Chapter Text
“The ultimate superpower,” said Tubbo, “would be the power to never sweat again.”
Tommy shot him The Look - the slightly disbelieving, I can’t believe we're even having this conversation look. “Huh?”
“I mean, think about it.” Tubbo spun in around a circle to try and cool himself down - it didn’t quite work, but it made Tommy snort and almost knock over some poor worker’s paper stack as they walked by it, so it was a half-win. “If you could never get sweaty again, you could infinitely train. And you wouldn’t smell bad after it, either. Not to mention, it would just be a lot less uncomfortable than sweating all the time.”
“If you’re sweating all the time, that’s a sweat condition, and that’s your problem, not mine, pal.”
Tubbo punched him. Tommy whined in protest. “You suck.”
“That’s just not true,” Tommy muttered, but moved on wisely, “but if you didn’t sweat, you wouldn’t be able to sweat out water or anything. You’d just retain it all and then probably explode or something shitty if you drank more water. See?”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re going wrong,” Tubbo replied, tapping the side of his head in a very sort of mad-scientist fashion, which he thought was quite fitting to his brand and should do more often, “we just stop drinking water. There.”
Tommy stared at him, brows furrowing in bemusement. “Fucking hell,” he said, “that’s genius.”
Tubbo beamed. “To be fair, I am literally an evil genius.”
“Minus the evil,” Tommy added, yanking their key out of his pocket and unlocking the door with it, “you should fuckin’-- I don’t know. Invent something to stop us sweating.”
That was actually a really good idea. Tubbo’s eyes widened, mind instantly racing with possibilities, while Tommy barged past him to drop his things in his bed, groaning with relief as his face sunk into the pillows. “I could invent cream that you put all over your body to stop you sweating. Or a pill you take. But I don’t think Wilbur would be very happy if I invented another kind of drug.”
“Yeah, no, don’t think so,” Tommy snorted, voice muffled until he flipped round on the bed, rolling his shoulders with a grimace to loosen them of pain, “fucking hell- is it just me, or was that worse than usual?”
“Worse,” Tubbo sighed, stepping into their room and locking the door behind him, “much worse. I feel like my bones are exploding inside my arms.”
Hero training was always awful, sure, but today had been a lot more difficult. The trainers never went easy on them, but it seemed like they’d been hammering home drill after drill without cease, and Tubbo knew they’d both feel worse in the morning: not for the first time, not with much seriousness, he entertained longingly the idea of sleeping in through training tomorrow.
Tommy’s crow of laughter brought him back to the present, but left the thought no less on his mind as he flopped down on the bed next to Tommy’s, grinning at his friend.
“Don’t fuckin’ say that, laughing makes everything hurt,” Tommy complained through gasps, “fuckin’- trust me, we’d both know if your arms were exploding, don’t worry, I’d tell you if they were.
“You better.” Tubbo closed his eyes, stretching with a wince as his muscles burned. Not only his muscles, though: his whole body throbbed from head to foot, a result of overextending his power in training that day. From the look on Tommy’s face - the same pinched, faintly pained one he could feel on his own expression - he knew Tommy was the same. “Wish we didn’t have training tomorrow. Wish we could… I dunno. Sleep in. Do something normal.”
Even after he closed his eyes again, Tubbo could see Tommy’s eye roll. “Yeah, like train.” Unmoving, Tubbo cracked open an eye at the sound of Tommy pushing himself to his feet, heading into the bathroom with fresh clothes to get changed. Tubbo stayed where he was: it was probably a bad idea not to change now, but he was tired, and screw getting changed - that was a problem for Future Tubbo of thirty minutes away. “Training is normal, Tubbo. It’s not as if we have anything else to do.”
You don’t, Tubbo choked back, and was glad Tommy was in a separate room: he was certain the reply showed up in his expression, no matter how silent he was. Because Tubbo did have other things he would rather do than train for three hours every day and spend the rest of his time waiting for villains and thinking about heroics - he’d rather invent, like he’d been able to do before, he’d rather sit all day locked up in his little attic room creating and building and working, only emerging for absent minded meals before heading back to his inventions. And it wasn’t that he thought training wasn’t important - he knew it was - he just wished the L’Manburg Heroes Headquarters weren’t so fanatical about it. There were other things to do.
“D’you ever wish you weren’t a hero?” He called out to Tommy.
