book already. It’s pretty shit, to be honest though.
It’s about some asshole named Dream, who was a fallen prince of a fallen kingdom all thanks to the Sleepy Bois Empire. The dude was literally gifted by a god and given some shitty ass old book that helped him tell the future, which helped him fuck up the Sleepy Empire.
Fucking yes. That’s the name of the empire. Literally what the fuck—-the author was definitely thinking he ate with that name.
Anyways, we have Dream, who ends up building himself up from the dirt and ends up getting a job as a teacher. A fucking royal teacher which is so unrealistic. It would take some bitch decades to get to that level, but whatever, it’s main character logic.
Dream is assigned to the youngest prince, Theseus, who, by the way, has a fucked up life. Like that kid did not get a fucking break. Like that kid was basically a punching bag for the royal family, who hated him for some reason.
Oh, right, it was because the queen died giving birth to him or something. Which is his fault for some reason? Well, that part is pretty realistic. Those royal fucks in the past were a bit coo coo for coco puffs.
So when Dream ends up manipulating the royal family, he convinces them that Theseus assaulted some servant, Ranboo, who fucking acted like he was trying to kill Theseus, so like, he obviously defended himself. But because Tommy was some hated child in a goddamn Gacha Life series, they just killed him. Yep. Hung him. Dead. Dead as nails. Deceased.
And from that point in the book is when shit gets FUCKED. Like Dream literally destroys that entire kingdom which is pretty fucking sick, but also in a bad way. Reading, though, Dream is just annoying and conceited as hell. Like he literally thinks he is a god there is zero chill in him.
“Tommy,” a voice snaps the teen out of his thoughts. Tommy looks up to see his eldest brother, William, next to the register.
“O-oh, hey,” Tommy greets awkwardly, “Let me finish up with these orders real quick, okay?”
William rolls his eyes and folds his arms. “Is that group still bothering you?”
“What?” Tommy feels his face get hot. Why in fucking public?
“Clay? You know and Nick and some other people.”
“No,” Tommy says fast. “Let me finish these orders.”
Fuck off, William!
His brother ignores him, “Because I heard they approached you last week. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Flashbacks of Tommy watching as Clay, with a dopey ass grin, his group of four behind him, walking toward Tommy. It ended up with Tommy hiding in his room for about a week. It wasn’t even a challenge anyway; his brothers never talked with him.
But they always seem to when he doesn’t want them to.
The lady in line awkwardly thanks Tommy when he hands her back the change. She rushes away. Tommy wishes he could do the same.
“Why?” Tommy starts shaking, “Oh, maybe because you’ve never given a singular shit about me your entire life?”
“Watch. It.” William growls.
The last person in line backs off and leaves the coffee shop.
“You’ve never involved yourself in my life before. Why care now? Just fuck off already!” Tommy glares daggers at his brother.
“I said watch it!” His brother yells at him before slapping him across the face. The world silences for a moment, the sound ringing throughout the cafe. Tommy felt blazing eyes on him, and they were burning him alive.
Fuck. That.
Tommy instantly shoves William away from him and dashes out of the coffee shop, ignoring the people gawking at him, his brother’s horrified face, and his manager shouting his name.
Fuck that. Fuck that. Fuck that.
As Tommy keeps running down the sidewalk, he is in full tears, sobbing his eyes out. He looks away or down whenever he passes a person, knowing he’ll stay up nights later cringing the way he was crying with snot dripping from his nose in public with an ugly-ass brown apron.
“Not today, not tomorrow, not next week, month, year, lifetime, jurisdiction, biography.” Tommy takes a turn in an alleyway when he sees some people his age walking down the street. “No thank you,” he mutters while running down the narrow passageway.
“Tommy?” He hears a voice bark out.
“Was that their younger brother?” Another voice laughs, “Was that a fucking apron?”
“Oh, fuck that,” Tommy whispers, his voice trembling with fear.
That group wasn’t any fucking group. Shit. No. No. No, thank you. He said no thank you. He used manors, which means you turn around and keep walking. Nah-nah-nah. Nu-uh.
“Tommy, did you get scared seeing us?” Oh shit. Yeap. That’s Clay. Tommy hears that voice in his nightmares.
