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"Can you talk?" Tubbo asks.
Tommy swallows hard. He's still shaking violently despite the light blanket that his friend gave him to drape over his shoulders, despite the fact that he's sitting in front of the fireplace in Tubbo's little Snowchester log cabin. If he's being honest, he hasn't stopped shaking in weeks. Months. Years? He doesn't remember the last time he wasn't like this.
"Yeah," he mumbles thickly. His tongue feels heavy and wrong, like it doesn't belong in his mouth. His voice is hoarse from not having spoken in… in a while. "I can talk."
Tubbo clears his throat, glancing into the fire. "Good, good," he says softly, and shifts his position on the couch. Tommy yelps and flinches so hard that the blanket slips off and pools behind him. His heart is racing a million fucking miles a minute and he needs to fucking breathe, he needs to stop being so fucking jumpy and pathetic and he needs to get himself together. He forces himself back into his body again. No drifting. Breathe.
"I'm - so sorry," Tubbo is stammering, clearly worried. "I'll, uh, be careful how I move, I didn't mean to startle you."
Pity drips from his tongue like honey. Tommy wants to hit him. The only reason he doesn't is because he knows there will be consequences and he doesn't want to die again, he doesn't, he doesn't, he'd rather spend another month in exile than be thrown back into that understimulating hellhole. He shakes. He shakes. He wants to fucking hit something. He shoves his fists into his sides and hugs himself because he's the only one he knows won't hurt himself. Even then, he's not sure. Fuck, but he doesn't want to go down this train of thought.
"How were things," he forces out through gritted teeth, despising how pathetic he sounds. "after I disappeared?"
He can practically hear Tubbo's dumbfounded blinks, can practically see his stupid fucking face fall at how broken his friend looks. Tommy bends over on himself and shoves his face into his knees, mentally begging the older boy to just answer. Luckily, he does. "Well, Jack Manifold took over your hotel," Tubbo starts. "Cause he was the only employee that wasn't a robot. He got some good business, too. Bastard cheated me out of twenty diamonds."
Tommy doesn't respond. Tubbo continues. "Uh… Puffy and some others made memorials for you around the server. Foolish, can't remember who else. I think Ponk replanted his lemon tree. Ranboo… planted flowers at your house."
His chest fucking aches and he thinks he's going to be sick.
"Speaking of Ranboo," Tubbo says, and his voice is noticeably more warbly and nervous sounding now. "Me and him started a, uh… a B&B. Called the Bee 'n' Boo. We've been building it for a couple weeks now, it's been good. And. Uh." He's tapping his fingers on the couch now, leg bouncing rapidly. Tommy sits up slightly for just a moment to see the strained look on Tubbo's face. "Uh."
"What?" Tommy rasps, coughing into his sleeve when his voice comes out hoarse. Tubbo wordlessly passes him a jug of water and he gulps it down greedily, not caring about how it spills down his shirt. "Whatever you're gonna tell me, just fuckin' spit it out. There's nothing I'm surprised by anymore."
Tubbo hesitates, drawing further into himself. "Well, uh," he drags out, clicking his tongue nervously. "Me and Ranboo got… married?"
Tommy chokes on his water and spits half of it out onto the floor. Tubbo rushes to explain. "Not really, though!" he says loudly, holding up both hands in front of him. Even in the light of the fire, Tommy can see how bright red his face has gone. "We're not properly married, we just - uh - started saying we were, and it was a joke at first but now it's kind of not? Cause we've got, like, promise rings - are you ok? Tommy, breathe -"
"I die -" Tommy coughs, sitting up to look directly into Tubbo's eyes even as his own water. "for three fuckin' days, and you get fucking married to Ranboo?"
Tubbo lets out an embarrassed high pitched squeaking noise. Tommy wipes his face, gathering himself, and pulls his blanket back around himself again. "So are you, like, dating?" he asks. "Is that what this is?"
Tubbo pulls an awkward grin and shrugs. Tommy can't help but laugh, the first genuine laugh he's come out with in weeks. It feels good. He's missed Tubbo. "Fuckin' hell," he mutters, lifting an arm to drag his fingers through his hair roughly. The sensation feels nice, but his arm aches and he has to stop. His scalp burns from the lack of contact. "I leave for a couple weeks and everything goes to goddamn shit."
