Chapter Text
Blade and Siren dutifully returned a despondent Cardinal to the Syndicate lair, where Corvus awaited with hungry eyes.
“Well? How did it go, fledgling?” the villain asked, rising from his metal throne to meet them in the middle of the room. The moment Blade and Siren released Cardinal, he fell to his knees, shaking profusely.
“He’s in shock,” Blade informed him, ripping the mask off his face and returning to something much familiar. A pillar of strength and laughter in Cardinal’s life rather than one of fear.
Technoblade.
Siren did the same. He was just Wilbur again.
Corvus crouched down to meet Cardinal’s gaze. “Did you do it, Cardinal? Did you do as I asked?”
Cardinal was slow to respond, but eventually he began to nod. Then he couldn’t stop. “She’s dead. I-I-- I killed her.” He grabbed hold of Corvus’ arms, a death grip on his biceps. “Phil, I killed her. I killed Ovis. I-- I killed my grand-mentor. I killed someone.”
“None of that, now, Cardinal. She’s not your grand-mentor anymore. Forget the past and look at the future. Look at me.” When Cardinal didn’t meet his gaze, Corvus grabbed Cardinal’s chin and forced him to look. “I said look at me. Don’t be disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry.”
Corvus smoothed Cardinal’s bangs, picking out pieces of dirt and debris from his blonde locks. “It’s alright. I understand you’re surprised by yourself. You’ve unlocked a new part of you. It’s scary, but that’s why I’m here; that’s why your brothers are here. To guide you.”
“You’ll get used to it. Soon it’ll be like smashing mosquitos that hover around you during summer. You won’t even think twice about it,” said Techno.
“Was it worth it?” Cardinal whispered. “Was it justified? Am I justified?”
“That’s not your concern, Cardinal.”
“Phil--”
“Cardinal.” Cardinal continued to gaze up at the villain and came to the stark realization that this was not Phil. It was Corvus, through and through. Although they had the same face, they were two different men. One was a master, and one was a father.
And his father had asked him to kill a person.
He shook Corvus off of him, backing away slowly. He got to his feet. “I--I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have listened to you-- God! Why did I listen to you?”
Corvus stood up, walking slowly to Cardinal like one would to a wound up horse. “You listened to me because I make sense. And we make sense together.”
“No! No, you’re evil!”
Corvus snorted. “If I’m evil, what does that make you, my little fledgling?”
“I don’t want this. I don’t want this anymore.” Cardinal positioned himself in a fighting stance, his hands shaking and his knees buckling from exhaustion after being in three very long and very arduous fights. His wings flared out on instinct as Corvus continued to get closer, not at all caring that Cardinal was one move away from decking him in the face.
“Do you think it’s so easy to leave, Cardinal?” Corvus chuckled. “If I let you go, where do you think you will go? Cardinal, you’re a public figure. One that’s garnering a lot of attention now thanks to my very generous words in my victory speech.”
“I didn’t ask you to say that shit,” Cardinal growled.
“You didn’t have to. It suits my narrative. Soon, public opinion will slide in our favor because the public only follows extremes. The Syndicate will be an organization of anarchy, and the people will tire of establishment systems like the Association. They’ll want that new system we promise them, and they will be too blinded by themselves to see what they’re inviting into their homes.”
So that was part of Corvus’ plan all along. Cardinal would be his poster child to justify the genocide he would very soon commit on the Association. It would be in Cardinal’s image that the government overhauled the Association with something new, something like the Syndicate. A falsehood.
“I- I can denounce you.”
“Denounce me? Oh, Cardinal. The news may not have caught you in the act, but you did kill a legendary hero! And Wilbur has graciously been able to weave a beautiful cover story to combat the Association’s written statement, but if you denounce me… You’re nothing. Cardinal, without an organization to tie you down, you’re absolutely nothing. And I know you hate that more than worrying about the morality of murdering a thorn in my side.”
“Archive, Ranboo, Eryn-- they’ll help me. We’ll take you down for real.” He was grasping at straws at this point. Flashes of Archive’s face after Cardinal snapped Ovis’ neck appeared in Cardinal’s head, reminding him of the disgust, the look of a stranger on a longtime friend and colleague.
Archive had given him a chance to turn his back on his anger, to turn his back on the Syndicate, and he instead turned his back on Archive.
On Tubbo.
Corvus knew it was bullshit too. He didn’t even bother to respond to it. “Cardinal, you’re powerful, but you are young. You still need me. This is not a cage, but a nest, and I had to push you off the branch to test whether you would fly or not. Congratulations, you did. You’re not a bad person for doing your job.”
Cardinal bristled at the praise. Part of him preened at it, a more primal part of him. One that had been in the back of his mind all this time, like a baby bird vying for the attention of its parent.
Corvus could see the indecision all over Cardinal. He gestured for Cardinal to follow after him as he walked past him and down a new hallway, one Cardinal had not gone down before.
