Tommy had done many things throughout his lives, many immoral and challenging things (there was that one time he helped an old lady cross the road so that cancelled out any of his wrongdoings), yet he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to style this bandana.
He was on team Red Rabbits for MCC today and although he liked the red t-shirt with his name written on the back, the bandana confused him. He didn't know whether to wear it like a headband or tie it around his wrist to cover his tattoo. Either way, he couldn't tie it properly. He managed to survive wars—well, not survive but endure them until death—and this was what he struggled with.
It was embarrassing, humiliating even. Eventually, he decided to just wear it as a headband (the knot was still too tight).
He walked down into the kitchen and sat down. Wilbur was wearing red as well since they were on the same team—each MCC team had a person from year groups eight to thirteen. The Championships had over fifty teams, which was funny since there were normal-sounding teams like Red Rabbits or Pink Parrots, but then they ran out of colours so some unlucky fuckers were stuck with Mustard Mammoths. He truly felt sorry for the people who had to buy a mustard coloured t-shirt; the school was very strict about having the correct shaded clothes. If it was too similar to yellow, he wouldn't be surprised if that kid turned up missing within a week.
"What the fuck is on your head?" Wilbur asked, pointing at Tommy's bandana. Tommy flipped him off, scowling at how Wilbur had his tied around his neck.
"I knotted it at least."
"You attempted to knot it," Wilbur corrected. "You've twisted your hair into for God's sake."
"Stop harassing me," he exclaimed, jerking backwards from Wilbur's hands, not letting the man touch his hair.
"I'm not harassing you—" Wilbur proceeded to say as he continued to get closer to him.
"Phil!" Tommy yelled. "Control your son!"
"If he's causing shit, he's not my son," Phil replied as he strolled into the kitchen, Techno closely behind him with a plate of scrambled eggs. Techno wore similar sports gear to his fencing outfit—he was one of the referees for MCC—whilst Phil was gowned in a red attire for support.
"I hate this family," Wilbur grumbled.
"There's the door," Techno said, causing Wilbur to throw a spoon at his chest.
Phil sighed as two of his sons fought across the table. "I regret being a father."
"You don't regret me though, do you?" Tommy asked, jokingly. But the doughy look Phil gave him wiped the humour away, a certain softness creased his eyes.
"You are this family's only achievement," Phil said. "I need to show you something before you eat."
Tommy trailed after him, leaving the other two fighting—Techno currently had Wilbur in a headlock.
They stopped in the corridor to Phil's office, in front of the same wall with the framed screenshot of a Minecraft house. He never noticed that there were three medals mounted on the walls before with pictures hung directly underneath each. He stepped forward, the golden medals looked more like coins; they had 'MCC' and a numbered season engraved on them.
"This is some cult shit," Tommy said.
Phil ruffled his hair teasingly. "Nope, these are our pride possessions. And if you win one today, it'll be put right next to Techno's."
Phil gestured to the latest framed coin; a picture of Techno with a golden crown and Wilbur and Phil beside him hung underneath it.
"What if I wanted to sell it on eBay?"
"Then I'd disown you."
"What about Amazon?"
"Even worse, you'd need to be emancipated at fifteen," Phil said and Tommy laughed. "But seriously, try your best today and if you don't win, I'll be proud of you."
He smiled toothlessly at the man. "You really are a soccer mum."
"Don't associate me with them, I have to sit with the fuckers for the rest of the day."
Tommy peered closer at the images near Phil and Wilbur's coins. Underneath Phil's was an old picture of him next to a woman with raven hair and the kindest smile he'd ever seen before. Then below Wilbur's was a younger version of himself with the same woman by his side. He assumed it was Wilbur's mother and Phil's wife.
"I will bring another coin to the Craft name, do not worry," Tommy said. He noticed Phil's eyes fixated on the picture of his deceased wife and a chill pooled in his stomach. "Quick question though, could I be disqualified for sabotaging other teams?"
Phil wheezed, taking his eyes off the framed images.
"I'm being serious! There's like sixty teams and I'm new to this."
The man reached forward and untied the knot to Tommy's bandana, sliding it off his head. "Just remember Techno's training and you'll do well." Phil loosely wrapped the red fabric around Tommy's neck in the similar style Wilbur had. "And sabotage is easy in Ace Race, abuse the shit out of that."
Tommy grinned and tugged lightly on the bandana Phil had fixed for him. "Will do, Mr Minecraft."
❊❊❊
Now, Tommy had the suspicion the school he attended was rich—despite how the water fountains never worked and for a month there were no toilet seats in the boy's bathrooms (blame the year ten's fucking around). But it was obvious where most of the school's funding went when they arrived there: to MCC. Because holy shit, it was decked out.
There was an obstacle course trekking along the field and the AstroTurf had several capture the flag arenas placed in there. From what he could see through the opened gymnasium doors, climbing frames and multiple wipe-out sweepers were laid out.
"How much did they spend on this shit?" Tommy asked, still gaping at the amount of shit this school had prepared just for sport's day.
"As much as you go on about hating Tories Tommy, you attend an elitist private school," Wilbur said.
"What the fuck?"
"Dad's loaded with cash."
"Shut it," Phil protested from beside them.
"Humble man, so in denial of his wealth and success." Wilbur dodged a smack around the head.
"Alright, I'll be in the stands, good luck boys." Tommy gave the man a thumbs-up as he walked to the crowds of parents and year sevens; he followed Wilbur into the main hall, where everyone was already gathered into their teams.
He strayed from Wilbur to find a certain bee boy in green. Though, a hand gripped on his t-shirt and pulled him backwards. The hand belonged to Clementine, who was wearing Pink, with Niki in the same colour. The two were in the Pink Parrots team.
