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Tommy stumbles through the seemingly endless stretch of trees, branches whipping against his arms as tears blur his vision. The forest feels alive around him—mocking him—with every snapping twig and rustling leaf echoing his panic.
Fuck, fuck, his mind stammers, a broken chant swallowed by the ragged sound of his breathing. He doesn’t even know if Dream was there—if the shadow he saw was real or just the cruel trick of fear clawing at his chest.
His breath catches, sharp and wet, like he’s swallowing glass. It feels wrong, every inhale scraping down his throat as his lungs burn, fire licking at his ribs. He gasps again, the air refusing to come easily, chest heaving as though the forest itself is pressing down on him.
Still, he doesn’t stop—can’t stop.
The thought of standing still feels worse than the ache in his legs, worse than the sting of blood on his skin. He forces his body forward, each stride desperate, defiant, alive, even as the world tilts and trembles around him.
What else can he do but run?
There’s a dead deer carcass sprawled across his front doorstep—blood soaking into the cracks of the wood, glassy eyes staring at nothing—and Tommy needs to get as far away as he possibly fucking can. The image won’t leave him. The way the ribs jutted through the torn hide, the stink of rot curling through the cold air. He can still feel it, still see it, like Dream’s shadow is burned into his skull.
He can’t stay. Not when Dream might still be there. Watching and waiting for him to open the door so he can drive an axe straight through his skull.
Tommy hiccups, breath catching and shaking apart as tears streak down his cheeks. His body screams in protest, but he pushes harder—faster—his feet slipping on roots and wet soil, branches clawing at his arms. He needs to get away. Away from that house, away from the blood, away from him.
He doesn’t know why Dream’s doing this. He doesn’t know why the man won’t just leave him alone, why the threats, the carcasses, the constant watching. Maybe Dream won’t stop until he’s dead. Maybe that’s the whole point.
But Tommy doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to understand. He just wants to live, wants the fear to stop crushing his ribs, wants to breathe without choking on panic. He just wants it all to end.
He just wants everyone to leave him be.
Bile burns the back of his throat as the image of the carcass forces itself to the front of his mind again. The deer had looked peaceful—too peaceful, in that awful, still way that tricks you into thinking it’s just sleeping. For a moment, he’d believed it.
He’d even crouched down to it—until he realised there was no breath, a vague sense of warmth and the slick shine of blood pooling beneath it. The stench of death had hit him then, heavy and wet, clinging to his clothes, his skin, his lungs.
Tommy chokes on a sob and scrubs hard at his face, as if he can wipe away the memory itself. His vision blurs, tears mixing with sweat as he stumbles through the trees, the forest whipping at him—branches catching his sleeves, roots clawing at his boots. He can barely see where he’s going, just knows he can’t stop. Not now.
His stomach twists violently, nausea clawing at his gut, but he pushes faster anyway, as if he can outrun the sickness, the fear—him.
Distracted, Tommy slams his shoulder into a low-hanging branch, the impact jolting through his arm like a crack of lightning. Pain splinters up his side, sharp and immediate, stealing his breath as he stumbles to a halt.
He clutches his shoulder with a shaky hand, fingers digging into the sore muscle. His eyes burn with tears he refuses to let fall, breaths coming short and ragged as tremors ripple through his hands.
He squeezes tighter, desperate for something—anything—to anchor him. The sting of pain is grounding, even as it makes his breath hitch and his lashes flutter. For a moment, he just stands there, trembling, head bowed, chest heaving.
Then he forces himself forward again.
He breaks back into a run, pushing through the ache splitting across his shoulder, through the fire in his chest, through the dimming edges of his vision. Every heartbeat feels like it’s tearing something open inside him, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
He just needs to run.
He just— He just needs—
He needs something. Needs someone to just fucking hold him, to tell him everything will be okay, that they’ll keep him safe—someone who can fill the gaping, gnawing hole in his chest that Philza had ripped open. Tears blur his vision, throat tightening, hands trembling as he runs.
He just needs to be safe.
A sharp thwack of an axe yanks him from his spiralling thoughts. His heels dig into the dirt as he gasps for air, skidding to the edge of a clearing as fear still coils tight in his stomach. But…it’s not Dream. Standing just a few metres away is Sapnap.
Tommy’s shoulders loosen, the tension in his bound-up tail twitching faintly where it was hidden. He watches Sapnap chop through one of the dark oak trees, the man humming quietly to himself as he works. The man's dark tail flicked lazily behind him, Sapnap's large, clawed feet sinking into the grass with each precise step.
Sapnap is… safe.
He's the only other demon hybrid Tommy knew on the server, and even though Tommy himself hadn’t exactly come out about his heritage, Sapnap had. Seeing him like this—confident, unbothered, and completely himself—grounded Tommy in a way nothing else could.
Sapnap had always been good to Tommy. Always. Even back when Tommy was an annoying little eleven-year-old twerp with too much mouth and too little sense, Sapnap had been patient with him—kind, even. Sure, the guy had been a bit standoffish around Philza back when he still hung around, but Tommy had never really understood what their issue was. It's not like he'll find out, either.
Philza hasn't been returning his letters. He doesn't think asking about it now would help his chances.
Stumbling into the clearing, he lifted a hand to wave, calling out, “Hey! Sapnap!”
The older demon hybrid looked up at the sound of his voice, axe still in hand. Tommy glanced over his shoulder instinctively, scanning the shadows before letting himself breathe again when he saw nothing but trees. No sign of Dream.
He's fine.
He's fine.
He has to be.
Sapnap turned, eyes lighting up the moment he spotted Tommy. His tail swished lazily behind him as he leaned the axe against the tree, a grin spreading across his face. “Tommy! What are you doing all the way out here?”
He glanced past Tommy for a moment, frowning faintly before turning back with that same easy smile. Without hesitation, he opened his arms in invitation—and Tommy practically crashes into him, clutching at the older hybrid as he might disappear.