Tommy’s response was delayed, if only by a beat. “How’d’you mean?”
“Like, do you ever wish you were normal? Like normal-normal, without being a hero?” Tubbo shrugged, knowing Tommy couldn't see him. "Where you had a normal family and normal life away from being a hero."
His best friend knocked the bathroom door open, in his usual red and white t-shirt and looking suitably unimpressed. "What, you mean like a villain? 'Coz that would be the only other option."
"No, no, no," Tubbo hastened to correct, stomach doing a sick flip at the thought of them as villains, "that's not what I meant by normal. I mean- no powers, no heroes, no villains, nothing. D'you ever think about it?"
Tommy tossed his dirty clothes into the washing basket at the other side of the room, whooping when he managed to land the shot. "I dunno," he said honestly, "it's not really something I care about. I mean, it's not really possible. We do have powers, you know? And we are heroes. So it's no point wishing for something else we don't have. Besides-"
Tubbo scrambled into a sitting position just in time to squeak and raise his arms defensively as Tommy threw a sock at him, tossing it back with a groan. "That's so gross!"
"-Besides," Tommy added with a smug look, "if we weren't heroes, we would've never met. Wouldn't that've been shit or what?"
Despite scowling, Tubbo couldn't help but feel a warm sort of fondness bubble up inside him, filling his chest with a light joy. "I wish I hadn't met you," he complained, but both of them knew it was a lie, "you're mean."
"He's right, too."
Tubbo and Tommy turned to the door, surprised and pleased to see none other than Wilbur Soot standing there, arms crossed, looking rather amused at their bickering.
"You are heroes, Tubbo Underscore, whether you like it or not." Wilbur shook his head, sounding light, but Tubbo felt something inside him squirm like he'd disappointed him somehow. "It's fate, or destiny, or whatever."
"Wil," Tommy said, eyebrows raising, "I didn't think you'd come til later."
Wilbur shrugged, stepping further into the room and cracking his knuckles. "Finished work early," he replied cheerfully, "if you want me to leave and come back in an hour-"
"Don't be a dickhead," Tommy snorted, and opened his mouth before Tubbo, frowning, cut him off.
"How'd you get in?"
"The door was unlocked." Wilbur didn't look too bothered. "I let myself in."
...Fair enough. Tubbo made a mental note to himself to lock the door next time: not to keep Wilbur out, but just to be safe. "What're you here for, anyway? I didn't know you were coming up."
Wilbur looked offended, the expression slipping playfully over his face. "Do I need an excuse to visit my baby brother and his best friend?" He asked, smirking and moving swiftly when Tommy threw a punch his way with an affronted I'm not a baby!, and before long, had Tommy pinned down, easily avoiding Tommy's vicious kicks. Tubbo watched tiredly from the bed, squirming nearer the edge to get a better viewing position. These antics weren't new, but they never lost their entertainment factor. "We should really scrub your mouth out," Wilbur told Tommy teasingly, "don't try and hurt me when I let you go."
Tommy scowled up at him. "Bitch."
"Tommy."
"...Bitch," Tommy said again, with less vigor, and true to form, when Wilbur relinquished his hold on him, Tommy only scrambled to his feet with a huff and muttered curse under his breath, with no retaliation attempt, "you're a fucking bitch."
"Yeah, think you said that," Wilbur agreed nonchalantly, grinning at Tubbo, before returning his attention to his brother, "go get ready for training. We start early. Maybe we'll get an early finish too."
Tommy rolled his eyes, but obliged, beginning to pack his bag, shovelling books and pens into it while Tubbo arched an eyebrow. Training was done - at least, it was supposed to be. "Not me?" He checked warily.
Wilbur shook his head, amused. "Nope. You get the day off. Prophecy stuff. That's all I'm doing with Tommy. Just a couple of hours, then he can go."
Prophecy stuff. Tubbo shot Tommy Their Look, a silent oh-boy-not-the-prophecy passing between them, but seriousness settled over Tommy in an air Tubbo didn't quite recognize, shouldering his backpack onto his shoulders and sighing. He looked tired - Tubbo didn't blame him. The thought of doing more training - especially about the prophecy, a topic long since exhausted in the L'Manburg Hero Division, where every day was another day to discuss Tommy's prophecy - made Tubbo feel queasy. He didn't envy Tommy. Being the kid from the Prophecy was no fun.
