Work Text:
Tommy wasn't exactly sure how to respond when he opened his creaking door up to Ranboo. The younger teen's gaze was somewhat confused (unsurprisingly so), his baby-blue orbs filled right to the brim with a shimmering, swirling dubiety and a vast amount of skepticism. His lips had downturned.
He and Ranboo... weren't exactly close. Not anymore, at least.
Sure, at some point in the past, during the period before Tommy's exile, before his struggles, before his death, they might've been close. Might've shared laughs and giggles, shared softly spoken words and grinning expressions full of adoration.
But now?
Their reality was far from it.
Memories of burning buildings and strenuous court trials flashed through Tommy's mind; memories of stolen goods and swapped letters swamped his clouded vision; memories of Snapchat streaks and nether trips left his hands shaking.
Tommy clicked his tongue against his lower teeth, forever contemplative.
He should probably just send Ranboo away – tell him to get lost, to head back to his perfect little family in the thriving commune of Snowchester, head back to his perfect husband and his goddamn perfect life.
The teen's heart gave a lurch and his stomach physically churned.
As tempting as that idea was, and trust him, it was really fucking tempting; Tommy knew that an overwhelming sense of guilt would only eat him alive later on – pick away at his skin and tear into his sunken cheeks as if he was nothing but useless scraps.
(Tommy didn't particularly want to suffer through that feeling again.)
"Alright, bitch boy, come on in."
Tommy garbled.
Well, that's what he'd tried to say, at least. Instead, a raw, aching croak had tumbled from his dry lips, rolling down his chin in gasping waves and curling delicately around Tommy's bruised throat with careful, heedful finger strokes.
Dark handprints covered his – typically pale – skin; dancing, blossoming colours of blue and black, of purple and green, of yellow and red, spread across his skin like wildfire, like blended blotches of dulled and muted hues.
Ah, right.
How could Tommy have forgotten?
Dream had choked him to death, hadn't he?
A part of Tommy could still feel the way that calloused hands had wrapped around his flexing throat, the muscular tube spasming violently underneath the inhuman abuse it was enduring. He'd been desperate to gasp in any sort of air, even the faintest lick of oxygen to fill his screaming lungs.
But alas, Dream hadn't relented.
He'd kept on going, kept on squeezing, kept on snarling and demanding that Tommy just admit defeat already. Admit that he'd been wrong about everything so far, including the theories surrounding the infamous 'revival book.'
Tommy hadn't relented either, and so he'd ended up dead.
Dying, fading, dimming – Tommy had died. He'd died, hadn't he? He'd sat in a void-like expanse for months upon months upon months of pure and unadulterated hell, stuck beside a crazed pair of ex-presidents and a rather rambunctious, manic version of Dream.
There had been no one else.
Tommy had essentially been alone; he'd been alone, and nobody had-
The teen was snapped from his spiraling thoughts as Ranboo rested a gentle hand on his tense shoulder. (Tommy briefly tensed even further before he let himself relax again. It was more so an instinct at that point, and he had only barely suppressed a flinch.)
"I uh," The hybrid scratched at the back of his neck, "I brought you some tea and honey if you'd like? I heard it's pretty good for your throat."
Tommy swallowed, tongue feeling heavy and mouth feeling dry.
That was... surprisingly nice.
But...
He contemplated it for a few moments, gaze flickering across the taller boy's face. Tommy's brows were furrowed, his lips pulled into a half-hearted scowl, and his shaking fists were slowly clenching and then unclenching at his sides.
He should just say no.
He should just close it.
He should-
Tommy pulled the door open wider.
The younger teen drew his knees closer to his chest as he sat positioned (sandwiched) between Ranboo's spread legs. His back was against the older boy's chest, quivering hands wrapped carefully around a mug of steaming tea, and his eyelids were only drooping a little. (Or perhaps, a lot.)
Tommy was a little unsure of how he'd ended up in that exact position, curled in on himself like a defensive little raccoon with his metaphorical tail swishing violently behind him, and his large ears flicking with each noise.
But alas, there he was.