Sapnap didn’t ask. Then again, he never has. He just wraps his strong arms around Tommy’s back and lets his tail coil gently around Tommy’s legs, grounding him.
Sapnap always ran warm. Comfortingly, instinctively warm—so unlike Philza, who had always felt cold, distant, like frost lingering on skin. Tommy soaked it in, pressing closer, a soft rumble threatening to break from his chest. He swallowed it down. Sapnap wouldn’t have minded—hell, the man was purring himself—but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to let the sound escape.
Lord knows Philza wouldn't like it. He never liked reminders that Tommy wasn't just 'human'. Whatever. It's not like Tommy cares that his adoptive father didn't like what Tommy is.
“What’s going on, bud?” Sapnap asked softly, cupping Tommy’s cheeks in his calloused hands. His orange-spotted eyes searched Tommy’s face with careful focus, scanning every flicker of emotion like he could piece the story together himself.
Tommy swallowed hard, his grip tightening in the fabric of Sapnap’s shirt. “I—there was—someone’s—” His throat hitched, words stumbling over panic. “Someone left a… a carcass. By my house. A deer.”
For a heartbeat, Sapnap’s expression shifted—something sharp, almost irritated, flashing across his features before it softened again into sympathy. Tommy barely registered it before Sapnap was pulling him close, arms locking tight around his smaller frame.
“Fuck, Toms,” he murmured, voice low and heavy with concern. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been so awful. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Sapnap’s chest. The steady thrum of the man’s heartbeat filled his ears as he nodded, slow and trembling.
He knows Sapnap won't judge him. Even if Tommy cries and acts like some stupid kid, he knows Sapnap isn't going to get mad for it. Sapnap never has.
“Have you been running all day?” Sapnap asked, his voice low with worry as his hand slid up to cup Tommy’s injured shoulder. Concern rippled across his features as his gaze caught on the torn fabric of Tommy’s shirt.
Tommy nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing as Sapnap’s warm, calloused fingers began to gently knead over the ache in his arm. It felt… nice. Really, really nice. The kind of touch that made his chest loosen and his breath come a little easier.
“C’mon, bud,” Sapnap said after a moment, pulling back just enough to meet Tommy’s eyes. “You can come to my place for a bit, yeah? Get some food in you, rest up.”
Sapnap carefully untangled himself from the hug and offered his clawed hand out to him.
Tommy hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the forest’s dark edge. “I—I dunno, man. I don’t wanna be a bother or anythin’—”
Sapnap waved him off, an easy smile tugging at his lips as he reached forward to take Tommy’s hand anyway. “It’s alright, Tommy. You’re not being a bother,” Sapnap said gently. “I was about to finish up and head back anyway. Got some food at home I can cook up for us— I’m starving.”
Tommy didn’t even realise he was following until Sapnap stooped to grab his axe from where it leaned against the tree. He swallowed hard, eyes darting back toward the dense forest behind him.
He was hungry. Starving, really. He hadn’t eaten a thing since that morning — not after finding the deer carcass sprawled outside his door like some kind of warning. And he wasn’t interrupting Sapnap’s routine… right?
Tommy’s fingers tightened around the older hybrid’s hand, the warmth grounding him as he fell into step behind. Just some lunch, he told himself. Just a meal and a chance to get off his aching feet.
That’s all.
Sapnap had never been mean to him before. Not once. Tommy knows he can trust him.
“Thanks, Sap,” he mumbled, leaning a little closer as they walked. Sapnap’s tail swished contentedly behind them, his hand warm and steady in Tommy’s. “Of course, fireball! It’ll be nice to eat with someone for a change. My partner’s been out and about lately—didn’t even eat breakfast with me this morning.”
He shot Tommy a wounded look, his bottom lip jutting out in exaggerated despair. “I think they want to divorce me, Tommy! Who doesn’t want to eat my marvellously made toast?”
Sapnap heaved a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping in mock defeat. The act was so over-the-top that laughter bubbled up unbidden in Tommy’s chest, soft and unexpected, loosening something tight inside him.
"Guess you'll have to find a new spouse." Tommy grins, patting the man's back, "They're no good if they don't eat your food, after all." Sapnap nods in enthusiastic agreement, tail swinging happily behind him. "You get it, Tommy. You get it. I just have to get them to understand that."
The man sighs, glancing to Tommy as a teasing smile creeps onto his face "Does Purpled eat your food?" Tommy flushed bright red at the implication, sputtering as Sapnap's laughter rings out around them.
"I— he— no, I mean he does but— we're not, like, married— he's not even— stop! Oh my god, shut up!" Tommy whines, pulling his hand from Sapnap's to bury his face into his hands, embarrassed as the man just keeps laughing. "You're such a dick!"
Sapnap grinned, reaching over to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t tease you.” Tommy huffed, batting the man’s hand away. “...But, you know,” Sapnap added slyly, “you did accept that handmade necklace from him. And if he’s eating your food~?”
Tommy let out a mortified shriek, clapping his hands over his ears as he darted a few steps ahead. “No! No, stop it—stooop! We’re not together!”
Sapnap burst out laughing, tail flicking in delight. “Sure, Toms.” His tail coiled lazily around Tommy’s wrist, tugging him gently back to his side. “But hey, honest, whatever your thing is with Purpled, I’m happy for you.”
Tommy bit down on a smile, trying and failing to hide it as he leaned lightly against the older hybrid. “Thanks,” he mumbled, ducking to avoid another incoming hair ruffle.
Sapnap pouted but let it go, instead offering his hand out again. Tommy took it without hesitation.
“’ Course, kiddo,” Sapnap said warmly. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I do have to ask, though—do you have matching necklaces or did Bad lie to me?" Tommy blushes, nodding, "Uh- yeah, actually..." He pulls his ring out from under his shirt, showing the carefully carved design on the silver band. Sapnap coos fondly as he looks over it, spilling compliments for the jewellery.
