Chapter Text
“Do you ever wish for something more?”
It's a phrase whispered by a stranger in passing.
It's a phrase whispered by his best friend.
“A more fulfilling life in this wasteland?”
Lips barely move as the words are dropped, like bombs across a city sidewalk.
“When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.”
Some think it is salvation, hope, a chance, a light at the end of a tunnel- a way out.
Tommy thinks it’s fucking bullshit.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Tommy stands at the edge of the room, watching as his friend darts around, gathering clothes and shoving them tightly into a bag. Tubbo barely spares him a glance. Cold air pushes through the cracked window, causing the curtains to flutter ominously.
“Haven’t you ever wanted more than this, Tommy?” Tubbo questions, his eyes never lifting from his hands. They work, and gather, and push, and bundle. “I can’t stand this anymore Tommy. I’m joining the Fireflies.”
“Joining the-” Tommy hisses, and looks around their dorm room. It’s only them, but he half expects a soldier to jump out of his closet and tear his friend down. “Tubbo, do you know what you’re saying? What you’re doing? If you go, we’ll- we’ll be enemies!”
Tubbo pauses at that. His hand slides out of his bag, and he turns to Tommy. “Then come with me.”
Tommy takes a step back, shocked. “What?”
“Come with me!” Tubbo seems to brighten suddenly, his eyes widening as he moves his hands around. “We can go together! And be together! It’ll be so much better than this place, Tommy. Haven’t you wanted more? To see the world?”
“The world wants to kill us, Tubbo. It’s safer here.” Tommy crosses his arms, scowling. Tubbo frowns, and tips his head.
“Is this about-”
“Don’t.”
Tubbo goes quiet.
For a moment they stand on opposite sides of the room, and for the first time ever, Tommy feels like he’s looking at a stranger.
“I’m going, Tommy.” Tubbo zips his bag up, and slides it securely over his shoulders. “Are you coming with me?”
Tommy shifts his foot, and turns his head to stare at the corner. He hears Tubbo sigh, and he disappears from his peripheral vision. There’s the scrape and creak of the window opening further, cold air blasting his cheek. When Tommy turns back, Tubbo is gone.
“Class dismissed.”
Rain splatters lazily across a window, and Tommy jolts as the still room comes alive with movement around him. He watches as his classmates clamber up, and the sound of scraping chairs and shuffling feet greet his returning mind as he mindlessly grabs for his bag, and tugs it over his shoulder. There’s chatter amongst his peers, but he doesn’t try to find solace in anyone around him as he pushes out of the classroom and into the dreary halls of the academy.
This place is safe. It’s for the best. This is what he must remind himself of.
His feet find a familiar rhythm, and he climbs a few stairs to the dorms, where some kids hang with their doors open or chat with their roommates. His feet drag as he finds his door, and opens it with the weight of someone shuddering open a jail cell.
It’s empty. He didn’t expect anything different, truly.
But dwelling on the past isn’t what he’s come here to do. A quick glance at his watch reminds him of the time, and he jumps into action. Tommy kicks his sneakers off and instead trades them for a pair of boots, and a thicker coat. His bag is thrown back over his shoulder, and he makes the trip down the stairs to enter onto the streets.
Rain pelters his shoulders as he steps out, and Tommy darts across the street, head tucked into his jacket to try and shield himself from the rain. In between bodies he darts, ducking underneath awnings as he goes through the familiar streets, and cuts through an alley. He drags his hand across the wet brick, feeling its rough pattern underneath his palm, as familiar as the own curves of his hand.
A commotion on the other side of the alley makes his feet stop, slowing until he’s left standing in a puddle at the end. Across the street a man is being pulled from a family, a weeping mother and hidden child. He’s forced onto his knees, screaming and pleading as a medic walks up to him, and presses a scanner to his neck.
Even from here, Tommy can hear the negative result.
The man struggles at the sound, and the soldier pushes him to the ground, pinning his chest to the harsh asphalt. His cheek drags against the wet ground, his eyes wide and terrified as the soldier pins a boot to his shoulders, and raises his gun.
“Please, no, I’m not infected! I’m not-”
A gunshot rings out, and Tommy flinches. The man goes still, blood clumping in his hair as it slowly seeps into the filthy streets. The wife weeps openly, while the young child stares at the scene with a blank expression.
Tommy turns away, and continues on.
He finds himself on the other side of the city, huddling beneath the outcrop of a building as he watches the soldiers by the gates. After a few minutes a bell rings out, signaling a change of guard, and the guards who had been standing there begin to disperse. Tommy bounces on his heels, waiting impatiently before he darts out across the street, and runs right up to a soldier's side.
