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Tommy shivered, drawing the blanket further over his shoulders as he watched Wilbur tug more bandages around a wincing Tubbo’s bare torso. Fundy was already asleep in a nest of blankets behind them, whimpering every time he turned and landed on his right shoulder or tail. Someone in the fray of the Final Control Room, nobody was quite sure who, had stepped on it to pin him down and stab him. Bastard.
He sighed.
He couldn’t believe Eret had just…betrayed them like that.
Was everything they had done, everything they had gone through for nothing? Did they think nothing of them?
“There you go, Tubbo, how does that feel?” Wilbur whispered, making Tommy jump a little, shocked out of his thoughts.
“Uh…” Tubbo reached up a bit before wincing and holding his ribs. “I can’t tell if I’m going into shock or if it’s the potion working, but it feels a little better.”
Wilbur huffed a small breath from his nose in a small excuse for a laugh. “Probably the potion, it’s a bit too long after for shock.”
“M’kay…” Tubbo said, wincing again. “Can I have my shirt back?”
“S’all torn up, Tubs,” Tommy mumbled, staring down at his crossed ankles and ignoring the fact that those were the first words he’d spoken since they’d all respawned. “Take one’f mine.”
“Okay,” Tubbo muttered, stumbling upwards with the help of one of Wilbur’s hands and tottering off into the front room of the Camarvan, only staying upright by leaning on the wall of their damaged trailer.
“Hey, Toms,” Wilbur said softly, scooching himself over to where Tommy had been sitting, criss-cross applesauce or whatever the fuck it was, for the past thirty minutes after Wilbur had finished bandaging his torso and had moved on to Tubbo and Fundy. His back was digging into the wall, but he didn’t care. “You okay?”
“Why t’fuck would you ask that, Wil, you know the answer,” he mumbled angrily, curling up in a ball and resting his head on his knees, pointedly looking away from Wilbur. “You haven’ done a thing for y’rself.”
Sure enough, Wilbur’s face was still cut and bruised and caked in dried blood, he had a black eye, and he pointedly refused to move his left leg any more than he absolutely had to. It hadn’t changed since he’d looked away. Tommy sighed as Wilbur slid an arm over his shoulders.
Prime, Tommy hated respawns. Why couldn’t they just make them better when they were brought back to life? But no, it basically just made it so they wouldn’t die–of the wounds, infection was still a definite possibility–and then they had to deal with the rest.
“You kids are more important-”
“We can’t fuckin’ lose anyone else, Wilbur, so go put a pot on your leg or I swear to Prime ’m never talkin’ to you again,” Tommy huffed.
“We both know that’s a lie,” Wilbur chuckled.
“And we both know y’r in pain,” Tommy countered, slurring his words a little.
“Fine, Tommy,” Wilbur mumbled as he crawled back over to the chests they had in the back, both of them pretending they didn’t flinch when he flipped the latch and opened the lid. He snatched out a healing potion and closed the lid as fast as he could without slamming it and waking Fundy up.
He was practically chugging the potion when Tubbo stumbled back in with one of Tommy’s rumpled red baseball tees on, all but collapsing next to Tommy. He slung an arm over his friend, letting Tubbo lean into his chest underneath the blanket.
“You guys tired?” Wilbur sighed, wiping his chin and placing the mostly-empty potion bottle on the floor. The red liquid inside glowed slightly, reflecting off the floor like sunlight did through water in the lake. When he didn’t get an answer, he smiled. “I’ll grab my guitar.”
Wilbur stood up, stumbling a little and barely putting any weight on his left leg as he staggered over to the corner his guitar was standing in, picking it up in one hand and sinking down into the corner afterwards. He stretched up, trying to pretend he wasn’t wincing as he flicked the lever near the door, turning off the lights. He fiddled with his guitar a little before plucking at the strings, cursing once and making Tommy and Tubbo smile halfheartedly before tuning it again and starting to strum it gently.
The tune was quiet, relaxing, almost. It made Tommy feel like whatever adrenaline he had left from earlier was draining out of him.
But then Wilbur started to sing, and the feeling was multiplied by safety and calm and a little bit of sadness as he sang a familiar song, one that they had all listened to before…everything happened. Before Eret’s betrayal.
“Please, eat your greens, and don’t sit close to screens
Your eyes are a means to an end~”
His voice was soft, gentle and low; Tommy knew he didn’t want to wake Fundy up. Tubbo sighed and snuggled into him a little more as Tommy leaned his head back against the wall, curving it so it rested over Tubbo as Wilbur sang the next line.
“And I, I would be sorry, if due to your hurry
You were hit, by a lorry, my friend~”
Tommy’s lip trembled and he closed his eyes as Tubbo tightened his grip on Tommy’s ribs.
