"What should we do?" Phil asked.
"Tommy's just bein' a teenager, Phil."
"He's being what you were as a teenager. That's not good."
"Maybe we should stop making so many comparisons," Wilbur suggested, "Tommy's completely human—it's a lot different."
"Him being human just means he doesn't have the same biological inclination for the kind of violence Techno does, but it doesn't make him immune to being conditioned into behaving that way."
"Phil, I get where you're comin' from, I don't want Tommy to turn out the way I did either, but he won't. He's moldin' himself in my current image and what he sees me as—it's just a phase. Tommy will grow up, Phil," Dave assured his father figure.
Wilbur spoke up again, "Yeah, Techno's never really said anything to Tommy that I thought was worrying. Tommy just wants to be a popular swordsman like Techno, there's nothing wrong with that."
Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling guilty for eavesdropping on their conversation. Hearing their muffled voices through the door to the library made him feel a bit queasy. He knew he needed to apologize to Clay and that the blonde was in a little lounge room nearby waiting for the three men to finish their conversation. Tommy was nervous but, unbeknownst to him, so was Clay.
Clay went into a slight panic when Tommy came into the room, timidly sitting down on the opposite side of the couch Clay was on. Neither of them looked at each other until Tommy suddenly cleared his throat.
I'm sorry for yelling at you. It was uncalled for and I shouldn't assume things or speak for Techno," he murmured.
"Don't worry about it, I understand. You're probably tired of seeing Dave-" Clay paused abruptly, realizing he just used Dave's real name around Tommy.
Tommy sighed out a silent laugh, "Just keep going. There's no point in hiding it anymore."
"...You're probably tired of seeing Dave get hurt over and over again, so it's not unreasonable for you to see me as a threat. I promise I'll treat him right."
"No, I was overreacting. I'm sure Techno decided for himself not to join this championship. I just felt... bad
that I was looking forward to it so much and he dropped out without even telling me to my face. It's..." Tommy huffed, "Techno doesn't really tell me a whole lot of, like... personal shit, so for you to just come in and have him open up to you so easily and so quickly is—it didn't feel fair. But I've to come to terms with the fact that you know a different side of him that he obviously doesn't think I should see, and I should just respect that. But at the time, I felt like I'm supposed to be his brother and you were still practically a stranger.
"It... was starting to feel like Techno was sacrificing time with me to spend it with you instead when that was meant to be our time. I didn't like that it was being stolen from me and Techno didn't even care. There's nobody else like him who I can genuinely relate to and that I really look up to. But it makes sense now why he was putting distance between us and making excuses to shorten our sessions or not have them at all.
"They just told me that they wanted you to start helping train me—which I suspected would happen eventually, and is why I was so damn pissed off before," Tommy grumbled, "Phil thinks I'm stupid but I know that he's not that comfortable with Techno training me. I don't understand why Phil treats Techno like some monster... he's not. I've heard the rumors, but they're just rumors. You see it too, don't you? Techno isn't like the persona he has when he's on camera—he's not a threat to anybody. I wish Phil would just leave him alone."
If only Tommy knew what led to Clay and Dave joining together in the first place. Dave certainly could be a threat when he wanted to be, but in Clay's opinion he was mostly safe. Although, he supposed Dave was a bit like an abused animal; he'd obviously been hurt time and time again in the past by various means and didn't feel like he could trust many people. It wasn't entirely a fault of his own but you needed to be careful around Dave regardless. If you crossed a certain line, he had no problem hurting you or worse; Clay understood that firsthand.
"Phil is... He's a very precautious parent, and he has his reasons to be. There's things to Dave that you just don't see, which you shouldn't see, that Phil isn't a stranger to. I don't even—I don't even know what Dave has truly done in his past, nobody's told me, but clearly it concerns Phil, and I... I've seen little things that are—that are worrisome. It's better to let them work it out on their own and not try to push back too hard. But if you seriously think Phil isn't treating him fairly then tell me and I'll snoop around for you to make sure everything's okay."
Clay felt so awful talking about Dave like that but this was reality. No matter how much he wanted to see Dave for only the positives, there were still negatives—hefty ones.
"Protective over your boyfriend now?" Tommy grinned smugly.
Clay blushed, remembering when Dave nearly said they were dating.
"Tommy, he's not my boyfriend—don't say things like that around Dave. It's... Things are a lot more complex than that. It's stupid adult stuff that you don't need to be worried about, anyway."
"B-But—he obviously likes you! He's so much happier with you around, I can barely piss him off anymore,
there's no way... Techno's just trying to make you keep it a secret, isn't he? Why-"
"Tommy. This isn't something that you need to concern yourself with," Clay said more sternly.
Tommy sighed, realizing this was much a bigger issue than he initially expected. He really thought they were just trying to keep their relationship a secret, but now it seemed like there were a lot of problems that they'd been trying to sort out.