"Hi!" Clementine said enthusiastically. Her hair was dyed differently from what it was yesterday—strips of it were pastel pink, in solidarity with her team. Yep, he was right earlier, MCC was some cult shit.
"Sorry, I can't interact with enemy teams," Tommy replied, fiddling with his red bandana.
"Says the one who was looking around for Tubbo," Niki said.
Tommy rolled his eyes. "I need to instil fear into him."
"Threatening the other teams is a bannable offence," Clementine said and Niki gawked at her.
"Kinda hypocritical to say, Clem," Niki chuckled. Tommy tilted his head, confused. "She almost made a year nine on Yellow Yacks cry five minutes ago."
"Jesus Christ, what did you say to them?"
"I may have threatened their team because Vitalia is on it, and the younger ones took it personally."
"Natural selection, I guess."
Niki sighed heavily. "Please never have children."
"If Ace Race goes badly, I don't think I'll be able to have kids after this," Tommy said, his tone lacked humour yet Niki choked laughter into her hand. "What? I'm being completely serious! I'm vulnerable to—"
"Anyway!" Clementine interrupted. She passed him a hairband that was on her wrist. "I brought you over here so you can help me. You must've learnt how to braid hair from that girl who was like a sister to you."
Tommy avoided Niki's narrowed eyes as his face reddened. Niki did teach him how to braid and style longer hair, especially as she struggled to do her own because her hands shook too much after the First L'manberg War. He was terrible at it, and she never let him forget that, but he made up for his bad braiding by intertwining flowers (and grass) into her hair. He got better at it during exile—he plaited his own hair to remind himself of her, a silly action that brought more comfort to him than it healthily should've.
Reluctantly, he nodded and Clementine beamed. He French-braided her hair and managed to thread in her pink bandana.
She briefly hugged him when he finished it. "At least now if I don't win MCC, I'll lose with style. Oh also, if you're ever against Yellow Yacks, go hard on them."
"Will do," Tommy said. "Good luck, hope you lose!"
He gave them one last smile before continuing his hunt for Tubbo. He eventually found him with the rest of the Green Guardians. Tubbo had his bandana tied in a bow around his neck. Ranboo was next to him, though he wasn't wearing a coloured t-shirt, just casual clothes and jeans.
"Ranboo, why aren't you wearing your team colour?" Tommy asked, tugging at the boy's flower-patterned flannel.
Tubbo burst out laughing and Ranboo crossed his arms, huffing loudly.
"I'm banned from MCC," Ranboo explained. He had never heard such agony come out of Ranboo's mouth before.
Tommy gaped at him. "What did you even do to get banned?"
"Basically he—"
"Tubbo, shut up!" he covered the smaller boy's mouth with his hand, glad it was gloved for how Tubbo immediately licked it. "I'm simply too awesome for this event."
Before Ranboo could further explain himself, the bell sounded and Tommy made his way back to his team. Wilbur was talking to the year twelve boy (his name might be Grian or groin—he wasn't sure but he betted on the first name), leaving Tommy awkwardly staring at the other lower years, three girls from year eight to ten. Despite how the year eight was under five feet tall, trying to hunt her in Parkour Tag would be a challenge. And the other two girls looked like they'd bully Tommy in the corridor. So his team seemed competent.
Soon enough, a middle-aged man dressed in similar sporting clothes to Techno stepped up on the stage. Tommy's PE teacher, Coach Smajor. The man tapped on the microphone, screeching echoed throughout the hall from the speakers.
"Whoops, sorry about that," Coach Smajor said, his Scottish accent as prevalent as always. "Anyhow, this year's MCC will begin shortly, but before we have to tell you about the changes for this year. This time, as the school's population has increased, one game will not be played so choose wisely with your voting and Sands of Time takes place in the photography darkrooms now."
Coach Smajor carried on with his speech and Tommy successfully concealed his laughter when the man said the word 'yellow' multiple times as his son was in that team. Fucking Scottish people. When he finished speaking, Wilbur passed out tokens for them to use to vote.
"Get Build Mart out of the way, I don't want to play that dogshit game," Wilbur said as they watched the front-row teams put their tokens into the selection of minigames.
"Hey, Build Mart is a good minigame," Grian objected.
"You're a builder! Builder bias," Wilbur quipped back since Grian was part of the HermitCraft club (don't ask Tommy what they did during those meetings, he had no fucking idea).
"They nerfed it anyway because of Technoblade two years ago, it's worth to either play it early or hope it gets skipped," the year ten girl advised.
"Please don't tell me you're a Technoblade stan."
"Techno has stans?" Tommy gagged at the mere thought of it.
And to his dismay, the girl nodded. "He's good at MCC."
"Jesus Christ," Wilbur sighed. "Just vote for a fucking game guys, as long as it's not Ace Race, I'm fine."
It ended up being Ace Race.
"Are you fucking—" Wilbur shouted, causing Grian to grimace. "Sorry."
Tommy laughed at the pure disgust on Wilbur's face. "Come on, man, you've got this."
"Shut the fuck up, child."
"I take it back. I hope you trip over on that course and are no longer able to have children. You will never fulfil your dream of making your own army of kids—"
"Why is your go-to insult whenever we do exercise to do with someone's fertility rate?"
"Quirky," the year nine answered for him.
Tommy moved forward towards her, his fists clenched, but Wilbur pulled him back. "Okay, we're not doing this here. Friendly fire isn't on. Let's just get to the field for this shitty minigame."
"Meet me at the park at nine pm BST, you will regret this shit," Tommy jeered, glaring at her.
"Stop threatening thirteen-year-old girls, Tommy," Wilbur said as he tugged Tommy along, following the rest of the teams to the field.
"She called me quirky!" he protested.