He suddenly snorts as an idea comes to him. "Am I gonna have to give Ranboo the shovel talk?" he giggles. "As your, like, younger brother, is that my responsibility now? If so, I accept it with great pride, and will gladly threaten Ranboo -"
"Oh, fuck, please do not threaten my - threaten Ranboo," Tubbo groans. He's laughing too, muffled by his sleeve. "This poor guy's nervous enough about how people would react. I think he's scared Techno's gonna kill him."
This makes Tommy laugh harder. "Me and Techno agree on one thing and it's that we will commit a murder if you ever get hurt," he teases. "Where does Ranboo live again? I'll go find him and be like "hey, I'm not dead, bitch, heard you were dating my brother -"
"Oh, you would never -"
And then Tubbo pretends to swat Tommy's arm with his sleeve and the younger boy gasps and recoils harshly, retreating back to his side of the couch, and the joking comes to an abrupt end.
Tubbo's eyes are wide and concerned. "Sorry," he gasps, his shoulders shooting to his ears. "Sorry, sorry, forgot, I forgot."
Tommy stares down at his knees again. He's gone back to shaking. It had died down just a little while they were messing around, but now it's back full force and he feels like it's stealing the air from his lungs. Tubbo's sleeve against his arm stings even though his Snowchester jacket. He can feel hands all over him. Phantom pains of bruises and scrapes and cuts from being slammed against the uneven obsidian floor over and over and being grabbed and punched and kicked until he couldn't even feel anymore except hot blood welling up inside and outside of his skin, vessels bursting and bones cracking -
Tubbo is snapping his fingers and it's too fucking loud. "Breathe for me, Toms," he says softly, gently, holding eye contact with Tommy. "Breathe a sec. Just breathe."
And now he feels worse because he used to love that name, he used to soften every time Wilbur or Tubbo would call him their Tom with a fond smile and a warm laugh, but now all he can hear is him, mocking him, spitting the word in harsh tones. "Sit up, Toms," he'd snarl as he gripped the front of Tommy's shirt, his words grating against sensitive ears. "Hurry it up or you'll be seeing Wilbur and Schlatt again within the next five minutes. You're so fucking weak, Tom, aren't you? It wouldn't take much to send you right back to hell."
He's going to be sick. He's going to be sick.
"Tom? Hey, dude, sit up please, you've got dead pale - uh, really pale, I mean, sorry, wording -"
"Please stop," Tommy whimpers, and fuck, he's crumbling. Something burns the backs of his eyes and bile roils in his throat, hot and disgusting. "Don't call me that anymore."
Tom. Wilbur and Tubbo's Tom, their feisty, jokey little brother who never took shit from anyone. He wonders if the Tom he used to be would recognize him now.
He can't even hear Tubbo anymore. Blood is roaring in his ears, too fucking loud, and the sensation of everything is far too much. Every piece of stimulation is wrecking his brain - his clothes against his body, the couch under his legs, his sweaty hair in his face, the smell of smoke and coffee, the heat lapping against his bare skin, the water in his empty stomach, the crackling fire and roaring winds and Tubbo's voice and his own desperate sobs hitching in his throat -
And then he shatters. It's a simple affair. One minute he's just sitting and trying to catch his breath, the next he's screaming and tearing off his jacket because he can't fucking stand the harsh scraping against bare skin, not when everything is so ridiculously sensitive, and he's trying to claw out of his body because it feels too tight and small and gross and wrong and surely he doesn't belong here? Surely? The vomit arrives in his mouth and then he's falling to his knees and throwing up on the floor, and even that is too much for him, warm wood scraping against his palms and the pads of his fingertips. He isn't sure if he's breathing right. Everything is just - too hot and too cold and too loud and too grating and too heavy and too much, too goddamn much. His throat aches and the fucking sensation makes him want to be dead again if only to make this feeling stop.
Tubbo is in front of him. Of course he is. Tubbo is always right there when Tommy needs him, except he's not, is he? He wasn't there during exile. He wasn't there when Tommy was trapped. He wasn't there when Tommy died, or when he was brought back and threatened with death every day for a fucking week before Sam found him and dragged him out of that prison cell, half dead and incoherent, sick as fuck and terrified. He's still sick as fuck and terrified. He doesn't know why he's here. How did I even get to Snowchester? is the terrifying thought in his mind, yet another broken memory gap that he can't explain. I used to pride myself on my good memory. I used to pride myself on my good memory. I used to pride myself on my good memory.
"Tommy. Tommy, can you look at me? I need you to tune out everything else and focus on my voice. Just my voice. Look at me, just please look at me - would it help to go outside? Here, grab your jacket and your blanket, we can go outside if you need to. I don't think the heat is helping you. Tommy. Hey. You're ok, I'm not gonna touch you or hurt you."
