Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy Thompson was your completely average fourteen-year-old boy.

He liked video games, pizza rolls, and silently questioning everything his parents said the moment they left the room.

His parents, however, were very devout conservative Christians. The family attended church three times a week, prayed before every meal (even snacks), and had a strict rule against using the word “evolution” unless it was followed immediately by “is a lie.”

But Tommy felt like something was missing.

No matter how many youth group meetings he went to…

no matter how many VeggieTales episodes he rewatched…

there was still a tiny, rebellious spark in his heart whispering:

“But what if… science?”

One quiet Tuesday afternoon, Tommy decided to take a walk down the old neighborhood trail. He told his parents he needed “fresh air to clear his spirit,” which satisfied them because they assumed he was going to pray in a bush.

Instead, fate had other plans.

That’s when he met him.

A middle-aged man with a long black coat, a turtleneck, and the serene expression of someone who had read at least three philosophy books.

“Lovely weather for critically evaluating your worldview, isn’t it?” the man said.

Tommy stopped.

His heart pounded.

No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

“I… I don’t know,” Tommy said honestly.

The man smiled. “That’s the first rational thing you’ve said. My name is Dr. Edison Factwell, PhD in Applied Skepticism.”

Tommy had never met an atheist before.

In his parents’ stories, atheists were shadowy creatures who hissed at crosses and stole Christmas trees.

But this man seemed… normal. Calm.

And worst of all—

He made sense.

They talked for hours. About science. About curiosity. About the universe being 13.8 billion years old and NOT created on a random Tuesday.

By the end of the conversation, Tommy felt something awaken deep in his soul.

Or rather—not his soul, because those didn’t exist.

Something awakened deep in his neurons.

“I… I think I’m an atheist,” Tommy whispered.

Dr. Factwell nodded like this happened every Tuesday.

“Come with me, Tommy. There is a school—one that will nurture your budding rational mind. A place where no question is forbidden. A place where knowledge itself is magic.”

Tommy’s eyes widened.

“What is it called?”

Dr. Factwell stepped closer and said dramatically:

“The Richard Dawkins Academy for Rational Thought.”

“RDART.”

Tommy knew what he had to do.

That night, clutching nothing but a backpack full of snacks and a forbidden copy of Bill Nye’s Big Book of Everything, he ran away.

He ran toward knowledge.

He ran toward reason.

He ran toward… RDART.

Chapter Text

Tommy had never traveled so far in his life.
Not physically—RDART wasn’t even that far from his hometown—but emotionally. Existentially. Atomically.

As Dr. Factwell led him through the grand stone archway of the Richard Dawkins Academy for Rational Thought, Tommy felt the air grow crisp with the scent of science labs, old books, and mild superiority.

The entrance hall was massive.
Portraits of famous atheists lined the walls: Carl Sagan mid-galaxy pose, Bertrand Russell looking disappointed at a chalkboard, Neil deGrasse Tyson pointing at absolutely nothing. And of course, a MASSIVE gold-framed portrait of Richard Dawkins himself looking like he was about to rate someone’s belief system a 2/10.

Students bustled everywhere, clutching textbooks like:

Physics: The Magic That Isn’t Magic

Debating 101: How to Stay Smug But Polite

Advanced Snark: A Guide for Skeptical Teens

Tommy stared, wide-eyed.
He’d never seen so many teenagers confidently correcting each other in the hallway.

Dr. Factwell smiled warmly. “Welcome, Tommy, to your new life of rationality. But before you can begin classes, we must learn where your mind naturally aligns.”

Tommy gulped. “Aligns… with what?”

“The Four Houses of Reason,” Dr. Factwell said, placing a dignified hand on his shoulder. “The heart of RDART.”

He led Tommy into a great circular room filled with rows of students watching from benches. At the center sat a lone wooden stool… and an object that made Tommy’s breath catch.

A hat.

But not just any hat—
a wide-brimmed, slightly pretentious-looking fedora with tiny embroidered atoms and a little label that read: “INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF THE ACADEMY.”

Tommy whispered, “Is that… the Sorting Hat?”

Dr. Factwell shook his head solemnly.

“No. That is the Rationality Assessment Headwear.”
“The RAH.”

The room hushed as Dr. Factwell raised his arms dramatically.

