Chapter Text
His own words echoed in his ears, “Be safe.” He’d embraced Tubbo up on the roof, and that gesture and those words had meant good luck. They’d meant don’t fluff your words, don’t say anything you’re not supposed to. They’d meant see you tomorrow in Pogtopia with a potato stew and something to discuss. Alternatively, they’d meant be careful, pick your moment and be ready to run. See you in Pogtopia tonight. Don’t stick around to see Manberg go up in smoke. Don’t stick around for the fireworks.
But as Schlatt raised the microphone he’d snatched out of Tubbo’s hands and yelled into it “MURDER HIM RIGHT NOW, ON THIS FUCKING STAGE. AND MAKE IT HURT.” and Technoblade - their ally, come on Techno - loaded a festival rocket to his crossbow, he remembered another thing he’d said, only minutes before that. To Wilbur, before they’d called Tubbo up to the rooftop. “Look, even Tubbo is having a lovely time… Look at him in his suit, he’s growing up.” And perhaps the worst one, flashing through his mind for a millisecond as Techno let the explosive bolt fly. “Look, he’s letting off fireworks!”
“Don’t you want him to be happy?”
They made their way back to Pogtopia, and neither contingency for that night had come to fruition. Manberg still stood, but Tubbo was no longer a part of it. Without context, it was the ideal outcome, but with every step homeward they ran through the subterranean tunnels, Tommy became more and more aware of Tubbo’s pained breathing, the whimpers and gasps between the pants, the way his grip on Tommy’s hand spasmed involuntarily. He figured even if Tubbo let go, the amount of blood glueing their palms together would prevent them from becoming separated. He’d stopped glancing back for people following them and was now just looking at his best friend. The injuries were bad, and TommyInnit was seeing red in more ways than one. He’d thought about carrying him, but he wasn’t sure where he could touch without causing more damage, plus, he needed his hands free in case they ran into anything or anyone. No one could be trusted tonight. He kept his hold of Tubbo’s hand as loose as possible.
They thundered up the steps and into the ravine they called home, and only when they were sure they were safe did Tommy put down his sword.
Tubbo leant heavily against the nearest wall, a bloody mess. He wasn’t wearing his jacket so much as it was wearing him. His shirt was past-saving levels of bloodsoaked, and his tie was hanging by a thread. There was a hole in the chest region of his shirt where the crossbow bolt had killed him, the puncture wound below, Tommy didn’t need to look to know that it would be healed, a neat little scar. He was more concerned with the damage the firework had done.
See, deaths were a bitch like that. When you died any old death and came back, the killing wound would be entirely gone, scar and all. Other injuries you’d picked up, either as part of your death or just before it, healed a bit but lingered. There was a sizeable cut on his left side where Purpled had slashed another death into the library of his life, but it had mostly scabbed over already. Quick healing, multiple deaths. Nature’s blessings to a species that can’t help destroying itself over and over again. By tomorrow, the bruises and scratches from fighting a whole crowd of Manbergians single-handedly would be gone, and by the end of the week that long cut would be forgotten like so many others. But deaths that counted, deaths that registered in the tallies on your chest were different. The killing injuries were still healed, but they left prominent scars that would never heal. Tommy had two: one on the back of his head where he’d cracked his skull open trying to blindly scramble away from Eret’s trap, and one just to the left of the centre of his chest where Dream had shot him. And as well as scarring you for life, the injuries you had at the time persisted longer and were barely healed at all.
He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly that night, but in hindsight, he really should’ve known what was going on with Tubbo earlier.
Tommy knelt before his friend as he slid down the wall to meet him. He put one hand on each side of Tubbo’s face; the other boy dropped his arms from around his middle to meet them, his jacket finally falling off. Tommy made a mental note to burn it. The burns on Tubbo’s face were horrific, patterning the skin around his eyes and nose like a masquerade mask and spiking like an explosion. His eyes themselves had been mostly spared, and Tommy thanked Not Techno that he had fired the killing rocket at Tubbo’s chest. Still, they were incredibly bloodshot, very unfocused and milky in places, and swimming with all the wrong colours for a blue-eyed boy. Tommy recalled what Phil had told him once about treating burns, years ago after someone (naming no names) had stuck his arm right into an open flame after being egged on by his two older brothers. ‘The best thing for that is air.’ He moved on, murmuring “You’re okay, you’re alright.” to the boy shaking beneath his hands.
Unbuttoning a soaked shirt is difficult work when it’s just water, but the blood of a friend makes it just that loveliest bit worse. When he finally peeled it away, the full force of the metallic smell hit the air; Tubbo gagged at the scent and Tommy tried not to do the same. Somewhere under all the blood, there was a small, neat scar, but right that second, it was entirely obscured by ragged flesh. He was careful not to touch it too much, for every time he did, Tubbo shuddered and winced and curled in on himself, like an animal making itself small for protection. “Wait here.” It wasn’t like he was going to go far; it was probably more for Tommy’s benefit as he got up and jogged to a small room with a couple chests in it at the far end of the ravine. He rifled through both, pulling a half-empty bottle of water from one and a large first aid box from the other, and hurrying back to Tubbo. He was acutely aware of Wilbur’s voice emanating in sharp bursts from the communicator hanging limply from his ear, but he tuned it out as he knelt back beside Tubbo.
