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Tommy flashed a toothy smile, crimson, pooling splashes spreading over the whites of his teeth and edging across torn, pink gums. He was still choking on the liquid, hiccupping and gasping around endless tidal waves of crashing red and overwhelming vermillion, but he didn't want to let it show.
He didn't want to express just how much pain he was in. Just how much peril he was in.
He can't.
He can’t.
(For Ranboo's sake, more than his own.)
"It's not your fault, Ranboo."
Tommy let a frail hand carefully reach out for the quivering Enderman hybrid, his fingertips desperately outstretched despite the shakiness that was running rampage through them. He wanted to grip onto his friend, to curl his fingers within the ruffled material of Ranboo's dark suit and clutch onto him as if he was Tommy's only lifeline.
But Ranboo wouldn't get any closer, not even a single step. It was like he was completely stuck down to the very floor itself, metal, serrated nails digging deep through his dress-shoes and keeping him pinned down and immobile – unable to lift even a mere toe.
Tommy swallowed, attempting to speak through thick waves of red.
"Ran- Ranboo."
The taller teen's eyes flicked down to Tommy's searching gaze, keeping steady for just an uneasy, unsure second or two.
Tommy, for the briefest, faintest of moments, had the slight chance to glimpse into those petrified, panicky red and green orbs, drinking in the flood of pure terror and regret that was within them, before Ranboo was looking away again. It was almost as if it was genuinely hurting him to lock eyes with the collapsed blonde.
(A sigh. If his throat weren't burning, Tommy would be screaming out of pure, unbridled frustration.)
"Ranboo," He hissed out, voice cracking and somewhat staticky, "It's not your fault. It's not. You had no other choice; I know that, okay? I- I know that- I know-"
"I know that-"
"I..."
"..."
"Make a choice, Ranboo. Your family or your friend? It shouldn't be a hard decision to make. I know what I'd choose."
There was a taunting, villainous smile stretched across a scarred face, cracked lips pulled tightly up at the corners - far enough so that Ranboo was almost afraid that Dream was going to split his cheeks wide open. Jagged canines pressed out amongst a flicking tongue, and the teen swallowed.
"I..."
"And make it quick. I don't have all day, after all."
Ranboo shifted away.
He felt sick.
He couldn't breathe.
A fractured, blood-smeared mask lay discarded off to the side, the straps somewhat frayed, and deep, sawtooth lines ran straight through an eerie smile. Ranboo's gaze was stuck on it – he was unable to look away. Perhaps he was mesmerised, or perhaps he was just trying to distract himself from what was going on around him.
He couldn't look in front of him, not unless he wanted to catch Dream's maddened gaze and widening grin.
He couldn't look to the left of him, not unless he wanted to watch as his husband and his son cowered close together in horror and fright.
"…"
He couldn't look to the right of him, not unless he wanted to see a frail, mumbling Tommy, rocking back and forth as he was thrown through PTSD-induced flashback after PTSD-induced flashback.
Ranboo wanted to cry.
He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally.
On the one hand, he had Tubbo and Michael – the absolute lights of his life, two people that were everything to him and who had helped him through practically all that he'd been through (Tubbo especially.)
Ranboo wouldn't be the man he was today without them.
He wouldn't be the man that he was without the ex-president's gentle reassurance, his kind words and soft gazes, his delicate touches, and sheltered hugs.
He wouldn't be the man that he was without Michael's love, his excited sprinting and beaming grins, his wagging tail, and warm embraces.
They were incredible, Tubbo with his quick wit and crazed antics, and his hopes for a brighter future, and Michael with his adorable little squeals and his overwhelmingly friendly nature. Ranboo wouldn't trade it for the world - couldn't trade it for the world.
He couldn't trade it for anything, really, because they were already what he needed. They kept him sane and surprisingly grounded, even as the grouping voices whispered menacing, taunting words inside of his already crumbling mind.
They kept Ranboo away from floating off up into the clouds – losing himself with a masked man's insanity and inevitably helping to tear the very world that they lived on, apart.
Ranboo loved them with everything that he had and even more.
The teen sniffled.
But then there was Tommy.
Daring, selfless Tommy.
(Hurtful, selfish Tommy.)
Tommy was a good person. He was kind-hearted and sweet, words of praise and comfort leaving his lips whenever he deemed it needed and necessary. He wasn't completely rude all of the time – not constantly shouting and screaming, demanding for things to be done and for things to change.
That was the persona side of Tommy, the one that Ranboo had arguably experienced more than enough times to last him a lifetime now.
But that was the side that most people got to see, the one that most people on the server had to deal with no matter what the situation was or who they might be talking to (even if that was Tommy himself.) He was constantly shoved into his persona, it having happened enough times that it'd almost become a second skin.