Tommy now bolts down the alleyway. I’m cooked, he thinks, I’m so cooked. Sizzle sizzle.
He runs like the goddamn devil is on his heels, because, honestly, Dream could probably pass for some demonic shit like that.
Tommy hears footsteps. Multiple. Like, more than thrice. Aka, multiple people are chasing him; aka, Clay has his group of hoes with him; aka Tommy is fucked; aka Tommy is about to get the shit smacked out of it; aka if he never believed in a god, then his life is about to change and he’ll turn religious just for a pinch of luck. Seriously, he’ll drop the red hoodies and wear fucking white as if he’s a napkin and turn into a nun.
“Oh, Tommy,” Clay drawls out, his breath raspy; he’s sprinting. He’s a track star apparently. And Tommy is legally blind apparently because the dumbass slips on a scrapped piece of cardboard and falls straight onto his ass as if he were cannonballing into a pool. Actually, a fun fact; Tommy has never swam in a pool before. He doesn’t know how to swim. Oh, wait, shit. People want to make his internal organs external. Right.
Tommy scrambles to his knees, moves forward, straightens, and gets slammed right back into the concrete; he lets out a strangled scream at the contact of his head banging against the ground.
Tommy heaves out a big sob as his arm is painfully bent behind his back, effectively pinning him in place. Someone has their knee digging in between his shoulder blades. The teen begins kicking, pushing, screaming—anything he can think of. Shocker: nothing works. Especially when someone punches him in the face, smacking his skull against the ground again.
Yeah, Tommy hears himself groaning, that sounds like a concussion. Not very flirtatious.
“You’re weak,” Clay bites out. He’s the one laying his fucking boulder of a body on Tommy. “What are you doing? Fight back!” His voice slowly rises as his punches increase.
Tommy kicks one last time weakly before he goes limp, collapsing pathetically. “I bet you wash your body with dish soap,” he sobs out.
That pauses the hits for a second plus a confused stutter off to the blond’s right. A few seconds later, he was getting the actual shit beaten out of him again.
“Okay, Clay, chill he looks like he can see Jesus.” Some voice chuckles out nervously.
“Don’t you remember what his brothers did to me?” Clay yells back. Everything is fading. “I’m sending those two pricks a message!”
Tommy felt a shoe nudge his head; he glanced lazily up to see Clay’s raventte friend sneer down at him.
“His brothers don’t even care about him,” he says, which is fair, but also kind of fucked to point out over his bruising body.
“Either way,” Clay kept pushing Tommy’s arm the wrong way. It was starting to really hurt. “I can see those assholes in him.”
A punch to his face. Head banging against the ground again. The sound of a deafening crack. The world dimmed. He couldn’t hear. Everything went numb; he felt like some otherworldly source took hold of him, making the blood drain from his face.
He sat there, his eyes slightly open for a while. He suddenly heard a lot of noise. He forgot where he was. His eyes were focused on something grayish and bright. Was the concrete fucking resonating? How long has he been lying there?
“No, no, no!” Tommy heard a voice—one familiar—cry out. “No, no, please, no!”
His gaze shifted. Oh, he was being moved. Why is his head so wet? Is that all the blood in his peripheral vision?
Brown hair. Tommy saw brown hair. Was this person doubled?
“...am! Relax!” Some voice snapped him back to reality for a moment.
“Relax?” Someone cried out, they sounded like they were burned alive, voices wobbly and torn. “I never got to tell him. I never told him. Please!”
“Where is the goddamn ambulance?!” Another voice, okay, yeah, there’s two of them.
“Tommy! No! What do I do? He keeps staring at me. He won’t blink. But he’s breathing, what’s happening, is he going to die? Tommy, do you hear me?” The voice desperately rambled.
Yes, Tommy wanted to communicate back, yes, I can hear you. But he can’t. Because keeping his eyes open seems like too much of a task.
“No,” the person said, their voice dropping an octave; pure fear. “No. Don’t—he’s closing his eyes. Tommy,” he didn’t even recognize being shaken, “Tommy. Tommy. Tommy! TOMMY!” The voice screamed.
“No, don’t move him like that, his brain—!”
“What good is his brain if it’s dead?!” The voice snapped back.