“Students of RDART! We welcome a new seeker of knowledge: Tommy Thompson, formerly of the Uncritical Faith Sector!”

The students gasped. Someone dropped a copy of Cosmos. A girl dramatically clutched her atheism-themed tote bag.

Before Tommy could panic, Dr. Factwell leaned down to whisper, “Don’t worry. We welcome doubters here. Doubt is the first spark of enlightenment.”

Tommy nodded, trembling.
He stepped forward, climbed onto the stool, and the Rationality Hat was placed on his head.

Immediately, a voice echoed in his mind—dry, nasal, and judgmental.

“Hmmm… a new mind. Let’s see what we have here…”

Tommy froze.

The hat continued:

“You’re asking questions. Good. You’re curious. Very good. You have a rebellious streak—excellent for resisting dogma. But let’s examine your alignment…”

The room leaned forward.

The Four Houses of RDART

Dr. Factwell recited proudly:

1. Evolutionist –
Those who thrive on adaptation, survival, and the glorious chaos of natural selection. Often outdoorsy. Frequently argue about lizards.

2. Rationalist –
Calm logicians dedicated to debate, logic puzzles, and staring judgmentally at people who use astrology apps.

3. Darwinist –
Big on biology. Big on beards. Big on saying “Actually…” before correcting someone.

4. Dawkinsist –
The elite skeptics. The loudest arguers. The most dramatic of the non-believers. Known for monologuing and carrying pocket manifestos.

The hat hummed thoughtfully.

“Ah… you have a spark of rebellion, but also a thirst for knowledge… an eagerness to question… a desire to be annoyingly correct…”

Tommy gulped.

“So what am I?” he whispered.

The hat spoke loudly for the whole room:

“DAWKENSIST!”

The crowd erupted in applause.

Dr. Factwell beamed. “A fine house! Strong, confident, occasionally insufferable, but always brilliant.”

Tommy grinned in disbelief.

He wasn’t just a runaway kid anymore.
He was a Dawkinsist.
A student of RDART.

A future rational thinker.

His new life had officially begun.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s heart raced as Dr. Factwell led him up a spiral staircase lined with motivational posters like:

“QUESTION EVERYTHING!”

“LOGIC IS LOVE!”

“DON’T LET YOUR HEART THINK FOR YOU.”

At the top of the stairs was a large glass door etched with a glowing atom symbol. Dr. Factwell tapped the door twice, whispered “peer review,” and the lock clicked open.

“Welcome,” he said, “to the Dawkinsist Common Room.”

Tommy stepped inside and nearly fainted.

It was HUGE—towering bookshelves of philosophy texts, debate trophies shining on pedestals, a 3D hologram of the universe rotating in the center, and beanbag chairs arranged like a council of skeptical elders.

Three students stood waiting, clearly expecting him.

Dr. Factwell gestured proudly.
“These will be your housemates. Your rational siblings. Your intellectual kin.”

Tommy gulped.
He had never met real atheists his age before.
His parents had warned him they were “dangerous thinkers with too much free time.”

He was about to find out.

The first to step forward was a small, enthusiastic 13-year-old girl with bright eyes, messy hair, and an outfit that definitely would’ve made Tommy’s parents explode like badly wired microwaves.

She waved cheerfully. “Hi! I’m Karen Avery! Dawkinsist 3rd year!”

Karen wasn’t shy at ALL.
She confidently wore shorts, a cropped science club hoodie, and a necklace shaped like an atom. She had the vibe of someone who giggled during debates but still won them.

Dr. Factwell whispered, “Atheist Marker: 8.4/10. Impressive for her age.”

Karen beamed.
“I’m so happy you’re joining us, Tommy! We don’t get many new Dawkinsists. Most kids get sorted into Evolutionists because they like running around and touching worms.”

She said it like this was a tragic character flaw.

Next stepped forward a tall, shaggy-haired 15-year-old boy wearing a black jacket covered in philosophical quote patches.

He didn’t smile.
He nodded.

“Name’s Derrick Mason,” he said in a calm, low voice. “Fourth year. I specialize in debate combat.”

Tommy blinked. “Debate… combat?”

Derrick cracked his knuckles.
“Cross-examinations that break spirits. Rebuttals that destroy confidence. Logical fallacies eliminated at the source.”

He sounded dangerous—but in a nerd way.