Tommy's heart feels warm, the fear of the whole morning fully fading behind him with the comfort of Sapnap being by his side.
Sapnap’s cabin feels like a secret tucked away in the woods — the kind of place the sunlight loves. It slips through the leaves above, dappling the roof in gold and green as if blessing it. The house itself seems alive, breathing with the forest around it.
Its round windows peek out like eyes, framed by flower boxes spilling over with colour, and the walls of dark oak gleam softly beneath the scattered lace of climbing vines. The shutters, painted to match the trees, give the place a kind of love that Tommy wishes his home felt like.
It’s beautiful.
“My partner was never really into the look of the village houses,” Sapnap says as he fiddles with the lock, a broad, almost bashful grin spreading over his face. “They wanted something that reminded him of their homeland, you know? All this greenery, the flowers and stuff — I think it makes the place feel alive. Reminds me a bit of the warped forests where I grew up.”
Tommy hums, eyes roaming over the wild patchwork of colour that sprawls beside the steps. Blue orchids peek out from between twisting vines that seem to reach for him like curious fingers.
He finds himself smiling softly, imagining the dirt under his nails, the scent of earth and life. He wonders if he could do that in his garden, to have some keepsake from his home. Could he head down to the Nether soon?
The thought flickers through Tommy’s mind like an ember — tempting but too dangerous. The warmth of that place still calls to him, in a way, but then there’s Dream. Always Dream. Watching, waiting, too curious for comfort. He exhales sharply and shakes the thought away, forcing himself to focus back on Sapnap instead.
“It looks good,” Tommy says, grinning as he gestures toward the cabin’s outer wall. “You should add some cobblestone.” Sapnap groans good-naturedly, rolling his eyes with theatrical despair. “Of course, kiddo. Maybe some mud too, huh?”
Tommy nods immediately, bright and earnest. “Yeah! Would look great near the base, make it all textured ‘n stuff.”
Sapnap chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he pushes open the door. “We can add some if you’d like, fireball. Liven up the bottom parts of the house a little. My spouse would kill me for it, but—eh, worth it. Besides, I'm sure he'd let me add it if I told him it was for you.”
Tommy laughs, trailing after him into the cabin — and his grin falters for a moment as his eyes adjust.
Because it’s even nicer inside.
The air smells faintly of smoke and honey, of wood polish and flowers drying by the hearth. The walls are lined with shelves crammed full of books, little trinkets, and framed photos — one catches his eye, a photograph of Sapnap and himself, from maybe three years ago, when Tommy's hair was still in its weird wavy phase. There's another of Sapnap, George and someone Tommy can't quite make out, crowded together in the sun.
A fire crackles in a stone hearth that looks like it’s been there forever, its warmth crawling pleasantly up Tommy’s arms.
He can’t help but smile wider. It feels like a home that’s been loved in every possible way and feels as warm as Sapnap does.
He can see stairs curling up to a second floor, where Tommy guesses Sapnap’s bedroom must be — the banister polished smooth by years of touch. Down here, the space opens up easily: a kitchen to the left, a small dining nook tucked by the window, and a living room strewn with the soft chaos of everyday life.
There’s a bandana tossed carelessly over the back of the couch and a hoodie hanging by the door — green, frayed at the cuffs — that feels… familiar, somehow, though Tommy can’t quite place why. Shoving the thought away, Tommy looks around more of the house.
“Whoa, dude, your house is sick!” Tommy breathes, spinning on his heel as his eyes dart from the little items on the shelves to the hanging plants drooping from the ceiling, to the patchwork of blankets spilling across the couch. Everywhere he looks, it's like there's more for him to examine.
It’s warm and messy and alive, like every corner is full of laughter that hasn’t quite faded.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Sapnap replies, grin tugging at his lips. “Most of it’s designed by my spouse — he’s got the fancy eye for all this décor stuff. Except the kitchen.” He tilts his head toward the back of the room, pride glimmering in his tone. “I use it the most, so he let me go wild with that one.”
Tommy laughs, following him as he pads forward toward the aforenoted room. The floorboards creak underfoot, the sound rhythmic, comforting. He trails behind the older hybrid, eyes drinking in every small detail that appears to him.
The kitchen is stocked — not just well-supplied, but overflowing with life and clutter and the kind of abundance that comes from two people who genuinely love to cook. Shelves line the walls, each crowded with neatly labelled spice jars, bundles of herbs hung upside down to dry, and little glass bottles of oil in every shade of gold.
He moves further in, only pausing by the pantry door. It’s huge — a proper walk-in, with rows of grains, jars of jam and marmalade, lots of different powders, and… flour. So much flour. Every possible kind of flour.
He starts pulling them out one by one. “Sap, mate, why do you have, like, all the flour ever made? Almond flour? Gluten-free flour? Plain, all-purpose, self-raising—” He blinks, he slides another bag forward. “Coconut flour? Who even uses coconut flour? And what the fuck is tapicoa?”
From behind him, Sapnap laughs, the sound bright and easy over the gentle hiss of the stove. “Ah, yeah, about that,” he admits, flipping a pan onto the burner. “I asked my spouse to pick up some flour, and he didn’t know which one I meant.”
Tommy turns to see the demon hybrid grinning, utterly unbothered. “So,” Sapnap continues, “he got every kind he could find... instead of just messaging me on the communicators to ask."
Tommy giggles, shaking his head as he starts shoving the various bags back into their places. “You’re both insane, y'know that?”
Sapnap only shrugs, tail flicking in amusement. “Hey, at least I’ll never run out.”
Tommy snorts. It sounds exactly like something Wilbur would’ve said — his brother had never known what kind of flour to buy either. The fondness of the memory twists sharply in his chest, grief cutting clean through his amusement and stopping him mid-motion. For a heartbeat, the world feels too still.
