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Tubbo opens his eyes and has the distinct feeling he's dreaming.
Michael isn't here, for one. That's worrying. Or, would be. If he weren't dreaming.
Tommy stares down at him with baby blue eyes and a red kerchief wrapped snug around his neck.
"Hi," Tubbo says slowly, shoving back the urge to reach out and loosen it.
He's laying down, he realizes. Lying on grass, one arm draped lazily over his abdomen.
Tommy grins.
"Tubs! You're finally awake," he says, offering a hand, and.. oh.
Tubbo's lips twitch.
His best friend sounds like a baby.
Snickering, Tubbo lets himself be pulled to his feet by the tiny (age-wise; height wise Tubbo's never catching up) fifteen-year-old version of his Tommy.
They're in..
Oh.
They're in Snowchester. Except there's no snow.
Huh.
It doesn't look that bad, with lush grass and flowers spread all around. Tubbo's always had a soft spot for green.
And the trees have leaves.
"Oh, wow," Tubbo says, as he turns around to come face-to-face with the tree he was sleeping under.
It's Prime-damned massive.
"Oi!" Tommy pesters. They're still holding hands. "Not in vain, Tubbo!"
"Oh, come off it, Tommy." Tubbo grins, turning back around. "You use Prime-damned too!"
He freezes.
Tommy's outfit's changed.
The younger's wearing his red-and-white again. He looks older, too. A little.
The bandana on his neck is green, now.
"Well, I don't use it in vain."
Tubbo sputters, recovering quickly. "You — what's the difference?!"
Tommy bursts out laughing. Tubbo grins.
He's missed Tommy's laugh. Tommy never laughs like that anymore.
Tubbo pauses.
Something feels off, about that thought.
Tommy..
The ground flickers.
Tubbo thinks he freezes.
The ground flickers.
(Tommy never laughs like that anymore.)
The ground flickers. They're in Manburg.
The ground flickers. They're on a stage.
The ground flickers.
They're at the festival.
Tubbo flinches. Tommy's hand on his tightens.
"S'alright," his best friend says softly. His face is bruised, nose the most messed up — Tubbo recognizes it as Techno's doing by the yet-to-be-scarred cut on his jaw. "It's alright. We're alright, Big T. There's no one else here, see?"
There are bandages stuck on Tubbo's scars.
He's heard that tone before.
Suddenly, Tubbo's sitting down on a cot.
They're in Pogtopia.
"Y-Yeah," Tubbo manages. His voice is high, higher than normal; but it doesn't crack. "We're.." He tries not to eye Tommy's bruises. Wonders what he'd find if he walked out and towards that damned pit. "We're safe."
Tommy smiles.
Tommy's hand flickers.
They're in New L'manburg.
Tubbo's hand tightens.
"Stay," he says. He doesn't quite know why. "Stay with me."
He's shaking. His voice does, too.
Tommy looks at him with something far too soft to be concern.
Tommy's hand flickers.
Thin, is Tubbo's first thought.
Too thin.
Tubbo's never seen him; this version.
Tommy's hand flickers; Tubbo thinks he shuts his eyes.
When he opens them again, Tommy dons an emerald earring.
His best friend smiles.
It's strained. Familiar.
Tubbo hates that it's familiar.
"Stay," he says. "Tommy — Tommy, stay."
Tommy laughs.
He's back to his red-and-white, now. The compass is gone, along with the emerald.
The kerchief never leaves.
"M'not a fuckin' dog, Tubbs," he mutters. But he's smiling, still. His eyes are silver.
Tubbo isn't sure what to make of the fact that he's smiling.
The tone is familiar, Tubbo notes. Exact.
The words aren't.
The expression isn't.
("I'm not a fuckin' science experiment, Tubbo," was what Tommy was prone to snapping. Was; he'd done it less over the years.
Was. He's — )
"Dream's bringing you back," Tubbo reasons. "Dream's bringing you back. He — he said you were fun. Too fun to.. to give up."
His lip is wobbling. That's weird.
Tommy laces their hands together, again.
Oh.
