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He was almost asleep when he first hears them.
Drifting between the waking world and the realm of sleep. Everything slowly melting away to make way into a blissful slumber. Tommy would not be granted this it seemed.
When Tommy hears them his heart jumps in his chest and his eyes snap open, body jolting upright in his bed. He stays like that for a moment. Just fighting to get air back into his lungs. He’s awake. It was just a nightmare. Everything is fine.
Focus on what’s around you. Focus on what’s real. Says a voice that sounds a lot like Puffy.
His eyes flick around his room. There is a framed picture of a younger Tommy and Tubbo, gripping each other's hands and holding up sticks that, if you squinted, might resemble swords and bows. There is an unfinished bouquet of orchids haphazardly left on the floor by the door. There’s the patchwork pillowcase Michael made for him after he taught him to sow. There’s a potted allium next to a picture of Henry and of Friend; there's his compass and his tools and hundreds of other trinkets scattered about the space.
Slowly, some of the fear drains away and his hands unclench the death grip from where they were tangled in the sheets. Just a nightmare, he sighs.
Golden curls splay across the patchy pillow as he lays back down, holding a hand to his chest as it still rises and falls rapidly. It feels like his heart is trying to escape his ribcage, pounding and pulling against the bone that’s trapping it. He understands the feeling. The distant wail of sirens continues to bounce around his skull. Echoes of his dream lingering. But it wasn’t the first time sirens have haunted his dreams.
He sighs. He lets his eyes slip closed. He’s so tired.
…
But the echoes don’t stop. No, they get louder. The distant wail sounds not so distant anymore. The blaring swells as the alarm's rhythm grows faster. More urgent. Until it almost sounds like a voice.
“ Run. ” It repeats. “Run. Run away. Get away. Run and don’t look back. Run. Run now .”
And then it twists into something harsher. Something angry and terrifying and all too familiar. So loud that Tommy’s hands fly up to protect his ears. The prison sirens scream in a chorus of fury. A rage that's been festering and is now rolling out of obsidian walls in waves. Waves that are banging against his rickety wooden door, slipping through the cracks in the mud walls, and gathering in his ears.
Tears sting in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Shaking hands squeeze tightly, clamping around his ears, clawing and pulling at his hair in a desperate attempt to lessen the sound.
No. No no no no nonono. NO. This can’t be happening. There’s no way he could have escaped the prison. It’s not possible.
But the alarm doesn’t listen, it just keeps on screaming.
It’s a nightmare indeed. A waking one.
___
It’s near midnight when Tommy stumbles up to the door of Tubbo’s cabin in Snowchester.
He raps on the door in a flurry of hurried knocks. Shivering on the porch. No one answers. Tommy groans, mashing a hand against his face. Tubbo, c'mon please. He thinks desperately. The next knocks on the door are even rougher and then he kicks it for good measure. Still the door doesn’t budge. And now he’s cold and his foot hurts.
He scowls at the door like it has a mind of its own and is doing this on purpose before shifting everything he’s carrying to his left so he can reach the door knob with his right. He refuses to set anything down. On this snowy porch? and get his shit wet and cold, no fucking thanks.
He’d brought everything along that he could think of to take with him. Everything he cared about. Which for Tommy meant a lot of stuff. Sue him, he liked shiny rocks and old clothes and placed random sentimental value on old junk constantly. This ended up translating into a rucksack, a messenger bag and a small duffle bag full of stuff; plus whatever he could fit into the pockets of his clothes
After what could be classed as a world record juggling act Tommy manages to maneuver the door open, pushing harder than necessary so it slams against the opposite wall. Snow dampened sneakers stomp against the wooden floor as he shouts a clipped greeting. It's met with silence.
Something in him cracks, just a little.
No.
“Tubbo?” He calls, voice breaking at the end of the name. For some reason this makes him angry. He embraces it. Anger is better than the fear that’s making him shake even though he’s out of the cold. “Tubbo! Where the fuck are you, you bitch.”