“D’you want some hot chocolate, sprite?” Sapnap’s voice breaks the silence, gentle and warm, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “I know it’s kinda warm — lord knows it always is for us — but I was gonna make some.”
Tommy blinks, forcing himself to breathe again. “Oh, uh—yes! Please.” He manages a small, wobbly smile, shaking the ache from his heart like water from his hair.
Sapnap doesn’t press at Tommy's sudden quiet. He just nods, humming softly as he moves around the stove, tail curling once around his leg before swaying again. The familiar scent of warm milk starts to fill the air as he works, stirring the pot with practised ease.
Tommy leans against the counter, watching in quiet fascination. He’s used to the instant kind—cheap packets and too much sugar—but there’s something oddly comforting about seeing someone make it properly, slow and deliberate, with care folded into every movement.
Turning away, Tommy lets his gaze wander through the wide window tucked into the pantry wall, eyes tracing the forest that sprawls endlessly beyond. The canopy ripples in a soft breeze, leaves glittering gold in the midday light. The sun’s high — too high. His stomach sinks. How long had he been running? He’d left early, before dawn even burned the horizon. His legs ache as if to answer.
“You can take your tail out if you want.”
Tommy startles, breath catching halfway through his chest. His hands tighten on the edge of the counter as he turns sharply. “...Sorry?”
Sapnap glances over from the stove, a soft smile curving his lips. “Your tail,” he says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I can’t imagine it’s comfortable having it bound up all the time.”
The ache in Tommy’s tail pulses at the reminder — a deep, sore throb that flutters through his spine. He swallows, shifting on his feet. “Oh— I dunno. It’s kinda hard to get it back in after, y’know?”
Sapnap hums, tilting his head with that easy, disarming calm of his. “You’ll have time, Toms. Don’t worry. I said I’d feed you, didn’t I? That’ll take me at least twenty minutes — not even counting the drink.”
He says it so simply, so sincerely, that it knocks the air from Tommy’s lungs.
Tommy glances down, hesitating. Sapnap’s own tail sways lazily behind him, the dark fur catching the light. It looks free, relaxed, unashamed. Tommy’s fingers twitch at his side, the bindings around his own tail pressing tight, and for the first time in weeks, he actually considers loosening them.
…Well, Sapnap’s a demon hybrid too. He wouldn’t just say that for no reason.
Carefully, Tommy reaches back and slips his tail free from the confines of his jeans, fumbling with the little cords he’d tied around it to keep it still. The relief is instant — a sharp, blissful sting that melts into something soft as his spine loosens and his tail flicks out, sweeping through the air like a freed ribbon. He arches his back, stretching it out, a quiet sound rumbling low in his throat before he can stop it.
A purr.
Mortified, Tommy clamps his mouth shut, but it’s too late — Sapnap’s own deep, gentle rumble answers his, vibrating through the floorboards. The sound isn’t mocking. It’s comforting, grounding, like an instinctual reply.
Heat floods Tommy’s cheeks, but Sapnap doesn’t even seem to notice, too focused on the pot simmering over the stove. The embarrassment ebbs, replaced by a strange, shy calm as Tommy lets his tail settle and steps closer. The ache that had lived there for days finally begins to fade.
“Are you gonna add the cocoa powder?” he asks, leaning over Sapnap’s side, watching the man stir the milk with lazy precision.
Sapnap glances down at him, smiling as he taps a can of dark cocoa powder against the counter, placing the can beside a block of milk chocolate. “Yep. I tend to make it without the packet stuff — that's alright with you?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Tommy murmurs, eyes flicking between the pot and Sapnap’s hands. “D’you like—add shit to it? I know Tubbo sometimes puts cinnamon and stuff, but I dunno if that’s just him or, like, something you’re meant to do.” He rubs the back of his neck, tail twitching behind him.
“I can, if you’d like,” Sapnap says, voice easy. “It just adds a little more depth to it, but it’s really up to personal preference.” He spoons in the cocoa, careful and practised.
Tommy watches, then shakes his head firmly. “Do you like cinnamon?”
Sapnap hums, thoughtful. “Kind of. More so in solid foods, though.”
“Then you don’t need to add cinnamon,” Tommy decides with an earnest finality that makes Sapnap huff out a quiet laugh.
For a heartbeat, Sapnap just looks at him — something soft and unreadable in his orange-flecked eyes, like he’s trying to place a memory or swallow down a thought. Then he smiles, small and genuine, and turns back to stirring the pot.
Tommy doesn’t push, and neither does Sapnap.
Instead, Sapnap simply mixes the pot, the smell of melting chocolate thick in the air, and—almost without thought—lets his tail brush against Tommy’s. A small, gentle touch, like an instinctive gesture of comfort between hybrids.
Tommy jerks back immediately, every muscle in his body locking up. His tail snaps away as if burned, heart hammering.
Shit. Fuck. Why did he do that?
Sapnap’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry!” he blurts, words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I wasn’t even thinking, I swear, I’m so sorry, Toms.”
Tommy stares at him, startled by the sheer panic in Sapnap’s tone. “I—no, uhm, it’s fine, man,” he manages, coughing as he rubs the back of his neck. “You just caught me off guard, I—I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”
His gaze drops to the floor. His tail curls tightly around his leg, a trembling coil betraying everything he wishes he could hide. That’s the problem with letting it out—it gives him away too easily. Every emotion, every flinch, every ounce of fear.
Sapnap’s voice is gentle, warm and careful. “It’s alright, bud. I should’ve checked first.” He sets the spoon down and wipes his hands on a towel before nodding toward the dining table. “Why don’t you sit down, yeah? You must be dead on your feet after everything.”
Tommy swallows, the guilt sitting like a stone in his chest. Sapnap isn’t mad—not even close—but the shame still prickles under his skin, crawling up his throat until it aches.
