Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

tommy scrambles desperately against fundy, kicking his legs and yelling profanities. his throat is sore and his voice is hoarse, but he screams louder, trying to get fundy to let go of him. he can’t remember how he got here, or where they’re going, but he knows his leg is in pain and he is in fundy’s arm and neither of those are good.

he fucking hates people touching him, let alone picking him up and hauling him around. he keeps pushing helplessly, flailing like a fish out of water. his movements slowly become more and more sluggish, and his voice is weaker, but he continues, though he can barely feel his body. (he’s felt like that for a long time now. that should concern him, but he doesn’t. )

he doesn’t know how the fox hybrid manages to stay strong. fundy simply tightens his grip slightly and stepping forward with a more brisk pace. “you’ll be okay,” he tells tommy, though his voice sounds all choked up. tommy can’t really bring himself to care - he doesn’t have the energy to. he’s getting that floaty feeling again, where everything happens in a slower distorted motion. tommy feels as though he’s watching his body from a third perspective, again.

wherever fundy is going is the wrong way though, and tommy lapses into a silent despair as his protests cease. they’re going somewhere, and tommy hates not knowing, the fear of it makes him scream and shake and weep and his head is fuzzy and he doesn’t even know he’s having a panic attack until fundy is telling him about the 5-7-8 breathing exercise.

fundy has placed him against a tree, now, and tommy wants to spit in fundy’s face because who is he to push him around and then deposit him against some wooden plant, telling him to do a fucking breathing exercise? but tommy’s chest has tightened up considerately and his hands are shaking violently so he tries to do as fundy says.

in for five, hold for seven, out for eight.

(he’s not really being very cooperative, but fundy stays with him anyways. he doesn’t laugh at him or call him weak or leave him to die to the mobs at sunset. tommy distantly wonders why.)

fundy holds his hand throughout his panic attack, and tommy, embarrassingly, clutches at it back. fundy may be his enemy now, but once upon a time they were friends, and god knows tommy needs the comfort.

the breathing technique feels familiar, like tommy has done this a thousand times before, like someone, just like fundy, had held his hand and walked him through it.

tommy’s mind scrambles to remember. who, who, who….?

wilbur.

tommy’s head jerks, and fundy shoots him a look of confusion. he lets go of tommy’s hand, the boy letting out an embarrassingly small whine at the loss of contact. “tommy, you okay?” fundy’s familiar dutch accent isn’t enough to ground him, tommy’s started spiralling and he can’t stop.

“where’s wilbur?” he spits out, his voice harsh. he resents how he has just calmed down and yet still, here tommy is, shaking again. “fuck, where’s wilbur? is he still in pogtopia? where are we? i’m not allowed to leave him, i can’t- he can’t- we- i need to get back to- he’ll be there with dream- fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck-“

fundy cuts him off with a, “tommy! tommy, it’s alright, it’s okay. come with me for now, we’ll get you back to wilbur later, okay? but right now we gotta go to eret’s castle, niki’s there.”

tommy tries desperately to steady his breathing, his hands clutching at his hair wildly. his eyes harden at the mention of eret. “fuck eret! he’s a traitor, i never want to see him again! or you, fuck you! you’re both traitors, i fucking hate you, i won’t listen.”

tommy knows he’s rambling, he knows he sounds like a madman, (like wilbur, his brain supplies, and tommy feels like pulling every last strand of his hair out.) he tries to scramble away, but his leg is so sore, and fundy grabs onto him, his hold firm but gentle.

“cmon tommy, we gotta go home,” he says, and tommy tries to spit at him, but fails spectacularly.

“fuck you, i hate you, let me go or i swear to- fuck you! god, you bitch- let go, let go,” his last words turn into a sort of begging and pleading mess. his yells and sobs die down, as he slumps against fundy, weeping quietly. “i hate you,” he chokes out, despair weaving itself into his voice.

that stings a little, but fundy moves past it swiftly. he doesn’t have time to be offended, the sun will be setting soon and fundy does not want to have to fight monsters while also carrying a panicked tommy. “that’s alright,” he says awkwardly, “just hold tight.”

he gathers tommy up in his arms again, and tommy slumps over, limp as a trampled leaf fresh from a gale. fundy starts, before realising the kid has just passed out, probably from sheer exhaustion.

fine by him. he’s easier to carry when he’s not violently struggling, and the kid is suspiciously light. it’ll be fine.

.

tommy comes to when they are just at the steps of eret's castle. eret is waiting there, pacing worriedly, but his eyes light up when he sees fundy and tommy.

"fundy! tommy!" he says, smiling widely.

tommy glares at him as soon as his brain recognizes him to be the king. if tommy was able to, he would scoff, because it sounds fucking ridiulcous. eret is not a king, he’s a bloody traitor, who traded away their lives for a fucking peice of land and a title that means nothing. eret, with his stupid accent, stupid castle, and stupid fucking lies.

(in truth, tommy pretends to hate him so he doesn’t have to admit he’s scared of him. why is he scared? what did eret do? did eret do anything? tommy can’t remember.)

“i can walk," he says groggily to fundy, though he tries to keep his voice sharp. “my legs work perfectly fine."

"they'll work perfectly fine when you get some healing potions," eret corrects him, keeping his distance respectfully. tommy assumes he had noticed tommy's glares directed at him. good. "niki is waiting inside."

distrust wells up in tommy. "how do i know you're not lying?" he snaps at eret, who just shakes his head.

"i promise she's here, but you can ask her on your communicator," he shrugs, and tommy immediately feels in his pockets for it, except he doesn't have it. his face pales. wilbur took it off him because he felt tommy was being untrustworthy. (terror, terror, terror, why?)

he lets eret and fundy bring him inside, as if he has a choice. he’s powerless, unfortunately. again and again, he ends up in this same situation, with little to no variation. it’s always tommy, always alone, always against people who are more powerful, always fighting people he can’t, always taking chances he shouldn’t. oh god, what’s going to happen now-?

tommy starts when fundy deposits him unceremoniously on a bed, presumably in one of eret’s many, many guest bedrooms. he feels a wave of hatred towards the man. it is, after all, partially his fault he’s here and not in pogtopia, where be should be, with wilbur.

"where's niki?" he asks, ignoring fundy's half-annoyance. he knows he should thank fundy for carrying him the whole way but he doesn't want to be grateful, he wants to make their lives as difficult as possible in the hopes that they'll get sick of him and let him go. he doesn't want to stay, even if niki is here. he doesn't believe she is, even though eret promised, because since when have promises meant anything?

he scowls at them both, crossing and uncrossing his arms. everything feels too stilted and weird, and tommy decides that if the gash in his leg doesn’t kill him first the discomfort and awkwardness will.

it’s alright, though, because eret tells the truth, it seems.

niki is there, the same as she's always been, a little less tired-looking than she had been in pogtopia and a little less worried. there are still dark circles under her eyes, but less prominent, and eret has evidently helped sew up her dress. she smells like her bakery, soft bread and warm sugar and the familiarity and normality makes tommy want to weep, but he isn't a little kid anymore so he doesn't.

she no longer wears the lmanberg uniform, and the realty sets in for tommy truly that that period of their lives is over. no more independence, no more lmanberg. he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified.

"tommy, " she says, and she sits down next to him. "i was a little worried when you didn't respond to my messages."

"i'm sorry," tommy says, and niki laughs gently. fundy and eret take their leave, eret giving tommy a thumbs up on his way out. tommy can’t say he's upset to see them go. he doesn't trust them.

he doesn't really trust niki either. though she would never do him wrong, and if he asks nicely enough, she'll probably let him leave and get back to wilbur, but wilbur had always told him she was a liar, he had insisted time upon time she didn't care about him, and tommy was being a fool for missing her, and tommy cannot, can never, defy wilbur.

he doesn't want to stay another minute here, in enemy territory, away from wil. it's just not safe. (a dark voice in the corner of tommy's mind tells him it'd be safer to even be imprisoned in manberg starving to death than to go back to wilbur. he steadfastly ignores it.)

niki is tapping his shoulder, looking hesitant. tommy assumed he must have zoned out again. he finds himself doing that a lot nowadays.