Like Wilbur and Clay, Tommy just wanted to see the poor pig happy.
"I'll keep my mouth shut around Techno. He won't hear anything about dating," Tommy said, crossing his
arms and leaning back into the couch, much more relaxed now.
Clay breathed out in relief, "Thanks... I'll see if I can nudge some things around between Phil and Dave so he can spend more time with you."
"Y-You're not gonna tell Techno any embarrassing parts of what I said, right?" Tommy spluttered, "I don't want him to think I'm clingy or something."
"Absolutely not."
"...Pinky swear."
Clay obliged with an amused smile before he turned serious again.
"By the way, no matter how much you look up to Dave, you shouldn't try and become him. You're your own person, so don't try and force yourself to be something you're not. Even if you and Dave are really similar at your core, you're very different from each other and you need different things. Your teen and young adult years are for finding yourself—don't waste them."
"...Right," Tommy mumbled, "I know they're not going to change their mind about making me train with you, so can you help me with shooting a bow and arrow? That's your thing, isn't it?"
"Yeah, that's my thing," Clay laughed.
~~~
"So why aren't you and Dream official yet, Techy?" Wilbur asked now that the more serious part of the conversation was over.
"You're really bringin' this up?" Dave grumbled, "I... I don't know how to talk to him about it," he admitted, "I know he won't reject me—I mean, he already said his piece—but the timin' is... I don't want to embarrass myself or say something wrong," Dave's face was flushed.
"The right moment will come," Phil assured, patting Dave on the back, "The sooner the better though if that's what you really want. You'll feel a lot better after you've told him everything."
"I feel bad for him..." Dave mumbled.
"Dream's incredibly patient to have even decided to give you a chance in the first place, I don't think he'll be upset that it took a while. But if you keep him hanging on this rope then eventually he's just gonna let go and move on. You've gotta pull him up soon because one person can only take so much," Wilbur said.
"Let's just go see if Tommy's said anything to Clay," Dave dodged talking about the topic any longer, opening up the library doors.
Phil frowned, wishing Dave would just talk about something. On the other hand, Dave wished he could find the words to do so.
Dave smiled upon hearing Tommy and Clay talking as they approached the little lounge, knocking on the door frame to get their attention.
"You guys have made up then, right?" Dave asked rhetorically.
"Yeah, everything's fine now," Clay answered, "Dave, do you keep anything for archery around here?"
~~~
"Keep your back straighter," Clay instructed as he adjusted Tommy's shoulders.
They were out in a large clearing by the manor with some targets set up in the distance. Tommy had shot a bow before, you had to in The Grand Championship, so he had a tiny bit of experience, but it didn't mean much since he'd learned improperly.
Tommy grunted, "I always slouch, I can't help it."
"Yes you can, now relax your body and keep your shoulders down. You're too tense."
"I hate this," Tommy grumbled, "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?"
"It's a good skill. Your stance is really important though, so you've gotta get it down before anything else. We're just getting the very basics down, I promise we won't be long."
Clay stood behind him and individually moved his shoulders, arms, and hands so they were positioned correctly.
"This is how you wanna stand, okay? Your feet should be pointing parallel with the target, not at it, and the rest of you turns to face it. Keep your left foot in front there," Clay pointed to a line they'd made in the ground.
"And now you need to decide on an anchor point. Most just keep their draw hand around their jaw beneath their chin, but you wanna keep it in the same spot every time. Consistency is important to good aim."
Tommy drew back the bow, the hand holding back the string just under his chin, "Like here?" he looked to Clay for approval.
"Yeah, that's good."
"Don't wait too long after you raise the bow to shoot, and always shoot after an exhale; don't breathe again until after the shot. Your aim will be off if you're swaying around."
"Okay..." Tommy murmured.
"Stay focused on your shot. Don't let your arms fall and keep your grip relaxed."
Tommy turned, getting into position and looking at the closest target. Clay stepped away, giving him space. Tommy raised the bow, pulling the arrow back and lining up his shot. After a deep breath, he finally let go, watching the arrow fly through the air.
It hit just a little low, but was centered horizontally.
"Hey, not bad!" Clay chimed, "Seriously, that's a good shot. Eventually you start to get a feel for the arc of the arrow and where exactly it'll land."
"Could you also help Tubbo? I mean, I teach him things and he takes classes and stuff but he rarely does anything with Techno. I think he could really use someone like you to help him out. Not just with combat but with parkour and stuff too. He's never won a championship yet."
"Yeah, I can help out."
"Thank you, Dream."
"Clay is fine, y'know."
Tommy stopped, his lips parted.
"R-Really? I can call you Clay?"
"The formality gets weird when you start to get closer to someone," Dream chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.
Tommy's expression turned to one of glee and he dropped the bow to the ground, throwing his arms around Clay in a hug.
