Chapter Text
Tommy misses Niki’s cookies. He really wishes he had some kind of food right now.
But instead, what he has is a murderous headache, and it’s not the kind he can just get rid of either , this one he’s got to suffer. He really wishes he had some high level med drugs right now. The kind that would make him all woozy and shit. Because the ones he just took did not do jack shit. And he feels like crying.
He won’t tho. He’s cool like that.
He takes a deep breath and gets up from the place he had passed out on. Guess taking a bunch of random medicine to make the pain go away wasn’t the answer. Who would've guessed?
He hopes the person suffering through his stomach ache didn’t have a huge life changing exam or some shit comin’ up. That would suck for ‘em.
Wait, right. He’s in a random person's house… car? Why is he in a house-car? His mind is so foggy right now. Dying does that to a person.
Oh fuck, he died. Shit. That means because of his dumb ass, some random person died. Maybe it was a baby, or the president of fucking Atlanta or some shit. Who the fuck knows-
The news. The TV might know, right?
The web. Gotta check there. People tend to squeal to the cops when stuff like this goes down. They did last time, so chances are they did this time too. Fingers crossed.
Now, to the problem at hand. What were the three steps Tubbo had told him to do now? Right, the questions. Yup. He can do that. Shit.
Step one: What does he remember?
Ah, yeah, the gunshot, and the impromptu pharmacy raid of a house-car’s cabinet to numb the pain. Then, lights out.
Seems like his body’s holding up fine, which is always a good sign. It would’ve sucked to come back to life or waking up after passing out from over-taking drugs with a few fingers missing or some shit.
And he knows not having fingers suck, Sam told Tubbo so. Apparently it makes holding shit hard. So he’s happy he got all his body parts intact this time, with no need of Tubbo interference.
He hates having Tubbo do shit to his body. Last time he was helping he added a fucking bomb to his heart, which is cool as fuck, but also, WHAT THE FUCK TUBBO? You gotta get consent first bud.
Okay, whatever. Onto step two. What’s the date? The time, the year, the day, what is it?
Tommy rummages through his pockets, finding nothing. Looks like the owner of this vessel wasn’t big on carrying his phone on himself, fucking wierdo.
Where else could he even check the date on though?
Is there a calendar around? It doesn’t really look like there is.
Fuck. Alright, fine. He’ll circle back to this step.
Is he breathing fast? That’s not good. He’s supposed to breathe normally. Shit. Dicks. Cock. And balls. He needs to calm down.
Tommy takes a deep breath. Dying fucking sucks ass. Tommy does not recommend. Zero out of ten. Uncomfortable and no food service.
He’s hungary.
Now, to the third step. Where is he?
He looks around. It’s a house-ish place. Small. Like a tiny bus but home-ifyd. What were those called again? Caravans? Yup, that's what they were. Tommy’s in a caravan.
Where’s the car part of the caravan tho? There aren’t any driver seats or anything’. Oh-wait.
Tommy gets out of the caravan and as soon as he gets out, the way too bright sun blinds him. After his eyes adjust, he takes a look at where the caravan had been.
The place seems bright. And green. So very, very, very green. Too green in fact. Like, no other cars around green. No other buildings around green. No trace of humanity around green.
Cool, that’s cool. That’s fine. He doesn’t need people anyways. Fuck people. They’re all a nuisance to society anyways.
He glances to his right.
He peers through the window. Does Tommy really need to hunt for a key? There’s nobody around anyway.
Stepping back, he clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, and smashes his hand against the car window.
Glass shatters inward, and as the stinging starts and blood trickles, it fades away. No energy to deal with that now. Some lucky guy can deal with it for him instead.
The car blares its alarm.
Damn, that’s loud. Isn’t Tommy’s headache enough? Why won’t it just—
He inhales deeply.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s not panicking. Panicking is for losers, and that’s like, the opposite of what he is. So it’s fine.
He reaches in through the broken window, opens the car door from the inside, and climbs in.
Time to rummage. There’s got to be something useful. Maybe a car license or something. The language might give him a clue about his location.
His hand touches something cold and glass-ish.
Oh, this will do.
~~~~~
— 23.55 pm — / Tubbo’s Apartment
Tubbo leans even more back in his chair, he’s all slumped down now, almost laying down. “Yes, yes, I know sir. I’ll handle it right away.”