“He’s not going to make it,” the other voice said, “He’s—no, no, no.”
Tommy shut his eyes, the different voices that were increasingly getting louder moving into background noise to nothing.
He died.
Tommy did not expect to open his eyes again.
Sure, he was really out of it, but he wasn’t dumb; he knew he had been dying. But maybe he didn’t live, because everything is so white he has to shut his eyes again. Shit was he in heaven or some shit? He should’ve invested in some indulgences.
“Fucking hell,” he murmured. Shit was so bright. “Goddamn,”
He heard the sound of waves crashing upon waves, overlapping noises that were distorting his focus. It sounded like white noise, but more loud, and different. It was—
A high-pitched sound sent Tommy placing his hands against his ears, pressing his head against the smooth floor under him—wait. Smooth floor? Floor that is smooth? That smooth is floor? Is the floor that smooth—serious question—because why the goddamn hell is he feeling smooth floor.
Tommy then heard cackling. Like holy goddamn hell—what the fuck? Seriously, this has to be hell. He’s in hell. Shit, that’s fucked.
“I can hear the fearful whispers of your thoughts,” someone said, voice cool, “I can reassure you, child, you have not arrived in the place your world calls purgatory.”
Tommy didn’t respond back. Fear had him on a leash or some shit because he needed to know where he is.
“He said you sound like me. Speak.”
Tommy reached for his throat at that. Holy fuck. Wait. “Why am I not breathing?” His voice is more hoarse than he’d like it to be. “I can’t breathe.” Tommy opened his eyes and his mouth dropped.
What stood before him is a blond teen who looks exactly like him. They wore white clothes, all long, and looked extremely comfortable compared to the red hoodie Tommy still wore. They stared at him with a look of disgust.
Tommy mockingly raised his hand, “Can I—question. Why the fuck are you calling me ‘child’ and shit if you’re a goddamn teen too?”
“I am not a child,” the person responded, “I am dead. As are you.”
Tommy’s face paled.
The person laughed at that, “Such a morbid expression you wear. Only peasants know nothing of hiding facial features such as yours.”
Tommy trembled, “So if you’re not a child because you’re dead, why the hell am I still a child?”
Okay, yeah, realistically, probably not the best decision to be arguing with some stranger he knows nothing about who just told him he’s dead.
“Because,” the person said, looking away to the distance, behind Tommy.
Oh, alright. Guess that was just his very considerate response.
“I just want to go home,” Tommy’s voice cracked. He flinched when ice-cold eyes settled on his own. “Who the fucking fuck are you?”
The dude studied him carefully. Tommy realized how similar they looked. “You carry such an interesting language. It much differs from our own, you sound like a peasant.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes, “And you sound like a fucking rich ass bastard that has his feet massaged every day. Did you know a synonym for rich is fatty?”
“Is that really such a horrible living? I’d much prefer such pampering rather than wallowing in mud all day like a barbarian.” The person smiled with razor-sharp teeth. “However, you wound me so. Cannot we both just get along? Nonetheless, I’d assume this is an exceptional offer especially considering you have been nothing but a heathen.”
“Okay, dude, first of all—that’s rude to judge someone based off looks, alright? And also, what the fucking DisneyXD high school musical shit are you trying to pull right now? Just get to the goddamn point—why the actual Jesus am I here?”
“Do you have a belief in monotheism? The way you speak of your divine being is horribly wretched. In my world, one would instantly be executed.” The person puffed out their chest, seeming proud.
Tommy pretends he’s holding a phone, bringing his hand to his ear. “Hello? Yes, I’m looking for the goddamn point? Oh, it’s not there? Bummer.” Tommy then made a blank face, “What do you want me so bad for, prick? You fucking Demogorgon King Henry the trillionth speaking bitch!”
The person, instead of shooting him in the face with a gun or some shit, simply chuckles. It’s not exactly a realistic laugh, but it doesn’t invoke danger either. “Tell me,” he said viciously, “Is it terribly thrilling to imagine yourself the sole object of this ‘point’ I advance upon you so? Do you purposely deny me ownership of basic dignities, excluding from your memories the essential fact that I was forced into this situation just as you were—all in the pursuit of feeling sorry for yourself?” He then scoffed, looking away again, “My, but it must be exhausting to be a narcissist.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped open, “Narcissi—”what the fuck are you saying? Man, you literally fucking plucked me from Earth or some shit! And you called me a peasant at least twice—what is this? The 18th century? Get a grip!”
