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“Hello.”
Tommy looks to the side of his post, tilts his head, and then watches as the snake coils at his feet.
“Hello,” he says in turn, careful to step away and over the snake, not letting it touch him. His wings rustle, and behind him a jungle sits. An oasis, green and gold and blue waterfalls perfect for its occupants.
Not that anyone’s there anymore. No, no, there’s an endless expanse of sand dunes ahead that is currently being traversed by two dark figures. If Tommy lifts his hand above his eyes to block the sun and squints, he can just make them out on the horizon. They’ve gotten pretty far already.
“I don’t suppose you’re the angel I was supposed to sneak past,” the snake says. Tommy huffs.
“And I don’t suppose you’re the snake I was supposed to ignore,” he shoots back. “We all have our orders. Yours aren’t any more special than mine.”
“Suppose not,” the snake says, and then it’s not a snake anymore. Instead, there’s a boy, sitting on the edge of the wall and letting his feet dangle over the bricks. His hair is brown and in desperate need of a haircut. His wings are long, black, and iridescent as they flutter in the sun for a brief moment as they settle into the air around them. Hot air. Tommy turns his eyes back to the desert, not wanting to stare for too long. Somewhere on the horizon, two figures are walking, step after step through the dunes. Tommy lifts a hand to squint and watch for a moment, then settles it over his eyes. The dark is nice– the air almost seems cooler when he can’t see the rippling heat waves ahead of them.
“Didn’t you have a sword?”
The question breaks the painful silence between them. Tommy jumps; his wings rustle.
“I did,” he says, purposefully ignoring the little voice in his head that’s yelling at him over it’s absence. The voice sounds suspiciously like Technoblade. He’s ignoring that too.
“Did you lose it? You seem the type to lose your head if it wasn’t screwed onto your shoulders–”
“I didn’t lose it,” Tommy interrupts. “And you don’t know me! I bet you don’t shut up, do you? I didn’t lose it. It’s fine.”
“Kinda not fine,” the snake-that-is-not-a-snake says aimlessly. Tommy glares at him, only to find he’s being purposefully ignored– the snake’s eyes are turned away, out towards the desert, yellow irises fixated on the horizon and then the ground below them. “It’s a flaming sword. With fire, and flames. Kind of dangerous. It’s up to you to stop forest fires–”
“Oh, quit it,” Tommy snipes. “You lost an apple.”
“I did that on purpose though,” the snake says proudly. “Let it slip right out of my hands and into hers–”
“She was not supposed to eat it!”
“And yet here we are, with her having eaten it and you having lost a sword.”
Tommy grits his teeth. “For the last time, I didn’t lose it.”
The snake grins, lifting a hand to his forehead and peering from one direction to another. “Well I don’t see it–”
“I gave it away! Alright! Is that what you want to hear, you bumbling moron?” Tommy shouts, before pressing both palms to his eyes and rocking back on his heels. “Slither off.”
“You’re quite rude for an angel. You gave it away?” he says, maniacal in his delight.
“Yes, that’s what I just said, oh my–” Tommy bites his tongue, stomps his foot, takes a breath. Redirects the frustration as shivers roll down his spine. “I gave it away. She’s pregnant! He’s useless, as men generally are. I figured, if anyone was going to give them a leg up, it was going to have to be me. Since everyone else is incompetent.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re the one who made me have to give it away in the first place!”
“Mmmm,” Tubbo thinks on that (because Tubbo is his name, and Tommy knows this, just how Tubbo knows his name simply by virtue of Knowing), swings his legs as he sits. “I’m not sure.”
“You are,” Tommy insists. “Definitely.”
“If you say so, then,” Tubbo acquiesces with a shrug. Tommy is quiet, and he looks away back to the desert.
As far as he can see, the two figures on the horizon are gone.
“I’m not sure if I did the right thing,” he says in a rush, the air spilling out of his mouth before he can stop it. The language they speak is unique– not everything must be verbal, after all, and this is a tongue that was lost the moment it was created. But now, here, sitting on the top of a wall of a garden, Tommy thinks it’s best to speak out loud. Tubbo’s eyes shift over to watch him, and Tommy rocks from foot to foot. “You know. Giving it away.” Tubbo shrugs.
“Well, you’re an angel!” He points out. “Surely you can’t do the wrong thing. God’s plan, and all that.” Tubbo muses for a beat, reflecting on his own words. “God’s plan. Isn’t that a song by Kanye?”
Tommy scoffs, turning his head to scowl right down his nose at Tubbo. Forget any secrets, right now. “What?” He asks. “That doesn’t make any freaking sense. What do you know about God’s plan?”