It’s not just about the touch. It’s about the way Sapnap’s kindness makes him feel safe—and how easily he ruins it.
…He doesn’t want to disappoint him.
Tommy forces the thought down—shoves it deep, somewhere far enough inside that he can pretend it’s gone. He drags himself to the dining table, drops into the chair, and knots his fingers together until his knuckles ache. From the kitchen, he can hear Sapnap moving about, humming under his breath, the faint clatter of mugs and spoons soft against the sound of milk simmering.
Augh.
God, Sapnap’s been so good to him. So patient. So damn kind. Helping him out, offering food and warmth, all while Tommy’s been acting like some useless little kid—panicking over a deer carcass and collapsing into the first sign of safety.
And he doesn’t even know if it was Dream.
What if it wasn’t? What if he’s just run halfway across the forest because of nothing—because of shadows in his own damn head? What if he’s wasted Sapnap’s time, dragged him into his stupid paranoia just because he can’t tell the difference between fear and reality anymore?
His chest tightens painfully.
How fucking stupid can you be, Tommy?
He bites his lip until the taste of iron blooms on his tongue, eyes stinging as the guilt builds and builds. Idiot. He’s just taking advantage of Sapnap’s kindness, because what? He’s tired? Scared? Lonely? Because Sapnap feels safe, and Tommy hasn’t had safe in so damn long that he’s forgotten how to handle it?
He should go.
Yeah, yeah, he should go.
He’ll stay long enough to finish the drink—since Sapnap went through all the trouble—but after that, he’ll leave. He’ll head home. Pull himself together. Maybe even bring something back later, an apology gift. Something small to make up for acting like such a pathetic crybaby in front of him.
Tommy buries his face in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision bursts with colour—reds and greens and fracturing light. His shoulders tremble, but he presses harder, chasing the ache because it’s easier to focus on than the hot twist of shame in his gut.
It hurts. But at least it’s a distraction.
“Toms?”
The voice snaps through the fog of his thoughts, sharp enough to make Tommy flinch. He drags his hands away from his face, blinking hard until Sapnap comes back into focus—standing a few feet away, concern etched between his brows.
Tommy forces a small, shaky smile. “Uhm—yeah? Sorry, what’s up?”
Sapnap studies him for a moment longer, like he wants to ask something but decides against it. Instead, he slides a red mug across the table. The scent of cocoa curls through the air, rich and sweet.
Tommy’s hands find the mug automatically. It’s warm—blissfully warm—and he clings to it as if it might anchor him. “Thank you, Sapnap,” he murmurs, voice smaller than he means it to be.
Sapnap sits down beside him, the chair creaking lightly. His presence steadily fills the space, grounding. When he smiles, it’s soft and kind, indulgent even—something Tommy can’t remember Philza ever directing at him.
“Of course, kiddo.”
A rough thumb swipes across Tommy’s cheek, brushing away a smudge of dirt he hadn’t even realised was there. The touch is gentle, careful. “Do you need anything else?” Sapnap asks, and he means it. Tommy can hear it in his voice—the quiet promise that if Tommy said yes, he’d move heaven and hell to make it happen.
And god, it’s nice. Too nice. Dangerous, even.
Tommy shakes his head quickly, eyes darting back to the mug before Sapnap can see the crack in his composure. “No—no, thanks. This is good.”
He grips the cup tighter, heat bleeding into his palms, trying to burn away the aching want that rises in his chest. Pathetic. He can’t even handle a simple touch without turning it into something it’s not—always reaching for more like some desperate, starving thing.
He forces the thought down and takes a sip instead. The hot chocolate coats his tongue, thick and sweet, drowning out the bitter taste of guilt that’s been sitting in his throat.
It’s good—really good. Warm and rich and real.
He almost wants to cry.
"Toms, you said you found the carcass this morning, right?"
Tommy nearly inhales his drink. He coughs, sputtering as he scrambles to set the mug down before he spills it all over the table. "I— uhm, yeah. S’just— just on the top of my stairs. Right outside my door." His voice trails off into a mumble, his stomach twisting. He forces himself to focus on the mug instead. The red is hard to pin down. Crimson? No, too orange. Scarlet? Maybe... no, too pink.
"Did it look old?" Sapnap asks, one claw tapping a slow rhythm against the wood.
Tommy swallows thickly, his throat burning. He doesn’t know why Sapnap’s asking, but it feels wrong not to answer. "Uhm… no, not really. The blood wasn’t— it wasn’t brown yet. It was still kinda warm." He takes another sip of the hot chocolate, too quickly, too deeply. He almost wishes it burned his tongue. The pain would be easier. Something to anchor him.
He stares harder at the cup. Venetian red? No, too bright. This one’s darker. Rich, maybe. Softer. If he squints, he can almost convince himself that figuring out the exact colour will keep the panic away.
"And the injuries?"
Tommy blinks, glancing up. "Sorry?"
"The injuries," Sapnap repeats, his tone gentle but insistent, tail flicking lazily through the empty chair back. "You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. But… I wanted to ask if you could tell what killed it?"
Tommy hesitates. His tongue feels heavy, thick as he chews on his bottom lip. "I— I dunno what killed it," he finally mutters. "But it looked peaceful." The word feels wrong in his mouth. He grips the mug tighter, his knuckles whitening. "The side that was facing me wasn’t messed up. But the other side—" his voice cracks, "—was torn to shreds. Blood was everywhere. When I noticed it, it was all I could see—"
He cuts off, eyes squeezing shut as his breath starts to hitch.
Sapnap moves slowly—no sudden gestures, no sharp words. Just a quiet presence, steady as stone. His hand finds the back of Tommy’s neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing slowly, grounding circles against the tense skin there. The warmth seeps into Tommy’s bones, pulling a shudder from his chest that sounds dangerously close to a sob.
