Work Text:
Fundy should be working right now. Quackity hadn’t actually given him any deadlines, or even any instructions really, but Fundy knew he should be working. Or, rather, he needed to be working because otherwise that meant Fundy was being the Old Fundy. The useless Fundy. And then it would only be a matter of time before Quackity noticed, and then Fundy wouldn’t be wanted in Las Nevadas anymore.
But instead, he was here. South of Las Nevadas, wandering about the woods. Doing nothing except trying not to think. All because he couldn’t stop looking at that burger van.
Fundy had tried ignoring it at first. Had made sure the home he had built for himself and Yogurt had no windows facing it. Had only built on the opposite side of Las Nevadas, where all the various buildings blocked it from view. But he kept catching glimpses of it, and then he kept looking for glimpses of it, and then it became habit. A matter of just one more throw of the dice. One more gamble.
If there was one thing Fundy was learning at Las Nevadas, it was that gambling was a risky business.
They had been standing outside Paradise Burgers. Ranboo and Wilbur. Just talking. Not even looking in Fundy’s direction. Yet Fundy had still dropped everything and ran.
Which was why he was here. Not working.
Fundy went to nibble on a spider eye. At the moment his tongue registered the familiar sting, his eyes noticed a sliver of red moving through the trees.
He sniffed the air and was met with a number of familiar scents. First, poison; the half-eaten spider in his hands. Second, chicken; distant, not worth the hunt. Third, dirt and well-worn fabric and flowers and freshly-pulled carrots. Which meant—
“Tommy?” called out Fundy, regretting it almost immediately.
“Fundy?” called back Tommy, before stepping fully into sight. “It’s been a while.”
Fundy looked at Tommy, tried to catalogue any changes. He was wearing a red cardigan, slightly frayed. Some of it had been mended with what looked like spider silk. He had his green bandana again, this time wrapped around his arm. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but slightly lighter than before. Certainly lighter than Fundy’s.
If there was one advantage to having fur, it was that it hid the worst of even the darkest under eyes circles.
“Yeah,” agreed Fundy. “Not since the egg thing, right?”
“Yeah,” confirmed Tommy. Beneath his usual bluster there was uncertainty and, well, Fundy was glad he wasn’t the only one. “That egg was a real wrongun.”
“Is a real wrongun, technically,” corrected Fundy.
Tommy waved it off. “Yeah, I know. But it’s not exactly doing anything is it? I mean, yeah, we can’t destroy it but it’s been months. And to be honest, it kind of seemed like a pussy.”
“It was pretty scary to some of us. With the whole Red Banquet thing. And the possessing people thing,” pointed out Fundy. The memory still made his fur stand on end.
“Well, I’m built different,” said Tommy. Which, honestly Fundy should have expected. Sometimes Fundy wasn’t sure how much of Tommy was just show and how much was actual arrogance. “I see you have a new outfit. Very business.”
“Oh yeah,” said Fundy, glad for the change in topic. “It’s kind of like a work uniform. For the casino. Over at Las Nevadas. I don’t work at just the casino though. Quackity recruited me for the entire project.”
Fundy tried to sound proud when he said that. Like he had been chosen for his unique and valuable skills. Which, Quackity had chosen him. Just… he wanted to believe for his skills. But the memory of the dream still lingered.
“Oh,” said Tommy, as if something didn’t quite make sense. “Huh. Funny story. I was actually on my way to Las Nevadas when I got lost.”
“You got… lost?” asked Fundy. He didn’t think Tommy’s sense of direction was that bad. “Do you not have the cords?”
“Nope,” said Tommy. “Forgot to grab them.”
“I could take you to the casino?” offered Fundy.
Something crossed Tommy’s face. Regret? Fear? Definitely not something positive. But then he was grinning and telling Fundy to show him the way.
Okay, you can do this, Fundy told himself. Just a little bit of small talk with your not-really-uncle. And then you can get back to work! Instead of just walking around a forest all day.
Which was when the creeper exploded behind them.
There was a ringing in his ears and the sensation of falling. When his eyes finally recovered from the flash that came with an ignited creeper, he could only see three things. Tommy, the stone surrounding them, and a small square of sunlight above them.