For as long as he'd been at L'Manburg HQ under Wilbur's control - almost three years! - Tubbo had heard about the prophecy time and time again. Everybody spoke of it, whispered about it, muttered about it amongst themselves and quietened with hawkish observance whenever Tommy appeared, and Tubbo, for the first couple of months, hadn't quite picked up on why, until his friend, still bruised after their latest villain fight, had pulled him aside impatiently.
"The person the Prophecy is speaking about," he'd said, eyes looking anywhere other than Tubbo, "that's me."
Tubbo had gaped. "You're the villain?"
Tommy had shoved him, scoffing, but the tension had faded from his shoulders at the banter. "You're such a fucking idiot. The hero, I'm the hero. The one destined to kill Dream."
...It was a burden. For Tommy more than Tubbo, obviously, but it didn't stop Tubbo waking up every day and turning to his still-sleeping friend in the bed a couple of metres away, studying him as the sun began trickling through the curtains, thinking this could be the day my best friend dies. Anyone could die any day, he knew that (he knew that better than anyone, really), but somehow Tommy had become more precious to him, larger than life itself; invincible, in Tubbo's eyes, to death and to Dream. Tommy couldn't die, surely, but every day that ticked by brought Tubbo one day closer to the day when he would.
When he could. Wilbur's training was trying to ensure he didn't. With a suddenly heavy heart, Tubbo watched his best friend and his brother head for the door, Wilbur's arm looping round Tommy's shoulders easily. A strange sense of loss hit him then, as if he was watching them leave for the last time.
"See you," he called out, through the feeling, and both brothers turned round to face him, Tommy's face transforming briefly into something brighter.
"See you, Tubbo," he replied, and then the door was closed and Tubbo was left alone.
Right. Letting out a breath and trying to dispel the sudden weird energy in the room, Tubbo got to his feet with a wince, tentatively shaking out his arms and legs and internally cursing out every single minute of his life he'd ever trained.
"No sweating pill," he muttered under his breath, rueful, shaking his head, "I'd be better with a pill that stopped me training."
He thought he would have adjusted to the steady grind of training every day after over two years of it, but his body still longed to return to the easy days of Pre-L'Manburg, when it had just been him and his work lab and no heroes around to tell him what was ethical and what wasn't. The last part was less relevant, but it was more familiar than training was, more familiar than all of this was, even after going without it for three and a half years - that was how long it had been since he'd last been in his old lab.
For a minute, Tubbo thought about visiting it, he really did.
And then he remembered the last time he'd left it, and he felt his stomach churn nauseatingly.
(Fireworks. The night's sky exploding with color. Tubbo exploding with color.)
"Trust me, we’d both know if your arms were exploding," Tommy had laughed only minutes before Wilbur appeared, eyes crinkling in amusement, "don’t worry, I’d tell you if they were."
Tubbo glanced down at his arms, breathing hitching as the light caught on the supernova of scars on his arms.
Fuck.
He needed to get out. The room was too small.
There was nowhere in mind but out as he gathered his things, shoving a water bottle and snack bar into his coat pockets and heading with purpose in his stride out the door. Wilbur and Tommy were long gone: most people were by this point, only a couple of heroes remaining back to deal with phone calls and last minute paperwork before nigh watch took over. Tubbo forced out a cheery hi to Puffy and to Foolish, who were talking animatedly about something he would have loved to talk about if he had been in any other mood, replied with a bright but final good, thanks! to Sam who called after him asking him how he was. Nobody asked where he was going: they didn't have any authority over him, not the way Wilbur and Sc-
Wilbur. Just Wilbur now. Tubbo swallowed thickly, tried to choke down a few gulps of his water, and told himself the whispering little voice in his head was paranoia.
Getting outside helped instantly. Sucking in a sharp breath, and then another, Tubbo's chest relaxed, heart growing less frantic in his chest, and he relaxed enough to actually stop and think about his next location. He had to be back before Wilbur and Tommy, but when they trained, they were gone for at least a couple of hours at a time. He had an hour or two to kill before he had to go back. Snow biome to his left, forest to his right - where to?
His eyes crept to the left. Yeah. It was never really a choice anyway. Who didn't love the snow?
Shrugging his back more securely onto his back, Tubbo didn't look back at HQ as he left, and when he did, the building had long faded into the distance.