Wilbur and Techno flanked him, almost as if to keep him from running.
Corvus brought them to a spacious room filled with massive screens all over the walls. Some of it was live camera footage of cities like L’manberg and Essempi, other screens were used as monitors for some sort of graphs that updated every few seconds.
“What the fuck is all of this?” he gasped.
Corvus grabbed a small remote from the machine dashboard and waved it in his hand like it was some sort of toy. “This is what I like to call the Death Row remote. You’ll see why in just a second.”
Wilbur didn’t waste time needing to be instructed. He moved over to the dashboard and began touching some buttons. One of the screens turned into a new infographic-- it was a screen of vitals of various patients, all connoted with some sort of code name.
“Let me ask you this, Cardinal. Do you still care for your friends? The little group you made here in L’manberg?”
Cardinal knew he shouldn’t be giving Corvus any sort of ammunition, but his curiosity got the better of him. He had to know what Corvus had up his sleeve. “Yes.”
“And you would be rather remorseful if they were to die? Naturally, I suppose. Well, with a click of some buttons on this remote, your friends could be filled with poison from the nano-pods we had enter their system.”
“What?” Cardinal shrieked. “When?” He was a little embarrassed to admit his first thought did not go to the well-being of his friends, but rather if those nano-pods were within himself. He unconsciously patted his own body down, which made Techno snort under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” the senior apprentice comforted, “You were already out of the Association’s picture when the deed was done.”
Cardinal shuddered as he thought about the millions, perhaps billions of tiny pieces of those nano-pods with infinitesimal doses of poison in his former comrades’ bodies. They disagreed ideologically, but he still had fond memories of them. He still loved them despite their treatment of him in the latter half of their time together.
He didn’t want them to die.
“Well, Cardinal? You don’t want this anymore, so should I press some buttons?”
Cardinal knew he was fucking around with him. Corvus had a sick sense of humor-- one Cardinal laughed at when it was Phil making those jokes, but out of Corvus’ mouth it was something far more twisted and evil.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, leave them alone.”
“Good,” Corvus said with a grin.
“What if I leave? Cardinal can disappear. I’ll become a civilian. Leave L’manberg forever-- just please--”
Wilbur’s guffaws interrupted Cardinal’s begging, as if it hadn’t taken all of his willpower to cough those words out. He was giving up everything here, and Wilbur was laughing his ass off. Even Techno was laughing, though he was more tasteful.
“Civilian? Oh, Cardinal-- Oh-- Corvus, Corvus, tell him!”
“Tell me what? I’ve never revealed my face to a single person. My legal documents are gone from the Association’s database, my--” Cardinal paused as the dread filled his face. His legal documents were missing from the Association.
Specifically stolen by the Syndicate.
Corvus grabbed the sides of the former hero’s head, his fingers brushing against his temples as his fingers caught against the edges of the boy’s mask. “See, even if you were to do that, Cardinal, I don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself like that. You’ve tasted power. You need it. And you’re nothing without the mask; nothing without me…” With a clean stroke, Corvus ripped the mask right off Cardinal’s face. “Tommy.”
Cardinal’s hands flew to his face, his fingers stretching over his eyes and the bridge of his nose to cover his face. He staggered backwards, away from Corvus, away from the Syndicate. His heart beat against the cavern of his chest, attempting to force its way out.
“No last name. No permanent address. Picked up off the streets when someone phoned in a bird-child living under their porch.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Flashes of darkness, face pressed up against dirt and gravel. Blistering hot summers and violet fingers clawed into the snow.
“The Association took you in because of your wings. Because there was no one else in the world that looked like you except for me.”
White, sterile cell and a red laser pointing straight at his eyes, coming closer, closer, closer--
Cardinal viciously shook his head, dispelling the false images in his head. “I said shut the fuck up!”
“You were no one, and you became someone because of me. And now I’m giving you more. Don’t spurn my kindness, Tommy. Don’t spurn the Craft name.”
Cardinal froze, slowly tilting his head up to meet the gaze of the villain. “What?”
“You can’t be a civilian, Tommy, because when Wilbur here grabbed your legal documents, we immediately started the process of adoption. By law, you’re my son. There’s nowhere you can go to escape from this.” Corvus smiled the whole way through, as if he’d been waiting to release the news. He probably didn’t even care what Cardinal’s reaction would’ve been-- happy or devastated.
Yesterday, Cardinal would’ve been elated. He probably would’ve taken off his own mask and shown them how he was a regular person, just like them, capable of being loved like a normal person. But he wasn’t a normal person and Corvus wasn’t a good man even if he could be a good father.
“H-how does that work? They’ll know.”
“They won’t know,” Wilbur piped up. “Like you said: no one’s seen your face in--what, eight, nine, ten years? To them, Tommy only existed on paper.”
“Exactly,” said Corvus. “To them, you’re just the troubled teen I recently adopted, back from boarding school to support your father in his political endeavors. Like it or not, Tommy, you’re in.”