When they reached the field, he spotted Phil in the crowds and waved (he didn't realise the man was wearing the striped bucket hat he had gotten him for Christmas—even if it clashed with Phil's red outfit, Tommy liked the sentiment).
The Ace Race course looked more intimidating the closer he got to it. He was glad that each year group was separated for their run of the course; he feared for the year thirteens that would accidentally nudge into Wilbur during their race.
Whilst Tommy studied the layout, Wilbur decided to shit-talk his fellow opponents.
"Are you sure you haven't tested this before, Scott?" Wilbur yelled, smirking as the boy on Yellow Yacks squawked at him.
"Shut up Wilbur!" Scott called back.
Wilbur turned back to his team. "I'm targeting him. There's always a part of the course where you're hidden from the referees."
"Isn't that a bit harsh?" Grian asked.
"It's what he gets for being a nepotism baby," Wilbur said, which was fair enough since Scott was Coach Smajor's son. "Anyway, I'm up first. Good luck lads."
Tommy watched as Wilbur ran up to the starting line and dread flowed through him. He was beginning to understand why some people were banned from MCC, with how violent every person looked. Or maybe that was just the effect of Ace Race.
Throughout Wilbur's race, he could hear him swearing and cussing from where he sat on the benches. He didn't know what someone had done to Wilbur for them to be called a 'massive, fucking cunt' but he assumed it had something to do with Wilbur falling out the tunnel.
He clapped the loudest when Niki finally finished; he ignored the looks he got from his younger teammates for cheering on the enemy team. Obviously, they did not know the legend of Niki Nihachu herself, the only person deserving to be cheered on by the opponent.
After Grian's race, Tommy was next and the blood dripping across someone's eyebrow as they walked to the waiting stands didn't ease his anxiety.
"You gonna shit yourself, dude?" Tubbo asked as he tied his shoelaces for the fourth time.
"What?" he exclaimed. "No? The fuck?"
"You could've fooled me," Tubbo said. "Don't worry about this though, you're bound to be assaulted at least once during Ace Race."
"That isn't helpful."
"I'm not trying to be."
"You literally said don't worry—"
The klaxon interrupted him and the race began.
Already pushing someone out of the way, Tommy jumped across the spinnable platforms, just quick enough so it didn't twist and make him fall, closely following behind Tubbo. He climbed over the vibrant green wall and almost stopped to watch two people kick each other off the ropes—as entertaining as that shit-fest was, he had a minigame to win.
Tubbo stacked it over the pillars, so Tommy overtook him and swung through the monkey bars part. Someone tried to tickle him during it (he was pretty sure it was Clementine), but thankfully he didn't fall into the pit. Next was a BTEC Ninja Warrior wall that Ranboo could probably just jump over, and he would never admit that it took him several attempts to climb over it. As much as he proclaimed he was six-foot-three, an eight-foot wall exhibited too much tall energy for him.
He used the many shortcuts Techno made him memorise during the running and jump-pad part of it—the course always had the same mechanics but just with a different layout. Techno was the sort of person to analyse every single detail and create a PowerPoint slide to exploit it.
"Clementine, get out of the fucking way!" he shouted as the girl took up most of the space on the platform before the wall rock climbing portion of the race.
"If there wasn't a referee currently staring at us, I would boot you off this platform so hard."
"You just wait until the tunnel section," he threatened and sprinting forward, only to get punched in the neck multiple times by a fucking machine. He now had a grudge against machinery, so if computers ever developed consciousness in the future, he'd make it his mission to verbally harass them to the point of tears.
Tubbo had now caught up to him, so the tunnel section was more fun. As soon as he crawled into it, the tubes around him hiding the opponents from the referee's eyes, he pushed Tubbo out of one of the holes in the tunnel whilst shouting, "Bye-bye bee boy!"
He came in the top five and may have sacrificed every single friendship he had, but it was worth it. When Tubbo finished after having to restart the climbing section, the shorter boy approached him, his face murderous.
"I will fuck you up," Tubbo seethed, prodding Tommy's chest. "I will literally skin you alive and—"
"You're not as threatening now that I know how loudly you scream whilst falling off a tunnel."
Tubbo backed up to tackle him and Tommy ran away, hiding behind a referee.
"Let me at him!" Tubbo bellowed, fighting against the referee's grip.
Tommy laughed loudly and sought safety from Wilbur, who was drinking his water beside the waiting stands.
"Help me, I've angered Tubbo," he begged, grabbing Wilbur's shoulders and placing the man in front of him.
"You're dead."
"But I came top five!"
"You're still dead."
Thankfully, Tubbo was put in time-out for the rest of the Ace Race rounds.
❊❊❊
Hole in the Wall was next and it took ten minutes for Tommy to stop laughing at the name. Even if he was called childish, immature and various other insults by the girls on his team, it did not matter. He had the right to act this way since he carried his teammates in Ace Race with the number of points he got compared to them (the year eight managed to score more points than him but he decided to ignore that).
In the gymnasium, there were four wipe-out sweepers set out, so four teams could compete at the same time with each person's endurance times being noted down. There didn't seem to be enough protective padding around the massive sweeper thing for Tommy's liking—knowing his luck, he'd probably crack his head open (and not die, but it would traumatise his teammates).
Disregarding that, Hole in the Wall was quite amusing. The prick who called him quirky on his team got decked by the sweeper early on, making the year ten laugh at her and get sniped by the machine as well. It was a weird game of Dominos. Even though it wasn't good for his teammates to be taken out so early, the entertainment factor made up for it.
Either way, ignoring how Hole in the Wall tried to sabotage his chances of being a father in the future, he managed to win and endure the longest against the four teams. Someone in the other team kept shouting that he was wall-glitching but how the fuck could you glitch in real life?
He treasured the small smile he saw on Techno's face when he had to write down Tommy as the winner of that round. Sure, it fed his ever-growing ego that really shouldn't get any larger, yet to have the Blade's validation was worth more than any gold.
