Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No. 1

Claustrophobic

Everyone under the sun and moon of this horrid SMP knew how much Tommy hated small spaces. How his breath quickened, his chest tightened, and he felt like the walls were closing in on him and he’d suffocate and die.

Everyone knew he was claustrophobic.

Everyone fucking knew that.

And yet, here he was.

(Yet, here, Sam’d left him.)

Pandora’s Vault was huge but inside, – in the cell – it felt suffocating, and the fact that it was made primarily of Blackstone, a block that actively filled Tommy with dread and panic, only made it worse.

Of course, Tommy couldn’t forget the worst thing about Pandora: Dream. (First to Sam and the millions of other things.)

He's pretty sure “Tommy hates Dream” is an even more well-known fact across the SMP, but the context and reasoning behind it were less so, if even known at all, it being lost to time and pure blasphemy.

Tommy hugged his knees closer to himself, tucked into a corner of the dreaded obsidian box. Dream had left him alone a while ago, shuffling around in the cell, and doing whatever it is he does to entertain himself in here.

The entire visit Tommy had felt a little trapped, he always did whenever he came to visit, but now that he was here longer than anticipated and was going to be in here longer than anticipated, he was starting to feel the effects of his claustrophobia – and as a byproduct, his regression.

As far as Tommy knew, Dream didn’t know he regressed, or even what that was. And he intended to keep it that way, the last time he’d entrusted someone with that had been his brother ally, and look where that got him.

At the thought, his hands migrated to his hair, grasping at the grimy locks. Dream spared him an insouciant look as if he was an afterthought, like undone laundry he had no plans in doing. Tommy whined quietly, hiding his face as tears started to fill them. A scoff from across the room is made, and a tiny part of Tommy is engulfed in anger, but a bigger, coincidentally smaller, side of him cowered at it.

“No backtalk today?” Dream teases, egging him on because he knows the effects he has on the wretched, broken mind of his. “It’s nice to have some.. quiet. Almost reminds me of Exile .”

In a feigning attempt to bring himself into his bigger mindset – the right one – he pulls at his hair. He whimpers slightly.

“Don’t tell me you’re whining at the claustrophobia, Tommy, I thought you were better than that. I thought you were grown.”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he jerks his head up, slamming his hands on the obsidian floor. "I am!" He screams.

“Hm,” Dream smiles, and it’s odd seeing his sinister fucking face. Tommy honestly can’t convince himself whether or not the smiley mask was better or not. “Sure.”

Dream slumps back to the unspoken part of the cell that was declared his, near the sink. Tommy slumps back in his, near the withdrawn netherite border. The light of the endless flowing lava does no wonders in bringing him right back into that awful movie of memories he’s collected over the years, and it clicks once more that he’s scared .

Out of sheer fear, Tommy holds back his regression the best as he can. It would be better this way. He’d be less of a target, less vulnerable. 

Plus, it was only for a week. Right?

No. 2

Darns

Tommy was killing himself by trying to stay alive.

The contradiction would have been funny in any other circumstance if it weren’t this one because this time it was incredibly real, too real.

As he’s covered in what’re basically fucking rags , – littered in bruises and cuts and splinters that are all probably festering with infections that make Tommy cringe at the thought of alone, and marked with barely healing wounds and branding like cattle – walking through the cold-ass fucking Artic probably developing horrible hypothermia and sicknesses, he faintly wonders if he should’ve just stayed at Logstedshire. Would his chances of survival been better? With.. Dream ?

What’s worse is he has no idea where he’s going and his fine motor skills are seriously deteriorating, and he couldn’t tell you if his life depended on it (which it absolutely did right now) if it was because he was on the cusps of collapsing from overexertion or because he was regressing. 

Which really only brought Tommy to another one of his problems in his ever-growing myriad of problems.

Regression had already been a hot topic in his hell of a life for ages, and right now, it was quite literally the worst time to be regressing. Not only would it make Tommy more vulnerable to getting lost-er (he was lost, even he could admit that), but if any mobs spawned near him, he wouldn't be in the right state, of mind or regardless, to fend for himself efficiently.

Tommy’s body was receiving an incredible amount of stimuli, only resulting in stress and fear, resulting in Tommy’s brain trying to – while juggling the tasks of keeping him alive – come up with a way to calm Tommy down, which just so happen to be age regression.

Tommy shivered harshly, he rubbed his hands over each other in a fruitless attempt to warm himself, which right now was like pouring water on yourself while it was raining. Tommy continues to chafe his hands together anyways. He swears his fingers are going blue..

He’s incredibly thin too, which probably isn’t helping his case in any manner, and Tommy’d almost desperate enough to scrap the flesh of a zombie out of the snow to nom on.

Tommy could on and on.

Techno , he chanted, just find Techno’s.

Tommy can– will survive, he’s gone through worse.

( Has he?)

–

Tommy’s basically holding on by a string. His teeth clattered incessantly, and his legs drag through the feets of snow. His mind was clouded, and at this point, he was so exhausted and drowsy now he couldn’t tell you if it was because of the hypothermia or the regression. Either way, he was fucked.

This is how he dies.

After hours – days? – going through hell, which ironically in this situation was an icy, storming tundra to get away from his tormenter, only to crawl back to the one person who’d betrayed him and who’d certainly want to kill him. How pathetic.

Tommy’s legs give out despite his protest and desire to continue going. They ached, faintly, under all the freezing numbness – or maybe that aching was the numbness? Tommy falls face-first into the snow, unable to muster the energy to keep himself up. Unsurprisingly, he continues to shiver as he unwillingly gets laid in a blanket of snow. Stiffly, he moves his hands in front of his face, – he honestly barely feels it – and they’re fucking blue. They shake, and he can’t get them to fucking stop.