"It’s alright, kiddo," Sapnap murmurs, his voice low and steady. Tommy doesn’t answer. He can’t. He just leans into the touch and pretends it doesn’t feel like all he wants.
"I'm so sorry, bud," Sapnap murmurs, his voice low and rough with sympathy as he gently coaxes Tommy forward. The moment Sapnap’s arms open, Tommy folds into them. like gravity itself decided this was where he belonged.
His claws catch in Sapnap’s shirt as he clings tight, his breathing coming in hiccups. His throat burns, his chest aches, and he buries his face into the man’s neck, shaking with quiet, strangled sounds that don’t quite form sobs but are close enough to hurt.
Sapnap doesn’t shush him or try to talk him down. He just holds him. The rumble in his chest is low, deep, and steady—something between a purr and a thundercloud—and it thrums through Tommy’s ribs until his own heart starts syncing with it. Sapnap nuzzles his temple once, twice, brushing his cheek against Tommy’s tear-streaked skin in a soft, wordless gesture that feels almost sacred.
Tommy breathes him in—warmth and woodsmoke and something faintly metallic—and lets himself relax. Sapnap’s body radiates heat, even through the layers of fabric, and Tommy soaks it up greedily, like he’s half-starved for it. A shudder slips out of him, and Sapnap just keeps him there, gentle and unyielding.
For a long moment, it’s quiet.
Tommy’s eyes, half-lidded and hazy, drag aimlessly around the room—the walls painted in soft, earthy tones, shelves lined with odd trinkets, the faint flicker of candlelight breathing against the shadows. He feels empty, hollowed and worn, but safe. For the first time in weeks, he feels like he might actually stop shaking.
But his gaze catches on something hanging on the far wall.
A mask.
White. Simple.
With that stupid fucking smile.
His heart lurches violently against his ribs. Cold floods his veins, sudden and absolute. His hands, still clutching Sapnap’s shirt, start to tremble.
"Uhm— Sapnap?" His voice is barely a whisper, raw and trembling.
Sapnap tilts his head, his brows drawing together in concern. "Yeah, sprite?" he says softly, pulling back just enough to see Tommy’s face.
Tommy swallows hard, his throat thick. "Who— who’s your spouse?"
The question makes Sapnap’s expression brighten immediately, almost glowing. He pulls one hand away and holds it up, the golden ring on his finger catching the light. "Oh! I’m married to Dream," he says cheerfully. "Have been for a few years now, actually, but I didn’t realise ’til about a year in because Dream forgot that humans do things differently—"
But Tommy doesn’t hear the rest.
The words fade, swallowed by the ringing that explodes in his ears. His heartbeat turns into a dull roar, blood thrumming painfully under his skin.
No. No. No—
Sapnap is married to Dream.
Sapnap lives with his partner.
If Sapnap is married to Dream, then that means Dream is his partner, which means—
Which means—
...
He’s in Dream’s house.
He’s in Dream’s house.
Tommy tears himself from Sapnap’s grip like he’s been burned, stumbling backward so hard his chair screeches and tips. His back slams into it, and pain shoots up his spine, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.
Dream.
Dream left a deer carcass on his doorstep this morning—
And now he’s in the man’s fucking house.
Tommy’s breath shatters in his chest. His limbs move before thought can catch up, pure instinct and panic, scrambling away from Sapnap like his skin’s on fire. He stumbles over the chair leg, catches himself on the table, and runs. The floorboards groan beneath his boots, the kitchen a blur as he makes a break for the front door, every heartbeat hammering in his ears like gunfire.
The handle doesn’t budge.
Tommy yanks harder. Nothing.
The door’s locked.
No.
No, no, *no, no no no nononononono—*
He’s gasping now, the air burning his lungs, the edges of his vision flickering black. Tommy whimpers, shoving at the door again, harder this time, his claws bursting free in a flare of raw panic. He slashes at the wood—once, twice, again—and the only sound is the dull, muted thunk of his claws catching uselessly.
A faint blue shimmer ripples across the door, a barrier humming where there should be splinters. The magic absorbs every hit like water swallowing stones.
Tommy slams his fist against it with a snarl. “Move!” he yells, but it doesn’t. No matter how hard he pulls, or claws, or kicks, it just—won’t—move.
“Oh, Toms, it’s okay,” Sapnap coos behind him, voice soft and coaxing, like that helps.
Tommy spins, back pressed flat against the door. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, his claws shaking where they hang at his sides. “Fuck off!” he snarls, voice breaking, “Get—get the fuck away from me!”
Sapnap freezes, palms up, taking slow steps forward. “Tommy, please, just wait a moment, I promise it’s not that bad—”
“Not that bad?” Tommy’s voice cracks open like glass. “Not that bad!?” His tail lashes wildly, his whole body trembling. “He left a fucking deer carcass on my doorstep, Sapnap! Clearly that’s pretty fucking bad!”
Sapnap’s expression folds into something soft—too soft, too gentle, like Tommy’s some skittish creature in need of soothing. “It’s not—look, I know it looks bad, but I promise he didn’t mean it to be threatening, bud. Dream just… does things a little differently to humans, you know?”
Tommy lets out a sharp, broken laugh that sounds more like a sob. “No, I don’t fucking know, Sapnap!” he spits, voice wobbling on the edge of hysteria. Tears prick his eyes, hot and furious.
He backs away as Sapnap takes another step forward, keeping the table between them. “He—he tried to kill me! He tormented me! He tried to get me exiled! And now—” His voice fractures. “And now he’s leaving dead animals on my doorstep?!”
Sapnap flinches at the venom in his tone, but still— still doesn’t stop. His hands stay raised in a pathetic gesture of peace. “I know it looks really bad, kiddo,” he says softly, almost pleading, “but I swear he really doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Tommy makes a sound—a high, keening, terrified noise that doesn’t sound human at all. He’s trembling so badly his knees threaten to give out. He doesn’t believe a word of it.