Tubbo's voice is soothing. Calming. Tommy remembers when they were eleven and sang to each other all the time, when Tommy had panic attacks or Tubbo had nightmares and they'd hold each other's hands and sing softly to calm the other down while playing with their hair or dragging their thumb across their hand. Tommy had always been so embarrassed if someone else was around to hear, but Tubbo had never hesitated. He remembers a party in the village where they grew up where Tommy had gotten scared of a game the kids had come up with that involved being put in a closet while everyone else hid and had cried in front of everyone until Tubbo shouted at them to stop staring and had sang until he felt better. He misses when it was that easy. He misses when all he had to be scared of was a cramped, dark closet and the judgement of some kids he barely remembers.
He's standing up. Very unsteadily. And then he's falling, and catching himself because Tubbo steps away instead of touching him, which he's so grateful for that he'd cry harder if he was hydrated enough. Instead he just drags himself across the floor to the open doorway and collapses in between the inside and the outside, shivering and trembling violently while his head throbs from overstimulation. He just feels dizzy now. He's also still crying, as he dimly recognizes. How pathetic he must look right now.
His menu screen lights up, brightness all the way down but still so harsh on his eyes. Tommy squints to try and read it.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: hey i figured itd be easier to type insead of talk incase that was too much for you so hi
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: is there anything i can do to make you feel better
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: nobut thank you for tryong
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: im gonna sit next too you ok but i wont move close too you or try to touch you and i wont talk unless you want me to
He does exactly that. Tommy shudders and buries his face in his knees and shakes with sobs that make his head ache more. Everything hurts. Logically, he knows he's not being touched, but he can't help but feel fists and grabby hands and sharp nails all over his body, punching and tugging and piercing. He shudders and hugs himself. His ears ring and he can't hear his own thoughts.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: do you need water? or food? i can hear your stomck growling and you look really faint and white and im worried youll pass out
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: i might oass out but irll be good betterfor me thab this its all too muchr ight now
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: im gonna get you some water and a piece of bread. im gonna move but i wont touch you, promise
Tommy still jolts when he moves. Still sits ramrod straight until Tubbo's at his side again. When he glances up from his blanket cocoon, he sees a plate and a glass on the floor with a tea towel under them. He's not sure if the towel was placed deliberately so that the noise was muffled, but he's grateful anyway, more tears welling up in his eyes at the thoughtfulness of it.
He's too scared to eat.
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: i know im bbeing stupid but im scarwd hes gonna stop meif i tey to eat
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: that bastards not getting anywhere near you. i have nukes. he wouldnt dare come here. youre safe to to do whatever you want while youre in snowchester tommy i swear
Tubbo is the only person in the universe that Tommy trusts right now. And just the knowledge that he's nearby calms him enough to pick up the bread on the plate and eat slowly, cringing at the sounds his own chewing makes, shivering and eventually throwing it back down again. He feels worse. The taste is bland and he's afraid he'll throw up again.
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: im sorry im tryinf
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: youre ok youre ok take as much time as you need and ill be right here as long as you want me here
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: why are you beung so fuckimh nive to ne i dont underatnf
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: because youre my little brother and i love you
He's crying again.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: ill get you a straw so you can drink without spilling brb
And he does. And Tommy drinks. And nothing comes to take it from him. Nothing hurts him for daring to relax. Nothing laughs at him when he hiccups pathetically and scrubs his eyes with weak arms and slumps against the doorframe, exhausted. The overstimulation begins to die down.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: you ok?
He blinks rapidly, hating how even more tears well up. "Migraine," he croaks, his first spoken words in a while. "Really bad migraine. Hurts."
Tubbo has gotten migraines since he was a little kid. He's always had them, and they usually come on when the lights are too bright or the world around too noisy. Tommy's, however, have only arrived within the last year, ever since his first Canon death was caused by falling down a flight of stairs while already injured with Dream quickly in tow. Then the same day, his second Canon death was caused by an arrow to the forehead piercing his skull and his brain as he floated down to the bottom of a lake. Then his third Canon death was caused by his head being slammed into the floor. He's not had good luck with head injuries, and it shows in how sensitive he is to migraines after everything. It's pathetic, but he doesn't care. He whimpers, pressing his fingers to his temples and swallowing back the need to vomit again.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: i have healing potions but they never really work for my migraines so i also have tablets from the witch a couple miles away, they really help and i promise shes nice so theyre not poisoned
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: you still soeak to that wiych?