It turned out Cardinal’s room in the mansion was never a guest bedroom. He didn’t think he would ever return to it-- when he left it before it had been with the idea that he would uncover Corvus’ identity, reveal it to the Association, and return to his bedroom in the tower with his friends.
He had regular clothes in the dresser and the closet, all high-end designer, folded neatly with no wrinkles or hung with special plastic wrapped around it to protect it from the outside world. Cardinal didn’t have it in him in the moment to keep protesting all the change; he dug through his drawers and pulled out something comfy, peeling off his blood-soaked suit off his body and curled up in bed, pulling the covers over his head.
He didn’t react when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. The intruder let themself in. “Tommy.”
Wilbur.
He came further into the room, making his way to the other side of the bed and laying down next to Cardinal, not bothering to rouse Cardinal from his hiding position. Cardinal flipped onto his back but kept the covers over his face.
“What do you want?” His voice was muffled.
“I just want you to know we were where you were before. And I know you feel like you regret it all now, but it’s just the shock. You did what was right for you.”
“I killed someone.”
“She was in the way. She was… A thorn in all of our sides, yours especially. What would’ve happened to you if you stayed silently in the background, Tommy?”
Cardinal flipped back on his side, facing away from Wilbur. He hated how good Wilbur was with words. How just a few sentences could make Cardinal forgive himself.
He pinched himself to remind him of Tubbo’s face.
“It wasn’t justified.”
Wilbur finally had enough of the no-face treatment, pulling the covers off of Cardinal, and rolling him onto his side so he was facing Wilbur.
“Why are you letting others’ morality define what’s justified, Tommy? You knew what you had to do, and you did it. It’s as simple as that. I’m coming to you from experience-- I-- I had to do something similar. And when I did it, I proved I was made to not just hold power, but grasp it. If you hold it, you can drop it. If you grasp it, your grip will be too tight to let go.”
Cardinal just pulled the covers back over, a vacant feeling washing over him with nothing to cover his face.
Cardinal spent the next few days locked in his room. Escaping wasn’t an option, knowing Phil wouldn’t hesitate to push that Doomsday button and kill his friends, but hiding worked just as well. He thought Phil would force him out after a day, but he surprised Cardinal by leaving him alone.
He didn’t even come knocking on his door to check up on him.
He supposed the days after the election would be the most busy for him. Phil had to meet with many people to start building his administration, and the current governor was set to leave office in just a few weeks. No doubt Phil had a part to play in his early departure.
No, the person to come to his door after a few days was decidedly not Phil, but rather Technoblade. Like Wilbur, he too barged his way in, though Techno didn’t bother with knocking. Cardinal had splayed himself over the bed, stretching his wings out as he tried to reach one especially pesky feather that had been giving him grief from the misuse he put the appendages through.
Technoblade lorded over his bed with his hands on his hips. He wore all black work-out attire and his hair was pulled back into a ponytail with his bangs clipped back by multiple berets. “Come with me.”
“Hmm, no,” Cardinal replied, finally ripping off that dumb feather.
Techno sighed and grabbed Cardinal by the collar of his crewneck, dragging him off the bed and across the hardwood of his bedroom. Cardinal hugged the sheets in an attempt to anchor him to the room, but Techno out-classed him on strength even on his best day, thus Cardinal had no choice but to be dragged all the way to wherever Techno was taking him.
They went down the stairs, Cardinal’s rear bumping on every individual step, and then down another set of stairs that Cardinal had never seen before in the house. They were blocked by a regular looking door, so he just thought it was some sort of basement or storage space.
It turned out that it was actually a full-on gym. It was a large, cavernous room split into two sides: one was a traditional workout area, while the other was a room with a floor full of mats. The walls were littered with all sorts of training weapons. It wasn’t as nice-looking as the training rooms in the Association, but Cardinal could tell the equipment was new and up-to-date, and while the weapons were old, they were sturdy.
The two of them went into the training room. Techno bee-lined for the practice-weapons, tossing Cardinal a wooden staff.
“What are we doing here?”
“I’m goin’ to teach you how we deal with frustration around here. Take it as words of wisdom from your senior brother.”
“I’m not frustrated,” Cardinal hissed, twirling the staff in his hands. He had missed the feeling of a weapon in his hands, but he felt as though he couldn’t trust himself with it anymore.
“Well then, what are you feelin’?”
“Are you going to comfort me? Oh Big Brother Technoblade?” Cardinal scowled, already making his way onto a mat. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and considered taking off his pants before deciding against it. His pants weren’t bad to fight in; they were sweatpants, after all.
“I’m not. I wasn’t raised to know how to do that. What I do know is that you can tell me how you feel and I can tell you facts. I can give you our truth. You can let it out through your heart, or you can let it out with your hands.”
Cardinal readied himself, wings flared out in preparation. “I’ve always wanted a rematch.”
Techno grinned.