He flipped open the box first, cursing himself for never reading more of the large manual he tossed aside upon opening. On himself he could trust his patchy knowledge, but he didn’t want to cause any more hurt to his friend. “Tubbo, hey, listen to me,” He put his arms out, guiding Tubbo to lean on him. “This might sting- Okay, this will sting. Just, please, don’t move. I’ll get you wrapped up, and this’ll be over soon, I promise.” By this point, he’d pried away the ruined shirt by cutting it apart with the scalpel in the first aid kit and peeling it away, revealing the full extent of the burns. They followed the same pattern as the ones on his face, spraying out from the darker point of impact in the imprint of an explosion, except this one was much bigger. “Hold onto me, okay?” Tubbo’s response was breathy and pained, “I can’t- Can’t stop shaking-”
Tommy ripped open the packet of antiseptic wipes, whispering an apology as he pressed one to Tubbo’s chest, and the boy yelped at the burning sensation. His fingers dug into Tommy’s shoulders as the blonde methodically wiped across the mess of burned skin, the wipes coming away a reddish-grey. Tommy pressed his forehead to Tubbo’s as he finished wiping along the side and down the insides of his arms, cleaning away soot, ash, small particles of firework and dried blood. It all came away rather cleanly (thank Prime) but in places more red appeared, blood blooming in patches like poppies’ petals. Tommy discarded the last of the wipes into a dirty pile and, as quickly as he could, grabbed a roll of bandages and started wrapping, all the while murmuring to Tubbo, “Almost done, just a little longer, you’re okay, you’re okay.”
Tommy heard Wilbur arrive just as he was taping the end of the final bandage down, the one he’d put around Tubbo’s left arm. The boy in question was practically in his arms, and as he finished he dropped the medical tape and just held him for a minute or two. He rubbed circles into Tubbo’s uninjured shoulder. “I don’t understand.” He looked down at Tubbo shifting to look up at him, pushing himself up slowly to lean against the wall again. “Wilbur said- Wilbur said to stay strong, and that he was on our side!” His voice cracked, and Tommy gave him a sympathetic look as a shiver ran up his spine. He thought about putting the jacket tied around his waist on and then realised Tubbo probably needed it more than him, since he was technically topless. “He was on our side!”
“He just- I was literally talking to Wilbur! Over comms, I- He just-” Tommy exhaled heavily, muttering “What the fuck.” over and over as he untied the arms of the jacket and slung it around Tubbo carefully. Tubbo wiggled halfway into it before he gave up and listed back towards Tommy, who settled with his head leaning on Tubbo’s good shoulder. “Where is that button.”
Before Tubbo could respond, Wilbur’s voice behind them caught their shared attention, echoing tinnily from the communicators they had both been ignoring as well as around the cavern. “Tubbo, did you destroy a button behind where Ninja- Where we met Ninja?” Their older brother was leaning against the nearest wall of the ravine, his posture laid back and nonchalant, but there was something wrong with his eyes. There was no warmth in them; they were as unforgiving as the frigid stone walls. He held the microphone of his communicator right next to his lips as he spoke, only dropping it when both boys looked over at him. “No- No!” Came Tubbo’s hasty reply, and Tommy wanted to shake his shoulders and ask him again. (He refrained.) Tubbo writhed beneath Wilbur’s unrelenting glare. “I never knew of any button.”
Wilbur kicked himself off the wall and walked towards the two of them with a scowl and a sigh. “The button was gone,” He began, and there was no stopping him. “I couldn’t find the room! I couldn’t find the room; I built a room, and it was like linked up and it had redstone, and it was like- it was like hidden!” He threw his arms up in a great display of exasperation. “I can’t believe it.” He walked past them and away into one of the many side chambers of Pogtopia, a second “I can’t believe it!” echoing back towards them. Tubbo tilted his head and caught Tommy’s intense gaze and furrowed brow. “Tommy?”
“Why did Techno kill you?” He sighed heavily, but this time there was fury building behind it. “They fucked up for the last time.”
“Don’t- Tommy I’m gonna be honest with you,” Tubbo closed his eyes as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know if- Before the thing, I kinda searched around the premises, I don’t think there was TNT planted.”
“But there was a button back there Tubbo- You just heard, Wilbur said there was a button!”
“Look, there’s a lot-” He opened his eyes again, leaning closer to Tommy’s ear, trying not to put any weight on any of his injuries. “Don’t-” He whispered, suddenly sounding desperate, his eyes wandering after where Wilbur had staggered off to. “Don’t stoop to Wilbur’s level, man.”
Tommy sighed. He knew Tubbo was right; there was something seriously wrong with Wilbur these days, he’d known it ever since he’d watched him pledge some twisted kind of allegiance to Dream. But every time he looked at Tubbo his anger surged again, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the bright flash of a firework. If he saw Techno-
“Uh… Big T?” Tommy blinked and shook his head. “Yeah?” Tubbo was pulling anxiously at some of the bandages on his chest. “I think- I think these are a bit tight.”
“Ah- Sorry.” Wilbur staggered back into the main room of their hideout as Tommy went to work loosening the bandages slightly, working slower and more carefully this time. “You okay?” Tommy spared a quick glance back at their leader when Tubbo asked the question. He was standing on one leg, twisting the other foot back and forth gently. “Mostly. Think I did something to my ankle when I was getting off the roof.” He made a few noises of anguish then stopped abruptly, and Tommy could figure he was distracted by the voice coming through the communicator that Tommy could only just hear.
“Wait where are you guys I’ll meet up.”
He took one deep, calming breath, then ripped out the wire and threw it across the room. He finished re-wrapping Tubbo’s bandages and ran his hands along them to ensure they would hold when he moved. He wasn’t going to get angry. He wasn’t going to get angry. He would stay calm and make sure his best friend was alright and pretend their most powerful ally didn’t just betray them. He wasn’t going to get angry.
His hands came to rest either side of where Tubbo’s heart would be, and he was about to take them away when he stopped. There, on the left side, just under his collarbone.
No.
The first ridge, ever-present for both of them. Fuck Eret.
No way.
And… The second. New. Not there when he’d seen him last night, when he’d quickly thrown his green shirt at Tommy’s head. “No Schlatt, I’m- Yeah I’m in the library again… I’ll be right there.”
