Chapter Text
Tommy wasn’t sure how it happened.
He wasn’t sure why, either, come to think of it. He didn’t know a lot of things. He just knew that he was talking to Sapnap one moment and the next, Purpled was running towards one of the maze entrances, calling for Phil to follow him.
When he went to turn to Tubbo, he wasn’t there.
It was more like a chain of events, destined to happen. Tommy's body was moving on its own, shoving Sapnap away and sprinting across the Glade. His mind couldn't keep up, still thinking about what Purpled looked like, the fear drawn onto his face. He must have pushed past a couple of people, there were angry shouts behind him, telling him to watch out.
What he found was nothing that he’d expected to find. He thought that maybe Tubbo passed out, maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe he got bit by one of the livestock. Finding Tubbo collapsed by the entrance to Maze, letting out muffled screams at either the pain or the frustration of surviving, as Purpled and Phil crouched over him and called for Karl, wasn't something he’d ever prepared for.
How could he? He prepared himself every day that Tubbo ran into the Maze for the possibility that he wouldn’t return, but this?
It was fairly clear what Tubbo had done.
What else could Tommy do besides stand there, in equal parts shock and horror, as he watched his best friend bleed and cry out? There was nothing else for him to do, not after Karl cleared them to move Tubbo, not after Purpled picked up Tubbo with far too much ease, not after he followed them to the Homestead and watched as they closed the door behind him.
Tommy wasn’t even sure that Tubbo would survive.
Which, maybe that had been the point of it all. Maybe Tubbo hadn’t wanted to survive the fall from the top of the Maze, maybe instead he wanted to leave all of the routine of being trapped behind him and move on to whatever hell was after this one.
It made Tommy pause. If one of his best friends was so easily swayed into forgetting what they survived for, if one of his best friends was convinced that there was nothing left to live for, what was stopping everyone else from thinking like that? What was stopping him from thinking like that?
If his best friend died, then what even was the point anymore?
He sat numbly for the rest of the afternoon, slowly picking at the pieces of fabric he’d received from the last time the Box came up. It was only when Karl came to see him that he realized he’d been crying, a pounding headache echoing through his head and the tears blurring his vision.
Karl didn’t speak for a long time. What words were there to say?
‘I’m sorry your best friend tried to kill himself.’?
‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’?
Or maybe- maybe there wouldn’t be an apology. Maybe it would be a reassurance.
‘He’s going to be okay.’?
‘It looked worse than it actually was.’?
Tommy thought for a long time, during the silence between them, about what Karl would end up saying. It would’ve been better, in his eyes, if Karl had just stayed silent.
Karl sighed. “I… I’m not going to lie to you. It’s bad. I’m… not sure if he’s going to make it.”
He shrugged, but didn’t say anything, didn’t react at all to show the anguish he felt inside. He didn’t show how the world was falling around him, because Karl wouldn’t understand. How could he understand?
“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but it’s the best I can do right now, unless you want further details.” Karl said softly, looking at Tommy.
Tommy just scoffed. “What’s there to know? He tried to off himself, and he might succeed. At least one of us is getting out of here, right? Every cloud has a silver lining and all.”
“It’s okay to be sad-”
“I am sad. I’m shucking distraught, and I’m mad at him for trying to leave me alone, and I’m mad at you, and I’m mad at the Creators for doing this to everyone. I’m furious that none of us realized where he was going, but it’s not going to do me a lot of good, is it? Everyone else is just as scared as I am, and when you tell them the news tonight at dinner, someone has to pretend they have everything together. Since I was- am Tubbo’s best friend, might as well be me.”
Karl let it stay quiet after that, before he left. Tommy was glad for it, but it left a space in his chest that ached.
Still, it was better than having a constant reminder that his best friend was fighting for his life (or rather, doing everything he could to not fight.) and there was nothing he could do about it.
Then, there was the sound of a quiet, chittering Beetleblade, just about hidden in the grass. It was the closest he'd ever actually seen one. He glared at it, knowing that the Creators were watching, knowing they knew what might happen and doing nothing about it. He went to swipe at it, to kick it, just something to get it for, far away from him. It didn't move, and neither did he.
Dinner came far too quickly, and bedtime followed it much like Tommy knew eyes were trailing after him at the news of Tubbo’s injury.
‘Injury.’
They didn’t say the truth that everyone was thinking. They just smiled in sympathy and said there’d be no visitors until Tubbo was feeling better.
Tommy fell into a fitful sleep, filled with nightmares that he didn’t remember past waking up with tears in his eyes. Every time he woke, he’d look at the homestead and imagine Tubbo was looking back. It haunted him that for all he knew, Tubbo was dead there.
It took until the next day, around lunch, for him to walk up to the Homestead and demand he see Tubbo.
They wouldn’t let him, of course, because he was acting like a “child” , he was being too impatient, needed to give Tubbo some space. They wouldn’t answer his questions after that, no matter how much he demanded, how much he threatened it.
They wouldn’t let Purpled in either, wouldn’t even tell him anything. He was the one who brought him back, without Purpled, would they have even found him? Would any of this have happened?
Tommy wanted to scream. He should be in there with Tubbo, staying with him and making sure that he was safe from then on, like he promised.
It took a week. A long, slow, torturous week for them to let him just see Tubbo. A week of not knowing if his best friend was even alive, a week of hardly sleeping, a week of fretting over something that he had no control of. It was the worst week of his life, even worse than his first in the Glade.
