Chapter Text
Tommy’s in trouble.
There are more than a few eyes trained on him at the moment. They’re sat in Fundy’s house-- it’s currently the one with the most room, a table being set up for this impromptu meeting that had been called that morning, the word spread out by communicator to all citizens of L’Manberg. Niki is to Tommy’s direct left, Ranboo beside her. He won’t look Tommy in the eye, no matter how many friendly smiles Tommy had thrown his way that morning. Quackity, Tubbo, and Fundy are all in one corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. Phil is noticeably absent, and when Tommy checks his communicator there are no new messages from his dad.
He pretends like it doesn’t sting a bit.
Puffy enters, heads shooting up as she does, a bit breathless.
“Sorry!” She says, the smile dropping off her face some. Tommy doesn’t mind Puffy-- she’s nice, sure. Mischievous, definitely. American and a woman? Well, eh. Karl pulls out the chair beside him for her and she takes her seat, leaving the rest of the table for the three in the corner.
The cabinet. He should be a part of that, shouldn’t he?
That thought dawns too late.
Tubbo catches his eye as they make their way over, and suddenly Tommy’s distinctly aware he’s in trouble again.
“So,” Tubbo says, gingerly sitting down across the table from Tommy exactly. “We’ve got a new wall. New perimeters.”
“And the L’Mantree, technically,” Niki pipes up, tipping her head toward one of the windows. Faintly, Tommy can see the top of it over the obsidian.
“He burnt down Manifoldland! And my house!” Jack says from his spot against the wall, throwing a hand out. “The donation trees!”
“Look, I think--” Tubbo cuts in and starts to say something, but it’s lost as Puffy starts to make her claim.
“I think we should just expand the borders ourselves, it’ll--”
“I don’t have any more obsidia--”
“ENOUGH!” Tubbo’s shout comes as a shock to all of them. Quackity flinches a bit to his left. The room is silent. Tommy doesn’t dare open his mouth.
He wonders when the last time he and Tubbo hung out, just the two of them. Before the final battle, for sure. Before the presidency. Before the explosion and everything.
“Will you all shut up,” Tubbo says, rubbing his head slightly. He looks tired. Tommy wonders how long he’s had the shadows under his eyes. “Please. Look. We know why Dream started this, he explained it himself. That’s the first thing we’re here to address. Tommy.” Tommy’s spine snaps up straight, his slouch disappearing as everyone turns to look at him. “Care to explain George’s house?”
Well, shit. “It wasn’t just me,” he begins, and he can see Ranboo shuffle slightly in his peripheral vision. Tubbo just sighs.
“Tommy,” he says, slowly sitting back down in his seat again. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t supposed to catch the whole thing on fire,” Tommy says meekly. He feels like a child being scolded, and he hates it. “Really. It was an accident. I didn’t know Dream would go batshit over it.”
“He took half our land,” Niki says from beside Tommy again. “He asked where the borders were, but completely disregarded anything I said.”
“He doesn’t think of us as legitimate,” Tubbo says, and Tommy narrows his eyes a bit. Of course they’re legitimate-- they just took the country back from a fucking dictator. Yeah, it was a bit unorthodox, but technically they didn’t even kill Schlatt. He died on his own-- if anything, the transfer of power was quite peaceful. Except for Wilbur blowing everything up, but that was probably unavoidable Tommy thinks, even if the thought of his brother makes his gut roll uncomfortably. He glances around the room, wondering if Wilbur’s even here.
Tubbo presses on. “He says the treaties don’t hold up anymore. Which is a problem, because we’ve just lost what we were fighting for. And it doesn’t help that some people aren’t able to foster that peace.”
“It was an accident.”
“An ‘accident’ that might reignite a war, Tommy!”
“This isn’t my fault, so stop insinuating it is!”
“But it IS your fault!” Tubbo slams his hands onto the table and suddenly the room is deathly, deathly silent.
“Excuse me?” Tommy asks, and he pretends his voice doesn’t crack a bit.
“You burnt down George’s house,” Tubbo starts, “and you messed with Bad’s house, and you’ve antagonized every single person who could possibly want to start beef with us lately. If we go to war, it is going to be your fault now! I didn’t want this! This was supposed to be peaceful! Instead, you run off, not listening to me even though I’m in charge, I’m the president, I make the rules--” Tubbo chokes slightly at this, but comes back with even more fervor. “I’m not letting our country blow up again, especially since it’ll take us with it!”
“Tubbo, that’s ridiculous.” Tommy stands, gesturing around. “Look at us, we’re not fucking weak. Even if we start another war, we’ve got numbers on our side and power--”
“THERE IS NOT GOING TO BE ANOTHER WAR!” Tubbo shouts, and his chest is heaving so heavily Tommy’s sort of frightened he’s going to pass out. They’re staring at each other, and Tubbo almost looks frantic. “No one… no one is going to die. No one. No one is going to get blown up or killed or--” Tubbo sucks in a breath and Tommy thinks maybe something is terribly wrong and maybe, just maybe, he has noticed too late.
“I’m stripping you of your title,” Tubbo says, and beside him Niki’s hand flies up to her mouth. Right. They have an audience.
“What?” Tommy asks, and he fights the urge to glance around but does so anyways. Everyone in the room looks slightly uncomfortable, and slightly shocked.
“You’re on probation from vice presidential duties,” Tubbo says, and the next remark comes out biting. “Not like you’ve been doing them anyways.” He shoves himself back and away from the table, running a hand through his hair and taking a moment to smooth down his shirt. The movement is so uniquely foriegn to Tommy that he almost double-takes, and for a moment there’s a flicker of someone else in those actions. Someone who is definitely dead, and six feet under to boot. “I’m going to speak with Dream,” Tubbo says, and no one moves a muscle. “Fundy, Quackity, come with me. Niki, you too.” Tommy can’t move. He’s frozen, even as the room seems to burst back into life as Niki stands up from her seat and Fundy and Quackity move from their spots. Jack is whispering to Eret. Ranboo is staring at his communicator, and Tommy’s gaze flicks desperately from person to person. None of them will meet his eyes.
“Tubbo--” he tries, desperately hoping that maybe this one last time something will poke through. Nothing seems to hit, though, and Tubbo is glaring at him.
“Shut up , Tommy,” he says. “You’ve done enough.”
And then he’s gone.
People file out slowly, whispering among themselves. Tommy can’t find it in himself to move. His hands clenched into fists on the table, nails digging into his palms as he stares at the grain of the wood and wills himself not to cry. Something ruffles his hair and it might be Wilbur, it might be a draft, but either way he doesn’t move until everyone, until everything is gone.
Tommy thinks he may have just ruined what little good was left in his life.
When he finally leaves, it’s to go find Phil.