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Glacial, hissing ice whipped at Tommy's exposed skin, pressing icy shards deep into his flushed flesh and leaving him shivering and quivering with each step he took through the isolated commune of Snowchester.
His arms tightened around his waist, thin, torn shirt barely offering any protection against the arctic air.
Tommy had seen the oversized, fluffy coats that Ranboo and Tubbo liked to don whenever they were working in or around Snowchester – they seemed so cozy, so soft and inviting and an ugly flare of jealousy ran rampage over Tommy's skin.
Oh, what he'd give to be covered in one of those.
It was far too cold.
Well, to be fair, it was a surprisingly warm area in itself – not physically, but more so emotionally, as Tommy felt as if his entire soul had been lit up once more by the hospitality – gone from a cold, lacking pile of weak and bare sticks, into a roaring bonfire of heat.
Snowchester wasn't exactly home, that was back in the shattered remains of L'Manburg, but it was something similar.
Something that, in a different universe, in a different timeline, in a different being, Tommy might have been able to accept as his own.
Unfortunately for him, this wasn't that different world.
This was the world where Tommy had been through far too much to even think about settling down again. This was the world where he'd gone through countless amounts of abuse and manipulation, of pain and torture - of regret and loss.
He'd been to the very pits of Hell and then returned once more, only to be treated – not like a traumatised human, a traumatised child – but as a science experiment. A ghost that people still couldn't see as... just Tommy.
Tommy.
That's all he wanted to be.
That's all he wanted to be treated as, even if it was only for a few moments.
And Tubbo? Tubbo would be the person to make Tommy finally feel whole again. To feel like a human again, somebody living and breathing and somebody who wasn't still laying across bloodied obsidian after a horrific murder.
Tubbo was Tommy's best friend, and the younger needed him. So, he'd come to Snowchester, and more specifically, Tubbo's house.
Tommy's fist thumped against the wooden door, knocking in three repetitive beats before his arm dropped back to his side. His feet were shuffling against the wooden flooring, drips of ice and snow rolling over his blue-tinted skin.
A sigh bubbled from his lips.
Truthfully, he didn't actually know if Tubbo was even home at this point. He'd just shown up, really. Completely unannounced with a desperate expression and a hopeful spark lit up within his aching chest.
Tommy had been hopeless. He'd been pleading and whispering for some sort of mercy on his torn heart as he'd trudged his way through the land until he got to Snowchester, begging whoever might be listening that "Please, just let me see Tubbo, just let me see him, please just let me," and now he could only hope that his prayers had worked.
If not...
Tommy swallowed roughly in an attempt to calm himself, though his throat felt far too dry and far too croaky for it to even remotely help with his bubbling nerves.
Another moment passed by.
Anxieties rose within Tommy's chest, wrapping themselves around his heart like invasive and twisting viridescent vines. They squeezed, sharp thorns digging into sensitive flesh – falsely painful enough to leave Tommy gasping and choking on stunted air.
He felt as if he was dying - as if he couldn't breathe and couldn't move.
The world had come to a halting stop, the air stilted, the clouds motionless, the sounds of the Earth having been leveled out into something flat and droning – a sound that even the scratchiest of music discs couldn't make.
Tommy wanted to vomit.
This shouldn't be happening so soon, this feeling... why was it happening so quickly? It was meant to be slow-acting, wasn't it? It was meant to take a while; Tommy was meant to have enough time left to at least speak to his best friend before-
Where was Tubbo? Where had he gone? Why couldn't he have been at home? What was Tommy supposed to-?
"Hey! I'm here! Gosh, sorry, sorry. Michael was being a little fussy with his food, and I couldn't get to the door earlier, but I really hope that you weren't waiting for..." The cheerful, light voice full of blossoming alliums and reassuring sunlight tumbled off into a confused tone.
Tommy, in his panic, hadn't even noticed that the door had opened.
"Tubbo-" He sobbed, breathless and weeping.
"Tommy?"
Before the ram-hybrid knew it, his arms were suddenly full of a 6'3, convulsing and wailing, blonde teenager. Tubbo gave a gasp and stumbled slightly back into the inviting, heated mansion, his forelimbs easily wrapping around a skeletal waist and holding on tight.
Small palms were rubbing soothingly over indented sides, fingertips gliding over protruding ribs and sharp hipbones with the utmost care.
(Tubbo didn't know when Tommy had gotten so thin, so small, but he hated it. He hated that his best friend had been wasting away for so long.)