Even though he’d been waiting for so long, though, he hesitated in front of the door that led to the room that Tubbo had been in. He was scared, and scared to admit it. Because although he’d spent the last week thinking of what was behind the door, he had no idea. He didn’t know how his best friend was suffering and he didn’t know what he looked like.
Phil ended up opening the door for him. “Karl said he’s going to be alright. His leg probably won’t heal all the way, but he’ll be able to walk, and everything else seems to be healing. It’s a better outcome than we thought, to be honest.”
Tommy almost didn’t hear him, his eyes trained on the bed that was in the room. Tubbo lay in it, asleep or in a state that looked like sleep, but was paler than Tommy had ever seen him. One of his legs was above the blankets, bandaged and elevated on some pillows. His arms were also bandaged, wrapped up and protected.
Phil sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs that had been moved into the room. “We had to watch him the first couple days, or he’d try to… y’know. Do it again.”
Tommy’s gaze never wavered, still watching his best friend breathe slowly, painfully, like each breath was a gift that he didn’t want.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He found himself asking, tone harsher than he meant. It surprised him, he didn't think he couldn't bring himself to be mad at Phil, they were all in the same maze here, after all.
“He was worse, he wasn’t stable. There’s a lot of reasons, Tommy. It would’ve stressed you out more if we were completely honest and told you how close he was to dying.”
Tubbo’s body moved and Tommy went forward, sitting down on the opposite side that Phil was on. His eyes opened, slowly, then blinked.
“Hey, Tommy.”
Tommy felt a wave of emotion hit him, but he couldn’t place all of it. He knew there was a fair bit of relief that his best friend wasn’t in a coma, he knew that he was worried, and mad, and a little bit hurt to add on, but there was more.
At some point, Phil left the two alone.
It was quiet, the tension palpable, before Tommy started to cry again. Tubbo tried to say something, but Tommy interrupted him.
His voice was soft, threatening to break at any moment, his vulnerability showing through in a way that didn’t happen often. “They told me they weren’t sure if you were going to make it or not. They told me that you dying was a real possibility, and I don’t think I could’ve taken it if you did. Wherever you go, I’m going too, but I always thought it meant out of the maze. Not on to death.”
Tubbo sighed. “So I was close, then? To succeeding?”
“I was terrified, every night, that you were dead in here and I’d never see you again.” Tommy whispered. “You keep me sane, Tubbo. I can’t lose you, ever.”
Tubbo just shrugged. “I think you’re exaggerating. You’d be fine, just like everyone else. You have a purpose here, hope for escaping, you have people that care about you. I’m… not so lucky.”
Tommy tilted his head, tears falling as he sobbed. “How can you not think you matter to me? How can you say that, when this entire week I haven’t slept, barely eaten, begged to see you, all because I thought my goddamn brother was dying in a way that I couldn’t help with? You matter more than anyone, Tubbo, and I don’t understand how you can’t see it.”
“I can see it sometimes,” Tubbo relented. “But what’s the point of love if there’s no hope for an outcome? We’re stuck in this shucking prison and we haven’t even gotten close to a solution yet. There’s no escaping- and death is a million times better than living out life in isolation.”
"The point is that it doesn't matter if there's no way out, there's me and you and that's it. As long as it's you and me against the world, against the Creators, against everyone , then I don't care if we can't find a solution." Tommy paused and wiped his eyes roughly, trying to get rid of the tears. He was a big man, for shucks sake.
"But Tommy-"
"Tubbo! Just listen , man! I mean it, I mean everything, when I say you're my brother and you keep me sane and I don't know what I'd do without you. And I mean it, when I say that I'm always going to be there for you. You just gotta say the word. I'm not going anywhere, I swear."
Tubbo smiled, but it was bittersweet. He wished with all of his heart that he could believe the words that Tommy was telling him, but he knew he couldn’t. The question was never about whether or not Tommy would leave- after all, Tubbo was the one that very nearly left. He was selfish, wasn’t he? He’d wanted to leave Tommy all alone to deal with the world that he wanted no part of, only to fail. Tubbo wondered if he could do anything right.
Still, he appreciated the words.
Maybe they meant a little more than he wanted to admit, especially considering the person that it was coming from.
Tommy sniffled slightly. “Just… please don’t do it again. You don’t have to promise, but please. Please.”
“I don’t think that I can promise anything, but-” Tubbo was cut off by a gasp of pain as he moved his leg in just the wrong way. Tears welled in his eyes, too, leaving Tommy helpless once again.
“What can I do to help?” He asked. “Is there anything? Should you go back to sleep? Am I keeping you up?”
Tubbo blinked a couple times. Now that Tommy mentioned it, his eyes were heavy, but something was keeping him awake. Some part of him was still scared. “Can… Can you stay with me? So that I don’t try to do anything?”
They didn’t trust him and he certainly didn’t trust himself, but maybe he’d try to make sure he stayed alive. Maybe there was something, someone, worth living for.
“You just had to say the word, Tubso. I’m never leaving you.” Tommy said, inviting himself to lay next to Tubbo and yank some of the blankets towards his side while still being careful to avoid Tubbo’s leg. “Goodnight, I guess.”
Tubbo smiled for the first time since he’d been getting his harmful thoughts. “Goodnight, Tommy.”
Maybe tomorrow would be better.