“Phil!” His voice rings out and the soldier flinches, turning slightly to look down at him. There’s a quiet, fond sigh, and the man rolls his mask up and a familiar grizzled face meets him, which softens into a smile.
“Tommy.” Phil hums. “Is class over already?” Tommy nods quickly, falling into line beside the soldier.
“Ended just a few minutes ago. Did you go out on patrol today?” Phil nods, stretching his arms above his head with a grimace. Tommy listens as his spine pops, and Phil relaxes.
“I did. Nothing new today. There were a few unidentified infected, but someone else had taken care of them before we arrived.”
“Y’think it was the Fireflies?” Tommy questions. Phil frowns, and glances around almost nervously.
“It’s.. hard to say. If it was, then it’s not good that it’s so close to our walls.”
That’s right. That should be a bad sign. Tommy nods quickly, and falls into a comfortable silence.
For a minute.
“Will you help me with getting some ration cards?” Tommy asks, hurrying after Phil as he crosses the street and heads up some stone stairs to a large apartment building. Phil waits to reply, nodding greetings to those who lounge on the staircase outside.
“Sure. Just let me get changed.” Tommy nods, and really falls silent this time. They walk up the stairs, and through the familiar hallway. Some of the rooms have barricades over them, official F.E.D.R.A signs telling you to refrain from entering.
He stands off to the side as Phil opens up his door, and follows him inside the small apartment. It’s simple, with a small kitchen, a couch before the window, a radio, and a shelf divider between the bed and the rest of the room. Phil disappears into the only other room, the bathroom, while Tommy kicks around.
Photos hang on the wall, embedded in old frames. He looks over them, precious memories Phil had managed to save at the end of the world. A faded photo of a young blonde boy smiling, another of the same kid, older, dressed in a blue gown and throwing a cap in the air. Tommy stops before the final photo, rocking forward on his heels to inspect it.
It’s of Phil, looking slightly younger than he does now. Next to him is a woman, with a kind, round face and dark hair. She grins wildly at the camera, her cheek squished against Phil’s. Their looks of joy are frozen in the photograph, and Tommy finds himself tracing the edge of the frame, careful to avoid the cracks in the glass.
“Phil?” Tommy calls. There’s a rustle, then a call back.
“Yes?”
“Have you heard anything about Tubbo?”
There comes a silence, and Tommy turns as Phil exits the bathroom, fixing the collar of his flannel. He has a careful look on his face, avoiding eye contact as he observes something behind Tommy.
“I.. have not. If he’s really joined the Fireflies, then that’s why.”
“What if he’s dead?” Tommy says softly. Phil frowns, tipping his head in a fond manner.
“Then that was his fate.” Tommy screws his face into a grimace, staring down at his boots. Two months was a long time nowadays. It was a death sentence for those outside of the walls. The chances of him seeing his friend ever again were slim to none.
This was a fact he refused to accept.
“Are you ready?” Phil’s voice startles him, and Tommy looks back up.
“..Yeah.”
They retrace their steps, and Tommy is grateful to find the light rain has let up to a mist hanging over their heads. Others have had a similar thought as them, finding a line for the table of soldiers that controlled their ration cards.
“I heard they’re giving half rations again.” Tommy listens in on a conversation muttered behind him- an action Phil has scolded him on a few times already. He doesn’t ever listen to his lectures, though.
“Really?” The other man, with a gruff and tired voice, says. “Fuck. Marsha’s gonna kill me.”
“Not much we can do. ‘Parently it’s got something to do with the Fireflies.”
“Of course it is. Nothing good comes from them.”
Tommy feels the hair on the back of his head raise, and it takes all of his self control not to turn around and bite at the men speaking behind him.
“Did you hear me?” Instead Phil’s voice distracts him, and Tommy looks up, blinking.
“Huh? Oh, no.” Phil gives an exasperated sigh, and they shuffle forward some.
“I said how was class?” Tommy gives a half shrug, and his gaze begins to drag away, towards the dark stormy clouds above.
“It was fine. I didn’t pay much attention.” Phil mutters something about paying attention, but it falls on deaf ears as they shuffle forward once more.
A blast of cold air hits him, and Tommy shudders. Phil is still talking, still, but Tommy’s not listening.
A man standing on top of a far above building catches his eye instead. He flashes a light, once, twice, then disappears. Tommy hears the click of a flashlight, and turns around to stare at another man who has flicked a flashlight back.
“What-”
The words barely leave his mouth before the ground, rumbles, groans, and then explodes.
