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It is the middle of the winter, when Tommy, head counselor of Cabin 4, wakes.
He fumbles blindly for his alarm and turns it off. With a loud groan, he heaves himself up out of the soft and comforting warmth that is his bed. Oh, gross, there’s dirt in it. Maybe he shouldn’t have napped in the garden yesterday.
Checking that his siblings are still asleep, he walks out and heads to Cabin 7. He needs Tubbo’s help in the garden today, and with the sun just coming up in the horizon, he’ll be more than energized to help.
Without knocking, he enters and wakes up Tubbo, who is already starting to shine through his blankets.
Tommy shakes his shoulder. Tubbo grumbles and rolls over more into his blankets. Tommy’s heart feels warm.
“Tubs, c’mon man, you said you’d help me today,” Tommy shakes his shoulders again, more rough this time.
“I will burn you where you stand, boss man,” Tubbo snarls from his cocoon. Tommy snorts despite the threat, and grabs his hand and pulls him out. They both stumble out the cabin door, locking it again.
Though there’s a border around the camp to keep out the weather, there’s a light snowfall, and the different Christmas lights twinkle on the ledge of the big house. It’s gorgeous here, and it’ll stand here for a long time.
The volleyball pit has been turned into a makeshift fire pit, and Lady Hestia is there as a seven year old, tending to it. Tubbo and Tommy bow their heads as they pass and she smiles warmly back. In the strawberry fields, the fence they grow on are empty and lined with ornaments from campers who went home for Christmas break.
Techno’s ornament from the Ares cabin is there somewhere. Tommy misses Tech. Maybe he’ll visit him in the city later. Techno’s attending NYU, majoring in Greek philosophy because he’s a loser.
“Apollo’s always so slow during the winter,” Tommy complains. “My Christmas roses despise him.” Tubbo steps closer to him and pushes out heat like a roaring fire. Tommy sighs in contentment.
“They’ll be fine. After lunch, I can come ‘round and sit before I head off to Bunker 9,” Tubbo amends and Tommy nods. “Leo and I managed to get Festus programmed into an interface, so sometime soon camp patrols can have a break. I know Clarisse would enjoy that.” Tommy snorts. That’s an understatement.
Ever since Wilbur - his brother, his brain sings - gotten across the creek with their red flag, she’s had it out for him. Alas, as soon as he got across, he was claimed as the last living descendant of Krios, making him outrank her father. It’s the funniest camp feud since Percy Jackson and Mr. D.
“Maybe we could get a sprinkler system in the program instead of me having to do it in the fuckin’ cold every morning?” He asks hopefully. Tubbo shrugs noncommittally, and Tommy cheers. Tubbo’s a sucker.
Nearing the garden of Cabin 4, they see the freakishly tall outline of Ranboo, legacy of Selene, son of Hecate. He holds his hand up in greeting, “Good morning, starshines!” His eyes crinkle. Tubbo slams into him with an Oof! “Good morning, Tubbo.” He says again, because he’s a lovesick fool for his best friends. Tommy wraps his arms around both of them, and lets his hand grow crowns of daisies and lilies and roses on their brow. Maybe they’re all lovesick fools.
“Tommy woke me up,” Tubbo mourns, “drug me straight out of my warm bed and dreamless sleep. Please hit him.” Ranboo laughs, shaking his head.
“Come on,” he amends, leading Tubbo to the plot of dirt they always nap on. There’s a small grove of Juniper trees, compliments of Juniper herself, before she left with Grover. “I’ll let you nap until you burst with energy in five minutes.” Tubbo scowls but softens anyway.
Tommy takes his shoes off and plants his feet in the cold and damp earth. He relaxes and almost becomes boneless. Right. He’s on a mission.
Closing his eyes, he inhales and exhales, lifts both hands up, and his body goes warm and fuzzy. Shoving his hands into the dirt, Christmas roses and snowdrops spring from the ground. Moving around now, camellias, winter jasmines, and hellebore grow, fighting to get closer to his hands.
Standing up entirely, he moves to the vegetable side. He glances over and sees Ranboo absolutely passed out, but with his crown of oxeye daisies and alba roses, he thinks he looks perfect. He’s gone soft, hasn’t he? Tubbo opens his eyes and looks directly into Tommy’s. Rolling his eyes, he shuffles from under Ranboo, and over to Tommy.
“What’s the plan, clover?” He asks quietly. Tommy brightens.
He begins to explain in extreme detail how he wanted to terrace farm his vegetables but Chiron wouldn’t give him the space. Instead, he’s gonna raise small plots of the garden they have already, and terraform them. Tubbo just needs to stand close and shine.
2 hours later, Tommy stands, drenched in sweat and swipes his brow. Looking at his creation, he could cry.
Cabbage is on the bottom of the ground, because they’re water plants, and the carrots are already starting to sprout, and the kale and spinach will take longer, but all good things come in good time. The garlic and radishes are planted on the sides, and the winterberries already smell sweet.
Stumbling over their plot of ground where they nap, he falls. Cracking his eye open, he sees Ranboo squirming over from his tree. “You look like a worm,” Tommy says, because he’s loving like that. Ranboo swats at his face and Tommy squawks at him before hitting him back. “You bitch, I did not slave over a hot garden for this disrespect!”
Ranboo raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You’re an idiot,” is all he responds with, making grabby hands for him. Grumbling and scowling, Tommy falls into him, closing his eyes. “Where’s Tubbo?” He mumbles into Ranboo’s neck.
“He went to get breakfast. Had to stop by my cabin to get Wilbur first. Hush and nap,” he says, softly. With Ranboo tracing protection runes on his shoulder, in the slightly cold sun, Tommy sleeps.