The Childrens Rebellion

bittersweet home

It was later, when the doctors were gone, and it was just Techno and Tommy in the room, that Dream and Drista poked their heads in. Drista glanced up at Tommy, but the moment caused Techno to raise his head, and the girl quickly stared at the ground once more, looking embarrassed.

"Techno," Dream said, dipping his head as he leaned against the wall. "Glad to see you awake."

"Glad to see my bullet didn't hit your heart."

"Well, you've always been good at missing."

Techno gave a halfhearted bark of laughter. "I seem to recall a certain duel—"

Dream put his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Jeez. No need to hold that over my head every time."

"I'm gonna hold that over your head until the day you die, Dream."

"Good to know," Dream said, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Nice to see you're okay as well, Tommy. Good job taming the beast."

"That's not fair," Techno grumbled, but unlike the Inspector, Dream's tone was teasing and friendly—and in kind, Techno wasn't mad in the slightest. The pink-haired man looked over at Drista, who was still staring at her feet. "Nice shot, kid."

"Wha—huh?" Drista sputtered, looking up. Glancing between the two siblings, Tommy could see the parallels connecting them—the same bright green eyes that glimmered with danger and mysteries; the same blonde hair, the same lines in the corners of their lips that signified the much-needed laughter. "I shot you."

"After I shot your brother," Techno said, reaching a hand to tap at where the bandages around his chest had once lain. "That was a hard choice to make." Dream put a hand on Drista's shoulder comfortingly, the younger girl glancing up at her brother. "And a valid one."

"But you're still good," Drista said, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "And I shot you. I could've killed you."

"You would've had every right to," Techno said, face proud. "For all you knew, I was a traitor. I shot your brother. Sorry about that, by the way." Dream shook his head slightly, acknowledging and passing on the apology, wordless. "Though, I'm glad you didn't go for the head."

"I couldn't," Drista said. "My training—all it was doing was screaming for me to shoot you in the head, but I—I couldn't." Her hands were shaking, Tommy noticed, clenched in fists at her side. "You could've actually betrayed us and I still wouldn't have been able to kill you."

"And that is what marks you as good," Dream spoke up, pride in his eyes as he stared down at his little sister. "Nice shot."

"It was more of a reaction," Drista muttered. "Than anything else."

"Than damn good reaction," Techno said. "Thanks for stoppin' me before I actually killed someone."

"No problem," Drista said, finally mustering a smile. "Thanks, Techno. I admit I was scared you would be mad at me."

"In self-defense? Never."

It was later—later at night, past midnight, that Tommy took out Sniff's violin—his violin, his mind supplied, but he pushed that aside—and lay it across his sheets.

It was even later than that, after staring around his room, at the evidence of him, of what was his—of the Percy Jackson book lying open on one of the shelves, a crushed allium between the pages; of the pictures of him and his friends, one of which was dead—of the pictures that Purpled had gotten sent from Pogtopia; terrible quality ones of them and Foolish and Grian and Alyssa—and now Ranboo's name joined the chant of names of the dead in his head—that Tommy tried to play the violin with clumsy fingers that didn't quite work properly.