Somehow, unknown to even the hybrid himself, Ranboo had managed to carefully – and gently – convince Tommy to settle before him, settle up close without countless fits of flinching and stuttered, croaking apologies made up of fast-spoken words and brittle mutters.
He'd coaxed the blonde teen out of his hardened shell, using entirely silken touches and cleverly mindful compliments to keep him going and stable, to keep Tommy awake and aware of what was real life and what wasn't.
To some, it might've seemed like a good, long chore built up by dull cues and mind-numbing events.
But to Ranboo?
It was anything but.
"How's the tea feel?"
Tommy blinked a little, his movements slow and somewhat floppy as he shifted to take a glance back to his friend. A breath. He parted his lips for a moment-
The tea did taste really good; even Tommy was man enough to sit up and admit that. It was hot, scorching almost, but as it ran down the back of his bruised throat, as it ran down his throbbing esophagus and simmered through his battered body, Tommy could feel nothing but goodness.
He felt as if all of his wounds and injuries, no matter how mild or how dire, were being slowly closed up by the soothing, spreading liquid.
Ranboo was, admittedly, very good at making tea.
- But then Tommy let his lips slip shut once more.
He didn't know if his voice was even up for any speaking at that point, no matter how quiet or careful he attempted to be with it. So, Tommy would just let it rest for a little longer than before and perhaps try speaking a little later on through noises that weren't just mindless grunts and grumbles.
Oh, how Tommy longed to be able to laugh and shout, to scream and exclaim.
But he couldn't - not yet at least.
He wanted to heal; he wanted to prosper; he wanted to live. He didn't want to suffer for any longer, and if that meant keeping his mouth shut? Then so be it.
Tommy finally just nodded in response to Ranboo's question, keeping a somewhat shifting eye contact as he took another sip of the warm beverage (almost like he wanted to solidify the fact that he really did like it.) A small smile played at the blonde's tilted lips, and Ranboo felt compelled to return it.
"Good, I'm glad. I didn't- I didn't know if you'd like it or not, but I figured that it might make you feel at least a little bit better. I mean, it helped me when..."
Ranboo shrugged his shoulders, a bashful expression overcoming his sharp features, and he averted his gaze.
Oh.
Tommy blinked somewhat, a flare of curiosity blooming throughout him.
A part of him wanted to know more, to find out more about Ranboo's secrets and his inner workings and what he was keeping locked up inside, but a part of him also understood that it was good to have secrets sometimes. That occasionally, it was necessary to hide things from others.
Hell, Tommy certainly hadn't told Ranboo everything, so he'd be a hypocrite to try and demand something of that nature to be exposed just because he'd batted his eyelashes and asked.
The blonde teen nodded lightly, a hand reaching out to gently grip onto Ranboo's knee for a brief second.
And then, a quiet moment passed between the two... friends... a sense of knowing, understanding, and a lulling sense of calm that spread over their skin in countless, familiar and lapping waves. The pair offered tiny, bracing smiles, hands inching towards one another for a moment before stopping at their sides.
Of course.
Tommy turned back around, and Ranboo returned to gently brushing his long, thin fingers through Tommy's soft curls.
They didn't really need to speak. They didn't need to giggle over mindless jokes and share classified secrets under a low-lit candle. They didn't need to swap silly information, nor did they need to attempt a semblance of awkward small talk.
They just needed to sit and bask in one another's company.
Or at least, that's how Tommy saw it.
He quite enjoyed leaning back against a steady, protective embrace, feeling relatively secure and contained in Ranboo's arms. The hybrid's tail had even wrapped carefully around his thin thigh, tightening and loosening every so often as if to remind Tommy that it was there and real.
It was a nice reminder. Grounding. Safe.
It had Tommy's heart swelling with something towards Ranboo that wasn't just jealousy or hate; it wasn't anger or rage, it was... It felt like how it did whenever Tommy was around Tubbo – all swirling pinks and blossoming reds. It felt like friendship and family; it felt like Wilbur's jacket wrapped around his shoulders and Techno's reassuring head pats. It felt like... home.