“Tommy-” Tubbo waved a hand in front of his face. “Tommy I’m alright, Tommy I’ll be okay-” He shook his head, wrestling with his anger. “No, no, Tubbo?” They both paused, looking into each other’s eyes, searching for the reassurance neither of them could give. “I- You-" He shook with rage, holding back an outburst. Where would it go?
What would he do? Run back to Manberg to the bastard in power? Go upstairs and start fights with mobs? Go yell at Wilbur? As he started to cool off (for Tubbo; who was holding him by the arm and trying to calm him down), the tunnel vision receded. Getting angry wasn't an option right now. They needed to hold it together. Be logical, not emotional. Strategically plan their next move.
Unfortunately, that’s when one half-pig, half-man came trotting nonchalantly down the stairs of their ravine home, and the red mist descended.
“Technoblade! The Blade, the Blade!” Wilbur’s cheering did nothing to help his rapidly declining mood. “Tommy-” But he couldn’t hear his friend as he stood and marched, head down across the ravine floor. He was unarmed: not for long, grabbing a lonely axe sitting against the cavern wall. He could hear Tubbo struggling to stay with him; asking him to stop or egging him on? The spaces between the silence had turned to static.
Technoblade was still wearing full Netherite armour and holding his crossbow in one hand, the business end pointed at the floor. Wilbur bounced around him like a crazy man on a pogo stick, chanting “The Blade!” while Techno regarded him with something adjacent to bemusement. “The gang’s all here!” Wil shouted as Tommy and presumably Tubbo approached, one injured and one seething. “Ooh look out Techno, Tommy’s angry at you. Look at him, look in his eyes, look at his little axe. He’s pissed at you dude.” He laughed, and there was something about it Tommy really didn’t like. “Go on, go on Tommy. Say something.”
“Wil, this isn’t funny.” He turned on Techno, and the axe in his right hand felt remarkably light. He took a deep breath to regain some calm: that was a mistake. Like throwing fuel on the fire, TommyInnit exploded.
“Are you insane?! You just killed Tubbo, in front of everybody, at the President’s command.” He spat the words as he swung the axe before him in a wild arc; Techno parried it lazily with the side of his crossbow. “And you think you can just rock up here? You’re not even Pogtopia anymore, you’re just a-fucking-nother JSchlatt pawn.”
“I had reason to, Tommy, th-”
“WHAT REASON?”
“I was peer pressured, y’see, and I couldn’t just jeopardise myself like that, there was about twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.”
“You can literally fly!”
“I can only fly in the rain Tommy. It’s my one weakness.”
Tommy moved closer, only partially aware that Niki had inexplicably just joined them; Wil had amicably put an arm around her shoulders that she looked eager to escape from. “So what, you just bend to peer pressure?”
“Yes. Immediately.” Niki seized her moment to run past Tommy when Wilbur practically collapsed in hysterical laughter on the stairs. All eyes were on him as Tubbo (who’d brought Tommy’s jacket with him) quietly asked “What’s so funny?” and you’d have to be deaf to miss the betrayal in his voice. Wilbur mimed (or maybe not) wiping a tear from his eye as he looked Tommy in his, “It’s just exactly as I predicted, isn’t it Tommy? No one here has any honour, not anymore. Everyone’s just following whoever has the most power. No one cares about sides! Everyone’s just doing what they’re told! Look, Tommy, what else do I need to convince you?” He slid down from his higher seat and stepped over to Tommy, moving imposingly despite the slight wobble he had with his battered ankle. He stopped arm’s distance away, holding his arms out as if to ask the question with them - open, undefended.
“Technoblade betrayed us on the whim of the President, the whim of the government. Tubbo decorated the stage for his own execution. And you-” Without thinking, Tommy put the razor-sharp edge of the axe against his brother’s chest. Both boys’ eyes followed his movement, and while Tommy felt repulsed by his own action (oh god, would I really kill him?), it just amused Wilbur further. “You wanted to blow up Manberg, just now. You said it, only minutes ago. ‘Where’s the fucking button.’ You’ll always be my right-hand man, Tommy.”
The shove that Tommy gave him, turning the axe to use the other side, sent him stumbling back and crashing into Techno. He strode forward, using the axe again to wrench Wilbur out of the way. The older man was nonplussed, catching himself on the wall and laughing. “Let it out Tommy.”
“WAS IT WORTH IT? WAS IT?” Technoblade whipped out his shield just in time to stop another one of Tommy’s wild swings from connecting with his neck. It bounced off his armour instead, leaving a scratch over the collarbone. “GET OUT OF HERE, GO BE NEXT TO YOUR ‘PRESIDENT’, YOU CLEARLY DON’T MIND KILLING FOR HIM.”
“You really think you can destroy Manberg without my help, Tommy?”
The next words out of his mouth came out as a low growl. “I could do without you taking a fucking life away from my best friend.”
It was like the air temperature around them had suddenly dropped several degrees. A chill ran visibly down Wilbur’s spine as his crazed smile dropped, Tubbo looked at his shoes, Niki looked at him, and even Techno’s bravado seemed to wither away as Tommy’s pronouncement settled over the group. “Yeah. I don’t give a fuck about peer pressure or whatever other bullshit you can come up with, not when you’ve just knocked him down to one life left. Do you know what it’s like? Huh?” He stepped closer, getting in Techno’s face; the pigman’s guarded expression returned. “No. You fucking don’t. You’ve not even been in danger of losing a life. Me and Wil, we know what it’s like to live in fear of dying for good, every fucking day of our goddamn lives.” He turned and stepped back to gesture at Wilbur, who merely crossed his arms and regarded him coldly from his perch on the stairs. “Wilbur lost his second at the election and guess what? He’s been going out of his fucking mind ever since-”
“And what about you?”