"I'm really sorry for everything I did before. I shouldn't take my frustrations out on other people..." Tommy apologized again.
"It's alright Tommy, I was like that once too."
They seem like they're having a good time," Wilbur said to Dave, watching Clay and Tommy together.
They looked tiny from outside the back of the house, but you could still vaguely tell that Tommy had hugged Clay.
"I'm just glad Tommy's not a total brat like some other kids," Dave grumbled.
"I dunno, he has his moments," Wilbur joked.
"He really does," Dave drawled, "But it's hard not to love him. I can't wait to watch him in that junior's tournament, it'll be great to see him against people his own age. He's improved so fast."
"Tommy improved so fast because you've been teaching him, give yourself some credit too. If you ever decided to stop competing yourself you'd make a great personal trainer—ooh, or start up some classes!" Wilbur beamed,
"Why don't you ever tell Phil to lighten up on you? You haven't killed anyone since you were a teenager, right? He should stop acting like you still do that shit. Tommy's just fine."
"Wilbur, the last thing a parent wants to hear about someone who's around their child as often as I'm with Tommy is how long they've gone without murderin' someone. I know why he's so wary but I wish he'd just take Tommy and fuckin' leave if he doubts I've changed—I'd rather die than push any of that onto Tommy and create a little mini-me. But I get it—I am what I am because I was terrible in my last life, and I've been terrible again. Once we get a taste for something bad, we rarely stop."
Wilbur frowned, "I don't feel like I'm in danger around you, even knowing what you've done."
"I haven't actually killed anyone in years, but that doesn't mean I haven't gotten incredibly close."
"So?" Wilbur said, "You held back in the end, isn't that what matters? Self control and restraint? Nobody cares about Schlatt."
"Schlatt's sin isn't wrath, it's greed; scammin' people isn't comparable to mass murder. Even then, you really need to stay the fuck away from Schlatt. He may not kill you but he has no empathy left in him—you've seen his gross eyes."
"What can I say, I like the risk. You two are fun!" Wilbur smiled, tapping the back of his hand against Dave's chest, "My best buddies in the whole world. Should let me actually bring him over sometime instead of banning him from your house," he mumbled.
"You and Clay are both insane for hangin' around people like us. I've told you both to stay away over and over again—you especially know I'm awful."
"Sometimes what you know doesn't matter and feelings just take over. You really do feel like an older brother to me, even though you're younger. Dream's feelings have obviously taken the driver's seat too, and so have yours. You know you're bad, and yet you allow us to stay because we make your life more full. Everybody makes stupid choices to be happy.
"Dream is stupidly in love with you and I don't think there's a single awful thing you could do that would ever make him leave you so long as you actually tell him that you love him back. When you get attached to something you start ignoring whatever bad comes with it, no matter how bad it is. If you want him so badly then snatch him up before he has a chance to take off those rose-tinted glasses he's had on for the past few months."
"It feels wrong," Dave said curtly.
"You've done plenty wrong already," Wilbur sang, "And you need him; you know that. You'll both be happy in the end."
"There is no end—this cycle will just keep goin'. I'm gonna have these stupid pig ears every life of mine."
"I think they suit you."
"...Clay does too."
Of course Clay liked his stupid ears—and his stupid hair and his stupid oversized body. He liked everything that Dave loathed about himself and wished he could change. Some of it he could've prevented, but some he was cursed with at birth. He was jealous of the people who managed to escape the cycle, adorning whatever little parts they were born with and nothing more.
Dave was beginning to not hate his ears quite so much since Clay seemed to love them, petting them and messing with them whenever he had the chance. It felt nice too; Clay was always incredibly gentle and careful.
Just like that kiss.
Dave couldn't get the sensation of it out of his head. It was so sudden but Dave had been yearning for it for a while. Clay's lips were soft and slotted perfectly between Dave's, like two puzzle pieces joining together—it just felt like things were meant to be that way. All the signs were pointing Dave to a conclusion about him and Clay that he couldn't believe—not yet. But things were starting to pile up to a point that they were too good together for it not to be true.
Surely, they couldn't possibly be-
"Techno!"
The pig nearly jumped out of his skin, at Tommy's voice, his own wavering slightly, "H-uh?"
"You alright there?" Clay asked, "We're done for today—just the basics."
"Did I seriously space out for that long?" Dave questioned, looking to Wilbur.
"I thought it best not to pop that bubble you were in, it seemed like a nice one," he teased.
"God, you're the worst," Dave groaned.
"He's the middle child, after all," Tommy muttered.
"Oh, come on, that coming from you?"
"What is that supposed to mean?!"
They were an odd family, made up of some of the weirdest people Dave knew—including himself—but he wouldn't have traded it for anything, no matter how many stupid arguments his two "younger" brothers started. With a harsh exhale at the sign of a headache coming on, Dave was about to stand up from his chair when he looked down to his feet, realizing how scuffed up and dull looking his boots were.