Home.
Ranboo was starting to become a part of Tommy's home.
The revelation was new and a little confusing. Tommy's hands shook. Hadn't he hated this guy just a few days ago? Perhaps, just a few hours ago? Hadn't he despised Ranboo for taking everything away from Tommy? For taking his family and his friends? For taking his life?
For replacing him?
But...
It hadn't really been Ranboo's fault, had it?
Tommy's death had been something inevitable and needed, and he'd long screwed up his relationship with Phil and Technoblade (months before Ranboo's more frequent appearances had even started up.) It was Tommy's fault, not Ranboo's, and the blonde really needed to start trying to remember that.
A somewhat croaky sigh tumbled from Tommy's sensitive, aching vocal cords.
He glanced backwards towards Ranboo. The older teen was still gently running his fingers through Tommy's curls and twisting in tiny flowers where he available - where the strands grew the longest. He was oblivious to Tommy's inner turmoil, just humming a little tune to himself as he fiddled.
Tommy's tongue flicked out against his dry lips, wetting them for a moment or two.
"Ranboo."
The hybrid's ears flicked, gaze widening, and his jaw dropped for a split second before he righted himself.
"Yeah, Tommy?"
His fingers stilled in the younger teen's hair, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to tell him to just continue up again, but there was no way that he'd outwardly admit that - rather humiliating - thought.
"I..."
A jolt of pain rumbled through Tommy's thin body, his hands clenching for a moment before they relaxed.
"Thank you. For- for being my friend. And everything else."
Ranboo blinked a little, appearing more than just somewhat frozen as he sat carefully perched behind Tommy. His mismatched eyes of red and green had widened even further, and his faint brows had come together to form a puzzled frown.
There were a few beats of tense silence.
Tommy turned back awkwardly, feeling a lot more disheartened and regretful than he had just moments prior. God, that had been a real fuck up, hadn't it? Of course, Ranboo didn't view Tommy as a friend yet, not after everything that the blonde had done to him and said to him (said about him, too.)
Ranboo was just helping Tommy out because Tubbo had told him to; that must be it. Or maybe he just feels a little bad- Tommy's nails dug into his palms. If there was one thing he hated, it was pity. He hated it more than words could adequately express, and Ranboo had the audacity to-
Long, slender arms gently wrapped around Tommy's middle, pulling him backwards further into a coddling embrace. A soft chin rested on top of the younger teen's head, nestled amongst curled and braided blonde strands.
"You're welcome, Tommy." Ranboo hummed lightly, beginning to gently unpeel Tommy's fists and shift away his nails from bloody palms.
There were deep crescents embedded into Tommy's pale skin, some parts blooming crimson, and others just aching. Ranboo's thumb gently swiped over them, and he sighed a little. "I'm going to be here for you now, Tommy. We... we all are. Even if you don't want it or think it's just out of pity, I promise you that you won't be alone anymore."
"I promise." Ranboo's hold on the teen tightened somewhat, and Tommy easily leaned into it, his knees drawing even closer to his chest as he curled up.
It wasn't perfect.
Of course, it wasn't.
Tommy was still jealous and angry; he was still caught up on his death and then his resurrection. Ranboo was still confused and forgetful; he was still being played like a puppet on their common enemy's strings. But at least they had each other.
They had each other to heal with, to talk to, and to embrace.
Tommy wouldn't be alone when he woke up from harrowing, mind-numbing nightmares; he wouldn't be alone when he was thrown back into raging, screaming flashbacks; he wouldn't be alone when his brain would throw him into a repetitive cycle of pain and hurt.
Tommy would have Ranboo, and similarly, Ranboo would have Tommy.
They'd have each other.
They could be friends again.
They could heal.
For once, there didn't need to be fighting and arguing; there didn't need to envy or war.
There just needed to be Ranboo, Tommy, and a steaming mug of honey tea.
(And if they stayed in that position for hours and hours, curled up in one another's embraces with matching breaths and twin smiles, then that was their business. Nobody else's.)