"you okay?" she asks, and if tommy didn't know better it would sound like she actually cared about him.

but tommy isn't an idiot, he does know better. wilbur has run through this with him a thousand times. people are only ever nice to him to get him to lower his guard, and then hurt him. he knows he thinks niki is kind and caring, but tommy is just a stupid naive kid, snd he should listen to wilbur more often, because wilbur knows more. if wil says he shouldn't put all his trust in niki, then he won't.

tommy pulls himself out of his thoughts. he needs to focus. "i'm fine," he says, "but my leg is a little fucked up. do you have any bandages, by chance?”

he sits up, wincing at the pain in his shins, and rolls up his trousers legs. he takes a look at himself for the first time, and it looks a lot worse than expected, but niki doesn't seem too bothered so tommy thinks it'll probably be fine.

his leg is littered in several gashes, varying in length and depth. they've stopped bleeding, most cuts crusting over in dried blood, and it makes tommy feel kind of lightheaded looking at it, so he turns to niki.

"you know the drill," she says, and she pulls out her medkit. she hands him a regeneration potion. "i'll try to be gentle. we'll get it over and done with, then you can take another nap with eret's dog, okay?"

tommy would really rather do it himself, but he’s got shaky hands and a quick temper and he’d probably do a terrible job of patching himself up. and he knows he should just shut his mouth and agree, but this is niki. surely she'll have sympathy and help him.

"thanks, niki," he says, trying to choose his words carefully. digging his finger into his pillow to distract from the stinging pain as niki applies antiseptic, he stares at the wallpaper, impressed by erets interior design. it’s all warm colours and complementing tones, and tommy screws up his face just thinking about it. "i won't need a nap, i'm not a baby,” he says instead, before hesitating. “when you're done patching it up, can i go?"

"where are you going?" niki asks in surprise, pausing wrapping tommys leg in gauze as she looks up.

"back to pogtopia, obviously." tommy feels a sense of dread. nevertheless, he takes care to enunciate every word properly and sound polite. "i appreciate you helping me, and i appreciate fundy's help as well, but i have to get back, back to wilbur,” he wheedles.

"i don't think that's a very good idea," niki says, trying to be gentle. (why is she so kind? he doesn’t deserve it.) "just for the time being, you should stay here.'

"i can't stay here," tommy argues, trying to stay calm. "is eret's castle part of manberg or dreamsmp? it doesn’t matter, either way staying here means imminent execution, i can't stay, i have to get back to wilbur."

"nobody's getting executed," niki says, wrapping the last of the gauze. "i'll make sure of that. now, finish drinking the regen potion, and explain to me how you got those gashes?"

"no, wait, niki, you don't understand," tommy says desperately, trying to keep his voice steady. "i can't stay. wilbur will be upset. my leg is fine now, you said so yourself. i really can't stay."

"you’ll have to," niki says sympathetically. "you won’t be able to walk for at least twenty four hours. where on earth did you get such bad cuts? they don't look like they're from monsters."

tommy hesitates. he doesn’t want to think about it. the memories are fuzzy, but he cab still make out a face, hear a voice. wilbur.

his best guess is he broke a rule, wilbur caught him, and probably hit him a couple times. he doesnt harbour any resentment against wilbur, tommy knows its his won fault for defying him, but outsiders (fucking outsiders, they don’t even try to understand,) like niki wouldn’t understand that.

he feels a sudden surge of despair - niki left, just like everyone else. he had begged her to stay and she had begged him to come with her, and neither had budged.

and so tommy was left alone. with wilbur.

niki wouldn't understand. wilbur and tommy, they're the original duo. they have a special bond, a special relationship, that other people could never comprehend, and if they did, they wouldn't approve of it, because they're jealous. all of this has been taught to him by wilbur, and he trusts it wholeheartedly. wilbur, he can trust. wilbur is right.

even when he does less than kind things, because he’s doing it for tommy. wilbur wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think he was helping tommy long term.

tommy is zoning out again (he does this all the time now), and this time niki looks less worried and more sad, “tommy? everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves her off. “everything is fine.” the floaty feeling is back. tommy hates it.

“thinking about something?” she asks, and tommy hates her, because she’s being so nice and understanding. it’d be so much easier to leave niki and hurt her if she was cruel, but no, she’s as soft and as sweet as sugar, with the resilience of obsidian and a will of stone. tommy doesn’t have it in him to be rude to her like he is to eret and fundy.

“yeah,” he admits. he suddenly remembers something. “why won’t you answer me about wilbur? where is he? is he still at pogtopia?”

niki bites her lip. “i’d love to tell you, tommy, but the truth is i’m not sure myself. do you remember how you hurt your leg? please be honest.”

no chance of that. wilbur will kill tommy if he tells her what happened. he’ll strangle him then burn the body, and everyone will hate him if he snitches. so tommy holds his tongue, gives a small shake of his head and niki doesn’t press further. tommy notices niki’s surprisingly well masked worry and pushes it to the back of his mind. despite his protests earlier, he’s actually wrecked and really could use a nap.

his brain screams at him to keep his guard up because these people are traitors but his body’s need for sleep overtakes the screaming. niki gets up to leave, but before she does, she gives tommy a quick ruffle of his hair, in her soft motherly way (why is she so caring? how does she do it?.) “good night, tommy.”

tommy freezes, then recoils. in the darkness and solitude of this random room in eret’s castle tommy decides it’s okay if he sheds a couple of tears, because it’s not big deal. he just doesn’t like having his hair touched. for no particular reason. (he has long since suppressed that memory, the pain of what wilbur did to him makes his head go fuzzy.)

“g’night,” tommy mumbles, long after she has left.

ten minutes later, eret walks in quietly, holding a dog. “jesus christ, you’re already out like a light….”

tommy pretends to sleep.

eret places the dog in the crook of tommy’s arms, “there you are, pog, look after tommy tonight, okay?” eret keeps his voice hushed as he talks to the dog. he looks over tommy and pauses. “hope you’re okay, kid,” he mutters, before leaving hurriedly.

as tommy drifts off to sleep, he mulls over how despising eret is becoming a little more difficult now. he hates how easily he is swayed to the favour of others, how quick he is to turn around and forgive people, how easily he is manipulated and influenced and exploited.

like a strung up ragdoll.

Chapter Text

it’s rather cold, in pogtopia, tommy notices. the air bites at his cheeks and ears, which are almost always flushed a little pink. it feels like the cold is seeping into his bones, infecting his lungs, his throat, his limbs. the ice feels as though it is wrapping itself firmly around his neck, making a home under his ears, freezing his nose.

the temperatures only serve to worsen his already exasperating habit of shaking violently at random periods during the day. it's an inconvenience at best, and outright terrifying at worst. he’d once told wilbur about it, but the older man had looked so sad that tommy deemed it best to not bring it up again. there was something indescribable written on wilbur’s face - maybe it was pity, maybe worry, maybe sorrow. tommy didn’t know, and he didn’t care to find out.

tommy ponders solutions to the cold. he knows wilbur and techno feel it too - wilbur wraps his coat around him tighter, and techno’s teeth chatter so forcibly that tommy can hear them eight feet away. so, he starts lighting campfires more frequently. he places them everywhere, outside of their respective rooms, outside of the dreaded fucking button room, near the entrance to pogtopia.

he spends a whole day mining for coal and chopping trees, and comes away with over eighteen stacks of torches. he lights and relights the place as best as he can, illuminating the walls as well as heating up the general area of pogtopia.

it makes the place significantly warmer, but not enough.

the solution comes to tommy when he is dutifully rounding up sheep to breed and slaughter for food. he gently runs his fingers through the fuzzy, but undeniably soft floomf of the sheep. the sheep is like a mini-radiator, and tommy is grateful for it. a warm little fluffy lad.

tommy smiles in realisation.

warm.

without a second thought, tommy runs back inside, rummages through the chests haphazardly and produces a pair of shears. he clips the sheep’s wool off, and stores it in his inventory for later. he pets the sheep’s head one more time, and promptly kills it with his sword, blood staining his hands.

all in a day’s work, he supposes.

that evening. tommy sets to work. niki showed him how to use a loom, (before she left, like the traitor she is, tommy bitterly reminds himself.) he’s a little rusty, but practice makes perfect and tommy has surprisingly nimble fingers. all wilbur’s comments of him being clumsy and useless make tommy smile now, as he looks down at his handiwork. a woolen blanket, thick and soft and undeniably warm.

he doesn’t stop there. he ventures to the mines again, and finds some lapis lazuli. he converts it to dye, after a lot of trial and error, dyes the blanket a deep blue. it reminds tommy of simple times, knitting with niki in eret’s castle, forgiveness gracing the tip of their tongues, warmth bubbling in their chests when eret would sit with them, status forgotten, when they were just three friends, living life as it was meant to be lived.

but those times are behind him now, and he needs to focus on the blanket. it’s so soft tommy almost wants to keep it for himself, but that would be selfish and mean and tommy very desperately wants to be good, so he buries his face into it, takes. a deep breath, and puts it down.

when he’s sure he’s done, he quietly leaves the blanket on wilbur’s bed, when the older man is out doing god knows what.

tommy secretly hopes for acknowledgment or praise, but he squashes those hopes down, not wanting to disappoint himself. wilbur is not the sort of person to do things like that. fine by tommy. he doesn’t mind.

in fact, wilbur does not acknowledge the blanket, but tommy notices he is a lot more outwardly affectionate now, a little less cold. tommy laughs to himself at how the blanket seemed to warm both his body and his heart.

he deliberates over just how much wilbur means to him.

now, before wilbur leaves for any amount of time, he’ll inform tommy, as well as occasionally kissing the crown of tommy’s head if he’s close enough. sometimes he’ll offer to patch up the cuts and bruises on tommy’s arms. it makes tommy smile a lot more now.

tommy repeats the same process of knitting for himself and techno. he dyes techno’s a sort of red, trying to match the colour of his cape. it doesn’t quite turn out the way he wants it to - it’s more magenta than red, but he presents it to techno anyways. techno pats his head and tells him it’s a good effort.

tommy grins. that’s about the highest praise techno can give someone.

life is a little warmer now.