He drops on his knees to look through the trap door to the basement. The stupid villager’s stare back at him. He bares his teeth, “Fuck. You.” They just blink back at him.
Tommy finally gives in and sets everything down so he can climb the ladder to Michael's attic room. His mind is running laps as he tries to rationalize. Tubbo’s just a heavy sleeper. He’s fallen asleep somewhere odd again and that’s it. Nothing more. Don't be stupid.
Tommy can’t help the tears that spring to his eyes when he sees Michael’s empty room. He’s never seen it empty before. There was always someone here, whether it be Tubbo, Ranboo, himself or just Michael.
Michael was always here. Still living in the old cabin and not relocated to they’re big fuck-off mansion- Oh. The mansion.
Tommy almost slams his head into the nearest wall as the memory resurfaces. In his panic he’d forgotten the new house, built by Foolish and paid for by Ranboo’s millions. The rich bastard. Rough hands scrubbed away before climbing back down the dark wooden ladder. He gathered up his stuff again and headed out the door with a new purpose.
But the mansion came up with the same results as the cabin. Nobody.
Panic was squeezing his throat, digging icy talons into his lungs. No. Please, no. It was too quiet. Every action, every footstep echoed back into his ears and then eerie silence would follow. Tommy threw back his head and screamed into the silence of the manor. His wordless shout repeated into nothing down the lonely spruce halls.
Although it wasn’t truly complete silence. The sirens were still there too. Quieter in the house, but always present. A reminder. He was on a time limit and it was running out faster than he could move. Like he was running slow motion in a dream.
“Tubbo!” He cried, struggling through tears. “Ranboo? Anyone, please! Hello?” He staggered down the halls, the reality weighing down his shoulders as well as all the luggage he’d brought along. He was so tired.
Was it really possible Dream had already got them?
No.
No he couldn’t have. The sirens had only started an hour or so ago. But then again Tommy wasn’t sure. How long had he laid in his bed before he realized the nightmare was his reality? How long had he spent gathering up his stuff and wandering empty halls?
He needed to leave now. His skin was itching with it. To run and run and run. Run forever if he had to. Anything to get as far as possible from Dream, but he couldn’t leave his friends behind. Not Tubbo and Ranboo. And what about Wilbur, where was he? And would he even be willing to leave with Tommy if he asked?
It just wasn’t fair. But then, when had life ever been fair to Tommy?
The urgency and adrenaline that had guided his body was running dry. He was so tired. He let the exhaustion drag him down to the cold hardwood floors.
___
When Ranboo found him he was fitfully sleeping on the hallway floor. Body curled up around his bags, messenger bag used as a lumpy pillow, and arms wrapped tightly around his middle to retain the warmth inside his layered coats.
Ranboo shook him awake gently, a soft smile across worried features. “Tommy?” He whispered softly.
Tommy gave a dignified grumble in response.
“Why are you here, Tommy?” and then immediately after- “Oh gods, you’re not hurt are you?” Ranboo’s eyes ran over Tommy checking for any obvious signs of injury.
Tommy just stared unblinking. The distant sound of sirens cleared the fog in his head.
He jolted upright, almost slamming into his friend who was leaning over his previously prone body. Ranboo jumped back at the sudden urgency, but Tommy caught him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug so tight Ranboo could barely breathe.
“Hey, It’s okay. Are you-” Ranboo trailed off when he noticed the shaking in Tommy’s shoulders. “Oh.” Monochrome hands began to smooth circles into the back of Tommy’s jacket.
They stayed like that for a while. After several minutes Tommy muttered something into Ranboo’s shoulder.
“Huh?”
“‘M not crying, okay.”
Ranboo let out a surprised laugh despite himself. “Sure, Tommy,” he said fondly.
“Don’t laugh, dickhead. I’m not ,” he snapped, pulling away from the embrace. “Big men like me never cry.”
Ranboo’s smile turned sad. “Tommy, it’s okay to c-” A hand clamped over his mouth, accompanied by a heated glare. Although the silent threat was slightly undermined by the mix of tear tracks and snot on Tommy’s face, along with the redness of his nose.