“What the fuck?” asked Tommy, confused. And then, more angrily, “what the fuck! Did someone just dig a random hole in the ground?”
Fundy could feel his heart beating. It was getting faster. And faster. And faster.
“Shit, I left my pickaxe at home. Fundy hand me yours.”
He shook his head. He had dropped his when he had seen Wilbur and Ranboo. He could hear the beating in his ears. Could see his chest rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising.
“Seriously? We can’t both not have a pickaxe. Guess we’re going to use our fists. Prime, this is going to be a pain in the ass.”
A memory. Of a red room, of clawing and screams. And beneath it, of a black room. Trapped. No way out. Except one. The glint of steel.
Why could he smell blood?
Why could he smell blood?
There was a pain. On his tongue, in his arms. But he could barely feel it. His heartbeat was burying it. He was panting, his lungs heaving. But there was no air.
His heart was so loud. It filled his head.
“-big man. Fundy. Listen to me Breath in… and out. In… and out.”
Fundy focused on the voice, tried to hear it even as it was buried beneath the heartbeats. He forced his lungs to slow, to follow the voice.
“Good job. You’re doing awesome. Now, Fundy, I need you to do something for me, alright? See this flower? I need you to focus on it. Really focus on it.”
Something was being pushed into his hands. He looked down, and saw yellow. Not red, not black. Yellow. He could no longer smell blood, but instead something bitter-sweet. His finger pads felt something soft, almost velvety, so he gripped it and then he could feel juice running down his fur. For a second, he thought of red and black again, but there was no metallic scent. Just bitter-sweetness.
“Feeling better?” asked Tommy.
Fundy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He looked at his surroundings again, and see there was more room than he thought. And the square of sunlight was only a few levels up, not the far-away speck he thought it was. He could smell blood beneath the bitter-sweet but now he realised it was because his teeth had pierced his tongue and his claws his arms.
He looked down and winced.
“I crushed your dandelion. And got blood on it,” he said, as he offered it back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” dismissed Tommy, not taking it. “It’s just a flower. Sometimes I-”
He cut himself off and fell silent.
“How… how long was I freaking out for?” Fundy asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Only a couple minutes,” said Tommy. Only. Not the word Fundy would have chosen. “You took a little while to start hearing me I guess.”
Fundy put the dandelion on the ground and tried not to think about how pathetic he was.
Tommy hesitated, but then continued talking. “Sometimes when I have a panic attack,” he said, “focusing on an object helps me out. So, really, don’t worry about it. I get it.”
“You get panic attacks?” asked Fundy, then winced at how his voice wavered.
Tommy nodded. “Exile was… exile,” he said.
He sat down next to Fundy, which. When had Fundy sat down? And then he opened his arms.
“Uh. Sometimes, afterwards, hugs help with the aftermath,” he explained, looking slightly embarrased. “Puffy explained it a little to me, the contact and pressure can help you feel grounded—”
Fundy dove into his arms and fuck, he didn’t care if he was being pathetic. It had been so long since he had been held.
“That’s it, big man. Bring it in,” said Tommy as he pat Fundy’s back.
A minute or so passed and Fundy didn’t want to leave Tommy’s arms. But he forced himself to pull away.
In a way, it had felt like someone else, someone not Tommy, had been the one holding him. A memory whispered in his ear. My champion.
Tommy handed him a handkerchief, one with allium flowers embroidered around the edge, and Fundy took it. He hadn’t even realised he had been crying.
“Want to talk about?” asked Tommy.
Fundy let silence answer for him. What would talking to Tommy achieve? It’s not like had any reason to care. He’d pretend to listen and then leave and Fundy would be all alone again.
Yet. Tommy had talked to him. Had calmed him down, given him his flower and not even been mad when Fundy ruined it.
Tommy had hugged him, like Wilbur used to.
The memory of Wilbur should have sealed his mouth. But instead, he started to talk.
“I was… I was the last to die,” he explained. “In the Final Control Room. I know it was only a matter of seconds. But it was enough to see you and Tubbo and… Wilbur go down, and to know I was next.” He still remembered how the smell of blood had hit him. It had nearly blinded him. And then there had been the feeling of blood splattering on his fur.