.

the week after techno leaves, wilbur finally re-enters techno’s two rooms - his bedroom, and the potato farm. after rummaging through techno’s room, (and noticing he had taken the blanket with him) tommy watches anxiously wilbur from the doorway.

he sets to work, uprooting the potatoes and checking for blight. wilbur organizes them between two piles - the regular potatoes and the poisonous ones. he’s not as quick or as efficient as techno was, but he’s trying his best and tommy is grateful.

tommy leaves his station at the doorway and they work together, finding tasks are a lot easier when the two of them are there. they mostly work in silence, but sometimes wilbur will strike up a conversation. tommy never starts the conversations - he usually doesn’t speak unless spoken to.

its funny, tommy thinks, how technos betrayal brought them closer together. surely wilbur and him should have broken apart, betrayed each other as well?

anyhow, tommy is glad they haven’t. wilbur is really the only person he has now - he could never trust tubbo and it seems niki and wilbur’s fight is a permanent one. she had since left, and it’s pretty clear she wouldn’t be coming back. at least wilbur stayed. he was scary and paranoid and sometimes the grip he had on tommy’s wrists was too tight, but everyone has flaws, and it is unfair of tommy to expect wilbur to be perfect.

somehow, they fit together, two mismatched people with jagged edges.

the potato farm is slowly becoming tommy’s pride and joy. he was never very good at building, but through a very long process of trial and error, he determines turning the walls black and making a proper path through the farm makes it more pretty. he adds a tree farm to the right, and a little flower garden to the left.

again, wilbur is not a man who shows his love in outward ways. however, he shows his love in the way he ventures to a swamp to collect some blue orchids for tommy’s little garden. he shows it in the way he presents them like a bouquet, and when tommy jokes about a proposal, he shows it in the way he goes along with the bit, gets down on one knee and kisses tommy’s hand.

tommy laughs so much he feels lightheaded, and wilbur flicks his fingers at his head, trying to hide a smile.

“wilbur… you’re- you’re really cool. i like you a lot,” tommy mumbles the last bit, trying not to sound so sappy

“i like you too, tommy.”

tommy gigglee a little. they sound ridiculous, but somehow know exactly what the other means.

things are getting a little easier.

.

tommy stumbles down the steps of pogtopia, halfway slamming into walls and tripping over his own feet. as soon as he reaches the main middle bit, with a total of five campfires, he drops his sword, and it clatters on the ground. tommy slumps down, and leans into the campfire, trying to warm himself up.

seemingly alerted by the fall of the word, wilbur peaks his head from his door. his eyes light up when he sees tommy, and he walks towards him for a hug.

tommy hugs back gratefully, “wilbur! guess what i’ve been up to,” and wilbur ruffles his hair.

“a fight, probably,” wilbur grins. “did you win?”

“yep! and look what i’ve got,” tommy says excitedly, intertwining their hands.

wilbur raises his eyebrows. “what?”

tommy pulls away slightly, turns to his rucksack and produces three shiny objects from his inventory. wilbur’s eyes widen, "you didn’t…” his voice trails off.

“i did!” tommy boasts, proud. “i really have three nether stars! look at them,” tommy says, pushing them up to wilbur’s face. he takes one, inspecting it carefully.

tommy watches him eagerly, hoping for a good reaction. he is rewarded when wilbur slowly puts the nether star down and stares at tommy. “i’m impressed,” he says, seemingly at a loss for words. “you got three. three! that’s gotta be a record.”

tommy laughs, and then pushes forward to hug wilbur again, squeezing tightly. wilbur places a hand on his chest to playfully push him away before he pales slightly. his hand is wet, blood staining his palms. he pushes tommy away gingerly and takes a proper look at him.

there are several long, deep cuts engraved in tommy’s torso, and a smaller cut on his arm. wilbur stumbles back a little. “what the fuck?

“oh, yeah, i got a little cut up. fighting three withers isn’t easy you know.

wilbur sighs, and turns to grab his medkit.

as wilbur slowly and laboriously tends to tommy’s wounds, still a little shaken up, tommy explains the full story of his fight.

“wow,” wilbur comments, “three fuckin withers. you’re as good as techno at fighting.”

“i’m better! and - you don't need techno,” tommy insists, seeing the melancholic look in wilbur's eyes. “you have me.”

“yeah,” wilbur agrees, somewhat sadly. he wraps the final bandage, and gives tommy a thumbs up. “c’mon, go to sleep. you need it.”

tommy frowns. wilbur's in a good mood, he doesn't want to leave him. he wants to make the most of it.

"no, no, i'll stay with you," tommy says, grabbing wilbur's hand. "let's just chill together for a bit."

wilbur rolls his eyes dramatically. "fine, i suppose i can wast more time just to hang out with you," he concedes, and he picks up tommy with a surprising ease, holding him bridal style.

tommy yelps a little and clings to wilbur, “i’m too tall to be picked up wilbur, i’m not a little kid anymore.”

wilbur smiles sadly, “i know, i know, tommy.”

and though they both know it to be true, tommy still lays with wilbur like they did when they were much younger, when they would curl up together under a mountain of blankets at the end of a freezing winter’s day, warm in each other's arms.

(tommy would kill to feel that kind of peace again.)

.

tommy awakes with a start, tears pooling in his eyes. he scrubs at them fiercely, not wanting to weep already, when it was a good dream he was having.

he never feels at ease anymore.

he’s too worried about manberg, about how easy it is to piss off wilbur, about the future of pogtopia, about the wellbeing of tubbo and niki, about fundy’s betrayal and if it even was one and about how he can’t contact any of them because wilbur doesn’t like when he leaves pogtopia without permission.

except now he can contact them. because he's not in pogtopia anymore, he's in eret's castle, on traitor’s land.

and tommy feels even worse. what does he do? niki said he can’t leave, and eret won’t listen, and he hates them both, and he wants it to stop. his head is so loud and he’d like it for once to just shut up so he can think rationally about things, but he can’t.

the stress makes him feel like a madman. he breathes in for eight, holds for seven, releases for four. he does that again, and again, and again, and though the noise in his head doesn’t quieten he stops shaking. he covers his face in a pillow and tries to drift off to sleep again.

Chapter Text

tommy shuffles back nervously, his eyes hesitantly meeting wilbur’s.

“hey, big man,” he says, in an unusually small voice. “what’s up?”

“where were you?” asks wilbur, tone cold and demanding. 

tommy shrinks back, trying hard not to flinch. “i was- i was in the forest on the right hand side,” he explains, “getting some wood.”

“you’re not supposed to leave without my permission, you know the rules,” wilbur says, narrowing his eyes. “or are you so stupid you’ve forgotten already?”

tommy winces at that, but he tries to stay calm. he wrings his hands together, saying, “i’m sorry, i didn’t forget, i just didn’t want to wake you since it was really early and-“

“then surely you should’ve waited for me to wake up?” wilbur cuts in, staring directly into tommy’s eyes. tommy wonders if wilbur was always so tall, if his words were always so harsh.

tommy doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he stands awkwardly in front of wilbur, trying desperately not to make eye contact. he bends his fingers backwards, trying to keep cool, and miserably failing. he feels his breathing speed up.

there’s a dulled ringing in his ears, as wilbur takes a step forward, placing a hand on his neck, and tilting his chin upwards with his thumb.

“well?” wilbur asks, obviously expecting an answer. his eyes have a sort of glint in them that makes tommy want to shudder.

