Chapter Text
Tubbo wakes up to the sound of ringing.
It’s loudloudloud , makes his head ache. He can’t work out where he is or where the ringing is coming from.
He lets out a groan of discomfort, bringing a hand up to rub his face as he attempts to open his eyes, except, ouch. His skin feels like it's pulled tight, stretched thin, and it burns . It feels like he’s been dropped in a lava pool and is just waiting to succumb to the painful fire, wishing for the blissful nothingness of the in-between that comes before he respawns.
In fact, he remembers now.
He did respawn.
He remembers fear and noise and light and the sting of betrayal and a burning pain. And instead of the blissful nothingness that would usually greet him, he instead continued to combust, to burn, to smoulder.
A canon death.
He shudders at the thought, the jerky movement causing waves of pain to ripple through his nerves. His brain feels foggy, his memory scuffed. He can recall the events vaguely, more feelings than definitive action. He remembers the tightness in his lungs as he was boxed in, he remembers the panic, even as Wilbur reassured him that it would be fine. He remembers the chaos of the crowd, particularly Niki, crying out for it to stop. He remembers Technoblade, with the festival rockets.
He remembers noise and colour and painpainpain .
And then nothing.
His ears are still ringing.
It makes sense now.
He hopes beyond hope that it’s just shock, or the fact that it was a canon death, but he knows. He knows he’s not that lucky. He’s never been that lucky.
Eventually, he braves the pain and opens his eyes.
He can feel the tightness, the phantom burns that suggest scarring. At least he can still see.
Little victories.
He turns his head slightly, ignoring the pain, and takes stock of the room he’s in. It’s fairly dark, a single lantern near the doorway is the only light source. Still, he can tell almost instantly from the hastily carved out stone walls that he’s back in Pogtopia.
That, and the fact that Tommy is asleep, curled up in the chair beside his bed.
He moves his arm, trying to reach out to Tommy, the movement startling a pained noise from him. Tommy jolts awake, blinking blearily and looking around the room before his eyes land on Tubbo.
Several emotions cross his face, and Tubbo can’t even work half of them out before Tommy is lurching forwards, wrapping his arms around him. It hurts, and he feels like he probably lets out another pained noise, because Tommy tries to pull away, but Tubbo doesn’t let him, clinging tight.
His ears are still ringing.
It takes him a while to realise Tommy’s talking to him.
Tubbo pushes him away then, none too gently, and stares at his face. A tight coil of dread settles in the pit of his stomach.
“Tubbo?” Of course Tommy doesn’t care about his volume, even late at night. Tubbo’s never been so relieved to have such a loud mouth of a best friend. Even so, Tommy’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, quiet and almost blurry.
Tubbo could cry.
“Tommy- I... I can’t...” He stumbles over his words a little, unsure of how to say it. He hasn’t even fully registered it himself.
A frown settles on Tommy’s face, concern etched in every inch of his features.
“Tubbo?” Tommy says again, and Tubbo watches his mouth move, has heard him say his name enough times to know what it should sound like. But it’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. The damn ringing won’t stop and he can barely hear his best friend, can’t even work out what he can hear over what’s a memory of the sound.
“I can’t hear you.”
He gestures his ears, unsure even of his own speaking volume. Tommy’s face falls.
“What?”
And that’s clearer, but only a little. Maybe Tommy shouted it, just for him. Maybe Wilbur will appear in ten seconds to tell them to be quiet. Maybe.
Tubbo tries again, to explain it just a little. “My ears won’t stop ringing. I can barely hear anything.”
Tommy fumbles for a moment, patting around in his pockets before scowling. He gets to his feet, shoving his chair back hastily, and pats Tubbo’s shoulder. He says something, quieter and indistinct, but Tubbo gets the gist.
He doesn’t want to be left alone, but he trusts Tommy, even as the other boy leaves. Tubbo shuffles into a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest, waiting.
He startles when Tommy bursts back into the room, clutching something in his hands. Niki is following close behind, and Tubbo lights up at the sight of her. He’s glad she escaped Manberg. Schlatt was horrible, targeting her directly just because she was more outspoken in her disagreement than anyone else. Guilt churns in his stomach, but he squashes it down. That’s the past now, and besides. He couldn’t have helped her more than he did anyway, at least not without giving himself away.
Although, that had clearly been a waste of time. Idly, he wonders how long Schlatt knew. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t want to think about Schlatt anymore.
The item Tommy’s holding appears to be a notebook. He clambers into bed beside Tubbo, all gangly limbs and boney elbows. It’s familiar in a way that makes Tubbo nostalgic, but he can’t really place what for. Niki takes the chair Tommy had previously occupied, looking tired. Tubbo suspects Tommy had woken her up.
He’s surprised to find himself relieved that it’s Niki, not Wilbur, who Tommy woke.
Tommy shoves the notebook into his hands after barely a minute, and Tubbo’s greeted by his hasty scrawl at the top of the page.
‘what hurts? how much can you hear?’
Tubbo taps the quill against the page for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts before having to write them all down.
‘skin feels weird on my face,’ he starts with, because that’s the easiest thing to pinpoint. ‘idk if it’s actually hurting or if its just memory tho. my face feels like its burning. i could hear ur voice when u spoke loud, but idk how much of that is lipreading + memory.’
He hands the book back to Tommy, and Tommy reads it with a frown. Soon, Tommy pats his shoulder to get his attention, making him look up.
“Can you hear me if I talk like this?” Tommy says. He’s clearly trying to enunciate his words more, in the way he does sometimes just for fun. It helps, but not much, everything still sounding muffled.
“A little.”
Tommy turns to Niki, and Tubbo follows his gaze, watching Niki’s mouth move. He can’t hear her at all. He misses her voice.
Tommy gets his attention again by poking his cheek. “I take it you can’t hear Niki at all then?”
Glancing over at Niki, she looks as disheartened as Tubbo feels when he shakes his head no.
Tommy picks up the notebook again, seeming conflicted for a moment before he starts to write.
‘you should get some sleep big man. im gonna contact dadza, he’ll know what to do. you should sleep.’
Tubbo frowns. “You need to sleep too.”
Tommy just rubs his thumb over Tubbo’s shoulder, mindful of the bandages there. He says nothing, but clearly intends to stay with him at least. Tubbo thinks for once he doesn’t mind being clingy. He wants to hold onto Tommy and never let go, not let Schlatt or Wilbur or Dream tear them apart.
Movement out the corner of his eyes catches his attention, and his head snaps up, only to meet eyes with Niki. She smiles a little sheepishly, and walks over, wrapping both of them up in a gentle hug. He can feel the vibrations of her voice as she says something to Tommy, but it’s too quiet for him to make out. And then she leaves.
The blanket of forced silence feels suffocating.