It all happens so fast. Tommy’s thrown backwards harshly, bouncing onto the pavement with the force of the explosion. He feels asphalt tear into his shoulder, feels the hot, harsh sting of dirt and blood and the painful crack as his body stops against a metal pole. For a moment his vision is dark and fuzzy, and pain sprouts across his arm like wildfire as he tries to lift himself up.
Ash stings his nose, and the sharp metallic smell of something worse. Everything is fuzzy around him, moving dark shapes and a loud ringing overtaking the screams that rise from underneath. It’s like he’s been plunged into water suddenly, his breathing coming in shallow, rapid bursts that cause pain to explode from his side.
As his vision begins to clear, he looks up to see rubble spread around him, people laying across the ground and struggling like him. The ringing in his ears begins to lessen some, and gunfire explodes over him as the soldiers retaliate against the attackers.
Fireflies. He can see them, pouring out of the smoking building. Their mouths move but Tommy can’t quite make out what they’re saying over the screams and his own ringing.
“-my! Tommy!”
Hands wrap over his shoulder, and Tommy hisses in pain as he turns to look up at Phil. The elder looks terrified, his eyes wild and shining as they flit over his battered form. “Are you okay? Come on, get up.” Phil tries to pull him up by his arm, but Tommy just flops forward, the pain of shifting suddenly too much for him as his stomach turns and he swallows globs of saliva.
When he lifts his head he notices a body in front of him, scarily close. It’s a F.E.D.R.A soldier, and he can see his neck broken from here, twisted at an awkward angle. His gun hangs on his belt. Tommy stares at it, and glances upwards as a group of people run into the safety of an alleyway, out of the soldier's sight.
In an instant, without any real thinking, Tommy’s sprinted to his feet, adrenaline pushing any thoughts of pain away as he dips down and grabs the handgun off the soldier's body, and chases after them. He can barely hear Phil calling after him as his feet pounded through puddles, and his ears still register a faint ringing sound.
I can prove myself. Some vapid voice mumbles. He can kill a Firefly, show his loyalty to F.E.D.R.A.
Tommy stumbles into the alley way, in time to see a final Firefly ushering his teammates away. His back is turned, and Tommy lifts the handgun and presses the trigger. A bullet bounces off of the brick wall beside the other, startling them and causing them to jump away and turn. Tommy cocks the gun, takes a step forward, and prepares to shoot once more.
And he stops.
Because the face staring back at him is Tubbo.
He’s changed in two months. His face is fuller, more pink spread across his cheeks. His hair is pulled back into a small pony, clothes drenched with rain and falling soot.
Tommy lowers the gun, his eyes wide. This isn’t happening. A cold feeling crawls over his shoulders, like digging fingers tearing into his already torn skin.
“Tubbo?”
Tubbo stares back at him, completely frozen. He opens his mouth to say something, lips forming a word. Nothing comes out however, as he glances back nervously to where the others had disappeared
“Tommy.. I-” Tubbo mutters, then shakes his head. A voice calls around from the corner, then appears the head of a young boy with crazy hair.
“Tubbo! Come on, we have to get to the mall!”
Tubbo takes a step back, his eyes still on Tommy. When Tommy makes no move, Tubbo turns away and takes off.
Tommy lets him go.
A second later there’s harsh footsteps, and Tommy turns to see the towering figure of Phil, brows drawn in pain and worry and, more clearly, disappointment.
Fuck.
—
“Ow!”
Tommy jerks away from the stinging sensation, glaring at the nurse who stands at his side.
He’s in the infirmary now, the last to be taken care of of those wounded from the attack. More wounded than dead- a good thing. Now the infirmary is mostly empty, save for himself, this final nurse, and Phil. The latter paces in front of him, his arms crossed and lips drawn into a thin line.
“I have no idea what’s gotten into you.” Phil growls, flailing one hand in the air in an exasperated manner. Tommy huffs, closing his eyes as the nurse presses the soaked cloth to his torn skin once more. “Stealing a gun, chasing after Fireflies; you could have been shot, Tommy! Killed! I should turn you in for this, for god’s sake. I made a promise-” His voice comes out in a low hiss, whistling between his teeth, stuttering with sudden emotion at the end.. A burning greets his shoulder once more, and Tommy bites his tongue as he opens his eyes. Quietly he lifts his gaze, just barely meeting Phil’s.
“I saw him.”
Phil’s feet stop and his eyes widen, and the angry look begins to melt away. There’s a tense silence, as Phil seems to battle quietly with himself. Finally he looks to the nurse, who meets his gaze curiously. Some sort of silent communication happens between them, because after a moment the nurse sets her stuff down, and walks away.