Tommy felt Tubbo’s hand on his arm, and didn’t need to turn to know exactly what look he’d be getting. Don’t. “What’s that supposed to mean.” It was a challenge, not a question, and Techno’s never been one to shy away from an ultimatum. “You said it yourself. Wilbur’s been… straying from the path ever since he lost his second canon life in the aftermath of the elections.” He shrugged, looking Tommy directly in the eyes. His were brown, but he didn’t need to look to know that. They had been brothers once. “How have you been faring? How long has it been now, since the revolution?”
“You monstrous piece of shit!” Tommy flew at the Blade, swinging his purloined axe back and forth with reckless abandon. “How fuckin’ dare you! You don’t know what it’s like to die, you bitch! And then you think it’s okay to kill Tubbo on the President’s command?”
“You think I wanted to? How was I to know that would be a canon death-?”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘How was I to know’?!” He mocked, still attacking, shouting between swings. “You executed him in front of a goddamn crowd! Are you fucking stupid?”
By this time, Tubbo and Niki had joined the fray and added their voices to the cacophony of Tommy’s bellowing and Techno’s reprisals. Niki was trying unsuccessfully to stop Tommy’s sudden mad tirade, though she proved ineffective in no armour as she kept having to duck out of the way of the recoiling axe swings. Tubbo stood to the side calling to Tommy, trying also to get him to calm down, though he seemed to lose faith much quicker and simply watched with a detached expression as the scene unfolded around him. And Wilbur stood over all of them on the staircase, observing the mayhem unfold as each of the main members of Pogtopia aired their frustrations for all to see. And Wilbur revelled in it. The violence, the noise. For a man with an unfinished symphony to his name, this could be the groundwork for a movement. His rebellion was falling apart at the seams, sure, but who knew witnessing the intricacies of the disintegrating stitching was so exhilarating? He had of course said yes when Dream invited him to Team Chaos, but the extent to which total bedlam was so invigorating thrilled him.
“I’m gonna make a combat pit, hold on.” Tommy was only just in control of his own limbs at that moment enough to change the direction of his strike while he was doing it so it didn’t hit Wilbur. Wilbur, who apparently was so out of his mind that he didn’t see the danger in walking between Tommy and Techno while one of them was ineffectually trying to beat the shit out of the other, strode between them, carrying in his posture all the grace of a refined leader with a twisted ankle, pickaxe in hand as he made true on his pronouncement with a machiavellian grin in place. The others stared on with mounting worry as he went to work hewing a tiny chamber off to the side of the main ravine’s walkway. All except Tommy, who’d been thrown to the floor by the combined forces of his redirected swing and Steam Train Wilbur.
"What the fuck?" He panted repeatedly, struggling to push himself to his feet without looking. "Wil?" Techno asked, as the quiet that had consumed the group grew. "Settle your feelings," Wilbur wheeled around, pickaxe slung over one shoulder, one hand indicating the hole-in-the-wall room that he'd just created like a showman with a new set-piece. "With your fists."
Tubbo was at Tommy's side again, shaky hands gripping him by the arm. "Tommy stop. The last thing we need right now is infighting." Tommy gave him an incredulous look. "Tubbo, he just killed you! If that isn't already infighting, I don't know what is!"
"I- I forgive him." All eyes were on him once again; Wilbur looked weirdly agitated and Techno raised an eyebrow. "He didn't really have a choice, not when surrounded by so many enemies." He dropped Tommy's arm as the blonde stared at him with an open mouth and went to hold his arms, careful around the bandages. "I get it. So I forgive him."
They stood, a metre and many miles apart for just a moment, before Tommy closed the gap, pressing his axe into Tubbo's hands. Then he turned, swept his hair from his eyes, and dropped into the Pit. Techno was soon to follow, depositing his armour and weapons by the side of the stairs and joining Tommy.
“Sure you wanna do this, Tommy?” Tommy felt his senses heightening once more, sharpening, forming a tunnel in his vision that focused solely on the foe ahead of him. Funnily enough, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, living on a server like this. It smelt like ash and gunpowder. It had the feel of a bowstring.
Dimly, Tommy wondered if Techno felt it too.
He steadied his stance, “You killed Tubbo, Techno.” The pig hybrid shrugged, idly cracking his knuckles. “Alright… We settle our feelings with our fists.” He cast a glance up at the small crowd looking down on them, at Wilbur who was beaming at him with his hands scrunched up in his pockets, at the half a dozen civilians and Pogtopians that had dared to venture towards the arguing leaders and figureheads. “When we come outta here, win or lose, no hard feelings: it stays in the pit.” Wilbur giggled. “It stays in the pit.”
For a few seconds, the entire cavern stood still, the only movement coming from the overhead lanterns swaying in the cold draft blowing through the cave. With uncertainty in his movement, Tommy turned hesitantly, tilting his head back to look up at Tubbo. He asked him a silent question with a flick of his eyes: ‘Do I?’ Because really, this was a bad idea. Facing Technoblade in one-on-one combat was not going to end well. And right now, infighting was the last thing they needed. So Tommy put it in Tubbo’s hands, not for the first time that night. (He’d wanted Manberg to go.)
“I think, Tommy,” Tubbo said evenly, keeping his eyes firmly on his friend as the rest of the room turned to regard him. “Just do whatever you think’s right.”
The logical thing to do would be to concede. But when one’s been attacked - he thinks as he follows the fold of Tubbo’s bandages, remembers the ridge by his heart - one does not apologise to one's attacker. “You killed him, Techno.”
The pig looked back calmly, and it seemed like he almost smiled. “It stays in the pit.”
“You took his second life! You can’t fucking get that back.”
“In the pit.”
He untucked his thumbs from the fists he’d made, “You killed my right-hand man. And you referred to JSchlatt as ‘Mr President’.”
