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“I think— I think there’s something wrong with me,” Tommy whispers, one night, and it’s terrified and vulnerable and please-believe-me-please-help-me.
Tubbo’s on the verge of falling asleep, but he sits up. “What do you mean?” he asks, and there’s a subtle tremor to his voice.
Tommy turns his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t—I don’t know?” he says, uncertain. “I just don’t think that I’m quite right, if you know what I mean.”
And Tubbo wishes he could say no. He wishes he could say that he has no idea what Tommy means, and that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but he does. Maybe it’s for the better.
“Yeah,” he whispers back, “I know.”
“It’s just—I don’t think I can do anything right, because I’m not right, y’know? I think there’s something broken inside me, and that just means that I break everything.”
Tubbo swallows past a lump in his throat. “Tommy,” he says, and it’s a little bit desperate. “Look at me, please,” and Tommy moves his eyes from the ceiling to Tubbo’s nose. Tubbo’s used to that, what with Ranboo, so he doesn’t call him out on it. “You’re not—you’re not broken. I think you’re scared, and lost, and maybe making impulsive decisions. But that doesn’t—you’re not broken. Maybe a little cracked, but I think we all are.”
“I—” Tommy starts, and then cuts himself off.
“What, bossman?” Tubbo prompts. “I’ll listen.”
"I know that!” Tommy lets out. “I just don't want to make you feel like you're my personal therapist. You like to act like nothing can hurt you, and then you don't talk about when something does. It's not fair to dump everything on you."
Tubbo hums contemplatively.
"Okay, how about this," he straightens up and grabs his now-cold mug from the bedside table. "We exchange. You say something, and then I do, and then we deal with it together, like we always have." He takes a sip of the drink, and wrinkles his nose. Cold hot chocolate isn’t very good.
Tommy gives him a little smile. "Yeah, that works," he laughs a bit. "It's maybe 3 am, it's snowing outside, and we have—” he shoots a look to his mug, now cemented to the table. “—had hot chocolate. This is prime therapy time."
"Exactly." Tubbo scrunches his brow for a moment. "...Most traumatized person starts?"
Tommy’s eyes are shining a bit, but he still lets out a surprised bark of a laugh, before Tubbo shushes him aggressively.
“You’ll wake up Michael!” he hisses.
"Sorry, sorry," Tommy says, still laughing a bit. "How do we even determine that?"
They sit in silence for a moment.
"Most recently traumatized person starts," he amends.
"Well that's just not fair," Tommy huffs. "Are you weaponizing my own death against me to avoid talking about your feelings? That's a new low."
Tubbo looks him straight in the eyes.
"Yes."
"You're heartless."
"Shut up and talk, raccoon boy."
"Why would you—" Tommy cuts himself off and breathes deeply through his nose. "I'm not going to let that annoy me," he mumbles.
“Right,” he continues. “I think—I think you’re right about the not being broken thing. But I don’t, like, know it? If that makes sense?”
Tubbo nods, and Tommy continues, emboldened.
“Because… because other people have gone through worse things than I have, and they’re not as, like, messed up over it than I am. And—that means that there’s something they have that I don’t, y’know?”
“Mm,” Tubbo hums. “Yeah, I get it. But just because people might seem outwardly okay doesn’t necessarily mean that they are inside, right? You can’t compare yourself to other people on that front. You just need to work with yourself.”
Tommy shoves him with his shoulder. “That’s surprisingly wise, big man,” he teases. “Are you going to take your own advice?”
“Maybe,” Tubbo says, and doesn’t elaborate.
“Hey,” Tommy says. “It’s your turn now. You can’t get out of it this time.”
“Alright, alright,” Tubbo thinks. “… What do I talk about?”
“I don’t know,” Tommy shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
There's a beat of silence.
"You know," Tubbo says softly, "I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was when I heard the prison alarms, not even when Technoblade was pointing a rocket launcher to my head."
At that, Tommy grabs his hand wordlessly.
"I think it's because the last time I heard them, it led to your death. and I just— I don't think I can do it again."
"I have died on you a few times, haven't I?" asks Tommy. "I'm sorry."
Tubbo whacks him on the shoulder.
"Don't apologize for what's out of your control, dickhead. It... wasn't a good time for me, I'll say that. But don't you dare blame yourself for it. If anything," he says under his breath, "it's my fault for making you feel like you couldn't come to me."
"That's not—" Tommy starts.
"But it's true!" Tubbo insists. "I'm the one who gave in to Dream, I'm the one who exiled you, I'm the one who didn't visit, and I'm the one who made you feel like you had to— to—"
"To what, Tubbo?" Tommy asks softly.
"Kill yourself!" Tubbo blurts out, increasingly frazzled, and Tommy jolts, clearly not expecting the conversation to go in that direction.
"Hey— hey Tubbo, listen—"
"No!" Tubbo lets out, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I have to— Tommy, I made you feel like you wanted to die. That's not— that's messed up. I'm messed up," he takes a shaking breath. "And I'm sorry, and it's fine if you don't forgive me, because I wouldn't deserve it—"
He lets out a small noise of surprise when Tommy barrels into him, laying his chin on his head.
"Don't you dare say it was your fault. I'll fight you— I'll fight whoever made you think that way."
He pushes him back a bit, and looks him in the eyes.
"Tubbo, none of this was your fault. I— I might have been angry with you before, but that was because I was hurt and hadn't processed it correctly," he takes a deep breath. "And I still haven't! And I might never do it fully! So I'm still trying. But listen," he squishes Tubbo's face with his hands. "It wasn't your fault. It was just a— a really bad situation, and you did what you could, and it's all Dream's fault."
"Hmmf," Tubbo says.
"What?" Tommy asks, and then goes "Oh!" and removes his hands from his face.
"Thank you," Tubbo says, and then takes a shaky breath. "Okay, but— and you have to promise that you won't interrupt me, please?"
Tommy looks conflicted, but nods.
"Okay, okay," Tubbo wrings his hands. "But— that's not the only thing I did! Even if it's the absolute worst. I— I ruined Wilbur's work, and I let irrationality get the best of me and went after Technoblade, which in retrospect is the worst thing I could have done, and I made my citizens unsafe, and I led to our home be blown up, and even back in Pogtopia— let me finish, please," Tubbo says, when Tommy opens his mouth, obviously heated. "Even back in Pogtopia, I was a bad spy, when it was really the least I could have done, and I was stupid and got myself caught and then I was the cause of Techno beating you up in that stupid goddamn pit because I went and got myself killed and that's not the half of it!"
Tommy makes a distressed noise. "Can I talk now?" he asks, and seems to steel himself when Tubbo nods.
"Tubbo," he says, "you are good. No ifs, no buts." Tubbo opens his mouth to argue, but Tommy shushes him. "It's my turn to talk now! You had your turn. You're my best friend, and you did your absolute best in each and every crappy situation you were put in. Me trying to—” he swallows, “do that was not your fault in away way. You weren’t the one making me feel like that. It was all Dream, alright? None of what happened is your fault.”
“Okay,” Tubbo says, and takes a breath. “Okay. I don’t think I’m convinced.”
“That’s fine,” Tommy says. “I don’t think I’m convinced of what you told me either. I’m trying, though.”
“So am I,” Tubbo says, and slumps back. “I guess that’s all we can do.”
“Yeah.”