Dr. Factwell added proudly, “Atheist Marker: 8.6/10. One of our strongest skeptics.”

Derrick shrugged. “Just doing my part.”

Then the last student stepped forward… and the air practically BUZZED.

He was tall. Too tall. Unreasonably tall.

He wore a perfectly tailored uniform, a red Dawkinsist sash, and glasses that glinted ominously in the light.

His hair fell over one eye like he’d just stepped out of an edgy anime adaptation of a philosophy textbook.

He spoke with quiet authority:

“I am Ronnie Vale. Senior student. Dawkinsist captain. Debate champion for three consecutive years.”

Tommy felt his knees go weak.

Ronnie offered a hand.

Tommy shook it.

It felt like shaking hands with pure skepticism.

Dr. Factwell spoke reverently:

“Atheist Marker: 9.0/10. Second-highest in school history.”

Tommy’s jaw dropped.

“W-What’s the highest?”

Ronnie smirked.

“That honor belongs to last year's graduate… the one and only Eve Hexley, Atheist Marker 9.3.”

The room fell silent at the mention of her name. Even the holographic universe seemed to dim out of respect.

Karen leaned toward Tommy and whispered loudly,

“She once made a whole youth group question everything in two minutes. A LEGEND.”

Dr. Factwell clapped his hands.

“Well! I’ll leave you all to get acquainted. Tommy, your dorm room is just down the hall. Tomorrow you will begin classes, including:”

Intro to Debate: How to Politely Destroy Ignorance

History of Religion: Analyzing How We Got Here

Logic Puzzles 101

Lab Safety for Overly Excited Skeptics

And of course… Atheist Ethics and the Art of Being Correct

Tommy nodded nervously.
He’d never been somewhere that encouraged questions.
Or thinking.
Or shorts.

Karen grabbed his arm excitedly.

“Come on! Let’s get you settled. And THEN we’re playing Skeptic’s Monopoly! The only game where prayer doesn’t help you win!”

Tommy laughed for the first time all day.

Maybe this was where he belonged.
Maybe reason felt like home.

And as the lights dimmed and the common room buzzed with the energy of budding intellects, Tommy realized something:

His new life wasn’t just beginning.
It was evolving.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s first morning at RDART felt like stepping into a world where everything made sense… and yet nothing did.

He had made it through homeroom (where Karen nearly strangled herself trying to meditate aggressively), breakfast (where Derrick silently ate cereal like he was judging its molecular structure), and was now heading into his VERY first class: Intro to Debate.

The classroom looked like a courtroom had fallen into a philosophy convention.

Chalkboards lined the walls with phrases like:

“PLEASE DO NOT YELL ‘CHECKMATE’ DURING INTRO CLASS”

“REMEMBER: BEING LOUD IS NOT THE SAME AS BEING LOGICAL”

Ronnie was already there, leaning against a desk like a cool protagonist in a YA novel written by someone who’d never met a teenager.

Karen and Derrick were chatting near the front.

Tommy hesitated, clutching his notebook.

Everything felt so new.

So rational.

So… terrifying.

Karen noticed him and immediately waved.

“Tommy! Sit with us!”

He sat.

He felt safe.

Which was weird.

His parents always said atheists would sacrifice you to the god of logic or whatever.

But these kids?

They were… nice.

Normal.

Loud, but normal.

As they waited for class to begin, Karen tilted her head curiously.

“So, hey,” she said brightly, “what are your pronouns?”

Tommy froze.

No one had EVER asked him that before.

Not at church.

Not at school.

Not even in online games, where people usually just called him “bro,” “dude,” or occasionally “Steve” for no reason.

“I—uh—” he stammered.

Karen smiled gently, like she sensed his brain panicking.

“It’s okay! You don’t have to know right away. We just ask here. It’s a thing.”

“Yeah,” Derrick added, nodding. “RDART has a whole policy. You know how other schools ask for emergency contacts? We ask pronouns. Just makes life easier.”

Ronnie didn’t even look up from polishing a debate trophy.

“Identity is a personal journey,” he said with the confidence of someone who had definitely said that to at least six exes.

Tommy swallowed.

His voice was small.

“I… I think… I’m he/they.”

A long pause.

“And… maybe questioning she/her?”

Karen’s smile exploded into pure sunshine.

“That’s AWESOME! Thanks for telling us!”