"Tommy," Tubbo breathed out again, his right hand moving upwards so he could gently begin to card his fingers through greasy, knotted locks. It was a little complicated, and Tubbo had to do his best to be incredibly heedful when pulling the strands apart, but he was trying.
"Oh, Tommy, what happened?"
The younger blonde sniffled, shaking his head from side to side as he buried his face against Tubbo's neck. He was breathing in through shaky gasps, doing his best to regulate his heart rate and panting at least somewhat – as best he could, at that point.
Because it was hard.
It was really hard.
Tommy felt overwhelmed and scared, practically terrified and as if his life had almost slipped away right there and then.
But now, here was Tubbo, here was his angelic best friend with open arms and a warm, reassuring smile. Here was somebody who knew just exactly how to make Tommy calm down, how to make him calm down from his threatening heights of fear and agony.
Tommy let out a breath.
“It hurts.”
Tubbo let out a sympathetic whine, kicking the large, towering door shut with more force than somebody of his size should – realistically - be able to handle. But then again, Tubbo had always been a little stronger than one might have expected (both mentally and physically.)
"Come here, let's get you sat down and comfortable, alright? Then we can talk," Tubbo began to gently half help, half carry Tommy over towards the soft, plush couch. The fire was already roaring, thankfully. "Does that sound okay?"
"Mhm." A slight, weak nod.
"Alright, alright, Toms."
Tubbo gently aided Tommy down onto the lavish cushions, helping him settle until he was curled into a trembling fetal position. A thick blanket was quickly draped over the younger's shoulders, with Tubbo considering a second one but not wanting to overwhelm Tommy too much and so soon.
The hybrid perched down on the side, letting his fingers gently run over the scarred expanse of Tommy's sunken cheek.
It really hurt to see Tommy like this, so run-down and in pain, so different and dissimilar to the usual spitfire he portrayed himself as.
This was so different from Tubbo's Tommy.
A sigh ripped from the ex-president's lips.
"Tommy?"
The blonde in question gave a weak nod, brows creased and fingers carefully flexing against the fuzzy material of the blanket draped across him. It hurt to speak; it hurt to breathe; it hurt to move.
"I-"
Tommy's tongue flicked across his cracked lips; he swallowed down built-up saliva and tried his absolute best to get even a slight attempt of a word out, anything at all to acknowledge the ram hybrid who was peering down at him through a curious, though saddened gaze.
"Tub-" A slight cough. "Throat."
Tubbo blinked for a moment, cogs rapidly turning before it properly hit him. "Oh! Your throat hurts?"
A nod, though that wasn't the only thing that hurt – not that he'd admit it.
"Ohh, okay, okay. That's fine, Toms. I'll... I'll get you some tea and honey, alright? The one that, that Wilbur used to make for us. I know that it always helped whenever..."
Whenever they were cooped up within the constricting, crumbling walls of Pogtopia, surrounded by Wilbur's mad ranting and the echoing loneliness that had threatened to consume all of them - it had been dusty and befouled, often sending Tommy into terrible coughing fits that left him bedridden for almost days.
They were memories the blonde didn't like to think back on too often, especially not with any sort of fondness.
Tommy just nodded again.
Tubbo smiled in return, just about resisting the urge to press a soft kiss to Tommy's forehead before he sat up and padded off into their large kitchen.
Truth be told, he had no idea why Tommy was there, why the teen had suddenly shown up on Tubbo's doorstep, banging on the door and wailing through the thick wood. He'd looked like a complete mess, snot and tears running down his face, his body shaking like a leaf in a storm, and his eyes had been so... grey.
So empty.
So lifeless.
Tubbo didn't know what to think of it, other than acknowledging that he definitely needed to help Tommy. He needed to help his best friend in more ways than just one (sending him off to deal with his own problems no longer seemed like a reasonable solution, not that it should have ever been one.)
But really, what else was there to do at that point? It wasn't like Tubbo could babysit Tommy each and every day, after all. So, who knows what Tommy gets up to? To make him this bad and this unstable, at least.
It could be anything...
Anything at all...
A gentle hand dropped to Tubbo's shoulder, jolting the teen from his wandering, festering thoughts. He glanced upwards, momentarily expecting his brother to be there, having risen from the couch...
"Ranboo," He breathed instead, a shimmering hint of relief within his voice, "What're you doing down here?"
There was a calculative look in Ranboo's mismatched eyes, a cautious carefulness that partially expressed his desire to not delve too deep into whatever was going on, and more so, stay on the neutral sidelines (no matter the situation at that point.)
"I heard crying and talking, so I came downstairs after getting Michael settled."