Tommy adjusted his collar for the fourth time in a row. Wilbur had tightened his tie to the point it was choking Tommy out, and he didn’t know enough about ties or suits to fix it. It didn’t help that the suit constricted his wings under the button up and blazer. It was the cross he bore for living a double life.
Techno lounged on the sofa with his feet propped up, sliding his finger against his tablet full of tasks while he waited for Tommy to finish getting ready. These days, Techno acted more like a prison guard than the brother he pretended to be, always watching and waiting for Tommy to slip up and go against Phil’s orders.
For now, he was meant to lay low and learn how to be Tommy Craft-- not until he needed Cardinal again. Being Cardinal would be hard in the current climate-- after the fateful fight in the L’manberg fields, the Heroes Association was quick to issue a statement denouncing Cardinal and accusing him of murdering Ovis’. There were some personal quotes from Dream and Archive, both aptly titled as Cardinal’s former mentor and close colleague, respectively.
The Syndicate fired back with a short two minute clip uploaded to social media all over claiming that Cardinal had shown up to reveal Ovis’ corruption to his precious friends, but his bravery set Ovis in a killing spree, mistaking a red bird for a black bird, and she attempted to kill him. “To kill or be killed,” the modulated voice in the video recounted, “and Cardinal chose life. He was not the one that had set up a death-match in the first place, after all.”
It was all bullshit, of course, but Phil was playing a very delicate game with public opinion. Some people continued to love Cardinal as fervently as they did when he was just a hero; others thought he was brave for standing up to the establishment-- some thought he was a liar. Either way, the mantle of Cardinal had to be hung for the time being.
“Are you almost done? Pullin’ on it won’t loosen it up, Tommy,” Techno called from over by the sofa, though he didn’t get up to help Tommy out either.
Tommy.
It felt like a foreigner’s name, but it was his in all respects. He had almost forgotten all about it, just like he forgot his life before the Association. It was what they did to most kids, he later learned. The eye laser, it wasn’t a vision test like they had told them, but rather a memory scrambler.
They called it Tabula Rasa in the labs.
He still didn’t remember much at all; he remembered feelings more than concrete locations and faces.
Tommy just couldn’t understand why they would do that to him. Maybe someone like Purpled or Tubbo-- they probably had families and the Association didn’t want that getting in the way. But Tommy didn’t have shit. If he had known the Association wanted him, he would’ve gone to them willingly. He would’ve been grateful for what he was given. He’d never have these delusions of grandeurs, one that made him lose his mind and kill someone, and for what?
“Stop thinkin’ so loud.” Techno was right behind him, his piercing gaze settled on Tommy’s face through the mirror. “We’re gonna be late if you keep fussin’.”
“Perfect,” Tommy shot back. “I don’t want to go to this stupid fucking dinner anyway.”
“You think I want to either? Part of all of this is image maintenance, Tommy. You get the power, you get the responsibility.”
“Well, I don’t want either of it.”
Techno snorted. “Yeah. Keep lyin’ to yourself. He’ll buy you out eventually.”
Wilbur was already in the limousine waiting. Phil was apparently arriving in a separate car a little later than them since he had ‘business’ to take care of before he made his societal debut as regional governor.
The swearing in ceremony had been drab and boring. It was a room full of middle-aged and elderly rich people whose faces were rotting off due to their endless misdeeds, all vying for Phil’s precious attention.
When they couldn’t have that, they tried to get Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy’s. As boring as it was, it was a bit gratifying to see men and women who would’ve disdained speaking with Cardinal about public safety grovel in front of Tommy Craft. Not that he would tell anyone in the Syndicate about that.
Now that that had finished, they had to head to some stupid dinner hosted by the mayor of Essempi, Mayor Eret, as celebration of this momentous occasion.
“I really don’t think Dad should ride alone,” Wilbur sighed, resting his forehead against the window. Tommy sidled up next to him, their knees ramming into one another due to Wilbur’s lack of spatial awareness. “I should be in that car with him.”
“Why you?” snorted Techno. “Besides, he’s not alone. He’s got Niki with him.” He said her name with a degree of disgust, as if she were a bug buzzing around them all. It was completely different from how he treated her in previous interactions.
“Do you guys not like Nemesis?” asked Tommy.
Wilbur gave a fifty/fifty gesture with his hands. “Niki’s a close friend, but… Ever since the cryogenic lab, she’s been different. Her loyalty isn’t the same. Phil thinks he can appease her with just one car ride, but we all know what she’s been wanting. It’s no mystery to anyone, even if Phil plays dumb to keep stringing her along.”
Tommy leaned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. “She wants to be an apprentice?”
“It’s a coveted position, even if you look down on it now,” Techno informed him. Tommy tried to hide his smile by turning his face away, but he was sure Techno could see his expression from the reflection of the glass.
