#that-one-engineering-bard

"I'm sorry it had to be like this, Tommy," Philza says, running his knuckles down the obsidian wall. He looks incredibly beaten down for someone who's still got his freedom. "It's for your own good, I swear. I know you think they're your friends, but they've manipulated you. They took you from us, Tommy. I only want what's best for you. I was so devastated when Dream told me you'd died..."

Phil takes a moment to choke down his remembered grief. Even if doing the right thing makes Tommy hate him, he has to do it. He refuses to lose another son.

Tommy wishes there were iron bars in between him and his father, rather than a wall of obsidian and a shut iron door. He’d spit at Philza if he could. “What, are you saying it was meant to be, then? That your way’s the right way because you know more about the hermits than I do, even though I’m the one that fuckin’ lives with them?”

“Tommy--”

“I’m not fucking brainwashed! You’re the one who’s being brainwashed if you think that the hermits are doing-- evil shit to my mind! Why does everyone believe Dream instead of me?!”

Philza’s expression crumples. Tommy’s never seen that look on his father’s face before. Philza opens his mouth to say something, yet seems to think better of it and closes it again. Tommy considers telling the man all about how he found himself in the hermits’ care. He could tell his father, in excruciating detail, how Dream found him on his Logsted tower, high in the sky, how easy it would have been for Tommy to splat on the shore instead of landing in the water. Tommy could vividly recount to Philza the sensation of being dragged out of the water by his hair, being beaten within an inch of his life, seeing just a hint of terrified green eyes behind a cracked mask. It might break Philza, Tommy believes, to tell the man about falling through Dream’s hastily-created admin-magic portal and being so certain he was going to die.

Weaponizing his own trauma because he’s angry is beyond cruel. Even if Philza’s doing wrong by his son, he’s doing it out of love. Before meeting the hermits, Tommy would have done it, twisted that knife of regret deep into Philza’s gut, for no other reason than that if Tommy has to suffer so does someone else. 

Tommy lets the words die on his tongue. They’re not worth it. At least Philza’s trying to do the right thing.

A male shout-- Sam?-- echoes from far down the prison’s hall, followed by a thud and the sound of several rockets firing. Philza whips around, drawing his sword, but gets rammed into the wall by a red blur. Tommy gasps. There’s only one person he knows who can fly in tight corridors like this, only one person who spams rockets like that.

“Grian,” he breathes. The man in question raps Philza on the head, hard enough that the man goes limp. Grian checks to make sure Philza is still breathing steadily, then ties his wrists and ankles together, leaving him propped up against the wall. Grian then unlocks Tommy’s cell door, then Tubbo’s.

“H-- Wha-- How are you here?!” Tommy finally settles on a question.

Grian smiles, faintly but warmly nonetheless. “Did you really think we’d leave you behind, Tommy?”

Tommy lurches through the doorway into Grian’s waiting arms. He trembles, but he does not cry. He is strong. With Grian’s help, Tommy and Tubbo can escape.