Tommy watches as Phil steps forward and takes over. His hands, as gruff and scarred as they are, are gentle as he works to clean the cuts climbing up his arm and over his shoulder.
“Tubbo?” Phil questions in a low voice. Tommy manages a nod, and swallows.
Phil stares at him for a moment, before he turns and focuses on bandaging him up. The gauze twines around his arm, up over his shoulder and across his chest to secure it. Tommy watches, mesmerized almost in the precision he exhibits.
“With the Fireflies.” Tommy continues, once he draws himself out of his own trance. Phil nods. “I heard one of them say something about a mall. Maybe we could go and-”
“Go?” Phil jerks his head up, his brows furrowed. “Tommy, you’re not going to go after him.”
Tommy pulls away from Phil’s hand, frowning. “What? We have to Phil! I need to-”
“To what?” Phil interrupts him, his voice growing a jagged edge. “Beg for him to come back? Go and join him? Get yourself killed?” Tommy falls quiet, his gaze dragging down. Phil sighs then, and his voice softens as he lays a hand on Tommy’s uninjured shoulder. “Tommy, I promised your father I’d look after you. I’m not going to let you run off for some kid. Tubbo made his choice, let him live with it.”
Tommy doesn’t say anything in response. He remains still as Phil finishes binding his wounds, and sets the gauze aside and steps back. He can feel his eyes looking him over, and Tommy feels himself shrink beneath it.
“Are you going to turn me in?” Tommy finally speaks, just as Phil turns away. Tommy looks up in time to see Phill look back at him, and frown.
“Not this time.”
And with that the soldier turns away, and Tommy is alone.
And Tommy makes a decision.
—
It’s cold.
Tommy stands in front of his window, tugged open all the way. A full bag lays heavy on his shoulder, and he shifts the weight slightly towards his uninjured shoulder. The gauze pinches and complains as he moves, but he ignores it as he carefully sets a foot on his desk, and hoists himself up and through the small window.
His feet land with a thud against the metal railing just outside his room and he freezes, waiting for something, a guard hearing him, a classmate sticking their head out of the window.
Nothing but the howling wind greets him, however. Tommy relaxes some, glancing back to his empty room. It beckons him, the soft warm light, the bed more warmer than the freezing outside.
It’s not enough, however.
Quickly he pulls a map from his back pocket, and pulls it open. It’s old, and tattered, but he can read it well enough. There’s pencil lines, depicting where to go, when to go, and how to get under the walls and under the guard’s noses.
He’s gone once, years ago, just to the edge of the wall and back. With Tubbo, of course. Back then it had been a game of chicken, to see who would end up backing out and staying put.
With a gruff chuckle, Tommy realizes he lost that game.
Tucking the map back into his back pocket, Tommy carefully makes his way down the fire escape, careful not to make much noise. It drops him down into a dark alley, and he counts his footsteps until he reaches fifteen, and nudges his foot forward. The lip of his boot catches a wood panel, and he bends down in the near darkness to pull it back. Air rushes from below, and his fingers feel emptiness in front of him. With a huff he hops down into the ground.
Dust rises around his feet as he reaches up and drags the board back into place. Once it’s secure, he reaches for his backpack strap and clicks a strapped flashlight on. The light blinds him for a brief moment, blinking as his gaze settles. He’s dropped down into an unknown basement, used mostly for smuggling as Tubbo had told him. Mostly unused, nowadays, much to his pleasure.
Tommy takes his time walking, listening out carefully for anything out of place. Sometimes he passes by a grate, and he can hear conversation drifting down. Nothing substantial, mostly mutterings about the recent attack, just barely heard over the rumble of the military’s vans running patrols through the streets.
The tunnels lead out into the sewers, the part that Tommy always dreaded. It stunk, so he wrapped a bandana over his mouth and nose and trudged on, ignoring the wet and sloshing sounds his boots made beneath him. Occasionally a rat would squeak, and he’d turn his gaze to try and not see its beady eyes. He knew some people would jump at the chance to encounter a rat, smash its head in and cook what little meat it had over an open fire.
Tommy, however, has been lucky enough to never experience hunger of that degree.
Tubbo used to say it tasted like squirrel, another thing that he has never had to taste.
It feels like hours, but more like half of one, before Tommy finally finds the end. The sewer ends, and a rusty ladder leads up to a hole in the ground, similarly covered. If the map is right, this was a few hundred yards from the wall, just out of sight of the guards.
This was always where he’d hang back, and Tubbo would peer his head out and claim himself victor of their little game.
Tommy swallows, as he takes a step forward. And then another, and another, and hand meets rust and he climbs towards the surface. The wood creaks, but moves to his pressure.
And Tommy enters the unknown.