However, he did not want to talk about what happened during Sands of Time. It was a stupid minigame and he sucked at escape rooms. Who the fuck made the clues multi-coloured in a darkroom with barely any lighting? He may have lived during times before electricity was created, but this was bullshit. He didn't blame his team for leaving him behind (he did blame Wilbur), though he still cussed them out and almost floored the quirky prick when the minigame finished—she called him a 'pussio', it would've been a deserved attack.
But somehow Parkour Tag was even worse. Clementine chose to rugby tackle him to the floor when he ran outside of the climbing frames. As much as mud looked tasty, it was not fun to eat. The small year eight carried the Red Rabbits throughout that shitfest, so they kept their high placement on the leader board.
The break before the last game was Tommy's saving grace. He sat on the bench with Tubbo with Ranboo in between them—it was a safety tactic as Tubbo had attempted to strangle him many times as he ate his sandwich.
"How's your team doing?" Ranboo asked, failing to keep his jealousy out of his voice.
"Great, we're third right now," Tommy said.
Tubbo sipped on his drink. "We're tenth, so barely in the semi-finals."
Because of how MCC had expanded since Phil first played (so many, many, many years ago), only the top ten teams could play the final game and be able to qualify into Dodgebolt. Tommy didn't think he could survive that many rounds of Battle Box if all sixty teams played.
"I'm tempted to throw though, so you get into the finales since there is no fucking way Green Guardians will manage to get first or second," Tubbo said to Tommy, surprising him. "But this doesn't mean I forgive you for attacking me in that tunnel."
"If it means anything to you, I would do it again in a heartbeat," Tommy said.
"I hate you so much."
"On second thought, I'm glad I'm banned. I'm scared of what Tommy would do to me during those minigames," Ranboo said, causing Tommy to grin. "Yep, I'm totally glad now."
The bell sounded and Tommy threw his rubbish into the bin. He joined his team and walked towards the AstroTurf, gaping at what he saw. Coach Smajor really went all-hands-on-deck for Battle Box.
There were five arenas inside the court; each had four moveable climbing frames as towers in the corners surrounding the flag pole in the middle. Raised platforms outlined the arena.
From how Techno described it, Battle Box was kinda like capture the flag with how you had to get into the middle and tie your colour flag to the pole and raise it to the top before the enemy team. Though, there were fighting mechanics, so if you were hit with an arrow or hit by a sword, you were out of that round—as well as if you were pushed off the platforms.
As the other unqualified teams settled themselves into the viewing stands with the parents, Tommy noticed Ranboo talking to Techno, who was near the referee table.
"Ranboo, sit back down, you're not participating as a referee," Techno huffed out as he continued to write down stats onto his note board.
"Please Techno, I know I'm banned but it wasn't that big of a deal."
"You broke someone's leg in the last Battle Box." Oh. So that's what Ranboo did.
"Well—"
"We had to call an air ambulance."
"No one told me tackling wasn't allowed," Ranboo defended.
"You body-slammed an opponent two-feet shorter than you. Do you lack common sense?" Techno put down his note board and shoved the boy away from him. "Go back to Phil and your parents."
"Will bribery work?"
"Ranboo," Techno dead-panned.
"Ugh fine."
Tommy laughed and walked closer as Ranboo went back to the stands, catching Techno's attention. "Why aren't you with your team? The rounds start soon."
"None of them are cooperating," Tommy complained. Even though his team had been together for the past five minutes, none of them talked about how they were about to handle Battle Box—Wilbur kept asking Grian about HermitCraft and the others he didn't give a shit about to listen to them.
"Then make them listen, take on the leader role, Tommy," Techno said.
He sighed and looked back at his team, who was awkwardly standing there, observing other teams that were in avid conversations about strategy and planning.
Techno gripped Tommy's shoulder. "This is the final game and you need to win the majority of the rounds to have a guaranteed spot in the finals. You've got this."
"I know but..."
"I'll talk to Phil about easing your current punishment for the whole underage drinking business if you get into Dodgebolt."
Tommy's head shot up. "Deal."
He returned to his team with newfound confidence. "Alright then, since none of you fuckers want to speak, you'll just have to listen and follow my lead."
He paused, waiting for one of the pricks to object. They didn't, so he continued. "This is what we're going to do..."
After a gruelling talk with them, they all had roles and knew what they needed to do. He assigned himself the sword, knowing he was the best at close combat, the year nine, ten and Grian were in charge of the left side with their bows, the year eight had the tower for call-outs, and Wilbur was on flag duty.
"I'm wool boy," Wilbur kept repeating as the two waited on the right side for the countdown.
"...Will, it's a flag," Tommy said.
"Woolbur," he declared and Tommy face-palmed, hoping that his sword was real so he could just stab himself with it to get away from him.
Regardless of Wilbur being the weird one for once, Tommy was sure they'd at least get a couple of wins during Battle Box. And they did.
The most memorable round was the final one, which was against Tubbo's team, who shouted seconds before their matchup that he took back not trying against Tommy. So he was prepared to get his arse beat—even though Tubbo was shorter than him, he had to admit that the other was stronger.
The klaxon rang and Tommy's grip on his sword tightened as he hurried to the right with Wilbur.
"Two left, three right and one's holding mid!" the girl in the tower said.
Wilbur cocked his bow and fired, missing Tubbo, who stood on the opposite side of the platform. Tommy rushed to hide behind a small box as arrows flew past him. One arrow's tip stuck into the fabric of the box, centimetres away from Tommy's head. If it was just aimed a little higher, it would've hit him.