His gaze darts frantically around the kitchen. The walls shimmer faintly with that same warded blue glow—there’s no way he’s breaking through. The window’s covered in old latticework, enchanted no doubt, and Sapnap’s blocking the only other exit.
His eyes land on the mug.
That red mug, still half-full of hot chocolate sitting innocently on the table.
Carmine, he realises distantly. That’s the colour. Carmine—the colour of his mug. The same colour as the blood that stained his front steps this morning.
His fingers twitch.
Before Sapnap can speak again, Tommy snatches the mug off the table, hot chocolate sloshing over his fingers. “Tommy, wait—”
He doesn’t wait.
He hurls it with every ounce of strength left in his trembling arms.
The mug smashes against the wall beside Sapnap’s head, shattering into a spray of red shards and steaming chocolate that spatters the man’s cheek and shoulder. The scent of burnt sugar and cocoa fills the room, cloying and sharp.
Tommy stands there, chest heaving, claws flexed and eyes wild, every muscle ready to bolt the moment that barrier falls.
But instead of the throw doing anything useful, Sapnap just wipes some of the splattered drink off his face, stepping over the shattered mug.
Oh, fuck, fucking fuckity fuck—
Tommy hiccups, stumbling back, breath ragged as he tries to put space between them. His tail lashes wildly, the tip trembling with every heartbeat. “F-fuck off, man!” he chokes out, his voice warbling between rage and terror. “Please, I—I just wanna go home—”
He barely gets the last word out before Sapnap moves.
It’s too fast—Tommy doesn’t even see it happen. One second , there’s air between them, the next, Sapnap’s on him. Arms like iron bands wrap around his chest and drag him in, crushing the air from his lungs.
Tommy screams.
He thrashes and kicks, claws scraping uselessly at Sapnap’s arms, his chest, anything he can reach. He punches and fights like a cornered animal, but it’s like trying to claw through a stone wall. Sapnap doesn’t even flinch.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Tommy sobs, voice cracking, thrashing harder, his tail whipping and tangling around Sapnap’s leg. His body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve screaming _move.
But he can’t.
Sapnap just holds him tighter.
“Tommy, Tommy, I’m sorry,” Sapnap murmurs, voice strangled and low, his breath hot against Tommy’s hair. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to scare you, please just—please calm down, okay?”
Tommy punches at his chest, but his strength is fading fast, his energy bleeding out through every trembling breath. “Please,” he sobs, the word tearing itself raw from his throat, “please, Sapnap—just let me go—” Sapnap only hushes him, a quiet, desperate sound that vibrates in his chest. “Shh, shh—it’s okay, Toms. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
But it isn’t.
Tommy’s tears spill hot down his face, his entire body shaking as the weight of Sapnap’s hold pins him still. Every inch of him screams that he’s trapped—that no matter how kind Sapnap sounds, no matter how soft his apologies, he’s not free.
He sobs harder, curling in on himself even as Sapnap murmurs apologies into his hair, holding him so tightly. Tommy hiccups, desperate and broken, his cries catching on every shallow breath.
Sapnap just hums lowly, pressing a gentle kiss to Tommy’s forehead — a soft, unbearably tender thing that only makes the ache worse. A steady hand settles at the nape of Tommy’s neck, coaxing him closer until his cheek is pressed against Sapnap’s chest.
He feels weak. So damn weak.
Sapnap gathers him up with ease, lifting him like he weighs nothing, and sits back on the couch with Tommy cradled in his lap. His arms stay firm around him, tight enough to keep Tommy still, but never cruel.
Never quite enough to really hurt.
Tommy’s tears soak into Sapnap’s shirt, staining the fabric in dark, wet patches. The man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t scold him or push him away — he only sighs softly, thumb tracing small circles at the base of Tommy’s skull.
“M’ sorry, bud,” Sapnap murmurs, voice low and rough. “I didn’t mean to trick you into coming in. You must be pretty scared, huh?”
Tommy doesn’t answer. His throat is too tight, his voice too wrecked. He trembles instead, silent and shaking, tears leaking fresh and hot down his cheeks.
Is Sapnap going to kill him?
Is he going to call Dream? Is he going to let him do it?
The thought coils like barbed wire in Tommy’s chest, cutting deeper with every breath. He doesn’t want to die.
He doesn’t want to die.
Another sob shudders through him, and Sapnap only hushes him, tail flicking once before curling tenderly around Tommy’s. This time, Tommy doesn’t pull away. He’s too tired to fight, too drained to pretend he has any strength left.
So he lets it happen — lets Sapnap hold him, lets his own tail rest entangled with the other’s — and cries softly into the dark fabric of the man’s shirt, praying to gods who never listen that this isn’t the end.
“But I’m not lying, Toms,” Sapnap says softly, his voice patient, like he’s talking to a skittish animal he doesn’t want to scare off again. “Dream really doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s not human, not like the others. Not like we—well, partly—are.”
Tommy sniffs, eyes red and glassy. His throat burns when he tries to swallow. “Then why—” he croaks, voice cracking, “why’d he—why the deer?”
Sapnap hums, almost fond. “He actually did the whole deer thing with me, too.”
Tommy blinks up at him, confusion cutting through the haze of fear for a moment. “…What?” His voice comes out weak, rasped.
Sapnap’s grin grows, crooked and soft, like he’s remembering something good. “Yeah. He’s kind of like a cat, you know? Brings you things. Gifts, to show he likes you. He gave me a few back when we first met, and I freaked out every single time.”
Sapnap chuckles, shaking his head, his hand carding slowly through Tommy’s tangled hair like this was funny. “Didn’t realise he was trying to show me affection. I mean, I was terrified of him, man—thought he was gonna eat me.”
A wet, startled snort leaves Tommy before he can stop it. The image is ridiculous, so absurdly unlike the terror clawing through him that, for a second, it almost breaks through.