Out of nowhere, Wilbur grabbed Tommy by his shoulder and pulled him into his side, holding him in place while he pressed his cheeks into Tommy’s hair. “I suppose we should let you know now in case you wanted to try something funny-- Dream will be at the dinner representing the Association. Phil tried to get them to disinvite them, but you know how Mayor Eret can be. They will always play the field rather than commit to a side.”
“We should get rid of them. We don’t need a wolf in our sheep herd,” Techno advised. Tommy jostled out of Wilbur’s hold, but he listened to the two of them talk with rapt attention. This was the mayor of Essempi, the largest city in the region, they were talking about, but to them, Eret was nothing but a picked scab flicked off a healing wound.
“--ommy? Tommy? What do you think?”
Tommy pushed himself out of his own head. It kept happening more often than not; he lost himself in his labyrinth maze, and Phil, Wilbur, and Techno would have to guide him out with their words of magic yarn.
“Of what?”
“We were askin’ who you think we should install as Essempi’s new mayor.”
“W-what?” Tommy spluttered. “ We decide that?”
Wilbur’s shoulders shook as he laughed, holding his stomach tightly. “After all these weeks, it hasn’t sunk in, has it? You chose the winning side, Toms. You have the power.”
They pulled up to the drop off, filing out in the reverse order they entered. Techno kept a hand on Tommy’s shoulder the entire time, steering him up the steps of the dinner venue. There were dozens of photographers lined up behind a velvet rope, lights flashing in Tommy’s face causing him to squeeze his face together into a displeased scowl.
Wilbur soaked up the attention, pausing to wave at the photographers and greet the reporters.
“Wilbur! Wilbur! Over here!” One of the reporters called while others tried to get Techno’s attention. One brave reporter called out to Tommy, but Technoblade was a man on a mission, and that mission was getting Tommy into the venue without any funny business.
Inside the venue was the height of opulence. Chandeliers glittered over the red carpet rolled out over the hall leading to the room where the dinner tables were set up. Mayor Eret stood by the door greeting the people waiting to enter. When it came down to their turn, Mayor Eret’s smile grew exponentially. They shook Technoblade’s hand with such vigor, Tommy had to hide the smile full of contempt.
“It’s good to have you guys here. I hope your father likes what I’ve done for him.” Mayor Eret then turns to Tommy and takes his hand, shaking it with the same enthusiasm. “Wow, strong grip, Tommy! Do you play sports?”
Tommy glanced at Techno, a joke passing between their gazes before he looked back at the smarmy mayor. “Nope, no sports. I’m actually quite sickly. It’s contagious.”
He coughed for good effect.
Eret released him instantaneously. “Oh! Uh, get better soon. And, Technoblade, do you think you could arrange a word with your father for me? It’s time to start looking at re-elections for us small-time politicians…”
“I’m starvin’,” was all Technoblade replied before steering Tommy into the dining hall. There was a long table with a delicate green tablecloth at the front of the hall for Phil and the other important people in the room, and then many smaller, circular tables for the… Less important people.
“I’m sitting up there with you guys, right?”
“You’re next to me up there. Seniority rules.”
Tommy released the sigh of relief he was holding in, but sucked it back in when he caught Technoblade looking at him with that know-it-all look. “Cool. Not that I care.”
Wilbur came to find them moments later, stopping first to shake hands with other people in the room. His hair was a bit ruffled but he looked full of energy, as if speaking to the media gave him energy or some twisted thing.
“Did Eret ask you guys to arrange a meeting with Dad too? That fucking brown noser!” He was quick to grab two glasses of prosecco from a passing waiter, handing one to Techno.
“What if I wanted one?” Tommy said.
“You’re seventeen. Phil wouldn’t like it if I gave you your first drink before he did.”
“Who’s to say I haven’t drank before?”
Wilbur looked him up and down. “You haven’t. Your dear mentor probably would’ve thrown a fit if he learned you drank, right?”
Tommy turned his face away, all of a sudden tired and bored of the conversation, and it was not at all connected to how Wilbur managed to read him like a magazine. It was by chance and chance alone that when he looked away from Wilbur, he caught a streak of green from the other side of the room.
“Ah, ah, ah. There he is, our masked-crusader. Do you want to go say hi, Tommy?” Wilbur teased.
“Fuck off,” he spat, shuffling closer to Technoblade. If he was going to act like a guard, then he could also act as a shield.
“Dream! Oh, Dream!” Wilbur called out in song, waving the hero over. Dream kept his mask on, as always, but he wore a nice suit with a green button up underneath. There were some bandages visible underneath the mask and his hands were still wrapped up from the beating Techno had given him a couple of weeks ago.
Dream stuck his hands in his pockets as he approached, appearing the most casual Tommy had ever seen him in all his time knowing him.
“Just wanted to offer our condolences about your mentor,” said Techno with about as much emotion as a rock.