“Probably not much more than you do!” His smile’s as bright and cheery as the sun, brilliant in it’s optimism. “Demons, after all. Terrible gossips, the lot of them. You’d think they’d have better things to do, you know, ruining the world and hatching evil plots. But most of ‘em just… sit there. So boring.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Tommy asks, shifting down to crouch instead of stand. Tubbo cocks his head, a flop of hair coming to cover his eyes. He doesn’t move to push it away. Tommy doesn’t dare touch him, either, so down it stays. “Come to annoy me, because I can’t leave? And none of your demon pals will entertain you?”
“You could leave,” Tubbo points out. He tips his head once more, and Tommy follows his presumed gaze down to the sands below them. “Just take a step off. Not that hard. You’ve got wings.”
“It’s the principle of the thing–”
“Oh, fuck principals! They don’t even exist yet, and I don’t like them. Bad grades all around. I go and make people’s eyes unique, and instead humans decide they’re different. And humans hate differences.”
“I think we’re having conversation in the wrong order,” Tommy points out, thinking about schools that haven’t been founded yet, students that are thousands of years away from being born. “Besides, making someone different isn’t–”
“A good thing?” Tubbo interrupts, shrugging. “You’d think. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing good things. All my bad intent wrapped up so tightly it shrinks into a little ball, and then explodes! Into little shreds of goodness fairies.” He accompanies the explanation with his hands, pushing his fingers together and exploding them at the right moment. “Not intentionally, of course.” Tommy startles slightly, leaning back and landing on his butt with a small huff. He blinks, shakes his head, and then heaves a long sigh.
“Fairies don’t exist,” is what he gets out of that metaphor.
“Not yet,” Tubbo says wickedly, turning his grin on Tommy once more.
“And besides,” Tommy continues. “You’re a demon. You can’t do good. It’s not in your D-N-A.” He pronounces each word carefully– they’d just gone over what humans were made of, actually, not a week ago. Back before this whole mess had started.
“And yet I worry,” Tubbo says. His cheerful tone is betrayed by his solemn face, eyes snapping out to the two figures on the horizon. “Perhaps I don’t know anything about what I’m doing. Sentiments is an awful curse.”
“....sentiments?” Tommy asks after a moment. He’s side-eyeing Tubbo enough that if his gaze was made of lasers, Tubbo would be dead. “Do you mean… sentience?”
“Maybe!” Tubbo chirps.
“I think you mean sentience,” Tommy says, stifling a laugh at the back of his throat, and then letting it out in one big heave of his chest. Tubbo’s giggling as well, quieter beside him, and slowly their giggles fall off the edge of the wall and into the oblivion of silence.
“Perhaps neither of us have done the right thing,” Tommy says, shifting gently with a brush of his wings. He settles on the precipice of the wall, letting his feet and legs dangle over the edge much like what Tubbo is doing. Tubbo tilts his head in question. “Like. At all. Maybe we’ve both screwed up and canceled the other out.”
“I’m not sure,” Tubbo says. Behind them, birds sing. “That’d be a right mess to clean up. Me doing the good and you the bad. I reckon that’d go against our very nature.”
“Might be a bit funny though,” Tommy says, and Tubbo snickers.
“It might,” he agrees. “Aren’t you supposed to find things like that not funny?”
“Probably,” Tommy agrees. His stomach twists. “I’ve already broken the mold once, though. Today’s been weird.”
“You can say that again,” Tubbo breathes.
After a pause, Tommy complies. “Today’s been weird.”
It sends them both spiraling into giggle fits for the next five minutes though, so it must not be that bad a joke. Tommy’s glad. He’s liked learning about humor. Maybe he’ll try to teach Technoblade.
A raindrop falls, catching on his nose, making him jump. A second later, more fall, splatters of wet darkened stone filling up around them. Tommy looks up– above them, great heavy clouds roll across the sky, filling it with thunder. They’re heading the way the duo had gone, with their flaming sword and makeshift loincloths; for some reason he cannot place, Tommy hopes they’re doing… okay. At least they’re together, he thinks.
A wing ruffles, stretches out above him. The rain stops hitting his hair and clothing, and instead he’s dry beneath a flood of black. Beside him, Tubbo grins. His teeth are sharp.
“Thanks,” Tommy says, because he’s an angel and angels are polite. Even if they don’t like it.
“You’re very welcome,” Tubbo says, because demons are supposed to be rude– but being contradictory is simply so much more fun.