Sapnap grins at the sound, tail swishing before twining tighter with Tommy’s. “See? Didn’t eat me. Didn’t even want to. He wanted to court me.” Sapnap laughs quietly to himself, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “That’s all it was, just... bad translation. Dream’s a creature that doesn’t always get how human customs work. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Toms. He just doesn’t understand that we have different processes for stuff like courtship and family and, y’know, adoption—like how he didn’t really understand dating when we first started out.”
Tommy stills.
His brain blanks entirely, a single word echoing like a dropped stone into deep water.
Adoption.
His breath catches in his throat. Sapnap doesn’t even notice—he’s still talking, gentle and unhurried, as if he hasn’t just detonated Tommy’s entire world.
Because Dream’s been trying to—
Adopt him?
Tommy stares, unblinking, at the wall over Sapnap’s shoulder. His thoughts tumble and knot and crash into each other until they blur. The deer. The blood. The carcass by his stairs. The years of torment and laughter and fear.
All this time—
Dream wasn’t hunting him.
Dream thought he was—
Adopting him???
The world tilts. Everything in Tommy wants to laugh, cry, scream. His tail coils so tightly it aches, the sound caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp in his chest.
"But you know," Sapnap continues softly, rubbing circles between Tommy’s shoulder blades, “Dream maybe is a cat thing. He thought he could just... take a kid the way you’d pick up a kitten, and the kid would just—automatically—know he was the new parent. Cats do that, and stuff, with orphaned kittens.”
He gives a small, sheepish chuckle. “And, ah, he thought you didn’t have any parents, so you fit the orphan thing, and he wanted a kid, so. Fits the mother cat thing, ot.”
Tommy makes an indignant noise at that—because, hello, he has parents!
…Had?
The thought hits harder than he expects, hollowing him out from the inside. Wilbur hasn’t spoken to him in weeks. Months, maybe. Philza… well. The less said, the better.
...
Does he still have parents?
His throat tightens, the fight draining from him all over again.
“Originally, I was against it, you know?” Sapnap admits, voice dipping low. “You had Wilbur, you seemed happy enough, for the most part." He hesitates, sighing as he tucks Tommy a little closer. “But then you weren’t, kiddo. And Wilbur, he’s a good... err... okay, well he's an... acceptable guy, don’t get me wrong—but he doesn’t really understand demon hybrids. Not like I do. He doesn’t know how to take care of you properly.”
Sapnap shifts, chin resting atop Tommy’s curls, his voice gentling until it almost purrs. “And you’re a good kid, Toms. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and Wilbur just... wasn't doing enough.”
Tommy’s face burns, warmth blooming under his ribs like sunlight through fog. It feels wrong to like the words—wrong and wonderful and painful all at once. His chest feels too small for it.
He doesn’t know what to do with being called a good kid.
“So,” Sapnap continues, almost wistfully, “I stopped telling Dream to leave you alone. Figured he just wanted to talk, explain it to you. Should’ve looked into it more, though, I thought I explained to him the whole dead animal thing ain't normal behaviour for humans.” He sighs again, guilt threading through his tone. “I’m sorry he scared you, bud. He gets… excited.”
Tommy snorts wetly, half a hiccup, half a bitter laugh. “Excited,” he echoes faintly, voice cracking.
That’s one way to describe it.
Sapnap just shrugs, thumb brushing along the back of Tommy’s neck, grounding and unbearably gentle. “Yeah,” he says. “He's just excited.. He really does mean well. He just doesn’t understand the...cultural differences.”
Sapnap hums softly, like he hasn’t just cracked Tommy’s mind open and left the thought festering there. “But I think he’ll be good once we talk it over, you know? He just wants you to be happy with us—to spoil you n’ shit. And you’ve got some stuff in common. Did you know he purrs sometimes?”
That earns a startled blink from Tommy. Sapnap grins faintly, voice turning lighter, almost fond. “Yeah. It’s really sweet, honestly. Don’t even know where he keeps the organs to do that, but we do too, so I guess it’s not that weird. I mean, he’s definitely weird, but—he means well. He's always meant well, he's not very good at it, though, I guess. But well—”
Tommy lets out a broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob, but it ends up being mostly the latter. His chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.
“Oh, kiddo…” Sapnap murmurs, and his tone is so heavy with pity it nearly undoes Tommy entirely. Sapnap doesn’t stop him when he buries his face against his chest, shaking and gasping, his tears soaking through the man’s shirt. “Sap—please,” Tommy chokes out, the words slurred and raw, “I-I just—I don’t want to stay. Please, just tell him to s-sod off and let me go.”
He hiccups violently, his voice breaking into small, desperate sounds he can’t swallow down. He wants to thrash, to lash his tail out and shove Sapnap away—but it’s still curled with Sapnap’s, locked there, like even his own body’s been convinced he’s safe when he isn’t.
Sapnap sighs, slow and tired, his palm finding Tommy’s cheek. He lifts his chin gently until Tommy’s tear-glazed eyes meet his own. “I’m so sorry, fireball,” he says quietly, and the nickname lands like a knife. “I really can’t. It’s just… better if you get used to it. Because he won’t give up once he’s set his sights on something.”
Tommy trembles, horror and exhaustion blending until they’re indistinguishable. Sapnap’s expression softens, full of weary sympathy, as if he’s breaking the news that the rain will never stop falling.
“I promise, this’ll get better. I'll teach you more about your heritage, you'll have a home to come back to, people to take care of you.” Sapnap murmurs, pulling him close again, his tail wrapping protectively around Tommy’s once more. “He won’t stop. And I'm not going to stop him either, kiddo. I love you, and we'll be good for you, I swear."
And Tommy—too tired to fight, too heartsick to think—just melts against him, tears slipping hot and silent down his cheeks as the truth settles in his bones like ash.