Tubbo perked up somewhat," Oh, alright- and how is Michael? Is he doing okay? I was meant to come up and say goodnight to him, but..."
He glanced back towards their open living room, where Tommy was - thankfully – still curled up underneath his thick blanket. He was shivering and mumbling to himself, but at least he hadn't gotten up and entirely left before Tubbo could talk to him.
Ranboo followed his gaze.
"Michael's fine, don't worry about that, but..." He swallowed, "Is Tommy okay? I... after everything that happened in the prison, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't, but this seems... bad? Worse?"
Tubbo pulled a mug from their upper cupboard, tongue clicking and hands twitching. "I don't know. He just showed up like that, crying and such, and speaking under his breath. I think he was talking about Dream and then apologising repeatedly."
The blonde began to pour hot water out into the cup, mixing in the tea and honey almost absentmindedly.
"I couldn't really understand him, but he didn't sound too great. I don't know what's wrong specifically though, he doesn't really talk to me about what's happening anymore, and y'know, I've been busy with... all of this."
Ranboo gave Tubbo's shoulder a little squeeze.
"You're allowed to move on; you know that, right?"
Tubbo sighed.
"I know, I just..."
"Feel guilty sometimes?"
"Yeah. We were best friends for so long – and we still are! Don't get me wrong, but now he's... he's like this ghost just wandering aimlessly around and, and I've got a whole family to look after. It feels wrong."
Tubbo picked the mug up, wisps of smoke curling up into the circling air before evaporating out into a misty nothingness. He sighed, tightened his hold for a moment before relaxing again.
"I don't want him to think I've just gone and replaced him, right?"
Ranboo smiled a little solemnly. "Right. But I don't think Tommy... I don't think he blames you or anything, Tubbo. He knows you were hurt, too, so you shouldn't blame yourself. And hey, uh, now you can talk to him about it, yeah? Maybe start afresh or something."
The Enderman hybrid scratched at the back of his neck; an awkward and lopsided smile pulled across his face. He wasn't too great in these sorts of situations, offering comfort and such, but he was trying his best for Tubbo.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hope he's up for talking. Said his throat hurt and stuff."
Tubbo held up the mug with a slight smile, "Got him this."
"Ohh, smells good. You wanna go take it to him?"
"Mhm, yep. C'mon, we can both go over together."
Tubbo gently latched onto Ranboo's sleeve – even despite the hybrid's mumbled, repetitive protests – and the two made their way back into the living space. Tommy still hadn't really moved, only really shifted to get somewhat closer to the fire, but at least he was still physically there.
"Hey, Toms," Tubbo murmured, moving to perch beside his prone friend, "Got you some tea, think you can sit up for me?"
A few quiet moments passed by.
Tommy was blinking, still aware and awake, but he felt so, so weak. His whole, thin body was shivering despite the leaking warmth of the whipping, roaring flames. Beads of sweat bubbled across ice-cold skin.
He swallowed, nodding only once before he began to push upwards.
It took another second or so (and a little bit of Ranboo's careful and considerate help), but he was eventually propped back against the cushions, knees pulled up, and shaky hands reaching out for the soothing mug of hot tea.
Tubbo easily handed it over.
"How're you feeling?" The blonde questioned, tone light and just somewhat expecting.
Tommy's fingers tightened around the ceramic exterior. He lifted the cup up to his lips, a few sips of the warm liquid running down his aching throat. It was soothing, to say the least, almost feeling like a refreshing wave against the burning agony of his insides.
(It reminded him of Wilbur, too, both the good parts and the bad parts.)
"M'okay."
Tommy cracked a tiny smile, one that Tubbo promptly returned.
He was okay. He was okay now, at least, now that he was with his best friend, his other half, his Tubbo.
Tommy wasn't going to be alone; he wasn't going to collapse outside, lost in the snow with only the howling wind as a taunting company. He wasn't going to be stuck, forever searching for somebody who was just that much out of reach – who was just that little bit too far away from Tommy's grasping hands.
"Tommy, Toms, I was wondering what you were actually doing here, not that I don't want you to come and visit, of course! I was just..."
That would've... that would've really been a way to go out, wouldn't it?
A horrible end to Tommy's fractured life, though almost fitting, in a sense. Because, realistically, Tommy had been alone for quite a while, even when he did physically have people beside him, it felt like it was just him.
Sure, he'd had countless amounts of friends at the start, ranging from Tubbo and Wilbur to Sapnap and Jack. They'd been there for him on multiple occasions, and he'd been there for them too. And as his life had progressed, he'd met more people, like Ranboo and Sam, hell; even Sam Nook had played a vital part in keeping Tommy afloat.