His neck strained as he looked back at Wilbur, who hid behind the climbing frame. Grian yelled from across the arena that he had gotten two; from the corner of his eyes, two Green Guardians plummeted into the pit. A sword travelled through the air from the right side, almost hitting Grian. The year nine dashed to retrieve it but missed and tripped into the pit. Fucking idiot. If anything, that was quirky.
Tommy breathed sharply and peaked over the box. Tubbo and two of his teammates were still at the end of the platform with their bows drawn. He ducked.
The year eight in the tower shrieked as an arrow hurt her shoulder. She retreated into the waiting box.
"Come on, Tommy! Stop hiding, you prick!" Tubbo taunted from across the arena. Tommy peaked over the box again to flip him off—probably not the most tactical decision but it did piss Tubbo off even more.
"I have a short-range weapon, fuck off dickhead!"
Wilbur managed to eliminate one of Tubbo's teammates, making it two versus two on the right side.
"We're out!" Grian shouted. "They're rushing mid now!"
It was just Tommy and Wilbur left against three people.
Tubbo sprinted forward, his sword raised. Wilbur let out a manly squeal and ran backwards. Tommy scaled the empty climbing tower, Tubbo right on his tail.
His hands burned. Tubbo jumped up onto the podium, pushing him to the edge.
"How do?" Tommy greeted, smacking Tubbo's hands off him.
Tommy shoved him off the ledge, seizing his bow off as Tubbo struggled to climb back up. Drawing the bow, Tommy shot one of the opponents focusing on Wilbur. Tubbo grabbed his ankle, dragging him to the podium floor before he could shoot the other. He tugged harshly and Tommy fell with him. As he hit the floor, he flung his sword at the Green Guardian at mid, striking their leg.
Both Tommy and Tubbo dashed out of the arena, leaving Wilbur against one other person.
"Wilbur clutch it!" Tommy yelled.
"Shut the fuck up and let me do this!" Wilbur said back, loading up his bow and arrow. The last Green Guardian dodged his arrow and continued tying his flag to the pole. Wilbur darted forward and rammed into him, knocking them off the platform and into the pit. He stabled his footing and ran into the middle, attaching his coloured flag and raising it to the top of the pole with two seconds left on the timer.
Tommy shouted so much after that his throat was hoarse.
They won eight out of the nine rounds, only losing one to Yellow Yacks—Scott's team with Clementine's girlfriend, Vitalia, and another HermitCraft member, Mumbo Jumbo (he didn't believe that was the guy's real name but he was brothers with someone called Technoblade for God's sake).
When Battle Box was over, he raced with Wilbur to the leader board. Coach Smajor stood on the referee table with a megaphone.
Another rush of adrenaline phased through him as the words, "Coming in second place: Red Rabbits!" propelled through the shitty megaphone.
He could hear Phil cheering from the front rows.
They were going into the finals.
❊❊❊
As his teamed prepared themselves for Dodgebolt in various ways (the girls gave each other pep talks whilst Grian and Wilbur taunted the Yellow Yacks), Tommy fiddled with his bandana around his neck.
He wanted that fucking coin and he would get it if it was the last thing he'd ever do—which was probable in this life. He wasn't sure what the main reason for wanting the coin was though, whether it was for the clout or just how he was desperate to have something of his be put up in the Craft house before he died. After all, it was days away from April.
With each day passing, he grew closer to death. Part of him began to accept it more, even if there was still that fight in his heart every time Phil patted his back and called him 'mate', and Techno let him watch him play Bedwars, or when Ranboo would cackle at something stupid Tubbo said, and Wilbur would play his songs to him in the dead of the night if Tommy couldn't fall asleep.
It wasn't the coin or the win that mattered, it was more that Tommy wanted to leave something behind for them to remember him by. Surely the Crafts wouldn't forget about him if his picture at MCC was framed on their house walls.
He blinked the stinging out of his eyes as Clementine approached him. Her elation was enough to dim the reminder of his upcoming death with the finals of MCC.
"Don't lose," she ordered, her face serious for a moment. "If Vitalia wins a coin before me, I will never hear the end of it."
He chuckled. "I'll win, don't worry."
"Normally I would try to demoralise you because you're being too cocky, but I'll let this slide," Clementine said. "Be as confident as you want."
Coach Smajor called for his team and Clementine returned to the viewing stands, giving him a thumbs-up before she left.
He joined his team and tried to calm down his breathing. MCC had no right being this stressful—he didn't even know what MCC fucking stood for.
Finals took place in the sports court, using the painted lines on the pavement as separate boxes for each team's side. The first team to two points won.
Wilbur grasped his hand around Tommy's shoulder and stared down at him. "We're going to get this dub. I refuse to lose against Scott Smajor."
"Let's destroy nepotism," Tommy stated and Wilbur nodded in agreement.
Three dodgeballs were placed on the middle line.
"Are we rushing or letting them grab them first?" Grian asked.
"I'll rush for one," the year eight said. "I'm fast."
They all nodded and got into position.
"If we win this, I won't clart you as soon as this is over." Tommy directed his words to the prick who called him quirky at the beginning of all this.
"You'll be done for physically attacking a thirteen-year-old girl," she said.
"And?"
The klaxon sounded and the crowd cheered. The year eight sprinted and grabbed a ball as the Yellow Yacks retrieved the other two.
Tommy made it his mission to be as annoying as possible by never staying in the same spot for more than one second. If his past lives had taught him anything, besides trauma responses, it was how to successfully dodge things being thrown at you—with Theseus literally surviving through wars and Icarus managing to finesse a Romanian cult.
One of the balls hit the year ten and the other missed Wilbur, though he did trip over himself when he dodged.
Tommy lobbed the ball he picked up at Vitalia, hitting her in the shoulder; he could hear Clementine laughing from the stands.