“You better. I’m not paying you this much to lay around.”
Tubbos phone starts vibrating. Is he getting another call while he’s already on one? Again? Ugh.
“Yes, I know. Your request will be fulfilled. If that was all, I’ll be closing.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, and hangs up the phone.
Beep
Now who else is calling him at this hour? Unknown number? Fuckin’ hell.
He picks it up.
“Who’-“
“TUBBO?!”
It’s Tommy. Of course it’s Tommy who’s calling him. Tubbo sighs. He really is out of energy. “What.”
“Ok so, there might be a slight problem.”
“Wait- Tommy? Why are you calling me from a German number?”
“Well, you see..”
“Tommy.”
“I decided to become a… nazi?”
“I knew it.”
“I know it’s a hard fact to bel- WAIT WHAT? What do you mean ‘You knew it’?! What the fuck Tubbo!?”
“You are quite the racist average person after all.”
“When have I ever been racist? Ever?”
“You’re racist the Ranboo.”
“That’s cuz he’s a bitch!”
“You sure it’s not cuz he’s half black?”
“No it’s not because he’s half black! He’s not even actually black!”
“So it’s because he’s not black-black! Now you’re just insulting his black-ines. That’s even worse. You’re even being racist in racism.”
“He’s not even-! No- fuck. I mean he’s 50-50”
“So it’s because he’s not fully white? Are you a KKK member Tommy? Is that what it is? Are you a white-lives-matter guy?”
“I- NO! WHAT THE FUCK TUBBO?!”
“What? Are you mad because I’m not white?”
“Tubbo, you are white.”
“So it’s okay because I’m white and not okay because he’s black?”
“He’s not even fucking black! What the fuck?!”
“No Tommy, you, what the fuck. Don’t be a nazi.”
“Nazi’s weren’t even black-white racist. That was us!”
“So it’s because Ranboo isn’t ‘us’
“OH FUCK YOU!”
“I’m hanging up.”
“WAIT NO DON’T-“
“I don’t associate with racists.”
“IM NOT FUCKING RACEIS-“
Beep
Well, that was something. Tubbo didn’t know Tommy was a full-on racist, and they’ve been together for years. You learn something new every day, huh?
Wait- looking back at it now, why the fuck was Tommy calling from a German number? Did he steal someone's phone or something?
No way Tommy actually joined the Nazis, right? No way. Or did he?
Ugh. Tubbo already had enough on his mind already, he didn’t also need this to worry about. But guess it’s better safe than sorry.
He picks his phone back up, and diels a number. They pick up almost instantly.
“Yes? What is it Tubbo?”
“Just wanted to say, stay away from Tommy for a bit, alright?”
“I- okay..?”
“Alright, thanks Ranboo.”
“Why thoug-“
Beep
God, he’s such a good friend, caring about his friends, warning Ranboo to stay away from Tommy cuz he became a nazi, using Tommy as a guinea-pig for his self-defense body-bombs and all.
But fuck, being such a good person all the time is tring. Being a super genius mad scientist friend who’s awesome hurts sometimes.
You know what? He deserves a rest after being an angel for such a long time.
Tubbo gets up from his seat that he had been literally laying down in, puts his phone on flight mode, and goes to bed. He deserves a peaceful night's rest.
~~~~~
—- Who the fuck knows — / Germany (apparently)
Beep
Tommy looks dumb-founded at the ‘call ended’ screen. What the fuck?
What is he supposed to do now? He can’t really use this phone! He doesn’t know the password and he sure as hell isn’t going to lock it.
How the fuck had the conversation gone the way it had anyways-
Right. Tubbo had questioned him about the German number and he had panicked.
So… does that mean that he’s in Germany? Or is he in another country but in a German’s caravan that had been traveling?
Tommy doubts there would be anyone willingly living in this barren green place. Unless they were crazy hippie or something. So maybe Wilbur..? But fuck, there isn’t even a lake or any animals or even a fucking tree around.
And he still doesn’t know the date. Under the time it does say ‘Dienstag’ but that tells him jack shit! He doesn’t even know what language that is.
Wait- Tubbo has said Tommy called from a German number. So maybe that’s German?
He still has no idea where he is either. He didn’t find a map or anything. Should he just start the car and drive? Or at the very least attempt to drive?