Derrick gave him a respectful nod.

Ronnie looked up, pushed up his glasses, and said simply:

“Valid.”

It was such a small word.

But it meant more than every youth group lecture Tommy had ever heard.

He felt something warm in his chest.

Not shame.

Not fear.

Just… relief.

For the first time, Tommy felt like he wasn’t pretending.

He wasn’t hiding.

He wasn’t being told who he should be.

He was just… himself.

Whoever that ended up being.

Before he could get too emotional, the teacher burst into the room carrying a stack of papers and shouting:

“ALRIGHT LOGIC GREMLINS, WHO’S READY TO LEARN ABOUT OPENING STATEMENTS?!”

Karen leaned toward Tommy and whispered:

“Welcome to your new life.”

And for once—

Tommy believed her.

Chapter Text

Tommy did not like the room.

The room was too quiet.
Too white.
Too… evaluative.

He sat alone in a chair that was clearly designed by someone who hated comfort on a philosophical level. The walls were bare except for a single framed poster that read:

“THINK CRITICALLY.”
(Failure to do so will be noted.)

Tommy rocked slightly, fingers twisting the strap of his backpack.
He had studied. He had prepared.
But his chest still felt tight, like he was doing something forbidden.

What if he failed?
What if this was all a mistake?
What if—

The door opened.

Dr. Factwell entered, robes swishing dramatically, clipboard in hand. He looked exactly as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Good morning, Tommy,” he said warmly. “Are you ready for your Atheist Marker Exam?”

Tommy swallowed.
“I think so.”

“That’s acceptable,” Dr. Factwell said. “Confidence is optional. Effort is mandatory.”

He pressed a button. A machine hummed to life beside them, blinking ominously.

Dr. Factwell sat across from him.

“Question one,” he said gently.
“If something good happens to you at random… what does that mean?”

Tommy hesitated. His brain screamed God.
Years of habit clawed at him.

He closed his eyes.
Breathed.

“It means… something good happened,” he said quietly. “Not everything needs a reason.”

DING.

A small green light flickered on.

Dr. Factwell nodded. “Good.”

“Question two,” he continued.
“Why do people believe things without evidence?”

Tommy’s voice shook. His eyes burned.

“Because it’s comforting,” he said. “And because being uncertain is scary.”

Dr. Factwell smiled—not smugly. Proudly.

DING.

Tommy sniffed. He hated that he was crying.
But he didn’t stop answering.

A tray slid out in front of him.

Two bins.
Fifty cards.

BIN A: Evidence-Based Conclusions
BIN B: Emotional or Unsupported Claims

Tommy’s hands trembled as the timer started.

“Vaccines cause autism.”
→ Bin B.

“The Earth is 4.54 billion years old.”
→ Bin A.

“Prayer cured my cold.”
→ Bin B.

He cried openly now. Quietly.
Tears dripped onto the cards.

But he didn’t slow down.

BEEP.

Time.

Dr. Factwell checked the results.

“Excellent accuracy,” he said. “Even under distress.”

Tommy wiped his face with his sleeve, embarrassed.

Dr. Factwell leaned forward.

“Final question,” he said softly.
“Do you believe you are a bad person for questioning what you were taught?”

Tommy froze.

This one hurt.

His parents’ voices echoed in his head.
Church sermons. Warnings. Fear.

He shook his head, voice breaking.

“No,” he said. “I think… asking questions means I care about what’s true.”

Silence.

Then—

DING.

The machine whirred loudly. Lights blinked. A receipt printed out and fluttered to the floor.

Dr. Factwell picked it up and read it.

He blinked once.

Then twice.

“Well,” he said slowly, “that is… impressive.”

Tommy looked up, panicked.
“Is that bad?”

Dr. Factwell knelt in front of him.

“Tommy,” he said kindly, “you scored a 9.0.”

Tommy stared.

“What?”

“That level of reasoning,” Dr. Factwell continued, “especially under emotional pressure… is rare. You brought your A-game.”

Tommy laughed once, shaky and disbelieving.
Then cried harder.

Dr. Factwell stood and cleared his throat.

“There is… a tradition.”

He reached into a cabinet and pulled out something soft.

A plush.

It was small and round and absurdly cute—a stylized atheist logo, stitched into a little character with tiny arms and determined eyebrows.