“i don’t know,” tommy chokes out, terrified.

“you don’t know?” asks wilbur, his voice mockingly gentle. “you don’t fucking know?” wilbur drops the softness, and he’s yelling. “that’s the thing with you, tommy, you’re all talk until you’re required to actually do something, then you’re fucking useless, right?"

tommy cowers back, raising his hands slightly, as if they’ll act as defense between him and wilbur. wilbur lets go of his chin and grabs his hand instead, backing him against a wall, and tommy can do nothing but be forced to agree and say quickly, “i know, i know, i’m sorry wilbur, i’m so sorry.”

wilbur doesn’t seem any less angry, as he spits out, “well, if you’re so fuckin sorry, tommy, one would think you’d stop fucking doing it! but no, no, you just can’t get it though your thick skull.” 

at this point, tommy has no idea what wilbur is talking about, or whether wilbur wants him to agree or disagree. all he knows is wilbur is furious, and that is never a good thing.

wilbur scans tommy's person, his eyes settling on a piece of paper folded up in tommy's pockets. he reaches forwards, and grabs it.

wilbur examines it - its a note, of some sort. the handwriting ispainfully familiar- its niki’s, wilbur realises. niki wrote it, and all it has are three numbers - 1087 68 234.

he reads it out, and watches tommy's eyes widen. then it clicks - they're coordinates. 

"where do these coordinates lead, tommy?" wilbur asks, his voice deathly quiet.

tommy swallows harshly, and tries to fix his breathing. "i- uh, i don't know."

tommy knows perfectly well where they lead. they're the direct coords of niki and eret's spare base. 

niki has pressed the note into his hands before she left, still wiping at her red eyes, but a kind of determination in them that tommy wished he had seen sooner. 

niki was gentle, not weak. she may have cried, but she stuck to her resolve and left, and tommy cannot fault her for that. sometimes he wishes he had done the same.

presently, wilbur is glaring at him, his eyes boring into tommy's. "i'll ask you again, tommy," wilbur says, and theres an edge to his voice that shakes tommy to his core, "where the fuck do these lead?"

tommy wants to step back, push wilbur away, do anything to get away from the man, but knows he is trapped. he looks away in shame, stares at the floor, and mutters, disgusted with himself, "it leads to niki’s base."

"niki’s base?" there's a pause. "nikis base?" wilbjrs asks, incredulously. "you know she betrayed us, right? she left me, she left you, she doesn't care! you're ridiculous, tommy."

"i know, i'm sorry," tommy mumbles, and wilbur laughs cruelly. 

"youre like a broken record, you know that?" wilbur puts on a stupid voice that makes tommy wince in shame, "ooh, i'm tommy, and i'm a pathetic, useless bitch!"

wilbur grabs tommy's chin, and tilts it upwards. tommy flinches back as he hisses, "you're nothing. you'll never amount to anything, and you should be grateful i don't kill you right here and now."

tommy chokes back a sob, trying to block out what wilbur is saying to him. it doesn't work, and tommy wishes he could just forget, he doesn't want to be up late thinking about it, he doesn’t think he asks for much - just peace of mind.

it never works.

wilbur's grips tightens on tommy's chin, and he’s certain there'll be a bruise tomorrow. tommy reaches up a hand to push weakly at wilbur's chest, and to his surprise wil actually lets go. he steps back, and turns away.

tommy looks at him worriedly. when wilbur is in a mood like this, things are never good.

"do you want to leave?" wilbur asks, his voice too fragile, and tommy's heart wrenches.

"no! no, of course not, c'mon wil, wilbur, why would i want to? i wanna stay with you," tomy says desperately, grabbing onto the other man's arm, his voice almost pleading. "it's you and i together, right?"

"then why, tommy, then why the fuck did you have those coords? tommy, tell me now and tell me honestly, were you planning on leaving? you wanna be a fucking traitor like eret, like fundy, like everyone else? huh?" the vulnerability in wilbur's voice melts away to fury.

tommy thinks the mood swings are giivng him a headache.

there’s no point protesting. if tommy denies wilbur’s claims, the other man will just get angrier and angrier until tommy gives in. it’s easier if he just surrenders and let will get his anger out.

so he does.

it’s easier, tommy tells himself, as wilbur slams his head into a wall, it’s easier this way.

hours later, as he gently washes the blood out of his blond locks, he wishes he could fully believe that.

.

wilbur turns to tommy, a sort of half grin on his face. "what was that, tommy?" he asks, in a dangerously low voice.

tommy immediately backtracks, taking wilburs hands in his own in an attempt to placate him. wilbur's are cold and shaky. "nothing, nothing, i'm sorry, i agree with you, you're right," tommy says quickly, his words running into eachother.

wilbur glares at him, baring his teeth unconsciously, and tommy winces, wishing he had enough courage to pull away.

wilbur pushs tommy away slightly and digs a hand into tommy's hair, not quite tugging but not being gentle either. "you sure? are you sure, tommy? because it fucking looked like you wanted to say something," he hisses.

tommy doesn't understand why it matters so much, why wilbur is acting like this, by it's just the two of them and it's not like he would ever every denyy wilbur so he shuts his mouth and doesn't resist.

"i don't," tommy says, feeling pathetic. hes disgusted with himself, because he’s putting his friends lives at risk, just because he doesn’t have enough courage to stand up to wilbur. 

wilbur doesn't say a word, and instead grabs tommy's shoulders, pushing him face down on his desk. he pulls up the younger’s shirt, and tommy thinks he'd rather die than be in this situation. 

there's an awful moment of silence, as wilbur grabs something from his drawer. tommy waits in terror, too scared to struggle. he has no clue what wilbur is doing, but it can’t be anything good. tommy prays to every god he can think of to save him from this.

he’s ripped from his thoughts by pain. pure, unfiltered pain, as wilbur digs the knife into his back, dragging it along his already marred and bruised skin.

tommy suddenly fights back desperately, trying to bat at wilbur’s hands from behind, but it’s impossible, it’s fruitless, wilbur has him against a rock and a hard place, and there’s nothing he can do.

terrified tears stream down his face, and tommy feels himself beginning to disassociate. he clenches his fists, and folds them in front of him, dropping his head onto the desk. he tenses every muscle in pain, trying to block it out.

he is brought back to reality with a horrible bump as he realizes that in his back, wilbur is carving writing.

his eyes widen in horror. his head feels fuzzy, and he knows he’s not far from passing out. he’s still sobbing, but quieter now, as he stops struggling and falls limp against the desk. 

“good boy,” wilbur coos against his ear, and tommy feels sick. this is so wrong, this is so wrong, this is so wrong.

tommy drifts in between his conscious and out of it as wilbur continues. he can’t seem to make a sound, and he can’t seem to fight back either, it’s as though the pogtopia cold has finally gotten to him and he has frozen over, body and mind alike.

when wilbur finally finishes engraving whatever it is he’s writing into tommy’s back and shoulders, he leaves, but not before pressing a kiss to the crown of tommy’s head.

it almost feels like when they were younger, but this time there is blood dripping down tommy’s back and tears drying on his face. it feels so wrong.

after maybe ten minutes of shocked leaning on the desk, tommy very slowly gets to his feet. he grabs onto the desk for support, and when he finally deems himself free from dizziness, or at least enough to walk, he stumbles to his room. 

with a lot of hesitation, he pulls off his shirt and looks at his back in the mirror.

what he sees makes him want to throw up.

in blocky, bloody lettering, are the words, “wilbur’s property.”

the “property” isn’t as deep as the “wilbur’s.” the first word will remain through scarring on his back forever, but the second will fade and that brings tommy absolutely no comfort. nobody else could ever want him now. tommy doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe it, but he feels tainted, almost ruined, in a way.

it doesn’t matter, because wilbur was right, he’s always right. nobody would ever be able to look at him if they ever saw his back. tommy believes wilbur wholeheartedly. he is useless for absolutely everything, and he deserves everything he gets. he deserves it when wilbur hits him, when wilbur insults him, when wilbur carves degrading names into hs shoulders. it’s tommy’s own fault, really.

tommy haphazardly puts some antiseptic on the cuts and wraps bandages around his torso. he throws a shirt on immediately, disgusted at himself.

he doesn’t know if he can ever face himself after what he has just let himself be subjected to.

he goes to bed, but can't seem to sleep. 