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: she likes me even if she is a bit standnoffinsh
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: what rhe fuck word did you jsut try and type
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: oh you know what i fucking mean
TommyInnit to Tubbo_: i really dont big man i really dont
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: then suffer
Tommy flinches. He feels Tubbo's eyes on him.
Tubbo_ to TommyInnit: im kidding ofc gimme a sec and ill go get them
He leaves and returns several moments later with two rectangular blue tablets in hand.
"Will these kill me?" Tommy asks, voice light like he's joking, but he only half is. He's paranoid. He's not stopped shaking and he feels so weak and tired and miserable.
"Of course not," Tubbo whispers. "I know for a fact they're safe. In fact - here. Hold out your hand, please, if you want. I'm gonna take one of the tablets and take it myself to show you they're safe."
It's the way he carefully explains what he's doing and why that makes Tommy relax enough to trust him. He gasps when Tubbo's fingertips touch his palm like fire, but then the older boy takes the tablet and Tommy follows suit because it feels good to actually trust someone for once, to feel less… afraid. He's felt nothing but afraid for weeks. Now he's relaxing and Tubbo is a calming presence beside him.
"Thank you," he mumbles to the tops of his boots.
"Anytime," Tubbo whispers in response.
Tommy hesitates. Then he unfolds his arms from each other in the self hug he's locked himself in and slides his hand slowly across the floor in the space between him and his brother. It's deliberate. He's offering trust that he didn't know he still had in him and this is so scary that he can't even look up.
"Can I?" Tubbo asks.
Tommy nods fiercely, wincing at the way his head swims.
"Ok. I'm gonna take your hand."
And he does.
The silence is deafening now and he hates it.
"Can you talk to me?" Tommy mumbles, embarrassed by his own neediness. "It's just - the silence makes me feel like he's gonna come for me. He did that, sometimes. He'd wait 'til I was nearly asleep and then he'd hit me to make me think he was gonna kill me again. He liked seeing how I reacted, apparently." He tenses, sniffling and staring out into the dark night without really seeing. "Sometimes I'd shout for people and he took note in his books about whose names I said and how many times I called for them. Apparently you, Phil and Sam were on top of the list. Mostly you."
Tubbo takes this all in in silence. Tommy's heart speeds up. "Sorry for - dumping all that on you," he says quickly. "I've got a lot to say and shit and I dunno how to get it all out cause I'm still scared I'll get hurt for doing shit. It's - so stupid."
"You aren't stupid," Tubbo says firmly. Their eyes meet. Tommy softens at how his eyes burn with confidence at his words. "You've been hurt and I'm sorry that I couldn't help you. But I'm here now and I will never, ever leave you again. You know how stubborn I am. Especially when the people I love are in the line of fire."
Tommy knows. Tommy knows.
"I'm not ever gonna be the same again," he breathes, and this realization shatters him again but in a different way because this time, it's silent. Too silent. "I'm gonna be this fucked up forever."
His brother squeezes his hand, gentle. "You're no more "fucked up" than I am," he says certainly. "It's trauma. Not your fault. Nothing wrong with you."
Tommy wipes his eyes. "I'm scared of everything. Blackstone, lava, holds in the ground, heights, small spaces, being touched, explosions, loud noises, the Nether - I could go on. Tubbo, it's not - it's not normal. It's not."
The air that blows in through the open door is cold and makes Tommy shudder. He doesn't mind. He'd rather be cold and sicker than hot and mentally back in that fucking prison. Tubbo is warm, at least. Not hot. Just warm. Reassuring.
"I get triggered by a lot of stuff too," Tubbo says casually. "Fireworks. Alcohol. Closed doors. White rooms. Boxes. Wearing a tie. Some overlap with yours. See, you're not broken or fucked up or beyond repair. You've just been hurt. Doesn't mean I love you any less."
Tommy sobs and laughs softly at the same time, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Have I ever told you that you're my favourite person in the universe?"
The way Tubbo's face lights up makes Tommy's chest feel warm. "You have now," he says, beaming. "You're my favourite too."
Tommy snorts. "D'you love me more than Ran-boo -"
"Don't you fucking start. I'll pour vegetable oil in your socks."
"That's such a weird fucking threat."
"I'm getting creative!"
Tommy hasn't felt safe in weeks. But Tubbo is here and he's alive and not alone and that's all he needs.