How would he even start a car without a key tho? It’s Tubbo that knows shit like this, not him!
Wait, Tubbo. Tommy’s so glad he had memorized it.
He opens up the phone, dials the number, and-
“The number you are calling is not reachable at the mo-“
WHAT THE FUCK TUBBO?! WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!
Okay, shit. Deep breaths Tommy, deep fucking breaths. He’s fine.
Who else's number does he remember? He never wasted time memorizing shit like ‘numbers’ before. He doesn’t even-
Oh, guess there is ons other number he has memorized. Because of his job. And the fucking amount of papers he had to write their phone number into. Shit. He’s fucked. He’s utterly fucked.
But he doesn’t really have another choice, does he?
He picks up the phone once again and so very begrudgingly dials the numbers.., and eventually, persses the call button.
A very monotone voice answers him. “Hullo.”
“Yes, hi, hello, so-“
“Tommy?”
“Yup, yes. That’s me. I’m Tommy.”
Is that explosion sounds he’s hearing in the background? And screaming? What the fuck is Techno watching? At what volume?
“Why are you calling at this hour?”
Playing the questioning game, huh? Two can play that game Techno. “Why are you watching an action-horror movie at this hour?
“Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”
Shit. “Do you know how to hot-wire a car?” Tommy blurst out as fast as he can.
“Why would you call me of all people- “
“It’s an emergency.”
“You’re also calling from a German number.”
“Yup, great observation like always sir! Your talents never cease to amaze me!”
“Stop sucking up to me and give me a reason. Im busy.”
“Watching a very loud and scream-full movie. Right. So busy.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“Ok, ok! Shit. So, I need to hot-wire a car and I need you to tell me how to do it without questioning me.”
“And why would I do that?”
“…because I’m the best employee ever?”
Tommy can feel Technos eyebrow raising through the phone. Okay, it’s plan B then.
“I’ll tell you Wilburs big secret that he told me not to tell you or Phil.”
“Now you’ve got my attention kid. Alright. Tell me what type of car it is you’re in.”
“Okay just give me a second.” Tommy gets out of the car and looks for a brand or any marks. Lucky him, they are all over the car.
He fulfills Technos request. “It’s a classic Winnebago Travato caravan connected to a Land Rover Model Series II. The plate number is F-RV 9012.”
“F-RV? You’re in Frankfurt?”
“I mean, I might be. I don’t know. It’s a caravan, it could be anywhere.”
“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”
“Just please help me hot-wire it.”
“Alright. Good news for you, we’re gonna hot-wire an old boy. Due to its vintage model, this process should be relatively straightforward. Just don’t mess up and listen carefully Toms.”
“Yes sir!”
“First, you’re gonna—“
—————-
— Tommy can only wish he knew the time — / The caravan
Tommy, a sixteen-year-old with no prior driving experience, finds himself with a dead phone, a hot-wired vehicle (Thanks Techno) and hands trembling with a mix of fear and determination.
Hell yeah. He’s gonna drive. It’s gonna be awesome. For him at least.
But fuck, does he haye reviveing. It’s always the random spawn that fucks things up. But it’s fine, he’s more than the ‘child’ they call him. He’s a big man. The biggest. Practicly a fucking adult. He’s got this. So what if he suddenly finds himself in an unknown country, inside a random car, unable to understand a single word of the language?
He doesn’t need anyone. Tommy is a firm ‘me, myself and I’ believer. Not because he has to be, because he chooses to be. So it’s okay. He’s fine, and he’s feeling fine and his hands are shaking because he’s so fucking thrilled to be here. Anxiety can suck his balls.
Tommy, thanks to Technos help, gets to hear the engine roar to life, a sound both thrilling and terrifying.
Who knew cars could be so badass, no matter how old? When he gets back, which he will, he’s gonna get himself a car.
He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring briefly. And slowly puts his weight on the gas pedal.
Navigating the bumpy, uneven field road was an ordeal. The wheels struggled against the soft ground, each jolt reminding him of his inexperience. But that only made it better, right?
Every bump sent shockwaves through the steering wheel, making it hard to maintain control. The rough terrain was unforgiving, and Tommy's grip on the wheel tightened with every bounce and jolt. His heart pounded in his chest, a wild rhythm that matched the chaotic movements of the caravan. It was fun though, he was having fun. That's a positive thing to think about, right? He’s an optimist and this is badass.