“Like you always say
Safe travels, don’t die, don’t die
Safe travels, don’t die.”
Tommy fell asleep to the feeling of Tubbo’s arms around his chest, the throbbing of the injuries Dream had inflicted and the stinging of tears in his eyes.
He felt something shift him down to the floor and put something beneath his head, but he was too tired to care who it was as he drifted into oblivion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tommy was curled up in a ball.
He had nothing but an old baseball tee, a spare sweater, and some raggedy khaki shorts on, and it got cold in Pogtopia.
Hot air rises, cool air falls and all that.
Besides, Tubbo had all the spare blankets. He needed them, anyway. They didn’t really have any proper beds in the ravine, and he needed to be comfortable so his burns could heal.
Tommy frowned, sneering.
Fuck Technoblade.
It was his fault Tubbo looked like this, had been like this.
Well, him and Schlatt, (and Tommy for not stopping it until it was too late) but still.
Tubbo had been in and out of consciousness for a week now, barely able to drag himself awake for more than a few minutes at a time to swallow some water or a mouthful of a healing potion before he slipped back into unconsciousness. He looked like a mummy from those old books about faraway lands Wilbur used to show him, all wrapped up in bandages. Little tufts of brown hair poked out from gaps in the bandages on the left side of his face. Half his face, his whole neck, most of his torso, and part of his left shin had been hit by the firework’s blast and had to be swaddled in bandages. Both of his hands were limp on top of the scratchy wool blankets, each finger on his left one individually wrapped.
They’d be so thick with burn scar tissue it’d probably be hard for him to move them. Niki had said something about using his ukulele as a kind of physical therapy when he’d healed.
Tommy sighed, reaching out a hand, grasping his unconscious friend’s right one and closing his eyes as he tried to suppress his shivers.
It wasn’t so bad right now, he shouldn’t be complaining. It only got really bad when it was windy and rainy on the surface.
Tubbo’s breath hitched, and Tommy’s eyes flew open as he scooted closer. “Tubbo? You awake, big man? You okay?” he said quietly, glancing at Tubbo’s now-open right eye, which was watering blearily.
“Mm…” Tubbo whined, making Tommy wince in sympathy with how much pain was in that small noise. Tubbo usually never let himself sound hurt unless he was in a lot of pain.
He recognized that look in his friend’s brown eye.
“Nightmare?”
“Mhm…”
“...’m sorry, Tubs,” he whispered, squeezing his friend’s hand a little. Tubbo’s agonizing screams and Schlatt’s maniacal cackle as the firework hit haunted his own dreams as well, making him wake up in a cold sweat and rush to the room Niki had put Tubbo in to see if he was okay, just to check if he was still alive.
He’d started sleeping here a few days ago after he’d quite literally run into Technoblade.
Plus, it was easier. And Wilbur wouldn’t bother him either, since he knew Tommy had helped Niki with Tubbo’s burns initially, and Niki had told him not to bother Tommy when he was helping Tubbo.
“Hur’s…” Tubbo whimpered, looking up at Tommy without moving his head.
“We can’t give you any more potions, Tubbo, we’ve almost given you too many as is,” Tommy responded softly, heart dropping. “Try and go back to sleep, okay?”
“Can’...hur’s too much…”
Tommy couldn’t do anything to take Tubbo’s pain away.
That almost hurt more than seeing his friend in so much agony.
“T’mmy c’n you sing?” Tubbo mumbled in all one breath, wincing when the effort tugged on the burns on his chest. “Inna Camarvan…tha’ one.”
“You want me to do what?” Tommy said, blinking and huffing a confused laugh.
“...please…” Tubbo whispered, lip trembling. “...i’ hur’s…”
“Okay, okay,” Tommy muttered placatingly. “I’ll do it.”
He took a deep breath, clearing his throat and trying to remember where Tubbo’s favorite part of the song was.
“And don’t walk on ice, no matter how nice
How sturdy, enticing it seems~”
His voice was a little rougher and huskier than usual from how smoky it was down in Pogtopia, and probably from getting a little older. It’s nowhere near as nice as Wilbur’s…was.
He was missing the sound of Wilbur’s guitar behind the words, so it sounded kind of…half complete. A little empty. Maybe a little sad.
“Please cross at the lights and
Don’t start fires or fights and-”
Tubbo interrupted his line with a small huffed wheeze, barely reminiscent of a laugh but enough for Tommy to smile a little bit as he squeezed his friend’s hand again. Wilbur always used to very pointedly look at the two of them whenever he sang that line in L’Manberg’s old days, and it always used to make them absolutely crack up.
“Don’t dabble in heights on caffeine.
Like you always say
Safe travels, don’t die, don’t die,
Safe travels, don’t die.”