.

tommy takes a deep breath. today is the day he will confront wilbur. because surely- surely this can't be normal.

surely, it can't be normal how wilbur reads every message on his communicator, yelling at tommy if he finds a single thing he doesn't like. (tommy barely uses it anymore, anyways - he ignores his 'friends'' messages, and only responds to wilbur’s.) 

surely being desperately afraid of him all the time isn't normal. (he has found that his body has taken up the habit of shaking whenever he hears wilbur’s footsteps, a habit wilbur dislikes very much.)

surely that one time when wilbur walked in on tommy was cuddling l'dog, and threatened, "you leave, the dog gets it," wasn't normal? unless it was a joke? (that can’t be an excuse, can it?) maybe tommy is overreacting. 

unless?

it doesn't matter. tommy is going to confront wilbur, because he has been trying to gather his courage for far too long. it's high time he does something about it. there's no use complaining if he won't take any action.

he takes a deep breath. and then another. and another. he doesn't want to start hyperventilating, not now.

when wilbur comes home from doing god knows, tommy drags him by the arm to their makeshift kitchen, (which, by the way, has been significantly improved -tommy has fixed up the interior walls, and wilbur has thrown up a couple paintings that he had had. all in all, it’s sweet and comforting - it’s perhaps tommy’s favorite room.) 

“wilbur, “ tommy starts.

“tommy,” wilbur half-smiles.

“wilbur, i wanted to speak to you about something-“

“if this is about manberg, i don’t want to hear it,” wilbur cuts in, his eyes hardening.

“no, no- it’s not that,” tommy reassures him quickly. “it’s just-“

“go on,” wilbur says, trying to be kind, though his tones comes off as a little harsher than he intended. 

“okay- i- i wanted to talk about- about what you’ve been doing, recently.” tommy spits it all out and once, “you can’t- you can’t just hit me, it’s wrong and really-“

“tommy. tommy,” wilbur cuts him off, taking his soldiers. “what are you on about?”

tommy shuts his mouth, he feels stupid now. like a fool. it’s not a good feeling.

he looks up at wilbur and buries his face into the older’s chest, trying to ignore the slightly-too-tight grip on his hair. “nothing,” he mumbles. “ignore me. i’m being stupid.”

wilbur says nothing, but continued to stroke his hair.

tommy feels a strange new hatred for himself, perhaps for letting wilbur does what he does, perhaps for giving in so easily. this und,silier feeling of despair is building up inside of him. he wonders why he’s trying to find comfort from the same man who would slit his throat without a second thought.

and tommy comes to a despicable realization. if wilbur is the only person who loves him, but hates him so deeply, then tommy must be an awful person. if the entire world has a problem with him, then he most definitely is the problem. wilbur is just being his kindly self by even putting up with someone as disgusting and vile as tommy.

the shame makes his cheeks burn and the terror his throat close up.

tommy is a fucking fool, and it’s not a good feeling.

Chapter Text

when tommy wakes the morning after he’s brought to eret’s castle, the last thing he wants to do is leave his room and face everyone in manberg. despite eret’s reassurances that he’s allowed to be in manberg, and that his exile has been revoked, he doesn’t fully trust the man. he doesn’t fully trust anyone, apart from wilbur. (and even then, that trust is constantly being broken. tommy briefly wonders why he keeps going back to wilbur.)

and anyways, wilbur’s not with him right now, so tommy decides he’ll just have to take initiative and guess what wilbur would want him to do. that’s a bit of a problem, because wilbur is unpredictable and erratic, but it’s okay, it’s fine, it’s tommy’s fault for not understanding, really. he’s old enough to handle himself.

he shakily gets up, wincing at the pain in his leg. he gently pushes the dog off of him, petting behind its ears. tommy is a man, but even men are soft for dogs sometimes.

looking at eret’s dog reignites a familiar pain in his chest - the pain of losing his own dog, which he had called l’dog. he steadily tries to not think of the way the poor dog met its end.

he gets up completely off the bed, finding he can walk, but not without pain. he stumbles forward, and hates how vulnerable and weak he feels. he doesn’t have any weapons, any armour, nor any strength.

he remembers vaguely eret mentioning he had a bathroom near here so he peeks outside the door, and satisfied that the coast is clear, he checks a room perpendicular to the one he’d been sleeping in.

sure enough, it’s a bathroom. tommy thanks god for being merciful, for once.as he locks the door behind him, he washes his face, the cold water waking him up fully. tommy makes himself smile in the mirror, though it looks forced and awkward. there are black bags under his eyes, and his complexion is ghostly pale, his cheekbones visible. he doesn’t look much like himself - he looks sadder, smaller, younger.

he reaches up a hand to trace his eyelid, before flinching away. he looks at himself properly, and analyzes his face. a sudden fear that he isn’t real strikes him.

surely it can’t be him, surely the person looking back at him was not tommy, wilbur’s right hand man, one of the founders of l’amberg, the youngest member of the server, but definitely the loudest.

surely that is not him. since when was his hair so dull, his eyes so grey? surely. surely he can’t be real, that face is not his, this body is not his. tommy wonders is he’s even real.

tommy’s fingernails slowly dig into his cheeks, and before he realizes what he’s done, there blood trickling down his cheek. he pauses all movements, and looks at his bloody fingernails in despair. he looks into the mirror again and sees four small dents in his cheek, dripping blood.

he’s going mad, like wilbur. he’s got fucking ghosts in the head. he’s losing his mind, he’s batshit crazy, and nobody will ever ant anything to do with him, now.he cleans the cut with water, shaking. he’s not real, he’s not real, he’s not real.

tommy feels like he’s walking in a dream. he can’t feel himself grab a towel from the cupboard in the bathroom, and as he turns the shower on, he makes sure it’s freezing cold. maybe that’ll snap him out of wahrer he’s experiencing. it’s like he’s on the edge of consciousness, like half his thoughts are fuzzy and broken and the other half are too clear, too coherent, too stark.

his hands are shaking, he realizes, and he’s sitting in the shower all of a sudden, though he doesn’t remember getting in. he feels his eyelids grow heavy, and though he feels a mild burst of panic at the thought of falling asleep in the shower, mostly he’s too tired to fight it.

when he next opens his eyes, he’s sitting at a table, across from niki. there’s a cup in front of him, and tommy thinks it might be tea. that’s nice, tommy hasn’t had tea in a while.

“so, tommy what do you think?” she asks, and tommy cannot tell for the life of him what she is talking about. he’s not shaking anymore, so that’s good, he supposes.

he stumbles and stutters over his words, and asks her to explain. niki smiles kindly, and says, “do you want to go with schalt and tubbo to fish later on today? you mentioned wanting to meet tubbo’s dad earlier.”

tommy didn’t even know tubbo had a father. he thinks he might be going crazy, because he remembers none of what niki is talking about. he feels confused, and lost, and worst of all, scared.

at th mention of schlatt, tommy feels a sort of anger rise up in him. “what? no! i… i hate schlatt! he exiled me!”

niki nods understandingly, “i get that. he hurt you, and i’m sorry. i was just wondering, because tubbo thinks he’s not that bad.”

“tubbos a traitor anyways,” tommy says, under his breath, and immediately regrets it. tubbos not a traitor, tommy thinks, he is. he has betrayed his country by being too weak to stand up to wilbur. everything feels fuzzy again.

niki looks at him, concerned, and tommy can’t stand it. he can’t stand the pity he’s getting from everyone, like he’s some lost, abused child. niki probably thinks the reason he won’t go stupid fucking fishing is because he’s scared of schlatt. he’s not scared of schlatt, he’ll never be. (the mild fright he feels faced with schlatt will never be the same as the terror he feels faced with wilbur.)