___
Turns out the second Tubbo heard the sirens he had grabbed Michael and ran to his secret bunker to hide. At least that’s what Ranboo told Tommy after he demanded to know where their friend was.
The sirens were louder outside. So loud Tommy froze the second they stepped outside the house. Then unceremoniously took two fistfuls of Ranboo’s long coat and shoved his face into the enderman hybrid's chest. Ranboo made an ‘oof’ sound in response to what was essentially a headbutt. It reminded him of something Tubbo did occasionally.
Ranboo stepped back into the house with a light sigh, pulling Tommy along with him. Only once the heavy arched door was shut, effectively cutting off most of the noise, did Tommy slowly raise his head from Ranboo’s shirt. Then he quickly snatched his hands away and stepped back.
“Can’t believe you did that, weirdo.”
“I-”
“Hugging me out of nowhere. Have you heard of personal space?” Ranboo just scoffed, watching as Tommy’s eyes nervously flicked to the door and back. “Then you dragged me back in here. We gotta go find Tubs!” Tommy huffed, but made no move to leave. The enderman hybrid just rolled his eyes and walked off to the left. Moments later he returned and placed something fluffy over Tommy’s ears. Ranboo steps back to smile as the blonde raises a hand to stroke over the soft fuzz.
“Earmuffs!” Ranboo exclaims happily.
There's a part of Tommy that wants to be angry. Telling him that Ranboo isn’t allowed to be happy like this right now. But he’s assured him that Tubbo is fine, along with Michael. And he’s so tired.
Tommy returns the smile. Ranboo links they’re arms together and then they’re back out into the snow. Fog is gathering around the buildings, hanging low as snow drifts peacefully. Snowchester looks enchanting coated in the thick fog, something mysterious and magical. Tommy could almost forget. Almost.
The earmuffs work well enough to get them to the bunker. Ranboo breaks away the stones covering the entrance with his pickaxe allowing them entry and then replaces the stone from the entrance before following behind.
Only half way down the stairs does Tommy realize. He can’t hear the sirens anymore. He slips off the earmuffs and looks back at Ranboo. The stone and earth surrounding them has shielded them away from the prison's wailing. Ranboo nods in understanding. Tommy barely has time to rejoice over the long awaited quiet when his eyes fall on Tubbo; sitting cross legged on a quilted blanket watching Micheal, who is surprisingly still awake and full of energy, as he chases his chicken across the stone floor.
The brunette looks over as Tommy reaches the bottom of the stairs. His eyes are miles away. Tubbo forces a smile over his blank features.
“You look like shit boss man.” The words are stiff, but there's an underlying warmth that's always been there.
The luggage cascades out of his arms and clatters to the floor as he crosses the room in three quick strides. Tears blur his vision as he falls to his knees next to his friend, and falls into his arms.
You scared me so much. He wants to say. You fucking asshole why didn’t you wait for me. He wants to lash out, but he understands. If he had been with Michael he would have done something very similar. I’m so, so afraid. He wants to whisper. But no words pass his lips, just silent tears continue to flow as he grabs fistfuls of Tubbo’s sweater.
It’s fine anyway. Tubbo understands. Tubbo is afraid too.
At some point Ranboo joins them, gathers up the both of them in his lanky hybrid arms. Later yet, the cuddle pile gains one Michael and one chicken. It’s nice.
It’s quiet here. Silent in a different way then when he was alone in the manor. They’re together and for now they are all safe.
“Tommy?” Tubbo says suddenly.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you wearing 3 jackets?”
“More clothes on me means more stuff in my bag. Ever heard of optimization ,” He breaks apart and over enunciates each part of the word until it loses all original meaning. “I’m also wearing four pairs of socks, four t-shirts and two pairs of mittens,” Tommy finishes, wiggling his oversized fingers to prove a point.
Tubbo just stares; Tommy grins back stupidly and lets his eyes fall shut.
He’s tired. He deserves a good rest.