"Tommy, go get all my boot shit."
The boy quickly darted inside, off to go retrieve what was requested. "Boot shit" included a box of brushes, cloths, and polish, plus some water.
"Ah, good old child labor," Wilbur said to himself.
Clay snorted, sitting down with them, setting the bow and arrows onto the table, "Gonna get Tommy to clean them up?"
"Nah, he's just my errand boy," Dave said, "I wouldn't trust anybody but myself with these—plus, I don't wanna get Tommy's mom on my ass when he goes home with hands that look burnt."
Tommy came back with everything incredibly fast, a servant behind him carrying the water since he didn't trust himself not to spill it along with the box.
"Here!" Tommy said as he handed it over.
Dave took his boots off and pulled both his legs up into the chair, cross-legged with one shoe on the ground and the other in his lap.
"You're gonna stain your pants again," Wilbur said.
"I'll just buy new ones—like always."
He quickly took out their laces and stuffed the shoe with some packing paper from the box, scrubbing off the dirt and grime that had accumulated around the welt of his boot.
"As much as I'd love to stay longer, I have to work on my new album," Wilbur said, "Don't stay too late, Tommy, alright?" he placed a hand over the crown of Tommy's head.
"I won't," Tommy answered quietly, walking over with Wilbur to the door back inside.
Hilariously, it was the youngest child always toting his older brother and father around since neither of the two could use magic and Dave's home was simply too far out to consider another means of transportation. They lived across the sea, to be fair.
Clay was mesmerized watching Dave; he'd been taking care of these boots for years, and it showed in his technique and how quickly he worked.
"How old are these?" Clay inquired, "I know they've gotta be older than they look."
Tommy answered before Dave could, "Techno got them when he was seventeen."
So he was already this large that young, if they still fit his feet.
Despite having them for five years they looked maybe a couple months old at most, probably the last time Dave had cleaned and shined them. They'd look good as new again he finished this time.
Dave's hands were covered in the black polish he'd been using his whole life for his boots, the pads of his fingers permanently worn down from how much he'd repeated this activity over the long years. The substance even stained his fingernails a dark eigengrau and he never managed to wash out all the staining before the next time he had to fix his boots—the color never seemed to come out of the keratin at the ends of his fingers.
He could have had one of many maids or anybody do this for him, but Dave preferred doing it himself; it ensured his boots came out exactly the way he wanted every time. That, and he'd never wish horrid, forever-black nails onto anyone. You couldn't do it with gloves, it just would never be the same. Dave had been asked many times why he didn't just use another polish, one that wasn't known to stain so abhorrently—this brand of black polish was one of a few things he had to reminisce about the good parts of his childhood.
"So..." Tommy began, "I know the junior's tournament is still a while from now, but you are coming, right? Just to be sure."
"Of course I'm comin'. I don't care what Phil has to say about it."
~~~
Dave licked his dry lips, sighing as he furiously scrubbed his hands. He even used a much stronger soap than normal and it still took a few minutes to wash his hands after getting that stupid polish on them. He really needed Tylenol or something—his headache was getting worse.
Phil and Wilbur had been putting more and more pressure on him to confess to Clay.
He knew they were well-intentioned, and they were right too—Dave needed to man up like Clay had done and say something. He deserved an answer and Dave had it now, yet would go completely silent around him at the mere thought of telling Clay how he felt. The paranoia that Clay had been lying this whole time, playing along with him for either his own gain or just entertainment, or even just to piss George off. It was far fetched, a completely irrational conspiracy thought up by Dave's own insecurities and past traumas. Yet he was still afraid, still riddled with anxiety and unease.
He had to bite the bullet at some point. Clay may have said he'd be patient, that he didn't care if he had to wait, that he wasn't going to leave until he got a definite no—but as much as Clay may have wanted to, Dave knew there was no way to endure the kind of pain and suspense he had to be feeling for so long. Time was ticking.
"Daaave," Clay sang quietly as he slowly wrapped his hands around Dave's waist from behind, "I'm gonna be really busy later this week and, like, all of next week. Filming, and Nick and George want to hang out some, and I'm sure Tommy will ask about more archery at some point."
"You know you can always-" the pig yawned, "just tell Tommy that you're busy."
"Well, if I'm not busy, I might as well. Are you okay? You seem off."
"Just a headache."
"You always say 'just' about everything—did you take anything for it?" Clay asked as he sat up on the counter.
"I am right now," Dave chuckled, picking out the first box he saw with headache' on the label and shoving some tablets into his mouth.
Clay clicked his tongue, taking the box from him, "You didn't even read how many you were supposed to take—which it says two, porky."
"I only took three, I almost always have to take more than what's actually recommended."
Clay sighed, pecking him on the lips, "What am I gonna do with you?"