There are tears trailing down his face, now.
That's odd.
"Don't cry." Tommy's still smiling. Tommy's still smiling, and Tubbo —
Tubbo sobs.
"You're not dead," he tries, "you're not. You're — you're not."
Tommy hums.
"Alright."
Tubbo wants to wail.
He doesn't.
"Don't leave," he gasps. "S-Stay. Stay here, stay here, Tommy. Stay here, please. Stay like this. Stay with me."
Tommy shifts. Tubbo reaches desperately towards him, pulls him closer, grabs his wrist to feel his —
To feel his —
Tommy shifts. Holds his hands.
Leads him to a chair.
No.
A bench.
They're in L'manburg.
Tommy's outfit changes, again.
So does Tubbo's.
"Oh," he breathes shakily. He thinks he's on the verge of a laugh.
Oh.
They're in L'manburg.
The city, L'manburg.
"Oh," Tommy echoes, eyeing both of their clothes. His smile shifts towards something steadier. "I made these."
Tubbo's smile is wobbly. "You did."
He'd slaved over it for weeks. Started with his own, of course; it didn't matter if his had the most flaws, since he was the only one out of them that knew how to fix said flaws.
Was. Until Niki.
Tommy sighs loudly. It reminds Tubbo, a little, of Wilbur. He doesn't quite know how to feel about that. "They were a right pain, you know?"
"I do." Tubbo laughs, wiping his tears away. He doesn't know why he's still crying. "You kept me up at night with how much you kept complaining, you know?"
Somehow, that's the thing that gets Tommy's smile to falter. "Yeah," he says, quietly, "yeah. I'm.. sorry about that, Tubbo. I was a real bother back then, huh?"
Tubbo blinks slowly.
That's not right.
That's not — Tommy's not supposed to say stuff like that. They're in L'manburg.
That's not..
Tommy...
"Don't be sorry," Tubbo says.
Tommy only looks more upset.
That's not right. That's not Tommy. They're in L'manburg.
And even if they weren't — Tommy should know he's joking. Tommy should know he'd never actually mind stuff like that. Even if they weren't in L'manburg.
And they are.
The ground changes.
Oh.
They're in L'manburg.
The crater, L'manburg.
They're on their feet, now.
And Tubbo's still crying.
"T-Tommy?"
His best friend looks around blankly. His silver eyes are two-toned; bits of turquoise spattered around in a way that reminds Tubbo vaguely of koi fish.
He has an allium in his hair.
That isn't how he looked, when L'manburg blew up.
He wore armour. Netherite, enchanted. Both of them did.
Neither of them are.
Tubbo's wearing a vest.
Tommy's got an allium in his hair.
No.
This is what they wore the day — the day Tommy —
Tubbo blinks. Tears fall.
"Why — " It's hard to breathe, now. Maybe it's always been. "Why are we here? Tommy, why are we here?"
His best friend sighs.
"Tubbo," he starts, and he says it like he always did, when he had trouble getting out something serious, "I'm not here, am I?"
For a second, everything flickers.
Then, "You are," Tubbo replies. There's another sob bubbling up — so he smiles. "N-No, no — you are, Tommy. We both are."
Tommy turns to him.
He looks sad.
Tommy shouldn't look sad.
Tommy should never look that sad.
His tears are wiped away, again. Tubbo's hands are fists at his side.
Oh.
"We're not," Tommy murmurs, dabbing away his tears with a green kerchief. Tubbo tries not to sob, again.
He has way too much to be crying.
"Oh, Tubbo," Tommy sighs. It's not sadness — Tubbo realizes, with a jolt. "We're not."
They're in Snowchester, again. Without the snow.
Tubbo's trying his absolute hardest to keep his grimace a smile.
Hands shaking; sobbing, he shouldn't be crying, he has too much to be crying — he pulls his best friend into a hug.
Tommy hugs back.
Slowly, his best friend's hand comes up to comb through Tubbo's hair. Tubbo presses his head onto Tommy's chest and pretends it's warm.
Pretends he hears a heartbeat.