“Then there was the Red Banquet,” he continued. “And, fuck. Bad probably didn’t intend it. I was only there because I was gullible enough to go. A good victim for the Egg. That’s it.” When had Fundy mattered to anyone, after all? “But man, a betrayal? Being trapped in a room, no way out, and killed one by one? It… well, it rung some bells.”
He hesitated, but then pushed on “I was… I was clawing at the walls. I think I was screaming, but I’m not sure. There was… my head was a mess, but there’s one thought I can remember. Don’t let me be the last one again.”
Fundy finally allowed himself to look at Tommy. Before their eyes could meet Tommy looked away.
“That… that sucks, man,” said Tommy. “I didn’t even think about that. I think I was too mad at Eret and at Dream to think about anything really and then afterwards… I just tried to avoid the memory.”
Fundy looked back at the dandelion. It had felt good to just let it all out, to let his tongue run ahead before his hesitations and insecurities could catch up. But now he couldn’t help but think about how weak Tommy must think he was. Tommy, after all, had come out of the Final Control Room fine. So had Tubbo.
Silence filled the hole, setting between them like a fog.
Then Tommy started speaking.
“I… I wasn’t actually lost,” he confessed. “I just… things with Wilbur are complicated, you know?”
“Yeah,” answered Fundy quietly. “I know.”
“He really fucked me over,” admitted Tommy. “And I want to believe he’s changed. I really do. But… it’s hard.” Tommy looked over at Fundy, and he could see it in his eyes. The hesitation. The fear. And Fundy understood. Tommy was trying to be fair, to allow Fundy a glimpse at his weakness – his heart – just as Fundy had given him a glimpse – more than a glimpse – of his. “Can I be honest with you?”
Fundy understood, and nodded.
“I don’t know if I’ll survive it. If I get Wilbur – the old Wilbur – back, only to lose him again.”
Fundy had known for a while now the truth of Tommy and Wilbur. It had taken longer than it should have, jealousy and bitterness clouding his vision, but when he left the Dream SMP, he did a lot of thinking. And in that thinking, he had realised that Tommy may have been Wilbur’s favourite, but being Wilbur’s favourite wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be.
It didn’t lessen the sting though.
Which, why not go all the way? Why not save himself the trouble and drive Tommy away now? If he was exposing his heart, why not expose all of it? Even the blackened parts?
He held his breath a moment, before diving in.
“It’s fucked,” said Fundy. “I know it’s fucked. But, I’m kind of jealous of you.”
Tommy looked bewildered. He opened his mouth, but Fundy kept going before he could say anything.
“Wilbur actually gives a shit about you. Even when he was about to blow up L’manberg, he tried to make you president. And I know that, when you sit down and think about it, that’s an objectively fucked up thing to be jealous of. He only did to hurt you. But, it meant he was thinking about you. Even when he was going to end it all.
“But me? He didn’t even give me a second thought before he blew up my home, my birthplace. He didn’t give a single fuck about me when he… when he took my father from me.
It’s… it’s fucked.” Fundy let out a weak laugh, even as registered that he was crying again. “But I wish he did it to hurt me. I wish he hated me. At least then I would matter to him, in some way.”
Fundy continued to cry, and Tommy let him. Finally, he stopped and it was only then that Fundy wiped the tears from his fur. He handed the handkerchief back to Tommy. Waited for the cold words.
“Hey,” said Tommy. Strange. He didn’t sound cold. Or angry. “How about we get out of this hole and go somewhere else? Not Las Nevadas. Or Paradise Burgers.” Fundy stared at him. “I know! We can go to McPuffy’s. The OG burger place. Where they don’t have to rely on NFTs to sell you fucking bread and a steak.”
Maybe he should head back to Las Nevadas. Get back to work. But it wasn’t like Quackity was really around to notice that he wasn’t working. And he had paid Purpled to babysit Yogurt for the entire day.
And Tommy had hugged him.
“Yeah,” said Fundy. “Yeah. That sounds good.”