“Yes, well, it would mean a whole lot more if your father would kill the hate crusade on the Association.” Dream didn’t linger long on his own words, his body language re-directed towards Tommy. Tommy didn’t make eye-contact with the mask, nor did he bother to say a word of greeting. Dream would recognize his voice in an instant. This was someone who heard the development of a prepubescent boy learning the ropes of heroism to the moment he let him down by killing someone.
In what world wouldn’t Dream recognize Tommy’s voice?
“You’re the mysterious third son. The one with… How did Mr. Craft put it in his speech? ‘Unwavering trust and loyalty’? That’s a rare quality in a person. I hope he doesn’t lose it.”
Wilbur laughed. “Oh, Tommy’s heart is hard to lose. There would have to be some deep, deep, resentment for him to lose his faith in a man.” It was a wonder to see Wilbur be able to glare daggers at a man and still hide it under the guise of a friendly poking. Tommy kept his palms flat at his sides, letting Wilbur come to his defense, however back-handed it was.
“What academy did you study at? I just think it’s a little weird that Mr. Craft has never mentioned a third son.”
“I didn’t know you were so familiar with children’s academies, Dream! It’s a bit strange for someone of your occupation, though, don’t you think?” asked Techno in a joking manner. Dream could only shake his head and excuse himself after that sort of comment, as he realized he would only dig himself a grave with those two wordsmiths.
They couldn’t help it; their powers were all about manipulation, after all. They really were like twins in that sort of respect.
“Thanks,” Tommy said, deciding he wouldn’t be in debt to them if he showed a little bit of gratitude. It wasn’t so bad having these two around, and even Tommy could admit at times. Dream crossed the room to go speak to Mayor Eret, and Tommy swore he saw Dream make a very familiar sign with his hand, one that only someone on the Association would know.
For stealth missions or when verbally communicating was impossible, the Association taught them certain hand signals that would act as a shorthand on the field. They couldn’t just use sign language since that was easily crackable, so they came up with a whole new set of symbols.
There was a specific signal to make when one was alone on the field and then they can suddenly see and confirm they have support in another hero. It was a closed fist on the forehead that opened up to an open palm salute.
Perhaps Tommy was losing it, or perhaps that was exactly what Dream was doing.
I see you. I recognize you.
Tommy couldn’t let it bother him. He wasn’t scared of Dream anymore-- he was Tommy Craft right now. Son of the regional governor. Next to him he had two corporate hot-shots that lived double lives as two of the most feared villains in all of Miotesan, if not the world.
And he was one of them now too.
There was a sick satisfaction behind that thought, one he tried to bury time and time again, but once a discovery was unearthed, it was hard to erase it from history.
When Phil finally arrived, the mood of the room shifted. Everyone’s smiles seemed to grow wider yet tighter, their arms stiffer, and their eyes brighter.
It was like they were all staring at a solar eclipse without glasses, their eyeballs burning but lacking the ability to look away from such a wonder.
Niki trailed after him. She was dressed nicely in a business casual black dress and classic black heels. Her neck was adorned with a beautiful diamond necklace that, if Tommy were to line it up with Techno and Wilbur’s story, was gifted to her on the car ride there.
After shaking a couple of hands, Phil wandered over to their little group. He made a point not to shake Dream’s hand even though he was part of the group that had shuffled their way over to Phil.
A part of Tommy appreciated that.
Another part of Tommy felt anxiety prickle at his heart. If Dream knew who Tommy really was, there was a chance he could connect it all back to Phil. It was only logical. Cardinal disappeared and a new son arrived at the Craft doorstep? Not only that, but it would explain the sudden anti-Association rhetoric Phil began to push publicly.
If there was even a smidge of a chance, Tommy couldn’t let Dream run away with that information.
“Hey, boys. How’re we holding up?” Phil asked, resting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Tired yet?”
“Exhausted,” Techno answered. “When can I leave?”
Phil chuckled. “After dessert you can go. Sorry, Techno, I know how much you hate these functions.”
“The things I do for you.”
“Nice necklace, Niki. Cartier?” inquired Wilbur, lifting the necklace from her collarbone to inspect it further.
“Good eye,” said Phil. “We should take our seats soon. I’m starting to get hungry.” He winked at Tommy when he said that, as if it were some inside joke between them. Wilbur, Niki, and Techno smiled when he said that, so he made a mental note to ask Techno about it later, but not to sound so eager, as if he wanted to fit in with them.
He didn’t.
Phil had the center-most seat, and then they all took their assigned seats next to him. Tommy didn’t miss the look of satisfaction on Niki’s face when she found her name card on the main table next to Wilbur, then glancing over at Phil’s other side and noticing Tommy’s spot.
It must make her happy to be sitting the same distance away from Phil as one of his legitimate apprentices. A son.
It must’ve been what Phil intended.
Unfortunately, someone else managed to make it to the important people table, though he was further down and far away from Tommy. For the simple fact that he was a member of the Association, Dream had a seat at the long table, right next to Mayor Eret.
When everyone settled in their seats, Phil got up to make a toast, jokingly tapping on his glass of white wine with his knife.