“And you,” he said, tilting his head at Tommy, “So preoccupied with your own personal dramas it never occurred to you to ask why I might be yoked to such a despicable master—”
“Can you drop the fancy ass language, bro? I can hardly fucking understand the shit you’re spewing. No girl is going to take you for a gentleman, but maybe some Shakespearean fanboy—you should try out for Hamlet. Maybe you should take some lessons from me.”
The guy paused for a beat before abruptly laughing. “With what ease you insult me,” he said, his eyes mocking, “Were you anyone else, I’d have you executed. You are an incorrigible reprobate; how you could ever hope to be a gentleman I will never understand.”
Tommy fumbled to speak, “Then fuck you! I pledge to never treat you like how a gentleman again, asshole!” He was just finding anything to say at this point—he’s had a rough day, okay?
The other teen poorly hid a smile behind his hand. “Is there any point, sir, in setting a goal for an accomplishment already achieved?”
Okay, shit—that was pretty badass. Tommy thought, wait, what? No! Snap out of it, Tommy! “Okay. Fine. Would you pretty, pretty please with a cherry and sprinkles on top explain to me why I am here?”
“I am not sure if you will be too joyous about the matter.” The other blonde folded his arms, a smirk permanently plastered on his face.
“Are you being serious.” Tommy deadpanned. The other sighed, his shoulders relaxing.
“I am under orders. I am also—dead,” he smiled, but Tommy then realized; that smiling is his mask of what he really feels. Clay would do that all the time. “You picture me as a horrific scoundrel. As if I’ve taken you from your oh-so-perfect life; I did no such thing,” he looked away again—what does he keep looking at? “You drew your own conclusions that best suited you, and these are the results. Your naivete is no fault of mine.”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just want to know why I’m here. I want to go home.”
The other blond tilted his head, “And return to your unfathomably horrendous brothers? Those who could not even try to assist you when you were perishing? That immaculate home?”
Tommy flinched, but still. What amazing projection skills you have, like damn, who hurt you?
The other rolled his eyes. “This story is both odious and familiar, and I already know how it ends; indeed, I have already seen the consequences of your behavior. Just a while ago you were snapped in half the spine of one sovereign. I will not be the next. So thankfully, I was presented a deal. One that I could not reject. You continue to act as though I have a choice. As if I wasn’t robbed of my own body all because my brothers were too weak to assist me. Sentenced for crimes I wouldn’t even know how to commit.” His voice was bitter as he leaned in toward Tommy, “Life isn’t fair, is it? Does your family ever treat you like the peasants in the mountain-side dales? Do your kin’s rivals target you in spite? Do you ever just want to destroy everything?” His voice dropped low and dark at that last word; inhumanly low. Like A0 low. He thankfully relaxed, “Though I do have to express my envy for your brothers when mine hardly blinked when my body collapsed, snapping my neck before I could even cry out while yours…had gracefully kept by your side.” He clenches his fists, “Those pompous doormats.”
“What the damn hell are you saying?” Tommy scowled, choosing fury over fear.
Anger flared to life in the other’s eyes. “Come now; we’ve been doing so well. Let’s not evolve backward, insulting each other with exhibitions of ignorance. You’ve proven far more clever than that.” He barked out a laugh, “I truly wish my brothers would suffer like how we have. I’ll ask again: do you ever wish the world would melt away because of the everlasting inferno of your fury?” The dead guy harshly grabbed onto Tommy’s chin, forcing immediate eye contact. “Well, you can make that fantasy happen. And I want you to, Tommy. I want you to rip them apart. I want you to make them wish undone. I want you to make him suffer.” He smiled, “And I know you will. I know you can. So fucking do it. Don’t make me regret this, Tommy, or I’ll send you to worser places than what you describe as hell.”
Tommy felt his heart fail. “Your name—what is your name?”
“I am Prince Theseus of the Sleeping Empire. And so will you be.”
Tommy gave out a loud scream as the grounding under him became nothing; he fell.