He placed it gently in Tommy’s hands.

“For comfort,” he said. “And encouragement.”

Tommy hugged it immediately.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dr. Factwell smiled.

“Welcome to RDART, Tommy.”

And for the first time since he ran away—

Tommy felt like he had passed something that truly mattered.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s dorm room was quiet.

Not the bad kind of quiet—

the kind that settles after something overwhelming, like a storm finally passing.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, the little atheist plush tucked under his arm, staring at the wall while his brain replayed the exam in clips and flashes. His eyes were puffy. His head hurt. His body felt like it had run a marathon without his permission.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

Tommy flinched.

“Hey,” a gentle voice said. “It’s Mary. Can I come in?”

Tommy nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him.

“Y-yeah,” he said. “Door’s open.”

Mary stepped in carefully, like she was entering a library instead of a teenage boy’s room. She took one look at him—curled in on himself, plush clutched tight—and her expression softened immediately.

“I figured,” she said quietly, “that today was… a lot.”

Tommy huffed out a tiny laugh.

“That obvious?”

She smiled. “A little.”

Then she stepped aside.

Behind her stood two older students, both wearing Evolutionist green sashes.

One was a transgender man, broad-shouldered with messy curls and a warm grin.

The other was a transgender woman, tall, elegant, and holding a large tin that smelled suspiciously amazing.

“This is Rocky,” Mary said, gesturing to the guy.

“And Susan.”

Rocky waved. “Hey, kid. We heard you survived the AME.”

Susan smiled kindly. “And we brought cookies.”

She opened the tin.

Chocolate chip.

Oatmeal raisin.

Something vegan (Mary nodded approvingly).

Tommy’s eyes immediately filled again.

“Oh,” Susan said gently. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Rocky stepped forward and plopped down on the floor without asking.

“Post-exam crash is real. First one’s the worst.”

“You cried, didn’t you?” Susan asked softly.

Tommy nodded.

“A lot.”

Susan sat beside him on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I sobbed during mine,” she said. “Still got frosting on the answer sheet.”

Rocky snorted. “Legendary.”

Mary handed Tommy a cookie.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said. “We can just… exist.”

Tommy took a bite.

It was warm.

Soft.

Perfect.

Something in his chest loosened.

“Why… why are you being so nice?” he asked quietly.

Rocky shrugged. “Because someone was nice to us.”

Susan nodded. “And because RDART is intense, but it’s not supposed to break you.”

Mary added, very calmly,

“Also because you’re allowed to need support.”

Tommy blinked at them.

No one had ever said that to him before.

He hugged the plush tighter.

“I got a 9.0,” he said, almost apologetically.

Rocky’s eyebrows shot up.

“Okay, yeah, that explains the cookies.”

Susan laughed. “That’s incredible, Tommy.”

Mary smiled—small, proud, and genuine.

“You did really well.”

Tommy didn’t feel embarrassed this time when he cried again.

They stayed for a while.

Eating cookies.

Talking about classes.

Letting the silence be comfortable.

And for the first time since he left home, Tommy realized something important:

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t broken.

He wasn’t wrong.

He was just… becoming

Chapter Text

Study Hall at RDART was supposed to be quiet.

In theory.

In reality, it was forty students sitting in beanbags, aggressively highlighting textbooks while whisper-arguing about footnotes. The only sound louder than the turning pages was the soft hum of the Critical Thinking White Noise Machine™ in the corner.

Tommy sat at a long table with Mary across from him, his atheist plush peeking out of his backpack like emotional support evidence.

He was finally calm.

That’s when Derrick froze.

Not dramatically—

just suddenly, unnaturally still.

“…Oh no,” Derrick muttered, staring at his tablet.

Ronnie, seated two chairs away, slowly lowered his book.

“That tone,” he said. “I recognize that tone.”

Karen leaned over. “What? What happened? Did someone say the moon landing was fake again?”

Derrick turned the screen toward them.

Tommy leaned in.

On the screen was Twitter.

Or, as RDART students called it: The Bad Takes App.

At the top of the trending section was a name no one liked to say out loud:

@Rev_CalebTruthFire

Mary inhaled sharply.

“Isn’t that—” she started.

“Yes,” Ronnie said calmly. “It’s him.”