Tubbo mouthed along to the chorus, eye already slipping closed.
Tommy sighed, mouth falling back into its now-usual frown.
He’d have to tell Niki about Tubbo waking up–she had taken him aside when he started sleeping in here and said to either mark when he woke up or come and tell her so she could determine if he was healing right or not–but he didn’t want to leave. Tubbo needed him.
He let his vision waver a little bit, let his breaths shake for a moment or two before he squeezed Tubbo’s hand one final time and stood up, knees cracking as they straightened.
“I’ll be back, big man, ‘kay? Just getting Niki.”
There was one more part of the song he hadn’t gotten to before Tubbo fell asleep, one final line that turned into a choked beg as he turned around in the rocky doorway and stared at his once-more unconscious friend.
“Don’t die.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tubbo sighed as he rubbed at his eyes with his palms, sliding them down his face. It always surprised him that one side of his face felt different than the other, somehow, even if he’d had the scars since the war between Pogtopia and Manberg.
The war that saddled him with the presidency.
The war that made him have to claw his way to respect and rebuild the nation they’d all died for, just because Wilbur had lost his mind and thought it better gone than in someone else’s hands.
He faceplanted on his desk, using all his paperwork as a cushion for his forehead, bringing his arms up behind his head to cover his neck and toy with the frayed ends of his hair.
If Ranboo walked in right then, he’d fly into a stuttering frenzy, asking if he was okay and if he needed a break. Tubbo smiled humorlessly a bit at the thought.
Someone here, at least, treated him like a person instead of just a yes-man.
He sighed again, curling up a little more.
Would he treat him like nothing but a yes-man, too?
Probably. If he was gonna be honest.
It was all his fault.
The cold metal of the Your Tommy compass pressed into his chest beneath his stuffy presidential suit and he choked back a sob.
Especially Tommy’s exile.
There was nobody else to blame but him.
He wished he’d bitten his tongue before he’d said those things, but he’d been nothing but angry and pressed, pressed by Dream to exile Tommy, he had to save L’manberg, he couldn’t let it be taken again.
Part of him said he was just spouting excuses, and that part of him was right. He had no excuse. It was nobody else’s fucking fault but his.
Now Tommy was exiled, and he knew Dream was visiting him.
He shuddered, finally letting out the sob that had been growing in his throat as he began to half-mumble, half-sing part of a song that reminded him of better times.
“And don’t swallow bleach
Out on Sandymount beach
I’m not sure I’d reach you in time, my boy~”
He couldn’t tell if he was begging Tommy or himself to hold on.
Did it really matter?
Tubbo didn’t even finish the verse before he started crying into his paperwork, eventually falling asleep.
Later, he would hear the door creak open, Ranboo’s familiar warbling gasp, and feel a blanket being swept over his shoulders by long, lanky fingers that lingered a bit, imprinting a tiny bit of tender, friendly warmth on his back as they rubbed softly between his shoulder blades before a sigh rang out and they left nothing but cool air behind them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tommy’s eyes dripped with tears as the wind howled around him.
This was it.
All he had to do was jump.
But of course, it couldn’t be that easy.
Of course, his mind had to register the fact that he was about to fuckin’ die.
Of course, it had to run through every single nice moment he’d had in his life before it all ended forever.
No coming back this time.
He could practically see himself sat around the fire, cuddled up against Tubbo (Tubbo, how he missed his friend, but he’d exiled him, and Tommy had deserved it, definitely, but that didn’t stop it from hurting so bad he was surprised he’d lasted this long here) , across from Wilbur (Ghostbur hadn’t come by in a while, he almost missed the shadow of his almost-brother that floated around pretending everything was happy and offering dripping, staining handfuls of Blue to anyone who wasn’t) , Eret (as much as Tommy still didn’t trust them, hadn’t for a long time, it still would’ve done some good to see any kind of familiar face), and Fundy (who’d done nothing but stand by, not even able to make eye contact with him as Tubbo made his decision with Dream whispering in his ear-)
Wait.
Dream had-
Dream had told Tubbo to exile Tommy. And sure, Tubbo made the choice, but it’s not like he thought it up.
Dream had overreacted when Tommy had pressured Ranboo into having a little bit of fun, doing a little griefing like the old days that had gone too far.
Dream had manipulated him.
He shuddered as another gust of cold, wet wind blew by him on his tower and the echoes of “Put your armor in the hole, Tommy,” that had slithered into his brain died out of it.
This was all Dream’s fault.
He started to mumble a few lines to that song Wilbur had used to sing, that he had sung to Tubbo in Pogtopia.
“Please don’t bungee jump, or ignore a strange lump
And a gasoline pump’s not a toy!”
