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Tommy doesn't like dying. In fact, he's real tired of all the death this job has given him.
Like, god damnit, he's a twenty-four year old FBI profiler, not some fucking target that all these stupid unsubs think they can walk all over. And by walk all over he means attempted murder. And by attempted murder he means just murder– he's died twice. (To be fair, he hadn't stayed dead for long, but that doesn't matter! He's sick of it.)
He's so sick of it, that he refuses to make a big deal out of this life threatening injury he’s acquired.
Is it a bad idea to hide any wound? Yes. Is it even worse to hide a stab wound that probably shredded some of his internal organs? Definitely. Does Tommy care enough to inform anyone before he collapses? Nope! He's done with all of this and if he's gonna die from one of these bastards he's gonna die. And stay dead. None of this resurrection bullshit his teammates and the hospital pull. If he's dying he's dying. Tommy doesn't want to have to deal with dying again later.
So here he is, watching the unsub– no longer an unsub, now a thirty-year-old deranged man who likes stabbing people a little too much– be marched off to a nearby police car by Wilbur, Phil and Ranboo close behind, stomach sliced under his bullet-proof vest.
He's surprised no one's notices the dark color seeping through it, nor the large slash that has ripped it. He's also surprised no one has noticed the blood smearing his mouth. Then again, they're all injured somehow, so it's nothing out of the ordinary. Plus, the talk down just ended– no one’s had time to check each other over.
Tommy must've been staring at nothing for too long, because he's called from the other side of this sketchy warehouse they found the man hiding in.
"Tommy, you good man?" Tubbo asks, eyebrows furrowed. He walks up to Tommy, sliding his pistol into his holster when he gets no acknowledgment. "Thought I saw him get close to you earlier. Let's get you checked out."
Tubbo stops in front of him, eyes catching the dribble of blood that's doubled on his lips cautiously. "Tommy? What's the blood from? Are you hurt?"
Tommy grins, teeth drowned in red and hacking as he wavers on unsteady legs.
"No."
Tubbo's eyes widen as Tommy's knees buckle, a searing pain that somehow wasn't there before flaring up where he knows the wound is. He really hopes this is the last time he has to do this shit.
"Fuck– Tommy– Oh God, okay." Tubbo catches his fall, arms wrapping around his waist and head as he goes limp, laying him down gently onto his back. Tommy blinks, then coughs again, a deep one that rattles his rib cage, more red spilling from his mouth. "TECHNO! I NEED A MEDIC OVER HERE! Fuck– you're gonna be fine, Tommy. Everything's fine– shit that's a lot of blood. Fuck–"
Tommy almost fights Tubbo's hands when he starts unclipping his vest, groaning. He thinks Tubbo mistakes it for pain, or some shit (which really isn't that inaccurate), because he apologizes frantically.
"Sorry, sorry. It's okay, just, stay awake for me, Tommy. Sorry– fuck, I'm sorry. It's fine, you're fine."
It is in fact not fine.
Tommy definitely thinks he's dying again. What a shocker.
He’s pretty sure Tubbo successfully gets his vest off, because something pushes down on the wound which really doesn't feel nice. In fact, it's so excruciating Tommy lets out a heart breaking (at least for his best friend, probably) scream. Yeah, not his best moment.
"Shit, shit, okay, it's okay Tommy. Help is on the way. I'm sorry, but I've gotta stop the bleeding."
Tommy groans again, this time in annoyance. How he has enough strength to do that? No idea. He can barely even see the ceiling, eyes heavy and mouth filled with an ugly iron taste. "No."
Tubbo pauses, face stricken with horror, whipping his head from Tommy's stomach to his face. "What do you mean, no?"
Tommy doesn't answer however, eyes fluttering closed, and hand, which was previously gripping onto the button up Tubbo wears under his vest (since when was he holding onto anything?), falling limply to the floor.
Tubbo's breathing picks up, pressure he's putting on Tommy's stomach heavier in panic. "Hey, hey. Nuh uh, you are not dying on me today good sir. Keep your eyes open. Open your eyes, right now. Come on Tommy!"
But Tommy doesn't listen. He's quite content with the fading pain, world numbing around him. He can finally rest, finally stay dead.
And though he honestly doesn't want to die, doesn't want to leave his team, his family, he's okay with this. He lived. He survived. He laughed, he protected. He did good work.
He was angry in the beginning, yes. Angry at all the death being an FBI agent has caused. All the death he’s seen. But now? Now that he's dying again, probably for good since no ambulance can get to him fast enough?
Tommy's okay with this.
Tommy hears sirens distantly, the screams of his best friend morbidly mixing together. He thinks the vibrations he feels against his back are footsteps he's sure belong to the rest of his team, his family.
Someone's tapping on his face, and there are voices floating around him; strained ones and broken ones. If Tommy were coherent he'd probably offer them a hug.