The tweet read:

🚨 PARENTS BE WARNED 🚨

The so-called “Richard Dawkins Academy for Rational Thought” is CORRUPTING CHILDREN.

They teach magic, gender confusion, and anti-God propaganda.

I will not rest until this school is SHUT DOWN.

Under it were thousands of likes.

Thousands of replies.

None of them good.

Tommy’s stomach dropped.

“He sounds like…” Tommy hesitated.

Karen finished the sentence cheerfully:

“Voldmortre.”

Everyone went quiet.

Mary whispered, “We don’t say his name.”

Tommy blinked. “Why?”

Derrick looked at him.

“Because every time someone fact-checks him, he gains followers.”

Ronnie sighed. “Classic persecution complex.”

Another tweet appeared.

Children are being taught to REJECT THEIR CREATOR.

This is WAR for their SOULS.

Tommy felt his chest tighten.

“They’re… talking about us,” he said softly.

Mary reached across the table and gently nudged a vegan cookie toward him like a grounding ritual.

“They always do,” she said. “It’s not really about us.”

“But what if they shut the school down?” Tommy asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“What if they make me go back?”

The table went very still.

Ronnie stood.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t rush.

“This,” he said evenly, “is why RDART exists.”

Derrick nodded. “They hate what they don’t control.”

Karen frowned. “Also he called debate club ‘verbal witchcraft’ and I take that personally.”

Mary met Tommy’s eyes.

“Listen to me,” she said gently. “This has happened before. Protests. Petitions. Threats.”

“They never win,” Ronnie added. “Because truth doesn’t trend—but it lasts.”

Just then, the Study Hall supervisor cleared their throat.

“Students,” they said calmly, “yes, we are aware of the situation. No, the school is not closing. And yes—please stop doomscrolling.”

A few kids groaned.

Tommy exhaled slowly.

Still scared.

But not alone.

He hugged the plush tighter.

Somewhere outside the walls of RDART, someone was shouting into the void.

But inside—

There were facts.

Friends.

And people who would stand with him.

And for the first time, Tommy realized:

This wasn’t just a school they were trying to shut down.

It was a safe place.

Chapter Text

Arts class at RDART was held in a black-box theater that smelled faintly of paint, glue, and academic rebellion.

Tommy sat in the second row, knees tucked to his chest, atheist plush perched beside him like a tiny moral support witness. Mary sat nearby, sketching calmly in her notebook. Karen was whispering ideas to anyone who would listen. Derrick was pretending not to care. Ronnie was judging everyone silently.

At the front of the room, the Arts instructor clapped their hands.

“Alright, creatives,” they announced. “Today’s assignment: Satire as Social Commentary. You may address any public figure, ideology, or belief system—so long as you do it thoughtfully.”

There was a pause.

Then Susan stood up.

Rocky stood with her.

The room instantly went quiet.

“We’d like to present a short play,” Susan said smoothly.

Rocky grinned. “It’s called ‘The Man Who Was Afraid of Questions.’”

Karen gasped.
Mary muttered, “Oh no.”
Ronnie leaned forward slightly.
Tommy’s heart started pounding.

The lights dimmed.

Rocky stepped into the spotlight first, draped in an aggressively dramatic black cloak. He adopted a booming, self-important voice.

“I AM THE GUARDIAN OF TRUTH,” he thundered.
“AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN WRONG. EVER.”

A cardboard Twitter logo descended from the ceiling on a string.

Susan entered, wearing a simple outfit and carrying a book labeled “Questions.”

“Oh Great Guardian,” she said sweetly, “have you ever considered being wrong?”

Rocky recoiled as if burned.
“BLASPHEMY! QUESTIONS ARE DANGEROUS!”

The audience snorted.

Susan opened the book.
“Why are you so afraid of this school?”

Rocky puffed out his chest.
“BECAUSE—”
He paused.
“…Because… because…”

He faltered.

The silence was intentional.

Then Susan gently said,
“Because if children learn to think, they might stop listening to you.”

The room went DEAD quiet.

Tommy felt something click in his chest.

Rocky dropped the booming voice. His posture slumped.
“What if,” he said softly now, “I built my whole identity on being certain?”

Susan stepped closer.

“Then the truth doesn’t destroy you,” she said.
“It frees you.”

Rocky slowly removed the cloak.

Underneath, he wore a simple shirt that read:

“I DON’T KNOW — AND THAT’S OKAY.”