He stood up as he finished mumble-singing the final, long note.
He would be damned if Dream got away with what he did.
Tommy glanced down and gulped.
He could just barely see the ocean far below him on this rickety tower.
As long as he landed in water, he’d be fine.
He reached up a hand and clutched his Blue-stained Your Tubbo compass through his thin, torn, stained t-shirt, clutched the photographs of him and Tubbo that had been enchanted to be waterproof through the pocket of his dirty shorts.
Tommy jumped.
He jumped, and the water caught him, caressing him softly as his limbs floated weightlessly and his feet stung.
He jumped, and he was still alive as he swam towards the shore.
He was still alive as he snatched up his last threadbare blanket and started the walk.
He smiled as he trudged through the dry, dead grass, shivering even with the blanket clutched around his shoulders.
Technoblade would make a fine ally against Dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tubbo sighed as he looked over to the sleeping form of his husband in their bed.
Ranboo was laid on his belly in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped around his pillow, back and neck bandaged. His curly hair had been singed off at the back but remained long enough to get in his eyes in the front, which Tubbo didn’t think he’d like. Ranboo had been wanting to grow his hair out for a while.
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath.
What had possessed him to take that significant of a blow for him? To give one of his lives for him?
Of course he blamed Quackity and Wilbur. If not for one of Wilbur’s stupid ideas and Quackity’s stupid rivalry, he– neither of them– would have been put in that situation to begin with.
Ranboo was lucky he knew how to take care of burns.
“Bee?” a little voice snorted outside their room. “I come in now? See Boo?”
“Oh, yeah, buddy! Just a second!” Tubbo called, standing up and making sure the blanket was pulled up as much as it could be over Ranboo’s back before he walked over to the door and opened it up, kneeling to pick up Michael, who slung one chubby hooved arm around his neck and stuck the other in his mouth. His small stuffed chicken was hanging by one of its fabric legs from his arm.
“Where Boo?” he snuffled around the hoof in his mouth, glancing up at Tubbo. “Boo okay?”
“Boo got hurt, buddy,” Tubbo says quietly, unable to hide the sad tinge in his voice. “Someone did something bad and he got hurt, but I fixed him up. He won’t be all better for a little bit, and he’s sleeping right now, but he’ll be okay.”
“Bee fix Boo?”
Tubbo let out a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I fixed him up. You wanna see him?”
Michael bounced excitedly in his arms, repeating “Mhm, mhm, mhm!” and Tubbo let out another, bigger, laugh as he walked over to their bed and Ranboo’s limp figure.
“Okay, okay. But you have to be careful, okay? You can’t climb all over him like usual.” he said quietly as he put Michael down on the mattress.
Michael dropped his chicken and crawled over to Ranboo’s face with Tubbo hovering behind to make sure he didn’t roll off the bed, and laid down on his belly next to his dad. “Boo? You okay?”
“Mm…” Ranboo’s eyes twitched and his purple lids slowly lifted, revealing hazy, tired red and green. “...hey, buddy,”
Michael’s lower lip trembled a bit, and his big green eye filled with tears. “Boo hurt?”
“M’okay, Michael…” Ranboo mumbled, shooting a glance to Tubbo as if to tell him it’s okay, I’ve got it. “Bee patched me up, I’ll be better soon.” He lifted a hand from under his pillow and winced a little as he rested it softly on Michael’s fuzzy head. “M’okay.”
“Bee, Boo’s hurting,” Michael whimpered, making Ranboo’s tired eyes widen. “You gotta sing.”
Tubbo blinked. “I need to sing?”
“Yeah! It makes him all better.” Michael pouted as Ranboo tried to push himself upwards.
“Alright then,” he said, gently reaching over his son to push lightly on his husband’s shoulder and make him lay back down so as not to aggravate the burns he’d spent so long trying to patch up. “What should I sing?”
Ranboo huffed out a laugh as he closed his lids again, eyes glowing a little in a rich purple as he spoke. “...always liked’a chorus ‘f that one song…one ‘bout bein’ safe ‘n not dyin’...”
“Okay.” Tubbo sat down again in the chair he’d dragged to the bedside. “Michael, do you want to get under the covers?”
The piglin child nodded excitedly and burrowed beneath the blanket, snuggling right up against Ranboo as Tubbo began to softly, roughly at first, then stronger, sing the final chorus to the song.
“Like you always say
Safe travels, don’t die, don’t die
Safe travels, don’t die, don’t die
Safe travels, don’t die, don’t die
Safe travels don’t die, don’t die~”
He smiled, fidgeting with the wedding band on his left ring finger and glancing at the one back around Ranboo’s. Ranboo’s hand was wrapped around Michael’s head, keeping him in close.
They’re safe.