Mumbo Jumbo grabbed the ball that hit her and threw it. The pavement floor didn't stop Tommy from diving across it, skidding his knees, to catch the ball, getting the man out. It's what the fucker deserved for giving off fake British vibes.
Grian whooped loudly. "Redstone won't save you now!"
With the final hit being from Wilbur, taking out the poor year eight on the Yellow Yacks, Tommy's team scored a point.
The second—and potentially—last round began and Wilbur was immediately whacked in the face with a ball thrown by Scott. Tommy noted to laugh at him later when winning MCC wasn't currently on the line.
Tommy aimed at Vitalia again, targeting the girl to death, and succeeding as it hit her. He almost felt bad, but then the girl cussed him out in Italian as she walked off the court. He could tell why she and Clementine were together now.
The Yellow Yacks got ahold of the three dodgeballs and stopped just a step behind the line in the middle, which was too close for comfort.
The year ten Techno stan managed to hit Mumbo Jumbo and another Yellow Yack with both balls.
After a back-and-forth match of the Red Rabbits missing their shots and the enemy team hitting everyone out except Tommy, he was left ball-less (pitiful) whilst the remaining opponent, Scott, had three of them.
The crowd cheered louder as he dodged one of the balls, it narrowly avoided his head. Now that was a targeted attack.
Tommy missed his hit on Scott again and it was like he was in the war again, but the lack of blood made it obvious that this was just sport's day. Though, the rush of adrenaline felt homely, familiar.
He remembered being outnumbered during the Battle of the Lake and leaving that battlefield with all his organs still intact. This was nothing.
"Fucking throw something, you dickhead!" someone yelled (probably Tubbo) and Tommy's grip on the dodgeball hardened.
Gathering all the strength he could, he threw the ball aimed at Scott as he shouted, "Scottish people aren't real!" and it smacked him straight in the eyes.
The next thing Tommy knew he was being picked up and hauled on Wilbur's shoulders. His ears rang as red confetti blasted at him and his teammates. His mouth hurt from how widely he smiled.
Holy fuck, they had won. He could finally put that coin on that wall, bring something to the Craft household besides the inevitable douse of grief and death. He would be remembered as that foster kid that outshined the rest of the fuckers they'd probably foster after his passing. The kid the Crafts wanted to adopt, wanted to keep.
He held the coin close to him. Tears pricked at his eyes as Wilbur lifted him down and hugged him tightly, shouting praises into his ear that he could barely hear over the crowd.
"We won! Brothers-in-arms," Tommy beamed at him back. "We're like brothers."
Wilbur sniffed, almost crying himself out of happiness, and ruffled Tommy's hair. "Don't say that I will cry."
"You already are, fucker!"
Wilbur swept him up into his arms, this time cussing Tommy out as he squeezed him closely.
"Come on, Dad wants to take a picture for the frame."
Wilbur, with his arms secured around Tommy, ran through the crowd to find Phil, who was with Techno and Ranboo.
"You won!" Phil said, tapping at the MCC coin tucked in Tommy's hands.
"I did it for you, Philza Minecraft," he joked, though a part of him wasn't joking.
Phil wheezed and pat him on the back. "Well done, mate."
Warmth burst at his chest and Techno gave him a nod of approval.
"Picture time," Phil said as he took out his phone to take a selfie.
Wilbur snatched the phone out of his hand. "No, Dad stop! You're angling it like a middle-aged mother on Facebook." He chucked the phone at Ranboo. "Take it for us."
He pulled Tommy back into his side, Techno next to him, and Phil put his arms around his three sons. Honestly, he could die right now and he wouldn't mind—he was surrounded by a family that accepted him. Something he always wanted, and now it felt real.
After the picture was taken, Tommy sprung out of Wilbur's soft grip and rushed towards Tubbo.
"I know you don't like hugs, big man, but please!" he said to Tubbo, fondness burning off him.
Tubbo sighed. "You get one hug for winning." He wrapped his arms around Tubbo, ignoring how Wilbur called him clingy. He could feel the shorter boy laugh into his chest. "I'm still kicking the shit out of you later though for Ace Race."
He giggled, his head resting on top of Tubbo's. "I'll just push you out of a tunnel again."
Tommy let go of him and took off his red bandana to tie it around Tubbo's neck. Tubbo did the same, leaving the boys adorned in each other's colours. Tommy gripped on the green fabric and smiled, tightness roamed at his chest and he didn't know if it was love, but it sure felt like it.
"Now Ranboo has even more reason to be jealous of MCC," Tubbo said. Tommy laughed and flipped Ranboo off, who was talking to Wilbur and Techno. "Sleep round mine tonight, a bench-trio sleepover."
"Who the fuck came up with that name for us?" he remembered Ranboo was the one to change their group chat name to it.
"The school did. It's the reason why our lunch bench is never taken," Tubbo explained.
"I'm going to burn that bench to the ground."
"Then you have to find us somewhere else to sit."
"Nevermind," Tommy backtracked. "I'll ask if I can sleep round."
He pulled Tubbo with him back to Phil.
"Since I won, would I be allowed to sleep round Tubbo's?" he asked, preparing to whip out the puppy eyes to convince Phil.
"If you come back hungover, I swear to God, I'm un-adopting you," Phil said.
"You can't do that! You haven't even adopted me."
"Not yet!"
His face flushed.
❊❊❊
During the 'bench-trio sleepover', Tommy munched on his pizza, leaving the crusts, as Tubbo and Ranboo debated over which Netflix film to watch. By the time he had finished his meal, the two had decided on YouTube compilations of try not to laugh challenges—it ended with Tommy choking on his drink many times and Tubbo smacking the shit out of his back, much harder than you should if your friend was choking. If anything, Tubbo contributed to his pain.
Ranboo spent most of the night complaining over how isolated he felt since he didn't have a bandana to share with them.