“I mean, that is his title.” Tommy nearly flew at him there and then. Wilbur picked up on that, “Do it. Do it. Kill ‘im.” They both looked up, alarmed, as Wilbur egged them on and continued to miss the letter ‘h’ from his enunciation. “Kill ‘im, punch ‘im.” Tubbo looked like he was trying to convince the ground to open up and swallow them all whole. Niki had Tommy’s discarded axe in her hands and looked like she might intervene. Or help Tubbo, one of the two.
“I’m not doing this for Wilbur.” Tommy declared, tensing his muscles. “You murdered my boy. You betrayed us all.”
“I was peer pressured, Tommy. There were, like, twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.”
“You can literally fly-”
“If I’d blown my own cover we’d lose the last person we have that can go into Manberg without being hunted down. We lost one spy today; we could’ve lost two.”
Sounding irritated, Wilbur suddenly called down. “When you’re ready Tommy.”
The boy in question seethed, “This wasn’t about some fucking military strategy.”
His hands connected with Technoblade’s shoulders, as he blindly aimed a kick to one of the Blade’s shins. They backed into a corner and Techno braced his back against the wall, lean-falling into it and bringing one foot off the floor to kick Tommy in the gut. Tommy came back with a punch, his fist outlining a wild arc that glanced off Techno’s collarbone as he ducked beneath it and jabbed Tommy in the side, sending the boy reeling, and yet surging back in for more. “Yes… Yes!” Came Wil’s disconcerting cheers. The imbalance of skill and power was plain to see: Techno hit harder, fought with the techniques of a seasoned warrior and pushed through Tommy’s punches as if he didn’t notice them. Tommy, on the other hand, fought like he was a kid on a playground. He wore down quickly, his movements getting slower and more telegraphed. Techno seized him by the shirt and threw him into the wall, where he stayed as the pigman rebounded off the adjacent one and slammed him in the ribs, the kid only just scrambling away on the resulting momentum.
Despite the condition of his opponent, Techno didn’t let up, and if the previous events of the day hadn’t occurred the way they had, Tubbo might’ve jumped in to stop the fight. Instead, he stood by, watching Wilbur’s reactions more than the carnage itself, as Tommy landed one punch and Techno landed four. Wil’s face was delighted, like a kid on Christmas; Tubbo longed to dispose of this imposter and find the Wilbur that had once protected them, the Wil that would never have let this situation escalate to this point. But he was gone, or at the very least buried as deep as the cavern; he’d made the pit after all. Tubbo wondered what President Wil would do, faced with his brothers clashing like this. Probably stop the fight, pull Tommy out, and scold him, like he used to: ‘Stop picking fights with gods, Tommy.’ Alternatively, he bounded about on the lip of the pit, shouting down “Get it out Tommy!” and “Think of what he did.” He seized Tubbo by the shoulders (which hurt, but he didn’t wince) and shook him enthusiastically while shouting “Think of what he did to Tubbo.” (which turned his stomach over).
After what felt like a century, it was quickly ended. Tommy was never going to win, that much was clear from the start, and it was clear in his movements and the growing fearful look in his eyes that he wanted it to end. Techno’s eyes met Tubbo’s for a split second as he dealt the final blow, a punch that landed square in the middle of Tommy’s face. There was a horrible crack, and Tommy slammed into the wall of the pit, blood gushing from his nose and down the white part of his shirt like a raging river. He tilted his head back as Techno advanced for the final time, pushing him away with the back of his forearm, pinning him against the wall, and it was unclear if the motion was to keep Tommy from attacking or from pitching forward. Their eyes met: Tommy’s were dilated with fear and pain, while Techno’s beady gaze was steely but triumphant. They seemed to come to some understanding (perhaps of what mortality is), for Tommy then shut his eyes and dropped his head. Techno stepped away, and the boy slumped to the ground.
With the ease and temperament of a cultivated warrior, the Blade straightened up, wiping at his face and smearing some of Tommy’s blood about his eyes. It was like he was wearing a crimson masquerade mask. For a few moments, there was again that uneasy silence: something about the Blade looking over the crowd kept them quiet, subjugated by his aura of intimidation. Then he looked away, and there was a small burst of noise from the crowd - like a firework - as they began to disperse, sensing the end of the dramatics.
The Blade put one hand on the side of the pit and hopped up with the grace of a dancer. Compared to Tommy, bruised and bloodied, you could hardly tell he’d been in a fight. He looked between the lingering scraps of the crowd, Wilbur waiting with a smile and his hands still in his pockets, Niki glowering at him, Tubbo looking at the floor by his feet and Tommy still slumped against the wall of the pit. One clear of the throat had all of them looking vaguely in his direction, but he was looking for Tommy’s attention. “So..?”
“Fuck you man,” Tommy said through a mouthful of blood.
The pigman just laughed, and it echoed around the cavern like thunder. “It stays in the pit.” And off he went, an arm lazily thrown across Wilbur’s shoulders as he painted pictures of a destroyed Manberg in the air with his hands and words, the crowd stalking them rife with gossip and gawking and money changing hands. Tubbo’s stomach dropped.
“What are we going to do?” Niki’s voice was soft, barely audible in the echoing noise. Tubbo leant his head back against one of the rough stone walls, the burns curling around his eyes stinging. There was a spluttering to his left: Tommy attempting to clear his mouth of the blood still trickling from his nostrils. “I don’t know.” He admitted, lurching forward to go and help Tommy. “No no, I’m coming up, don’t.” It took Tommy a couple tries to scramble out of the hole in the ground, one palm pressed ineffectively against his nose, still leaking down his face. “Bloody thing- hah-”
“C’mere-” Tubbo reached for his face, the edge of a smile creeping into his voice as Tommy tried to duck away, also ineffectually. “Nah I’m fine, trust me-”
“Mate-” He’d managed to grab Tommy’s wrist, reeling him in and slinging his other arm about his waist to keep him there. He ignored the flare of pain from the burns on his chest and arms, instead grinning at the grimace Tommy was giving him as he pulled his hand away from his nose. “You’re doing a shit job with that nose bleed.” He pinched his nose, “Head back, big man.”