“I’d like to thank everyone for joining us here on such an important night for me, my family, and all of Miotesan. I am humbled by you all coming out here tonight to support my ascension as regional governor. I’d like to thank Governor Lore for his work these past six years.
I’d also like to toast the return of my youngest son from boarding school. He’ll be home from now on, and so I’m glad his return is marked by such a warm occasion!”
The room clapped politely, and Tommy tried to hide his face behind his empty wine glass, by orders of Philza. He was a damn snake for specifically sending in orders for no drinks for Tommy.
Phil continued: “We have a very fine group of people here tonight. Some of the most hard-working, distinguished, intelligent people in the world. It is no secret as to how we have all been able to come to obtain these positions. We are people that strive for our goals. We see past what’s in front of us and grasp for what’s beyond. It is how we’re able to maintain a certain power. It is not an external power, but one that is within us. Not everyone is meant for this life.”
Phil had more to say, but Tommy unconsciously tuned him out, his mind jumping at that sentence, holding it and caressing it, always trying to forgive itself for its lack of judgment, but now he was beginning to feel that there was no need for such harsh judgment.
Even thinking of Tubbo didn’t have the same effect as it did.
His thoughts were disturbed when he sensed movement further down the table. He watched as Dream slid out of his seat and made as inconspicuous an exit as possible. Hardly anyone noticed him walk away; everyone was far too entranced with Phil’s words to notice the decadent hero slipped from the room.
But not Tommy.
Millions of possibilities flooded his mind, all of them leading to disaster. What if Dream left the room to report back to the Association his suspicions? If they investigated and released their findings, it would be the end for Phil, and by extension, for Tommy. He wouldn’t be able to live as Cardinal or Tommy at that point.
He’d really truly be no one.
Phil was right.
He had always been right.
Tommy waited for Phil to finish his speech before asking to head to the bathroom.
“Bruh, can’t you hold your bladder? The first course is just arrivin’ and I’m starvin’,” Techno complained.
“I can go alone. I promise I won’t try anything.”
“Don’t think I don’t see that extra seat down the table, Tommy. If you--”
“I won’t try anything,” Tommy emphasized. He turned his imploring gaze to Phil, who stared back with sparkling fondness.
“Go.”
Tommy didn’t need to be told twice; he stumbled out of his chair and raced out of the room, through the same back hallway Dream took. Sure enough, Dream was standing there with his back against the wall, hands in his pocket. His suit contrasted against the white brick, fluorescent lights flickering overhead.
He wasn’t contacting anyone.
“I just wanted to see if you’d show up, Cardinal. I wasn’t sure before, but I sure as hell am now.” He lifted himself off the wall and approached Tommy. They were face to mask, just inches keeping them apart. “So this is what you gave it all up for, huh? To live the life of a rich boy.”
“It has its perks,” Tommy replied in a hushed voice.
“Oh, I bet it does. Who would’ve thought: Philza Craft lived the double life of a villain? He had us all fooled. But not you, right?”
“Shut up, Dream. The Association is reaching its natural end. It’s useless to keep fighting it. You’re a vegetable waiting to be unplugged.”
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” Dream growled, and the temperature in the hallway dropped a thousand degrees.
Tommy shivered.
But he couldn’t shrink now.
He puffed out his chest, his wings unconsciously straining against their binding as he took a step forward, forcing Dream to take a step back. “Yeah, I did. What’re you gonna do about it?”
“I can tell the world who you are. I can beat your ass here in this hallway, and you won’t even have the time to call your little bodyguards over to save you. I was your mentor, Tommy. I know how you fight. I know how you think. I know who you are.”
“You don’t know shit, Dream, because if you knew anything, you’d know I’m not fucking afraid of you, and I’m not afraid of a fight. Have you forgotten how I snapped your own mentor’s neck?” Tommy taunted, a sick grin spreading across his face. “If I can beat the person who taught you, then that must mean you’re not that hard to fight after all? You know, Dream, as a kid I was terrified of you because you were just so much bigger than me. You had so much power. But now? Now I have power. And I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“Your power isn’t real, Cardinal. It’s been given to you by a lunatic, and he can just as easily take it away.”
“No,” Tommy denied, taking another step forward. Dream took a step back. “I took it. I grasped it in my hands.”
Tommy didn’t hesitate to strike Dream, uppercutting his jaw. He didn’t hesitate to follow it up with a kick to the abdomen. Dream staggered backwards, unprepared for the assault. Since his hands were in his pockets, he didn’t have the balance to keep himself from falling over, and he landed on his rear.
Tommy stood over him with his fists ready, his mind dispelling any images of Tubbo at all.
He lunged for Dream’s throat, his hands wrapping around his former mentor’s throat, two thumbs pressing down hard on his airways. Dream scratched at Tommy’s face, eyes bulging out of their sockets until his entire body went limp.
For good.