People were very fucking lucky that they weren’t near him at that time, because if there were anyone near, there is no way he hadn’t crashed into them.
Each time the vehicle dipped into a rut or lurched over a rise, a fresh wave of panic washed over him accompanied with a ‘Fuck you, you little hole. I got this’ murmur to himself. Determination pushed him forward. The field eventually gave way to a concrete road, and the transition was jarring.
The sudden smoothness made the vehicle feel more responsive, almost too sensitive. He was acutely aware of every slight turn, every minor correction. The contrast between the rough field and the even pavement heightened his obviously non-existent anxiety, but also provided a sense of direction and purpose. Though it was hard to stay in lane at first.
That was the moment he decided he was not going to make any unnecessary turns. Because fuck, that would be a pain in his ass. Plus, he had no clear destination. Just a place where he could do something.
As Tommy drove aimlessly, the German countryside gradually morphed into the outskirts of a city. The roads became more structured, lined with buildings and the occasional pedestrian. Trees and small houses gave way to apartment blocks and shops, each new structure more imposing than the last. The sunlight glinted off windows, casting reflections that danced across the road.
Tommy couldn't help but notice the meticulous cleanliness of the streets and the orderly nature of traffic as he drove. Cars moved with precision, and pedestrians adhered to the signals with an efficiency that contrasted sharply with the chaotic drive through the field.
Then he remembered he had another problem. The prospect of encountering the police or even just a stranger was daunting. He didn't speak a word of German, and the thought of being caught in a conversation he couldn't understand heightened his sense of isolation. Each sign he passed, written in a language he couldn't read, was a stark reminder of just how out of place he was.
But that was fine, it’s not like he belonged anyway. He was a big man, he could make do. Plus, he heard German people were good at english. So it had to be fine.
Thankfully, fortune seemed to favor him. After what felt like hours of tense driving, he stumbled upon a caravan park. Relief washed over him, though it was short-lived.
The task of parking was far more challenging than he anticipated. The tight spaces and proximity of other vehicles left little room for error. As he attempted to maneuver the caravan into a spot, he misjudged the distance and scratched both a neighboring car and his own. The sound of metal scraping against metal sent a shiver down his spine, but there was no time to dwell on it. Plus, it wasn’t his problem, he wasn’t going to have to deal with it.
He somehow managed to squeeze the caravan into the spot. The sense of relief was overwhelming as he shut off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening.
He hastily exited the caravan. The sun blinded him for a moment, but it was fine. It kind of helped, distracting him from the situation he was in. Not that it was a problem, or he was anxious about it or something.
He’s a big fucking man. He’s fine. He breathed till he made sure it was true. His breaths sofy, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was fine.
The city beckoned, vibrant and bustling. Tommy ventured deeper into the streets, the unfamiliar sights and sounds enveloping him. The architecture was stunning, a blend of modern skyscrapers and historic buildings.
Narrow alleyways led to open squares, each corner revealing another layer of the city's charm. The intricate designs on the facades of older buildings, the vibrant flower boxes hanging from windows, the cobblestone streets that spoke of history.
The sunlight illuminated the city in a golden hue, casting long shadows that added depth and character to the buildings. As he walked, he noticed the sleek lines of modern offices juxtaposed with the ornate carvings of historical landmarks.
The roads, though busy, were well-maintained, their surfaces smooth under the tires of passing cars. The scent of fresh bread from nearby bakeries wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers.
Landmarks like the Römer and the Main Tower slowly came into view, their distinctive silhouettes unmistakable against the clear blue sky. He first glimpsed the Römer's distinctive gabled facade through a gap between two buildings, and later the imposing height of the Main Tower, glinting in the sunlight.
The clarity of the day allowed him to see these landmarks from afar, each step bringing him closer to the heart of the city. Techno had been right; he was in Frankfurt.
Which was good news. Frankfurt was good news.
As he walked deeper into Frankfurt, the sun casting a warm glow over the city, he couldn't help but feel a spark of hope amid the uncertainty. It was Frankfurt. He knew this place. Because of one madman, another mad scientist, he knew this place. And he knew where to go.
He currently might be lost in a foreign city, unable to communicate, but he knew what to do.
He just had to find one hella suspicious building that housed a one hella crazy scientist.