Tommy crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum and threw his head back. They waited in the growing quiet for an indeterminate amount of time, as the people became more settled, as Niki grew more restless next to them, as the pressure on Tubbo’s injuries ached more and more, until finally he couldn’t take the lancinating pain any longer, and sprang away from Tommy with a wobble, breathing heavily.
His eyes were screwed shut, as were his teeth gritted and fists balled up, nails digging back into raw flesh and bandages. Prime this hurts. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He sank to his knees, retreating into Tommy’s jacket like a hedgehog or a turtle hiding beneath protective layers. His head throbbed, like someone was bashing on it with a hammer. Somewhere in the back of his mind - the logical part - he knew what was happening. The danger had passed, the fighting ended. His body had pulled down the protective wall it had raised since Schlatt had snatched the mic from him, and now he was feeling the full force of his injuries without the adrenaline rush to dull the pain. But the part of him that knew this, the part that was telling him he was fine wasn’t as loud as the headache trying to split his skull from the inside.
‘Get up,’ He fell back on his Manberg habitats: don’t cry around other people, don’t show weakness or injury. ‘Stop this now, and get up.’ He willed himself to stand, commanding one leg at a time up. He got one foot flat on the floor and almost stood on it, when another wave of nauseating agony swept over him and he pitched sideways, crumpling into a heap on the floor like a discarded suit blazer.
“Tubbo-”
Roughly, he pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the stabbing sensation from his palms as he righted himself. ‘Stop this. Get up.’
“Woah- Tubbo, stop a second-”
‘Stop horsing around. For Prime’s sake, get up now.’
“Tubbo, wait- Holy Prime, stop moving, you’re hurting yourself.”
Tommy’s hands hesitantly grazed his sides, feeling through his borrowed jacket where the bandages got thinner as his eyes traced the rest of them covering most of Tubbo’s upper half where burns didn’t. “Aah- Sto- Stop-” Tubbo managed to get out, shaking his head quickly and falling away from Tommy, the movement making him feel lightheaded. The hands quickly retracted. “Knees?” He nodded, a lot slower than before. “Are- Are you okay? What hurts?” Tommy asked as he put his hands palm down on Tubbo’s lap. The older boy fought through a mental fog that threatened to cloud his vision. “E-Everything-” He exhaled quickly in something that might’ve been a laugh in another universe, staring down at Tommy’s hands on his knees and laying his own next to them. “My head- It feels like- like someone keeps hitting me and- m- my heart-” He shook violently, bandaged hands going to clutch his sides as if to hold himself together.
“Hey,” Tommy leaned closer so he was looking up to talk, his expression empathetic, a soft smile in his eyes as he spoke gently. “This happened before, remember? This happens when you lose a life. Remember last time, in the Camarvan? It passes. Just wait with me, alright?”
“Everything hurts-”
“I know,” He patted a steady rhythm into Tubbo's lap, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, like a waltz. Slowly, gradually, the agony receded, relinquishing his senses back to him, and he became aware that Niki had knelt by his side. "What can I do..?" Her mascara was running. Tommy gave her a soft smile, “I think… I think we should get out of this fuckin’ cave. Get some air.”
“I think you need a change of clothes, big man.” Tubbo croaked, and they both looked down at Tommy’s shirt, stained rusty-red with the blood of multiple people. “Speak for yourself.” He said lightly, and Niki gave a breathy sigh. “I think we should burn it.”
“His or mine?”
“Both.” She said with a slight laugh, glancing behind her. “I could go find some for us now?”
Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “Let’s just get out of here. Although-” He glanced at the axe by the side of the pit. “If we’re going up top we could do with a shield or two and some weapons, y’know, standard procedure.” He jumped to his feet and scurried away with a call of: “I’ll be right back!”
“Hey Tubbo,” He glanced up to see Niki smiling warmly, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Are you alright now?”
“I’ve certainly been better.” Their half-hearted laughter flickered like candlelight. “So, um… What Tommy said about you being down a life… Is it true?”
His hand went to the tally under his collarbone leisurely, feeling through the bandages to the tiny, earth-shattering ridges beneath. Two. There were definitely two.
“Yep,” He breathed. “I am down to one canon life.” Stating the fact seemed to make it all the more real. He was the third of his friends to slip, and now he too walked the boundary between those that stay and those that have passed. “I’m so sorry.” She patted his leg. “If I’d have done something- if any of us had done anything-”
“Don’t.” He caught her hand. “It’s not worth thinking about. Besides, the Blade has already made it clear that- that it wouldn’t have been worth it.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he felt it was warranted. Sure, military strategy dictated they’d done the right thing. Sure, they only lost one set of eyes on the inside, and not two. But it was like Tommy had said: it was getting less about the nations and the wars and the ideals by the day - at least to them. Of the three founding fathers of L’Manberg, they only had three lives between them now. Some resentful part of him wished they’d found the button. A front-row view of Manberg’s destruction would’ve been better than this.
“What would you have wanted, though?” Niki has this remarkable ability to see through people, almost as if she had heard his thoughts drifting to the button. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to think, and he was standing on the stage again, boxed in by yellow concrete and foes all at the same time. His eyes darted up to the rooftop of the NASA building, where he’d been only minutes ago. Wilbur and Tommy, highlighted figures in brown and red against the cheerful blue sky, each had a hand on their communicators, Tommy staring straight at him, mouth wide open in disbelief while Wilbur’s fingers flew furiously across the keyboard.
