Chapter Text
Blood. Black blood. And it's pouring like a fucking fountain out of Tubbo's leg.
No.
Tommy can't speak. It's like all the air in his lungs has been sucked out in a second, diseappearing at the sight of the terror in Tubbo's eyes and the floor covered in the horrible fluid.
Why?
His mind, despite his best efforts to stop the panic in its tracks, still immediatly goes back to Phil. The sense of dread in the man's eyes that he thought the blond couldn't see when they first discovered the symptom. The sacrifice.
And the scream.
At first, he thinks it was simply replaying in his head. But when he starts to come back to his senses, his mouth is open and his throat is sore.
But the scream is long gone, and with it the hope that this time would be different.
Tubbo was right. They've never seen anyone get bit and not turn. They're not special. Of course they weren't.
He barely hears Tubbo calling out for him again.
"It's not stopping - Tommy, it's not stopping!"
This snaps him back to reality. Get it together, he's not the one in trouble for fuck's sake!
He kneels down next to the boy, his hands hovering over the wound. The thick black blood keeps pouring out. Tommy feels sick. He swallows with difficulty.
"Are you- Does it hurt?" He manages to ask, unsure of what to do.
"No, it just... It's just bleeding out but it's still numb," Tubbo responds, breathing heavily. The panic in his voice is audible and Tommy is going to go crazy if he can't find a way to help him in the next five minutes.
The more he looks at it, the more the liquid looks wrong to him. Why would a virus bleed its host dry before it can spread...?
If he looks at it one more second he's going to be sick.
Whatever, he doesn't have time for this. Tubbo is bleeding out. Tubbo is bleeding out!
"'M gonna tie somethin' up above the bite to stop the bloodflow, 'kay?" Tommy says, trying his best to sound as in control of the situation as possible. Freaking Tubbo out more is the last thing they need.
The brown-haired boy nods shakily, his eyes wide with horror and confusion. Tommy isn't even sure he's totally aware of what's happening anymore. He can't really blame him, though. Sure seems like it'd be easier that way.
He rummages through one of the backpacks and takes out some of the clean cloth they'd found the day Tubbo got bit. He rips out a strip and carefully ties it right under the boy's knee, tighting it until the bloodflow starts slowing down.
He allows himself a breath. Crisis... sort of avoided.
Tubbo's breathing slowly stabilizes as well, and the two of them sit in silence for a few minutes.
"...This is it," the boy eventually mutters, almost just to himself, his eyes looking at nothing in particular. "I'm gonna die."
There was no fear in his voice, only a tinge of sadness. He said it like a fact.
"Don't fucking say that," Tommy says through clenched teeth to keep himself from shouting, pacing around the room. "Don't you fucking dare give up." Tubbo's empty eyes are terrifying.
He doesn't want to see these eyes glaze over and leave him. Not again. He doesn't realize he's stomping until he hears the sharp creaking of the wooden floor.
"Tommy-" The other boy's voice is pleading. "Tommy, calm down-"
Even when it's his life on the line, Tubbo's first thought is still calming down Tommy. Fuck.
The blond sits down abruptly, away from Tubbo. He meets his gaze after a few calming breaths, consciously avoiding looking at Tubbo's leg.
Tubbo's leg. He can't even bring himself to think past that.
A pause.
"Listen." Tommy's voice is quiet and trembling. He can't even hide it.
Tubbo lets out a weary sigh. "Tommy..."
"No, please listen. We don't know what happens past that state. We left the few we met just after they got bit. Phil didn't-" (Tommy almost chokes) "-he didn't get past the black blood. We don't know, Tubbo. Please."
As long as nothing is for certain, he thinks, he's allowed to hope. It's gotten him this far.
He can see Tubbo's thoughts racing on his face, analyzing Tommy's words. Good thing they never played poker.
After a minute, he sighs again.
"I'm tired, Tommy. We've been doing this for a long time."
The words and their weight hit Tommy with full force, crushing his lungs and leaving him breathless.
"But..." Tubbo closes his eyes, a small resigned smile on his face, and Tommy can breathe again. "I'm willing to try. One last time. But you have to promise me something."
"Whatever you want," Tommy answers a little too quick. He can't risk Tubbo changing his mind.
"You have to promise me that if it turns out I'm gonna turn..." The smaller boy takes a deep breath. "You'll kill me."
"That's not funny."
"And I'm not joking," he says. "Promise me." His tone leaves no room for discussion.
When Tommy doesn't answer, he crawls to him and takes his hand. The blond tries his hardest to ignore the metallic smell of the blood soaking Tubbo's pant leg.
"I don't want to live as a walking corpse. I don't want to lose control and hurt you." His eyes shine with tears, but the determination in them doesn't falter. "Promise."
Tommy swallows.
"...I promise."
The words leave his mouth against his will and Tubbo's expression softens.
"Thanks, boss man." The boy says, satisfied.
Tommy says nothing. Desperate to change the subject, he stands up abruptly and reaches for the leftover torn piece of cloth under Tubbo's confused gaze.
"To clean your leg," Tommy explains as he grabs a spare water bottle. "And the floor after. Or it's gonna coagulate and rot."
Tubbo nods weakly and the other kneels down next to him. He tries his hardest to be gentle, maybe as much for Tubbo's sake as it is for his. If he presses down and bloods starts dripping again, he's sure to puke.
Tubbo notices Tommy's discomfort. "I can do it, if-"
"No."
A heavy silence settles between the two of them.
"...I'm sorry," Tubbo says.
"Me too," Tommy mutters, barely audible.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
When they go to bed that night, the very air lays still and heavy.
They don't talk. Not today.
The wood still smells metallic.
Tommy feels sick.
"What's the difference between hope and denial?"
"Hope is having trust in the future.
The line is crossed when reality stares you in the face and you look away."
He swallows.