"Tommy? You doing alright, bud? You look a little spaced out there..."
But then Tommy had died.
He'd lost his final canon life, locked up in an obsidian box with the one man that had been abusing him for years at that point - his body left bruised and beaten, bloodied and blemished. He'd choked on his own gore, spitting up crimson and coughing out teeth until his soul had finally slipped away.
The afterlife hadn't been very welcoming, either, and Tommy had been alone for the most part – unless Wilbur decided he needed to torment his little brother any further.
"Tommy? Hey, can you hear me, can..."
Coming back? That had definitely been the worst.
Tommy wasn't just Tommy anymore. He was 'Phantommy,' or 'Ghostinnit,' often getting shocked laughs or harshly accused whenever he stepped down the prime path. He couldn't even advance outside of the hotel premises without somebody asking him about what had happened, how it had happened, or how it had felt.
He couldn't get away from it, couldn't get away from any of it, and it hurt. Tommy just felt even more alone and detached from the rest of the server.
It had all, admittedly, gotten to be too much.
"Tommy!"
The teen was jolted from his wandering, whispering thoughts by a hand gripping down on his shoulder and Tubbo's panicked voice flooding his eardrums. He glanced upwards, gaze confused and just a little dazed.
"Tub-"
"Your, your nose is bleeding-"
A gentle thumb swiped underneath Tommy's nose, pulling back only to be smeared entirely with a bright crimson - a liquid that was still steadily leaking from the blonde's nostrils.
Tommy swallowed.
Oh.
He hadn't even noticed.
Well, it was definitely kicking in then.
It wouldn't be long now.
"S'okay," He tried, bleary-eyed and sniffling as Tubbo tried to wipe away more of the streaking blood, doing his best to clear off Tommy's face, freeing it from a taunting liquid. "S'okay, Tubbo. C'mon, it's fine-"
That had clearly been the wrong thing to say.
"It's not fine, Tommy!" Tubbo protested, panic obviously coiling within his stressed tone of voice. "It's not fine at all! You come here, show up after so long and so much silence, crying and shaking and barely being able to speak! And now, and now you're just spacing out and bleeding everywhere! It’s not fine! I'm worried about you!"
There had been a clear shift in the air, Tubbo's relaxed curiosity over his best friend drifting into something worrying and cold - as if a sense of impending doom and looming dread had gripped onto his heart.
As if Tubbo already knew that something was wrong.
That something was very, very wrong.
But, gods, Tommy had never meant to stress Tubbo out; that's not what he'd wanted.
Tommy shook his head, mug slipping out of his weak grasp and spilling across softened blankets – though neither paid it any mind.
"Tubbo," He tried again, tongue flicking out across cracked lips, and he did his best to grip onto the other blonde. Ranboo was still hovering, standing to the side with a stricken expression splashed across his face, but for once, Tommy didn't even feel jealous.
He... he didn't even mind.
At least Tubbo would still have somebody to look after him.
Because Tommy wasn't going to make it for much longer, even he could accept that. And honestly? He didn't know if he was that bothered by it. Sure, the idea of being back in the afterlife, stuck at Wilbur's side for the rest of his life, was a little scary - a little frightening - but it was also somehow reassuring.
Tommy wouldn't have to stay around on the server for much longer, left alone and crumbling in his own insanity. At least he'd have somebody.
(Tubbo had Ranboo, Sapnap had George, Jack had Niki, Tommy had...)
"Tubbo, I'm okay." He swallowed again, blinking rapidly as his eyelids began to droop. "Just- just hold me?"
That was something he'd never really asked for before. Tommy wasn't big on touching - especially not after the incident with Dream, but alas.
"Please?"
There was a quiet pause, the large mansion filled only with muffled hiccups and soft panting as the three seemed to stumble onto the same page simultaneously. Tubbo inhaled sharply.
"Tommy..."
The blonde gently pressed his forehead against Tubbo's shoulder, fingers gripping weakly onto the typical Snowchester attire that the ram-hybrid wore. He let out a soft sigh, eyes drooping and body turning into something akin to a deathly-sick lump.
(Neither paid any mind to the steadily dripping blood sullied against Tubbo's coat.)
Seconds passed, minutes flew, perhaps even hours, too.
Tubbo's fingers eventually slid upwards, carding through familiar strands of blonde hair. There was a stricken expression on his face, though every harsh word he wanted to scream, appeared to ultimately die on the tip of his tongue.
A breath.
"I love you, Tommy."