‘techno is on our side’
‘he wont hurt you’
“Wilbur said he wasn’t gonna hurt me.” He opened his eyes again, back in the ravine, though he didn’t doubt part of him would ever leave the concrete box. He looked Niki in the eyes, “I would’ve liked the truth, I think. I would’ve liked... to know.” She nodded, and the next time he blinked they were walking through the fields of a once-great nation together, anticipating frivolity and celebration to come, no matter how disagreeable the town they would be painting red. Ironic turn of phrase, to say the least. “This was really not how I expected today to go.” Niki’s laughter in response was sharp. “Definitely not.” She smiled sympathetically. “If it’s worth anything, I thought your speech was very good.”
He smiled indulgently, just in time for Tommy to reappear looking like a packhorse, weighed down with two shields and enough weapons to take back Manberg. None of these things were in his hands though: he was juggling three round grease paper packages, and Tubbo knew exactly what was coming when he stopped juggling and presented Niki with one, standing up straight for once and putting some false bravado into his voice.
“By the way Niki, welcome to Pogtopia. Here’s your dinner. A quick note, we’re not exactly equipped for high cuisine, so I’ll run you through how mealtimes work if you’re going to take your meals in the cafeteria-” He gestured at the bashed-up picnic benches they’d had to disassemble to get into the cave, and then reassemble to eat off of in the space next to the ‘kitchen’ in one very funny afternoon swearing at badly-translated instruction manuals. “Here’s the menu: since we were late back, we get yesterday’s leftovers, the emergency potato stockpile. Also, Technoblade does not seem to be in a chefing mood.” There was a round of awkward faces before he continued. “Tomorrow morning for breakfast: potato stew probably, hopefully not reheated. Tomorrow lunchtime: potato, maybe in a salad.” By now Niki was starting to figure out the pattern, the confusion on her face travelling through disgust to disappointment to resignation to acceptance. “Tomorrow for dinner: jacket potatoes- Hey, do you wanna guess what’s for breakfast the day after?”
“Oh boy! I wonder…” They giggled, the first human sound to grace the cavern walls in too long. “I swear on Prime, I wouldn’t have asked for the pig’s assistance if I’d known he’d only cook us potatoes.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Tubbo, and his smile dropped. “As well as a couple other things, y’know…”
The air around them shimmered, or maybe that was just Tubbo’s vision. “We need to get out of here.”
“Yeah.” Tommy’s response was quiet and laced with a foreign grief. They headed for the stairs together, Niki following attentively behind, and when their shoulders collided, their hands joined automatically in a softer hold than ever before.
“Did- Did you do that alone?” Tubbo asked Tommy as they climbed the stairs, part of a shuffling conga line of heroes and refugees and martyrs. He looked back for a moment, his eyelashes casting strange shadows down his cheeks from the swinging lamps next to them. “Do what?”
“What- What happened to me just now, and what happened in the Camarvan. When everything hurts and you feel like you’re going to die again.” Tommy’s somewhat guarded expression melted, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.” He admitted in his softer tone, “At my house, before I came to tell everyone.”
“Why?” Tommy turned away as they kept climbing. “We would’ve been there to help you, if- You didn’t even tell the others for ages though, did you?” He remembered a single terrifying moment in the middle of the biggest party they’d ever been to (thoroughly discounting today) when Tommy confided in him. “You didn’t want to worry everyone.”
“I didn’t want their pity either.” He said, tone level.
“How did you do it?”
“I… Don’t remember. I think I blacked out, at least functionally.”
Not only had his best friend handled, or tried to handle, the pain of losing a life alone, but he’d also attempted to silently carry that burden by himself. Just the thought of it put a weight over Tubbo’s heart. “I would’ve helped you.” He murmured as they took a left and escaped the crowd, heading towards another exit. “You did,” He said lightly. “All those nights you stopped me waking half the nation? That counts.” They crossed the floor of the small chamber at the top of the spiral staircase, and Tubbo suddenly dropped Tommy’s hand and stopped to open the enderchest against the wall. With careful hands he drew out the record with the red label and a smile from Tommy.
“That’s the real one, isn’t it?”
Tubbo looked between his two companions. “Anyone got a jukebox?” They didn’t have their bench, but no matter where in the world you are banished to, you’ll always have the sun.
Injured and weary, yet stubbornly surviving still, the three of them climbed the steps to the sky and caught enough of the last spillage of heaven for the day that they could fit in a full song. And by the last light, they had planned a plot. Of revolt and rebellion. Such familiar words.
And with the first stars rising as their witnesses, they hatched a smaller plan. A little catharsis, if you will.
---
The sky at dusk was gorgeous as the sun gradually sank out of sight. Tubbo wished he could enjoy it, but the ache in his being and his head and his heart was too much. “Are you cold?” He shook his head, but Tommy put his arms around him anyway. He was so careful, draping them where he knew there were no bandages; back, shoulder, standing just behind him and placing his head right next to Tubbo’s. Blocks turned in the jukebox before them, its red label swirling in the low light like a spinning skirt as the melody played for all the men and the beasts and the trees that came to listen.
Out of the blue, Tommy whispered in his ear: “Can I make you a promise I can’t keep?”
“I- Yeah, sure.” If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve turned his head to see what Tommy was up to. All he knew was that his best friend had leant closer and squeezed his sides warmly. Tubbo ignored the slight painful twinge. “I promise-” He whispered, the words so soft they got lost in the song. “-to keep you safe, Tubso.”
“Oh.”
“I promise, as long as I live, to be there, to stand between you and Techno, or Eret, or Schlatt or Dream or Wilbur or- or Death him-bloody-self, and I promise to say ‘No you may fuckin’ not hurt him’ and-”
“Okay, I get it-”
“-and I’ll fuckin’ fight them, all of them if I have to.”