The question that continued to make him spiral these past few weeks flitted through his mind, asked in Tubbo’s now annoyingly know-it-all voice: was it justified?
Tommy turned to look at the door that led back to the dinner hall.
He had just murdered a man.
He couldn’t go back in there.
Could he?
He just murdered a man.
The first time could’ve been crossed off as a miss on the moral mark.
But the second time? The second time was what made a killer.
Tommy didn’t think it would be so easy to kill a man that used to loom so large in his mind, but he was gone, just like that. He was just laying in the middle of the hallway, in this terribly lit hallway, unmoving.
He couldn’t go back in there.
Tommy ran for the exit. He ripped off his blazer and rolled up his pant leg, grabbing the dagger he had strapped around his ankle, cutting holes on the back of his shirt. His wings broke free, the cool night air breezing through the feathers and caressing them in false comfort.
He looked back one more time before taking off.
Tommy already had a place in mind, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to actually arrive there. He flew through cities to ultimately stand on the roof of the building opposite of the L’manberg Heroes Association HQ, the tower he spent so much time with his friends in.
The window to the general living area was well-lit, and he could see inside. Thistle was sitting on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly jamming his fingers against the controls of their video game console.
He didn’t see anyone else inside.
Tommy glanced up at the roof.
Even in the obscurity of night, Tommy could see him clear as day.
Tubbo sat on the edge of the roof, legs swinging back and forth as he stared out into the city. Tommy stared with longing, debating whether to fly over and sit beside him, or to stay where he was.
Tubbo glanced down, locking eyes with unfamiliar blue eyes. Tommy waited for him to make a signal, any sign of recognition, but he didn’t. He just sat and stared at Tommy.
Then he stood up and walked away.
Just like that.
Tommy felt cold all of a sudden, colder than he felt when confronting Dream.
He recalled the conversation he had with Technoblade in the car on the way to Craft Tower, just before his entire world shifted on its axis. There was a time he considered Tubbo family, perhaps. The details were fuzzy, but when the topic of family was brought up, he was pretty sure he thought of Tubbo.
He couldn’t think that anymore, could he?
Too much has happened, too much damage and hurt split the two of them apart.
When he thought of family, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the man in the black crow’s mask. He thought of a dirty brown trench coat and shiny metal swords.
When he returned to the mansion, Phil was waiting for him, sitting with his legs crossed in his favorite armchair in the corner of the parlor. He had a fire going, illuminating half his face. In his hand, he nursed a glass of whiskey. Most notable of Phil’s appearance, though, was that his wings were out. It was the first time Tommy had ever seen Phil with his wings out without the Corvus mask on.
The two men were beginning to bleed into one another in Tommy’s mind.
“You’re back,” Phil stated.
It was a fact.
Tommy’s arms fell loosely at his side as he shuffled over to Phil’s side, kneeling by his feet. His wings drooped as he involuntarily sniffed, the emotions clogging his throat. “I killed someone else,” he choked out. “And I meant to, and I didn’t regret it.”
Phil smiled knowingly, his free hand making its way into Tommy’s curls. Tommy rested his head against Phil’s lap, his pants beginning to moisten from Tommy’s silent tears. “I know, fledgling. I took care of it.”
“I did it for you,” Tommy whispered. “He knew. He knew who I was, and I-I-I wanted him dead. I’ve always wanted him dead.”
“You did well, Tommy. You did so well.”
Tommy’s wings fluttered at the attention. Something caught in his throat; he thought it was another sob, but it wasn’t. Rather it was something much stranger. It was a chirp.
He had chirped.
Phil cooed as he continued to rake his fingers through Tommy’s curls before he patted the nape of Tommy’s neck. “Get up,” he said momentarily, “I have something to show you.”
Phil helped Tommy up, taking his hand and bringing him down an unfamiliar hallway. He brought him in front of a door. It wasn’t special by any means, but by the way Phil had so gently led him there, it must have been important to Phil, or at least the family.
The family.
Inside was a large bed, piled high with blankets and pillows. It looked like the comfiest place on earth, and something in the back of Tommy’s mind pushed him to jump headfirst into the bed.
Tommy barely even registered the fact that Technoblade and Wilbur were there on the bed. Wilbur was laying on his stomach, leafing through a worn out book while Techno was once again scrolling through that damned tablet of his.
Phil closed the door behind him, barely making a sound, and he pushed Tommy towards the bed, his hand brushing against Tommy’s wings.
He made that strange noise again.
Tommy moved to the center of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed as Philza began to pick and preen his wings. Wilbur’s foot pressed up against Tommy’s leg and Techno moved to use one hand on the tablet, the other on Tommy’s forearm.
It was a quiet night in the nest.
The morning would provide chaos from the outside world.
Outrage over a dead hero.
Unsettlement that lay beneath the surface would come up for air.
Tommy would soak it all up in the morning, standing over it all from his pedestal, side by side with his family, gripping their power tightly.