“you know what? i’ve changed my mind,” tommy announces suddenly, after a pause, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “i’ll go fishing with tubbo, provided schlatt promises to not throw me into a river.”

niki laughs, and tommy feels it dampen his mood because he sure she’s laughing out of pity. she doesn’t actually like being around him, she just feels sorry for him. niki is just being polite by laughing, he reminds himself.

and tommy hates that, but what can he do? he’s at her and eret’s mercy for now, and he will be for the foreseeable future, until he can get back to pogtopia, and more importantly get back to wilbur.

so he swallows his pride, and as he walks towards the coords eret gave him to meet up with schlatt and tubbo, he feels a sense of dread. eret had offered to walk with him, but he had hissed and seethed that he wasn’t a child, and eret had given him space.

he knows eret probably wanted to make sure his leg was okay, but it’s pisses tommy off. he just wants to be okay.

tommy just wants to be okay.

he tries to cheer himself up by thinking that he’ll get to see tubbo agin, but all he really feels is despair. he worries he won’t get along with tubbo anymore. he’s changed so much, he barely feels like a person sometimes.

and as for schlatt...

that man makes him feel uncontrollable rage. he hates him with all his heart. schlatt is a bastard, a bitch, and any curse word he can think of. he hates schlatt, and he is sure schlatt hates him too.

he forces himself to still his shaking hands by shoving them in his pockets, and continues to walk. he feels pathetic and stupid and anxious and scared.

he feels like a child again, following techno and wilbur into some dodgy forest, except then techno would hold his hand and reassure him that everything would be okay.

tommy hates the now techno. he hates techno for leaving him with wilbur, he hates techno for killing his best friend, he hates techno for everything he’s done to him, from things as small as breaking his armour to techno leaving him in pogtopia.

he feels like he might start crying there and then but he blinks back the tears, and keeps walking. it’s not really a long walk at all to the river but tommy has purposefully been taking his time. he doesn’t want to face schlatt and tubbo, not really.

he hasn’t gone fishing since the smpearth times, when phil would visit business bay and sit with him on their docks and talk. tommy misses those times.

his heart aches. he misses smpearth, when he fought with phil and wilbur and techno, except it wasn’t real. they never fought to kill, tommy fought to be a nuisance and techno fought for fun. the wars didn’t mean anything, they were just friendly arguments and showing off and garnering sympathy to piss of eachother.

it was out of mild annoyance and mischief, not hatred.

but these last wars….

tommy doesn’t know how much he has left in him.

he reaches his given coordinates, a nice little pier jutting out on the river, calm and quiet. he sits at the edge by himself, waiting for schlatt and tubbo to show up.

after maybe five minutes of waiting, he hears two voices, one chipper and bright, the other gruff. he sighs. tubbo and schlatt are here.

“tommy!” he hears tubbo yell, and he can’t suppress a smile. he’s missed tubbo.

he turns around, with a small, “hey, man.”

tubbo pulls him in for a hug at the edge of the pier. schlatt stands a little further away, but he gives a small smile, when tubbo turns back to him and gives him a thumbs up.

it pisses tommy off, but he doesn’t say so. he finds he has a harder time being angry at people nowadays. he doesn’t know what happened to him, he used to be so wild and untamable and rowdy.

he’s cut off from his thoughts by schlatt sitting on the the other side of tubbo, and handing him a fishing rod. “you ever learned to fish?” he asks tommy, and tommy responds with a curt, “yeah, i know how to.”

“who taught you?” schlatt asks pleasantly, and tommy’s about to give an annoyed answer before he realizes that schlatt is trying to start a conversation with him. tommy has a horrible feeling that schlatt is trying to mock him, but he pushes it down.

“philza,” he answers.

“yeah, i remember philza,” schlatt says, “he and i, we had a hardcore world together.” he turns to tubbo. “do you know philza?”

tubbo nods, “yeah, he was on techno’s faction in smpearth.”

they fall into an easy enough conversation, about past worlds and past servers. weirdly enough, tommy doesn’t take every chance he gets to insult schlatt. schlatt is courteous, so tommy is too.

the conversation turns to family again, and schlatt asks tommy, “hey, how techno’s been doing as of late?”

tommy feels his throat close up. the hand holding his fishing rod shakes, and he opens his mouth to answer with something normal, but he finds he can’t. after an awkward pause, schlatt moves on smoothly, asking tubbo about how the manberg bakery has been going.

tommy feels grateful for the diversion, and tries to listen to what tubbo is saying. he finds he can’t concentrate, as he involuntarily spaces out. he looks over the river, trying to get a grip on himself.

tubbo is looking at him now, and tommy finds he can’t force himself to tear his gaze away from the water. he must be going insane - there’s no other explanation for his strange and concerning behavior.

schlatt is saying something, and out of the corner of his eye tommy sees tubbo nod, then stand up and leave. tommy knows he should probably follow, he doesn’t want to be left alone with schlatt, but it’s like his limbs are locked because he can’t move.

tommy doesn’t even realize how ragged his breathing is until he hears schlatt say, “copy my breathing, okay kid? in for seven, hold for five, and out for eight, yeah?”

he tries to imitate schlatt’s breathing, and after what must be ten minutes, tommy calms down, and he finds he can move his hands again. he rasps out a quiet, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay,” schlatt says. “you’re okay.”

tommy’s gut churns, he doesn’t know why schlatt’s being so nice. tommy’s not an idiot, he knows kindness has to be repaid, and he has nothing to pay schlatt with. wilbur taught him very well that he had to repay what he took, be it people’s kindness, time or effort.

he breathes slowly and deliberately, the world coming back to him now. rolling back his shoulder, he straightens his neck and turns to schlatt. “thank you, really.” he’d like to say more, but his voice is small and weak, so he leaves it.

“it’s no problem,” schlatt responds, in a calm, gruff voice, and tommy feels more at ease. he pushes down the burning shame he feels for being vulnerable in front of one of his worst enemies.

“i sent tubbo to go check on one of those small houses on the west side of the forest,” schlatt explains. “he’ll be back in a few.”

tommy nods, and asks what’s been on his straggled mind, “is tubbo your son then?”

schlatt smiles ruefully. “yeah, he is. why do you think i came to this server?”

“to ruin my fucking life?” tommy supplies, and immediately regrets opening his mouth. it’s never a good idea to piss someone off who’s much taller and much stronger than you, especially when you’re in private, tommy has learnt.

schlatt sighs, and places a gentle hand out tommy’s shoulder, frowning when the boy flinches. “you know tommy, i’m really sorry about that. i didn’t realize how bad of a denison it was until i’d already got tubbo to chase you out. i’ve taken the decree back, if it makes any difference. you’re welcome to stay in l’manberg, it is your country, after all.”

tommy doesn’t really know what to say to all that. “you exiled me and wilbur,” he says, as if trying to get something straight in his mind.

“i did,” schlatt confirms.

“and you take it back?”

“i do,” schlatt reassures.

tommy buries his face in his hands, “what the fuck? what the fuck, man? how do i trust you? how do i tell wilbur? why were you so cruel, to me, to wil, to niki? how’s the government running? what’s eret’s place in all this? why did you do it” tommy hates how his voice becomes shrill and breaks, but he can’t help it. he feels like a confused, lost child, and he despises himself for it.

“i’ll tell wilbur,” schlatt says, “i was cruel because i wanted to secure my presidential win, and because i was fucking stupid. nothing else is worth worrying about. you need to take a break, tommy, that’s what you need to do.”

“fuck off,” tommy says, close to tears, his words muffled by his hands. “fuck off, you don’t know shit.”

“i know what’s been happening with you and wilbur-“

tommy whips his head up, eyes ablaze. “shut the fuck up! shut up, you don't know anything. i don’t care what you’re going to say, shut up! don’t you talk about wilbur and pretend you know anything about him!” his voice grows louder and louder, and he has to mentally restrain himself from throwing a punch.

schlatt doesn’t get mad at him, or yell, or hit him. he sits beside him, his hand still on tommy’s shoulder. “it’s okay tommy,” he says, “it’s okay.”

tommy stands up, “it’s not-“ he chokes out, and he’s crying, he’s actually crying.

schlatt stands up as well and pulls him into a hug. tommy sobs into his chest, his hand wavering in the air, as if he might hit schlatt, but the hit never comes.

“i- fuck,” he says, his voice strangled, “i don’t know, i don’t fucking know. don’t talk about wilbur, i can’t stand it.”

“i won’t, i won’t,” schlatt soothes, and tommy wonders how such a shit person can be so kind. “i won’t bring him up again, okay tommy? now come on, let’s get you home.” his voice is so gentle that tommy finds himself agreeing, and he dries his tears.

schlatt passes him a tissue, and tommy blows his nose, taking a deep breath.

they walk home in silence, meeting tubbo halfway. it’s not an uncomfortable silence.

schlatt drops him off at eret’s castle, where tommy supposes he has to stay at for now. it’s not so bad, because niki and fundy and quackity live there too. had tommy been more optimistic, he would’ve thought of it as a fun roommate situation.

for now though, he regards it as a nuisance, because he’s terrified of people and how easy betrayal is.

schlatt doesn’t mention his panic attack or outburst to anyone else, and tommy is grateful again.

when he sleeps that night, again with eret’s dog, he finds himself sleeping easier than he has in the last half-year.

Chapter Text

the next day is a blur. tommy simply stumbles through it, his vision blurry and his hearing hazy. it feels like a dream, almost. when he settles into bed again, he doesn’t remember a single thing he did. he does, however, remember feelings of pure fear. he feels as though it had something to do with breaking glass. he hates the sound of breaking glass. it makes him sad.