“I’m fine Tommy, you don’t have to be all sappy for me.”
“It’s true.” And though he hadn’t moved that whole time, nor had his tone changed, Tommy’s arms suddenly felt a lot safer to be in. “No matter what happens, whether Techno is on our side or not, whether we get Wilbur back or get more people on our side or not or whatever, it’s me and you - and Niki - together against- against the world. And I mean that.”
Like a blanket straightened over a bed, a small silence settled over them as the last signs of the sun vanished behind the next hill. “Swear it,” Tubbo’s voice was barely above a breath. “On something important.” He couldn’t explain his sudden change of heart, but maybe the way his limbs shook with leftover adrenaline and fatigue and fear could.
“I- I swear it on the discs. Me and you, ‘till the ends of the Earth.”
“Always those discs.” He couldn’t keep the slightest hint of mockery out of his voice, but Tommy just hummed in disagreement. “If I swore it on the safety of the most precious thing, it wouldn’t be a promise, it’d be a paradox.”
By the time the meaning of his words dawned on Tubbo, Niki had reappeared, and Tommy let go out of his shoulders, a knowing smile gracing his features as he purposely avoided Tubbo’s scrutiny. “Had trouble finding it?”
“No, actually.” She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a lighter in there.”
Tommy and Tubbo shared a look equal parts bemusement and consternation. “Well come on then, the sun’s about to have gone down and I don’t know about you, but it’s getting a bit fuckin’ cold out here.”
“I think that’s because you’re only wearing a t-shirt, Tommy.” Niki teased, while the boy just shot her back an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well,” He turned to look at Tubbo, ruffling his hair somewhat roughly. “I lost my jacket like an hour ago.”
They tittered in tandem until Niki cleared her throat. “Who’s gonna do the honours?” His companions then immediately answered her question by looking to Tubbo. The edges of his lips curved upwards. “Can someone else hold it for me?”
“I’ll get it-”
“No, let me.” Tommy squinted at Niki.
“I think least injured should do it, just in case.” She reasoned.
“Didn’t you get shot on the way out of Manberg?”
“Didn’t you fight an entire crowd in Manberg by yourself?”
“That’s a bit stupid,” Tubbo interjected.
“I was trying to find you.” Tommy shrugged. “Okay, yeah, you hold it.”
Straightening her posture, Niki pressed the lighter into Tubbo’s hands and then held up the jacket. It was Tubbo’s Manberg Secretary of State uniform, jet black and singed and soaked-through in places. His thumb played with the catch over the hood of the lighter. “Just- What are we gonna do with it when it’s… on fire, y’know?” Both of his fellows stared blankly at each other. “One second.” Tommy took two steps backwards and disappeared over the ledge, and Tubbo skittered forward with half a laugh to see that he’d hopped down to borrow some water from the nearest pond. “Love the forward planning skills we got here.”
Rather comically, it took Tommy about a minute to lug the bucket of water back up the hill. “We will have no forest fires tonight.” And the three of them giggled a bit more. “Okay,” Niki said, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Ready?”
It took more force than usual for Tubbo to get the lighter to work, and once the flame appeared he snatched his fingers away, conscious of the flammability of his bandages. Niki held the blazer before her, arm high in the air, and Tubbo reached out, touching the end of the lighter to the edge of one of the sleeves. At first, nothing happened, and then, the jacket caught. Abruptly, Niki was forced to let go of the flaming piece of clothing as the fire raced up and across it in seconds. “Holy shit.” She whispered.
“Fucking shit indeed.” Tommy tugged Tubbo back towards him as the blazer dropped into the wind, flapping downhill as it dissipated into dark ash. “I was not expecting that.”
“Probably the amount of alcohol soaked into the fabric,” Tubbo said with disdain. “Good fucking riddance, Manberg.”
“YEAH!” His friends cheered together, and he watched as the fire consumed the uniform he’d despised so much. The flag on the left lapel seemed to glow as the flames ate away at it, and that made them three out of three for burning a Manberg flag.
“I heard there was a special place,” Tubbo and Niki looked at Tommy with incredulity as he began to sing the anthem, but there was a certain mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he sang, and they joined in, the familiar words and melody both a comfort and a thorn. “Where men could go and emancipate, The brutality, and the tyranny of their rulers,” Tommy held his hands up, silencing the other two as he grinned. “Well this place is real, don’t be afraid, With Tubbo-” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Tommy, Niki, FUCK TECHNOBLADE-!”
The three of them fell about laughing. “You should do it louder Tommy, I don’t think he heard you-” Niki said between the hooting emanating from a small crowd gathered at the Pogtopia tower and the hysterical laughter of her comrades. His shouts echoed throughout the little valley they overlooked, and they soon resumed the tune, joined by members of the rebellion across the land, humming and singing along whether they were allowed or not. To be a traitor is not a respectable thing, but sometimes it is better to follow one’s heart than one’s leader.
“It’s a very big and not blown up L’Manberg!” It was as if the land itself was singing, and Tubbo hoped they could hear this chorus back in Manberg. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were unsure, that needed to hear that paradise had existed and could again. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were still left behind, keeping their heads down and staying out of trouble, especially after tonight. Tubbo tried to inject as much panache into his voice as he could, partially for them, for those that were rightfully too afraid and unable to sing along. But mostly because he wanted JSchlatt to hear him. “For L’Manberg!” He wanted to walk through the nation he’d served for so long, waving the correct flag, singing their song, and he wanted especially to scare the shit out of that tyrant. I survived, he wanted to say, standing at the other end of the trigger. I survived, and I’m leading the choir, and we’re going to have our land back thank you very much, no matter how many tallies on our charts. “For L’Maaaaaanberg!
For L’Manberg, and for everything it stood for. Tubbo, like his friends, is down to his final life, and he’s sick of playing nice.