———-
Ok well. Fuck.
Tommy is so fucked.
He sped up as he ran up the stairs of the apartment. The elevator was on the 13th floor and he did not have the time to wait for it.
The questions he had been avoiding was starting to get to him and he refused to give in. How many days has it been? How long did it take him to come back this time? Tommy really wishes reviewing himself was easier and less time consuming. Video games really did him dirty. Where the fuck is his ‘respawn’ button, bitch.
Ok shit.
Tommy slowed down as he arrived at his destined floor. He put a hand on the wall as he tried to calm down. His breaths were ragged, rasping in his throat, the sound harsh and uneven.
He straightened up after a minute, quickly and loudly knocking on the door. He knows their doorbell is a lost cause to humanity. After a few seconds passed with no response, he banged on the door.
A guy he has never seen before in his life opened the door for him with a smile. “Ah, welcome! You must be the new roomate!” the dude said with a thrilled expression.
“No, I’m not.” Tommy didn’t waste time and he pushed the guy blocking the entrance as he stepped in the apartment.
It was complete chaos. And he thought Tubbo’s place was a mess. This place has always been like this, but he can’t help but ask. Plus, what harm will a little talking do? Distractions are nice, and he would like his reunion with Doc to be a little calmer.
He collected himself for a moment and turned around to face the stranger. “Hey man, so, what’s going on with your roommate running on that human-sized hamster wheel in your living room?”
“Oh that!” The man smiled, “We’re generating our own electricity.”
“…You didn’t pay your electric bill or something?”
“We actually donated all of our money.” The man nodded.
“Oh, at least that’s a positive-“
“To my favorite hot tub streamer.” he finished.
“Ah. Should've expected that. Spoke too soon.”
The man smiled again, “We’ve also been collecting lightning in bottles.” he explained.
“You can’t do that, physically.” Or at least Tommy doesn’t think it is.
“Yeah!” The man laughed, “We lost 3 roommates this month.”
“What? They died?”
“What- No! God no!” The man let out a polite chuckle. “They went storm chasing and we physically don’t know their whereabouts.” He explained like it’s common knowledge, like Tommy is the strange one here for thinking that they died. And like it’s an afterthought, the man added, “So maybe. They might be dead.”
Tommy huffed. “Ok, cool. That’s cool. And what about the fork on the wall there?” he asks as he points towards the fork catastrophe.
The man’s eyes suddenly widened, “Don’t touch that!” he suddenly warned as he slapped Tommys hand away. “Sorry for that but we stuck a bunch of forks together and shoved it in our neighbors outlet to siphon their electricity. But turns out if you touch it, you kinda, uh-“
“Explode?”
“Yes! That. You explode. Literally. So don’t touch it.”
“Yup, got it. Thanks for the heads up.”
“My pleasure. So, are you our new roommate or..?”
“No, god no. Nope. Nu uh. I’m just here to see someone.”
“Alright, just make sure to not go over the fluffy carpets.”
“What?”
“We rub our socks on carpets to charge our phones via static electricity.”
Tommy might not be Tubbo, but he listened to enough of his rambles. Thus, his thouths: what the fuck. “I don’t think that’s how electricity works big man.”
“And it is also our experiment zone as well.”
“Yup, noted. Won’t go over the carpets.” Tommy nods as he turns around to go on a search for doc when the stranger stops him.
“I just have one question. Who are you? If you're like a literal stranger I might have to kick you out. This place is kinda my litteral home so, I have to make sure, ya know? Since I’m the one that let you in.”
“Oh yeah, yup. I’m here to see Doc. The names Tommy, and you can be sure that I won’t be coming back here anytime soon after I see him. So don’t worry.”
“Alright. He should be in our very legal lab.”
“And where is your lab exactly?”
“In the kitchen, through the fridge.”
Yup okay. Tommy won’t question that. They get away with so much in this apartment. What’s one more? He’ll just take his answer and go. Questioning them doesn’t look like it’ll end well for him.
Making sure to avoid carpets and other random bullshit these people seem to have around the house, Tommy makes his way to the kitchen, opens the fridge door, and, as expected, finds a hole through the wall and the back of the fridge. How creative.
He steps through the hole, emerging into a lab the size of a rich person's bathroom, where Doc sits on the floor with crossed knees.