(it reminds him of angry wilbur, of screamed insults, of the horrible sound of glass mashing against wood, of shards being stuck in his palms.)

he distracts himself with thoughts of eret. eret makes him feel safe now, which is a terrible thing, because it’s going to hurt so much more when eret turns on him. and eret will turn on him, because everyone will. wilbur said they would, and wilbur is almost always right. but for now, eret is a solidly kind person, who puts up with tommy’s weird mood swings and attitude and his plain fucking annoying persona.

tommy wants to appreciate him, but every time he opens his mouth to thank him, he hears wilbur standing behind him, hissing, traitor, traitor, traitor. (the worst part is, tommy can’t tell who wilbur is insulting.)

tommy let eret hug him and it felt agonizing.

he turns over in bed, trying to get comfortable.

he locks his door before he sleeps, now. there wasn’t a lock before, but he gathers some iron from his enderchest made one himself out of iron, and it works pretty well. he doesn’t know why he makes a lock. (it better be worthwhile, though, because tommy put precious iron into that. he knows he can get more iron, but all his things are precious to him. he’s like a very sad, very clingy squirrel, stashing all his possessions close to his chest, fearful that he will lose them.) tommy supposes it’s because he’s scared. he won’t admit that thought, not to himself, nor someone else.

tommy doesn’t want to admit to himself that he's scared of someone coming into his room and hurting him while he’s asleep, because then eret or niki or fundy would ask him questions, and eret would use that calm, quiet voice that reminds him painfully of wilbur. and then tommy might spill, he might snitch, and then wilbur will kill him. wilbur will make him regret it.

tommy thinks he hates eret. he hates him for leading l’manberg’s citizens to their deaths, he hates eret for scheming with dream, he hates eret for trading their lives away for some more gold, a castle, and a title that cost everything but meant nothing at all.

maybe, tommy wonders to himself, maybe if eret stayed wilbur wouldn’t have lost his mind. maybe, he wonders, if eret hadn’t betrayed them first wilbur wouldn’t have been so paranoid. if it weren’t for fucking eret, wilbur would still be himself, and they would still be in their little office, curled up together taking a nap. wilbur would run his hands through tommy’s hair, and eret could come over and take embarrassing photos of the president and his right hand man cuddled up together, and everyone would tease them fondly and tubbo would bully him for being clingy and everything would be okay.

but the more rational part of tommy thinks maybe if he had been a better right hand man, if he had been a more supportive person, wilbur wouldn’t have gone crazy. maybe, if he had been good, a good person, a good soldier, a good brother, wilbur wouldn’t be the way he was.

maybe it was never eret’s fault, but tommy’s.

maybe wilbur wouldn’t beat him up if he stopped being so fucking annoying.

maybe the reason tommy hates eret is because he’s scared.

and that is a terrifying though, because tommy is a big man who isn’t scared of anything. but here tommy is, scared of eret because sometimes he looks like wilbur, which is simultaneously so comforting and so scary. sometimes tommy wonders if he pissed off eret enough the man would push him against a wall and pull his hair out and break his nose, like wilbur would.

he’s scared because maybe eret will use every fear tommy has ever had agaisnt him. maybe eret will turn on him, like wilbur has so many times. maybe eret will break down tommy into nothing until he’s dust, until tommy’s chest is hollow and broken and empty. maybe eret will hurt him in ways that will never reach his tongue, in ways that will burn tommy’s lungs and throat, too much to bear but too little to spit out.

but maybe….

maybe the reason tommy hates eret is because he’s jealous.

he’s jealous that eret left first. sometimes tommy kids himself that eret never left for the gold, he left because he was the first one to hear the manic edge to wilbur’s laugh. it makes the little metallic pain in tommy’s head feel more jarring. it hurts to think about. he feels so confused, all the time. because surely, it eret knew wilbur was going downhill, why didn’t he bring tommy with him. him and eret were the best of friends, once. why did eret never care?

tommy can remember good times with eret, he remembers the tower of power, he remembers eret lending him his sunglasses. he remembers tubbo and eret and fundy and wilbur and him, all messing around and having fun. he remembers other things, like planking tubbo with fundy, like meeting with purpled in the ufo.

it feels like those memories were a lifetime ago.

he feels like everything was a life time ago - he’s not sure if he’s real.

god, he needs to sleep.

he does his nightly ritual of knocking on his chest, and it’s sounds like it's solid, but he wonders - just wonders, maybe it is hollow. tommy has a terrible fear that someday, someone will find his dead body, and they’ll cut open his chest, only to find nothing at all.

(tommy has a terrible memory of wilbur, ranting to himself, scorched into his brain. though wil’s words are slurring, tommy could make out a, “i’m cold on the inside, and tommy is empty. empty, empty, empty, like the fucking vast expanse of sea i’ve never sailed, like the plains and desert up north i’ve seen too little of. and i’m cold on the inside, freezing like a fucking tundra, a boreal climate doomed to frost over, in absense of the sunlight, in a sense of warmth, in a sense of anything that matters.”

tommy had turned his ear from the keyhole he listened through and pushed his pillow tight over his head.)

tommy often thinks of cutting open his chest and pulling out his heart, and examining in it to find out why it hurts so much, he vaguely knows it’s such a morbid thought, but he just wants to know, it hurts all the time. it barely feels real. but most of all, he’s scared of cutting open his chest, and finding nothing, just like wilbur said he would.

eret, unlike wilbur, lets him keep a sword. he makes tommy promise to not hurt anyone, (he leaves it unspoken that he’s asking tommy to not hurt himself,) and tommy is grateful. he doesn’t say it, though.

(when tommy talks to eret, wilbur’s voice in th back of his head gets louder. tommy gets quieter.)

he picks up the sword, slowly, gently. he runs his fingers slowly over the blade,
as if he’s in a. dream. he pulls of his shirt. it feels wrong,and he’s scared that someone will see his back, and with it the words carved into it, but he continues.

it strikes him now, how much his ribs poke out. it looks unnatural.

wilbur was right, it seems. nobody would ever want him now. (tommy distantly wonders why it matters.)

he angles the word, and points it at his chest, and then, he, cuts.

one line down. he doesn’t know where his lungs are, or if he even has any. he just wants to anke sure he’s not hollow on the inside.

he pushes the knife in deeper, and tears blur his vision. he can hear himself sobbing, and he tries to shut his voice up - it doesn’t work. (it never does.) tommy is often a loud, ugly crier.

what must he look like? he’s officially gone fucking crazy, just like wilbur. he’s just like wilbur, a terrible, awful person, who hurt everyone they love. except wilbur isn’t a terrible awful person, he’s kind and he looks after tommy, and he only punishes him when he deserves it, and tommy always deserves it, except that’s not right because nobody deserves to be hurt like that, except- except-

except tommy. because he’s a bad, unlovable kid.

he’s a terrible kid, and he deserves it.

it’s what wilbur always says.

“bad tommy,” he mumbles to himself, “bad tommy. runs away, hurts himself, hurts others. bad tommy, doesn’t learn, bad tommy, won’t learn, bad tommy, can’t learn.” the knife digs deeper into his chest. it hurt so much, but he can’t pull it away.

there’s no reason as to why tommy wouldn’t deserve it. if he didn’t, why didn’t anyone come and save him? why didn’t anyone stop him before wilbur did it? why didn’t eret come for him sooner? why, why, why…? tommy tries to keep a coherent thought train, but he’s so sleepy, and the sword is so heavy. at last, he drops it, too tired to shrug a shirt back on.

the sword clamps on the floor, and tommy flinches. laying his head against his pillow, he shuts his eyes. blood drips down his chest.

but it’s nothing he should worry himself about.