"Ranboo, my beloved," Tubbo began, tapping him on the arm, "get over it."
Tommy wheezed as Ranboo pouted since he expected comforting words and not that.
"That gives me an idea. Be right back," Ranboo said as he grabbed the laptop at the end of the bed and exited the room.
"Is he gonna start crying or some shit?" Tommy asked.
Tubbo shrugged. "No, but he normally announces when he's going to do that."
He coughed out more laughter, Tubbo joining in this time.
When the fatigue caught up to him after the eventful day, Tommy laid down on the blow-up bed and stared up at Tubbo's painted ceiling. The mix of star constellations and planets was similar to the bench by the seawall. He needed to visit there soon.
As he gazed over the Perseus constellation, his eyes latched on the Algol Demon Star, the head of Medusa, the face of death.
"It's almost April," he mumbled. The bedding of the blow-up bed dipped on his right side.
"Well, we have a week. But yeah. Time flies fast, doesn't it?" Tubbo said, his voice lighter.
Tommy nodded; Tubbo's words were more accurate than they should've been. He had been with this family, in this town, since November and it still felt like that first day was only one month ago, not five—almost six.
He wanted time to stop, for it to just let him experience this for longer. He wanted to love the ache in the corners of his mouth from smiling too much and not have the constant reminder flowing through his head that this wouldn't last. That those smiles and laughter would cease one day, end on April ninth and probably never be as bright in the next life.
Would he even have a family in the next life? Or friends like the one beside him?
He couldn't replace the Crafts, he couldn't replace any of them. His stomach clenched. He didn't want to find out.
"My birthday is in April," Tommy shuddered, hoping that the strain in his voice wasn't noticeable.
"Oh cool!" Tubbo said. "What do you want for it?"
Tommy bit on his lip, keeping his sadness at bay. If he gave a serious answer, he'd cry on the spot.
Or if he thought about how he hadn't received a birthday present for his sixteenth before and never will because of how—
No. This wasn't the time. He had just won MCC and was enjoying himself at a bench-trio sleepover with his two best friends. He couldn't do this here.
"Money and bitches," was what he went with.
"I can supply you with the first one, but not the second."
"You're not a real friend then," Tommy quipped, looking away from the star of Medusa. Tubbo shoved at his shoulder, laughing.
"Shut up, Tommy."
"No bitches, no friendship," he kept repeating. Ranboo decided that the third time of repeating this was his moment to come into the room.
He placed the laptop back onto the bed and sighed at the two of them. "Despite the purchase I had just made, I want to end this friendship."
"It's funny you think you have a choice in that decision," Tubbo shot back.
"And a divorce."
Tubbo shook his head again and Tommy grinned. This was why he wanted more time. For them.
❊❊❊
Later that night, Tommy was curled up on the blow-out bed, Ranboo by his left and Tubbo on his own bed to his right.
A rustling came from his left side then his bed dipped.
"What do you want?" he grumbled, exhaustion heavy in his voice.
Ranboo's shoulders brushed against his and grey eyes peered back at him. "What if you're Oedipus?"
"Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off," he spat, hitting him with the corner of his pillow after every swear, no longer tired. "I didn't fuck my parents."
"No, no but hear me out," Ranboo said and Tommy groaned. He didn't expect to hear theories about his myth in the dead of the night. "You didn't tell anyone about your curse until me and frankly, you're quite bad at figuring out your own myth. So what if this is unconscious self-sabotage and your way of avoiding fate?"
Tommy scowled at him, not liking the analytic expression on Ranboo's face—it was the expression he normally had whenever they watched some crime documentary or Buzzfeed Unsolved.
"Oedipus' whole moral was that you can't avoid your destiny, no matter how hard you try to change it."
"There was something about fucking your mother in it as well," Tommy added.
"Yep, Oedipus did do that but thankfully for you, you don't have a mother."
"I'm not the mother-fucker, Ranboo. I've already gone through that existential crisis."
"Fine."
He understood the idea though; disregarding the whole incest part, it made sense. Oedipus had a prophesy that his parents thought they could change by abandoning their son, but the fate of him killing his father and marrying his mother came true—no matter how hard they tried to fight it. Tommy did tend to try to delay the inevitable. But it was different. He did want to figure out his myth, he did want to live.
Ranboo moved closer to him, leaning on the pillow Tommy threw at him.
"What about Greek Gods? Could you be one of them?" he couldn't ignore the zeal of Ranboo's tone—if it was anyone else, it would've rubbed him the wrong way, since it reminded him of being a science experiment, someone attempting to dissect him. Yet, the endearment in Ranboo's voice was present as well.
"I have no idea," Tommy answered. "I've only been the tragedies."
"Hm. Well, Eros is a God and he had his tragedy with Psyche," Ranboo said. "I'll print out the ideas I have on my computer when I get home tomorrow."
"Thank you for this," he whispered, softly. If he had more courage, he could probably rant for hours to his friend about how much this meant to him, how much he appreciated this. It was different to Niki, who understood the curse and the pain it brought. Ranboo had no idea and couldn't comprehend it all, yet he was still helping—all because he genuinely cared about Tommy. He didn't know how he got so lucky.
Ranboo smiled, his eyes creasing. "I'd do anything for you man." Tommy grinned at him. "Okay, maybe not anything knowing you, but you get the idea."
He giggled and nodded, snuggling deeper into his covers. Ranboo fidgeted on the side of Tommy's blow-up bed as if he had more questions. He moved to face the other more, he couldn't deny his friend's excitement.
"What else do you want to know?"
Ranboo paused for a moment. "Are you the only one with this... reincarnation thing?"
Tommy thought hard before he spoke. He didn't want to reveal Niki without her consent, yet he wanted to share something with Ranboo.