He never did offer many hugs.
He kind of wishes he did.
No matter.
Tommy simply lets the quiet envelop him as everything fades away, a small smile resting on his bloodied lips.
Tommy's okay with this.
Turns out, despite Tommy being okay with it, his teammates are in fact not okay with it.
He wakes up, mouth full of cotton and throat dry, to a teary-eyed Tubbo. Bit of a strange thing to wake up to, never having seen the man cry before. And it’s really no surprise when Tommy asks if he’s alive, only to respond to Tubbo’s confirmation with a disappointed “fuck,” that he gets a serious talking to.
Of course, the talking doesn't happen until he’s out of the hospital, safe in his own apartment.
Techno sends Tubbo and Ranboo to stay with him for a few days, like a pair of guard dogs to make sure he doesn’t fuck himself up even more. Not like he can do much with the ten stitches keeping his stomach together, though.
He’s pretty sure Techno wanted to stay with Tommy himself, but paperwork never ends for a unit chief, so he unfortunately relented to the two people who won’t let Tommy get away with anything (Phil and Wilbur are too soft. Tommy’s got both of them wrapped around his finger, and it seems Techno knows. Oh well).
It takes a full twenty four hours of Tommy sleeping, sipping on water and soup and groaning into his pillow for Tubbo to confront him. Ranboo’s out getting groceries, not surprising considering how empty his shelves are, which unfortunately leaves no one to use as a scapegoat.
Tommy is way too tired for this.
“Can you… Can you explain to me what that was?” Tubbo asks, taking a seat on Tommy’s bed. Tommy grabs one of the pillows next to him and drops it on his own face, groaning again. “Dude– you’re gonna suffocate yourself– stop it, and answer the question.”
Tommy glares when Tubbo pries the pillow out of his hands and off of his face. “What was what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tubbo deadpans. Tommy smiles cheekily.
“Yes you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Tommy. Don’t fucking pretend not to.” Tubbo’s voice changes then, a softer tone smoothing his words out. His shoulders drop. “Look, I just want to know what was going through your head, okay? It– it really scared me, and everyone else, what you said. We just want to make sure you’re okay.” Tubbo rests a hand on Tommy’s own, a kind gesture despite how much Tubbo dislikes contact himself. “You’re my best friend. I just need to know what’s going on.”
Tommy sighs, pursing his lips before flipping his hand to wrap it around Tubbo’s. He leans further into the pillows, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his attention to Tubbo.
“I– I just… I’m exhausted, you know? This job– I love it. I won’t stop loving it, but, God, Tubbo, I’ve died twice. Three times now, and I just– I don’t know how much longer I can do it.” Tommy’s voice wavers, cracking the slightest bit as he devolves into whispers. “I know I’ll get hurt. I know the risks. I know that there’s a chance I won’t come back home. But it’s different when you’ve faced death three times in four years. It’s just– It’s different now. I don’t want to do it again.”
Tubbo, who’s been sitting silently, speaks kindly when Tommy reaches his hands up to wipe at his eyes.
“I understand. I don’t know what it feels like to die, but I understand. But– but if you don’t want to die, then why the disappointment when you woke up? I… I don’t get it.”
Tommy offers up the sincerest smile he can offer, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. “I guess… I guess I thought if I was gonna die, then I was gonna die.” It doesn’t take a genius to catch the hurt look on Tubbo’s face. Not because of Tommy, but for himself for not noticing. Probably. Tommy’s a profiler, yes, but he’s also extremely out of it. Who knows if his brain is even functioning properly. “No take backs, you know?”
Tubbo’s lips move into a little o shape, before he’s frowning. Tommy takes to wringing his fingers together, before grabbing one of the pillows and shoving it into his face again. The silence is a little too loud.
“Wh– Tommy, not again. Come on bro.”
“Just leave me in my pillow prison, please.”
“Dude, give me the fucking pillow–”
“ No–”
Tommy tries his best to hold onto the pillow, going so far as to wrap his arms and legs around it, but then he remembers the stitches, groaning in pain before letting go. Tubbo throws it across the room.
Tommy pouts. “My pillow.”
Tubbo stares at him incredulously, before sighing and shrugging.
They sit in silence for a moment, and then two before Tommy speaks up.
“Look, Tubs, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you and everyone else, and I’m sorry for not telling you.” Tommy smiles again, but it’s watery this time. Strained. “I’m just tired.”
Tubbo smiles back, scooting closer to pull Tommy into an embrace, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Tommy rests his head against Tubbo’s stomach, closing his eyes when Tubbo runs his fingers through his hair.
Tommy’s almost falling asleep again, when a whisper pulls him out of his slumber.
“It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”
And Tommy thinks, maybe, just maybe, it will be.