Chapter Text

when tommy wakes up, everything hurts. he opens his eyes blearily. his mouth moves to groan, but no sound comes out except for a pained half-growl.

his vision is blurry, the lights are too bright, his head too heavy to look up. he blinks hard, reaching a shaky, lead-filled hand to brush back his what should be cascading but is instead matted curls. he reopens his eyes, greeted by the sight of his room. or rather, eret's room.

he's not laying on his stomach anymore, he's on his back. his covers are pulled up, and his sword is nowhere in sight. he musters up the energy (and, ashamedly, the courage) to sit up, leaning heavily against the bed frame.

he takes a deep breath, and pulls off the cover. his hands fiddle underneath his shirt, and he finds, instead of soft and bruised skin, bandages. bloody bandages, stained red and brown, evidently in need of changing. tommy breathes out slowly. it’s not as gorey as he was expecting it to be. he was luckily not the poor soul who had to look at his turned out insides, navigate through the bloody layers of skin and flesh, clean the wound and then bandage it neatly.

tommy feels a surge of guilt. niki probably had to do it. and she was probably mad at him for leaving her to do all the dirty work. and she will probably expect payment back for it. and tommy doesn’t have anything to pay her with. which means she’ll want something else.

tommy squeezes his eyes shut. she’ll do what wilbur did, she’ll do worse, maybe, because he deserves it.

he wishes she had left him to die in this room, covered in blood and drenched in fear, simple and quiet. it would’ve been so much easier on everyone. no more tommy is no more trouble, and no more trouble is a good thing. no more tommy is a good thing. tommy is a bad thing.

tommy reopens his eyes, slowly and surely. he still feels dizzy, but less so than when he woke up. as long as nobody else comes in, and tommy is left here to wallow in shame and his corpse has enough time to rot beyond recognition, everything will be fine.

tommy resigns himself to death in this room, which is surprisingly easy. he hasn’t wanted to live in a very long time.

god, he’s been awake twenty seconds and he’s already in a downward spiral.

the door opens.

it’s eret.

tommy flinches so hard he falls backward off the bed.

eret is at his side in a second, picking him up and placing him back down, worry clearly etched into his face.

“tommy?” he says, very gently, very kindly, like he’s treating a sick puppy, and that makes tommy’s blood boil, because what right does eret have? his bastard, this funding traitor, he looks exactly like wilbur, (and acts the exact apposite,) and he touches him and fixes him up, and treats him like a fucking sick puppy, like he can’t look after himself, how dare eret? how fucking dare he? eret is a twat, a treacherous fuck, a- a- a-

tommy’s anger cascades into tears, and with a single sob he opens the floodgates, and breaks down in tears. he cries, loud and ugly, eret heistantly wrapping his arms around his trembling frail form. tommy clutches onto eret for dear life, trying to tune out his sobbing and tune into erets whispers of, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

tommy can't bring himself to reply. he breathes in, breathe so7, his chest jerking and fingers twitching occasionally. eventually, his sobbing dies down, and he's left with heaving air, shaking quietly in eret's arms.

“you’re okay,” eret says, once more.

tommy takes a deep breath. he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.

“you’ve been out for a bit,” eret says, a little awkwardly. “i know you’re probably not in the mood, but you have to eat. up here or downstairs with everyone else? you won’t have to eat all of it, just a couple of bites.”

tommy blinks slowly, “up here, i guess, if that’s okay?” this is so weird, so awkward. tommy does everything wrong, jesus. he’s so odd and dramatic and cries over everything, and he keeps sobbing on eret, and the poor man probably feels really uncomfortable.

good, he should be uncomfortable, eret deserves to be uncomfortable. they all do - schlatt, niki, fundy, even tubbo - wilbur said they were all traitors.

oh god, wilbur.

he starts spiralling again, but eret has already nodded and walked out the door. so tommy’s on his own. he’s always on his fucking own.

no supervision.

no supervision?

eret takes his time with food. he’s one of those fucking weirdos. tommy has the time to get out.

but eret’s not a weirdo.

wilbur would think he was.

who cares what wilbur thinks?

tommy cares, of course he does, he misses wilbur. he wants to go home.

he could go home now. tommy sits up before standing, looking out the window. he’s dizzy and frail, but he’s been through worse. wilbur has done worse to him. he needs to go north, north is to wilbur, north is to pogtopia. they had changed the entrances, nobody would find him, nobody would find pogtopia.

tommy desperately wants wilbur.

but he wants to be safe too, and he knows wilbur is not safe.

but it’s not fair to leave wilbur to be unsafe by himself? tommy owes it to wilbur to try to look after him.

eret will be back soon. tommy needs to make a decision. he gnaws at his fingers and knuckles, biting at skin. tommy needs to choose.

wilbur will kill him when he next sees him. wilbur will kill himself. wilbur loves tommy. wilbur hates tommy. wilbur will hurt him. eret will hurt him. tommy will hurt himself. why is it that in every fucking situation, in every hypothetical, tommy gets hurt? why is that a must, a necessity, for life? who decided that? why, why-

and tommy is being self-pitying again. wilbur said he shouldn’t do that.

tommy takes a deep breath, and gets up delicately. he doesn’t have anything to bring with him. he’s wearing eret’s clothes, probably, he has nothing. no possessions to call his own other than the one disc in his enderchest. tommy talks his finger on the bed frame. he can stand up okay, he can walk, as long as he goes slowly.

tommy shuts his eyes.

reopens them.

and jumps out the window.

he hits the ground hard, crying out. he doesn’t hear a crack, just a thump, and assumes there will be masses of bruises on his legs tomorrow. that’s fine. the castle isn’t too tall, tommy’s not sure what he was expecting. maybe he wanted to die from the fall.

the height wasn’t even tall enough to break a bone. he’s being dramatic - it’s fine. he starts sprinting, but then immediately slows to an awkward jog. he feels dizzy already, which can’t be good.

north, or was it west? maybe south? no, not south. south is to the ditches. it’s north. tommy heads north. his head is spinning and the ground beneath him sways, and he’s dangerously close to coughing up his own blood - christ, his chest hurts so much - but tommy has been through wars and worse. he is brave, and he can bear it.

he can bear anything for wilbur. for wilbur, all for wilbur. why is everything about tommy for wilbur? why can’t he be a person in his own right? why does everyone else get to be their first and last name, while tommy gets only one? why does tommy have to live his life in relevance to wilbur? why do all his thoughts revolve around him, every second of the fucking day?

why is he shaking - why is he crying?

tommy stops walking, jogging, whatever. he kneels down, bare calves against the grass.

tommy pokes at the soles of his shoes. why did he have shoes on in bed? what was that about? tommy would have laughed at the absurdity if he wasn’t so close to pulling out every strand of hair on his head in despair.

he rubs at his eyes harshly, trying to make it hurt. he’s okay, he’s okay. he’s out of sight, out of mind, away from eret and dream and fundy and tubby and schlatt.

he’s okay.

he takes another deep breath, and gets up again. he walks slowly, this time, trying to conserve energy. he doesn’t have to run a mad dash like a frightened lamb. wilbur always hated him being a scaredy cat.

he’s a big man, a big strong man, like techno - no, not like techno, fuck techno - he’s like- he’s like- he’s not like anyone, he’s his own person.

yes, tommy is his own person, a strong person at that, and now he’s going home to wilbur.

except not yet, because the sun is setting. has tommy really been walking for a whole day? his legs are shakey and they hurt, but then again, they always hurt. everything always hurts, that’s just life at this point. war really does something to a man, huh?

tommy’s smart enough, he knows how to survive out in the wild for a little. phil, back in the day, had taught him quite a bit. moving to the dreamsmp had taught him to build better, and starting pogtopia from nothing was a challenge, but it taught him to be resourceful.

pogtopia was cold and barren, devoid of warmth and devoid of love, but at least there was food. wilbur had brought a hoard of sheep into the caverns, locked them up, and set tommy to breeding and shearing and slaying them.

it was easy enough work, simple and rewarding. it was a solid source of meat, and coupled with the bread wilbur has baked out of wheat, a solid source of energy.

wilbur was always nagging at tommy to eat more. tommy’s not sure why he didn’t eat, there was no food insecurity holding him back. he supposes he was just too scared, too nervous to keep anything down, and it’s showing. his ribs stick through his skin, and to be honest, his hand looks more dead than alive, boney and thin.

he looks wrong.

tommy tries to shake the thoughts out of his head.

he looks fine. it’s fine.

night is approaching, and he’s going to be fine, ‘long as he makes himself a pickaxe and mines out a hidey-hole. he trudges forward, across a plains he has never seen. tommy wants to find beauty in it, marvel at nature like he would when he was a child, but can’t seem to do it.

everything seems so dull now, and with darkness setting over as far as he can see, it’s not like there’ll be any beauty to find.

except it’s not completely dull - there’s a source of light. perhaps lava? tommy walks closer, and makes out a building. is this someone’s base?

his eyes trace out the silhouette of torches, and it’s a village.

oh, this makes things so much easier.

villagers are kind enough. they’ll take pity on a shivering skinny child like tommy, and let him stay the night. he’ll harvest and replant some of their crops to stay in their good books, and then he can get back to wilbur.

he almost laughs in relief. it really is going to be okay.

he steps into one of the empty houses, locking the door firmly behind him. it’s warm enough, and there’s a scraggly bed in the corner. it’s late; none of the villagers are awake at this time.

tommy lays down his weary head to rest, breathing in, breathing out.

he’s gonna be okay.