"My brother was cursed as well," he said, uneasy. It scared him to talk about this, but he trusted Ranboo.
"W. Soot." Tommy nodded in confirmation. "Did he figure it out?"
"No," he muttered, flashes of that apartment, of Estella flickered as he blinked. "He saw the power in it, the opportunity, the fun," he spat with bitterness on his tongue. "If you had the power to be reborn and never face the consequences of your actions, then what's stopping you from creating chaos in every life and leaving the second it starts to catch up to you?"
"Oh," Ranboo said, his excitement faded and his face adopted something more tender, something that filled Tommy with the hope that this would be his chance to talk about this. The subject that shattered him into pieces and made him want to drown in the River Lethe to just forget it all.
"I'm sorry again for making you read my essay on your brother."
"It's fine." His lip twitched. "He wasn't always like that. He was a good person at some point." Tommy wished for a time in the future where his next words didn't lodge a stake into his heart. "L'manberg ruined us both."
He gulped and the openness in Ranboo's face convinced him to continue. "I'm scared that if I don't figure this life out, then I'll end up like him," his voice got quieter as if admitting it any louder would make it more real. "I have this anger building up inside of me Ranboo and I don't know how to stop it."
He felt it every day, he felt it expand at each moment where he stared down at empty pages in his notebook, not even knowing where to start. Dream kept taunting him that his myth, that the answer, was right in front of him. But he couldn't see it. He wasn't sure if he ever would.
"You're bound to be angry, Tommy. You've been in this constant cycle of reliving lives after lives with no break in between. Of course you'll be angry," Ranboo consoled.
"You don't get it," he whimpered. "I feel like if I don't break this curse, then I'll become worse than everyone I didn't want to be."
A white mask with an ominous smiley face, an aggressive man with burly, brown hair that twisted into goat horns, and a cloaked figure next to stakes of rigged explosives came to mind. Each flare of a memory throbbed in his head.
Ranboo reached forward and grabbed Tommy's hand. "There's good in you. That won't happen to you."
"I've killed people before," he blurted out, hating the loyalty in Ranboo's eyes, something he didn't deserve. "I have so much blood on my hands, Ranboo. What's stopping me from repeating that in this life?"
Ranboo's fingers threaded through his. He hated this.
"I was in a ditch, scared out of my mind and separated from Tobias during the Second L'manberg War. Someone fell into that mud with me." His eyes screwed shut. "They were wearing enemy colours, but they didn't hurt me. It didn't even seem like they knew I was there. The fear in their eyes... they were shell-shocked. I realised at that moment that some of the fighters on the Kingdom's side didn't want to be there. They weren't fighting for George or their country. They were forced into battle and weren't even there for their freedom or family like I was."
He sniffed, his throat closed up. "But that didn't stop me from driving a sword through their stomach and watching their white uniform bleed red."
Ranboo's thumb stroked Tommy's hand, his touch felt as patient as him. "You were a victim of war."
"Was I?" he faulted. "Or was I the creator of them?"
He remembered what Niki had said to him when she told him about her myth, about how she believed he caused all the conflict. Even though she tried to take it back, she was right.
Ranboo sat up and took out his phone. He shoved the screen in front of Tommy, the brightness stung his eyes.
"There's this philosophical idea about the ship of Theseus," he scrolled and clicked on a picture of a boat. Tommy frowned, he had seen that boat somewhere before but he couldn't place it. "When Theseus returned to Athens from Crete after defeating the Minotaur, his ships components over time were replaced with new materials. The Theseus paradox is over whether an object that has had all its components replaced is the same object it was before."
"What's this got to do with anything?" he said, the face and blood dripping from that poor boy's lips in that ditch still a prevalent image in his mind.
"Are you the same person Tommy Soot was?" Ranboo asked. "Wouldn't every life you live after that rewrite the person you are?"
Tommy stayed silent.
"You're different to who you were back in the 1500s." Ranboo squeezed his hand. "I may not know the Tommy of his past lives, but this Tommy would never end up like his brother."
He swallowed harshly and couldn't stop Tobias' words from rendering through him.
"As long as I can't be the next Schlatt, then you can't be the next—"
He ripped his hand away from Ranboo's and buried his head into his pillow, trying to drown out Tobias' voice.
"Tommy?" a hand rubbed against his back, the touch kept him from seeping deeper into memories he'd rather never relive.
He leaned closer and soaked up the comfort until he was sure he could open his eyes and not see anything other than Ranboo in front of him. "I'll try to be better than him."
"You already are," Ranboo whispered back with soft eyes and a timid smile.
"What the fuck are you two going on about?" Tubbo yawned groggily. Peace coursed through him, only Tubbo could shrug the weight off Tommy's chest just by waking up.
"Nothing, Tubs."
"Then shut the fuck up and go back to sleep."
Both boys chuckled and Tubbo dashed a pillow down at them.
Time passed and Tommy struggled to fall asleep. He counted each star that illuminated on the ceiling before someone whacked him on the shoulder, disturbing his count. He lifted his head and Tubbo stared at him, his hair all messed up.
"Why'd you hit me?"
"You good?" Tubbo asked, his voice gentle.
The red bandana was still tied around Tubbo's neck. Tommy smiled. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."
"Then fucking sleep, stop rustling the covers."
"You are the most comforting force there is, Tubster."
"I don't appreciate sarcasm at three in the morning," Tubbo yawned again. "What were you talking about with Boo earlier?"
"I'll explain it to you one day."
"Sus."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Sussy ba—" Tommy smacked his hand over Tubbo's mouth and Tubbo licked it.
Tommy screeched out in disgust and Tubbo laughed loudly. Ranboo woke up and huffed from beside them, making them laugh harder. They probably woke up Tubbo's entire household but neither of them cared. Tommy concluded that he liked bench-trio sleepovers.