That wasn't it, of course. There were many variations of Tommy, many, many mirrors of him ranging from the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs. He went from the young, L'Manburgian warrior to the cowering exile victim – from the ambitious, beaming hotel owner to the crumpled, traumatised murder victim.
Ranboo had met almost all of them.
(Suffered through meeting almost all of them.)
Tommy was trying his best. He really was. He'd been trying to make a change, offering up spare rooms for the lost, wandering survivors and souls of Doomsday, just wanting to make sure that everyone was safe and homed and actually had a place to go after what had unfortunately occurred.
It was an act of kindness that hadn't been expected, but one that everyone was definitely grateful for. (Tommy had never really mentioned it, though.)
See, Tommy wasn't selfish; he wasn't greedy or cruel, he wasn't wicked or wrongful, he was just Tommy.
A blemished, trembling victim of deceitful abuse and brutal murder – he was a walking miracle, rebirthed from the fire he'd died within, and (unfortunately to some) he was a science experiment that they had free range to poke and prod at whenever they pleased.
He was a dead man walking.
He was a miracle, and both the made up of the old scriptures of a tattered revival book all at once.
And also, above all, he was Ranboo's very first friend.
The first person that Ranboo had caused playful havoc with, laughing and dancing around together as they acted like children again. He was the first person that had made Ranboo feel comfortable and at home in a big new server with countless amounts of new, scary people.
Tommy had been welcoming and warm, metaphorical arms spread and a silly expression on his face.
But...
But he also wasn’t Tubbo.
He wasn't Tubbo, and nor was he Michael.
He was Tommy.
And they were Ranboo's family.
There was a huge, huge difference between friends and family – one that would inevitably cost a great deal.
Everyone in the room knew it, but that didn't mean they wanted to accept it truly.
Not at all.
Ranboo's gaze shifted down to Tommy. He'd stopped rocking, instead choosing to loop his quivering, frail arms around his thin legs and curl up beside the wall. Dream was hovering above him, a glistening Netherite sword dangling from his hip.
Dream already knew, too, it seemed.
They all already knew.
Ranboo swallowed, guilt festering within his chest as he watched the blonde through a misty-eyed gaze.
"I'm so, so sorry."
Now Ranboo was here, stood within that very, suffocating cave, blood spilling out across the dirty floor and a manic man clearly missing from the action.
The mask was gone, and so was everything else to do with him.
Except for the memories.
Ranboo could still vividly see the moment that Dream's sword had sliced through the middle of Tommy's delicately rising chest, pushing through thick layers of fat and skin, piercing past blooming, writhing organs, and chopping through bone until there was absolutely nothing left but a gaping, sobbing hole.
He'd watched as the blonde teen had collapsed to the floor, hands twitching and desperately scrambling for some sort of reprieve against the burning, scorching pain of agony and torture racing through him.
Heavy, wet gasps had bubbled past Tommy's cracked and parted lips, cascading over his trembling chin and spilling over his typically white shirt. Tommy had screamed and sobbed, he'd let out echoing cries, and heavy, repetitive onslaughts of tears had run down his sunken cheeks.
Ranboo didn't think he'd ever felt more guilt.
He can't even help Tommy now. There's nothing that he could do – nothing he could say to make this any better.
After all, how is he supposed to do it?
"Sorry, I know that we were friends, but you mean nothing to me compared to my family, and I couldn't lose them too. I cant."
That probably wouldn't go down too well. But, then again, a part of Ranboo thinks that Tommy already understands, especially with how the teen has been trying and trying to reassure him that it wasn't his fault and that Tommy didn't mind – that he'd accepted what had happened, and he'd have done the same.
That doesn't mean Ranboo's heart hurts any less, however.
"Tommy..."
Ranboo's voice came out thick and emotionally layered as he slowly knelt down. There was blood spilling against the fabric of his pants, deepening an already dark colour in considerable amounts.
Ranboo didn't find himself caring that much, if at all.
"I'm so sorry," He whispered, eyes watering and lower lip quivering immensely. Ranboo knew that he must look pathetic, crying and mumbling as he was, when Tommy was the one dying, but the blonde didn't seem to mind all that much. "I didn't mean for- for this to happen-"
A cough, a pause, and then a shift.
"I know," Tommy mumbled, nodding despite the pain flaring through him. He finally managed to grip onto Ranboo's hand, crimson smearing over gloved palms – neither mentioned it, however. "I know, It's okay, It's okay, Ranboo, It's okay."
"Is it?"
A tiny smile stretched across Tommy's paling face, his eyes drooping and his body curling inwards just a little more.
"Stay with me?" He asked instead, blinking a little as Ranboo slowly nodded.
Ranboo would do anything to make it up to the dying teen at that point; he'd do anything at all. He would go out and find the sweetest of golden apples; he'd give up his most precious netherite tools; he'd offer every single lick of support that he could physically muster.
And if Tommy just wanted him to stay? Then that was fine too.
Ranboo...
Ranboo would stay.