The audience erupted.

Karen clapped so hard she almost fell out of her chair.
Derrick whispered, “That was brutal.”
Ronnie nodded once. High praise.

Rocky looked out at the audience.

“I spent my life yelling,” he said quietly.
“But no one ever asked me why I was scared.”

Susan took his hand.

“And no one ever told you,” she said,
“that changing your mind isn’t losing.”

They bowed.

The lights came back up.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the Arts instructor wiped their eyes.

“…That,” they said, “was excellent. Also legally distinct from any real person.”

Laughter filled the room.

After class, Tommy lingered near the stage.

Susan noticed him first.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You okay?”

Tommy nodded.
“That was… really brave.”

Rocky smiled. “Satire’s safer than screaming. And louder than fear.”

Mary joined him, calm as ever.
“Truth doesn’t need threats,” she said. “It just needs space.”

Tommy hugged the plush tighter.

For the first time since seeing the tweets, he didn’t feel small.

Someone had taken the fear—
and turned it into art.

And Voldmortre?

For once—

He didn’t look powerful at all.

Chapter Text

RDART didn’t celebrate Christmas.

They celebrated Gift Exchange Day, which was completely different and definitely not Christmas, according to the flyers taped everywhere that read:

GIFT EXCHANGE DAY
A Celebration of Generosity, Community, and Capitalism (But Make It Ethical)

The Dawkinsist common room was in chaos.

Mary sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully wrapping gifts in recycled brown paper and twine. Karen lay beside her, legs kicked up in the air, aggressively cutting out paper snowflakes shaped like atoms, dinosaurs, and question marks.

“This one looks like a duck,” Karen said proudly.

“That is a snowflake,” Mary replied calmly.

“It’s abstract.”

Mary sighed but smiled anyway.

They worked in companionable silence for a moment.

“I like Gift Exchange Day,” Karen said suddenly. “No pressure. No guilt. No weird songs about birthdays.”

Mary nodded. “And no one gets mad if you say ‘happy holidays’.”

Karen beamed. “Exactly.”

She glanced over at Mary, cheeks faintly pink.
“You look cute when you concentrate.”

Mary paused mid-wrap.
“…Thank you,” she said, very carefully, as if afraid to drop the moment.

Karen grinned and went back to cutting ducks—sorry, snowflakes.

---

Across the room, Ronnie and Derrick were attempting to decorate.

This meant Ronnie was doing it correctly, while Derrick was hanging lights in ways that were technically functional but spiritually upsetting.

“Those lights are uneven,” Ronnie said.

“They’re asymmetrically expressive,” Derrick replied.

Ronnie adjusted them anyway.

Nearby, Susan stood on a chair, hanging a banner that read:

JOY THROUGH REASON

Ronnie cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, very casually, which fooled absolutely no one,
“do you… enjoy the holiday season?”

Susan glanced down at him, amused.
“I enjoy baked goods and time off from exams.”

Ronnie nodded. “Same. I, uh— I was wondering if maybe you’d like to… exchange gifts? Just us?”

Susan smiled softly.
“That sounds nice, Ronnie.”

Ronnie’s brain promptly short-circuited.

He walked directly into a bookshelf.

---

On the other side of the room, Rocky was helping Derrick tape up paper chains made of recycled debate notes.

Derrick fidgeted.

“…Hey,” he said, not making eye contact.
“Do you—uh—like… Gift Exchange Day?”

Rocky raised an eyebrow, smiling.
“I do. Especially the snacks.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Same.”

A pause.

Derrick blurted,
“I think you’re really cool.”

Rocky blinked, then smiled warmly.
“Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Derrick nodded, face burning, and immediately went back to taping chains with way too much focus.

Rocky chuckled quietly and helped him straighten one.

---

Tommy watched all of this from the couch, atheist plush in his lap, feeling strangely… peaceful.

No one was arguing.
No one was afraid.
No one was pretending to be someone else.

Just friends.
Decorations.
Awkward crushes.
And a holiday built on choosing kindness instead of obligation.

Mary finished wrapping the last gift and looked around the room.

“This,” she said softly, “feels nice.”

Karen nodded and leaned her head against Mary’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” she said. “It really does.”

And for the first time, Tommy thought:

Maybe this was what the holidays were supposed to feel like.