Fuck. Fuck, Tommy’s gonna die.

Tommy doesn’t have tears to shed, and it’s not clear if the sobs are causing him to shake like a leaf harder or not. He’s also exhausted. He never slept well in exile, and he hadn’t slept a wink since setting off on his journey to The Blade’s cabin. His current predicament wasn’t helping either.

Hazily, he thinks it won’t hurt to close his eyes, to rest.. just for a bit.

–

When Tommy wakes up he’s– well, he’s not fucking dead, so that’s already better than what he had expected. He’s been wrapped in multiple blankets and wools, clothes so soft and warm that he halfheartedly considers going back to the numb cold. Tommy’s breathing shallowly, and he still aches the way he has since forever, but just slightly less so than when he’s been in Logstedshire. 

Tommy tries shuffling around the pile of fabrics, but the sheer amount of them – which seriously looked like someone had panicked and thrown every blanket they owned onto him – severely hindered him bedridden. He was able to shift a bit, enough to see the fireplace, that had some logs tossed into it. The orange wasn’t reminiscent of the orange of the Nether, and the way it crackled was actually quite pleasant and calming.

Before he could inspect the rest of the room, Technoblade came up the stairs. “Oh,” He utters. “You’re awake.”

“Hi,” Tommy whispers, which he hadn’t meant to whisper, but it came out that way anyways. “Wha– what happened?”

Tommy knows what happened, and he’s pretty sure Techno knows that he knows what happened. Techno explains anyways, “You almost died, dude.”

Tommy winced. “I– Uh–”

Techno approaches him, reaching a hand out. Tommy’s eyes widen, assuming the worst – fuck, he did something wrong, out of line. Techno was mad, Techno was mad – and flinching back harshly, retreating into the blankets. Techno falters, drawing his hand back. Techno decides to make his hands visible, which does help Tommy calm down but–

The damage has already been done. Techno had successfully kicked him into littlespace, which bigger Tommy wouldn’t’ve been too surprised about. He was bound to do it at some point, he’d been in such a stressful situation not even minutes ago (to him at least), both physically and mentally, it was just bound to happen.

It was like rubbing anything and everything inside the wound, and Tommy had to look out for himself, somehow. He couldn’t let himself bleed, he’d bleed out after all. (So he had to put a bandage on. Maybe it was no gauze or surgery, but it worked for him.)

He was surprised he was able to form tears, but considering he got nursed back to health by Techno, he’d probably taken care of everything, including dehydration. “Sorry,” Techno whispers. “I just wanted to check you weren’t freezing under there,” He jokes.

Usual Tommy would have probably reiterated how could he possibly feel cold under all the blankets, but he wasn’t Usual Tommy. “M’kay..” He replies instead, in a smaller shriller voice.

Techno gives him a look like he was inspecting him but ultimately didn’t say anything. He pulls the blankets down slowly, exaggerating his movements and explaining exactly what he’s going to do before, and as he does it. It makes him feel safe , so utterly safe he just wants to stay here, here with Techno – big brother Technoblade! – doting on him, forever.

“You seem fine. Blood sugar good?”

“Yes.” Tommy slurs slightly, mostly from the thrill of being taken care of.

Techno stares at him. “You sure you’re good?”

“Mhm!”

He looks at him skeptically. “I– alright, whatever. Since you’re up, hot chocolate?” Tech asks.

Tommy gasps excitedly, nodding quickly. “ Yes !” He exclaims. Man, Tommy hasn’t had hot cocoa in so long! “Hot cocoa!”

Technoblade decides to watch Tommy more carefully through the evening, noticing how he was slightly more clumsy and hazy. Occasionally slurring his words and stimming more than usual. Tommy was at peak health (well– far from that but as far as temperature goes, he was fine) and he’d lost the pallid, near blue skin tone and feverish vibrating.

It wasn’t still hypothermia despite some of the symptoms pointing to such. Maybe this was an after effect of intense, prolonged suffrage of it – I mean, he didn’t expect Tommy to jump right back to being his normal self after being two steps away from death’s doorstop, but still, he’d expected a bit more banter or bite from him. It was Tommy, after all.

Maybe he’d hitten his head a bit too hard on the way here.

“Tommy, are you okay–?” Techno asks abruptly. “Are you sure you’re still not sick? You’re acting.. weird. Like, I swear if you die on me right after I spent all my potions and resources on you, I will come to the afterlife to kill you again myself.” Techno smirks, attempting to joke with the blonde.

Tommy just looks at him with innocuous, doe eyes and in between this second and the next, they were gone. Instead, looking back at him was the Tommy with more wary, gray eyes.

‘Cause, fuck, Tommy'd spent an entire afternoon with The Blade regressed, and he’d caught onto it. All the warmth and safety he felt slowly gathered throughout the evening, dissipated just like that. Now, he was tense and watching Techno’s every move. 

Tommy hadn’t even touched his spoon, much less his bowl of soup. The thought made him sick, and the hot chocolate he’d foolishly drank earlier only made him loath and pity himself for falling into that false sense of security, with Technoblade of all people too.

Tommy was already mooching off of Techno – Techno himself even admitted it! If he wanted to stay here longer than a day to recover, he was gonna need to prove himself, make himself useful, and make sure he didn’t piss his brother off.

For the sake of his safety, Tommy couldn’t regress.

That’d be an easy feat, surely.

No. 3

Seasick

Tommy gasped as he swam back up to the surface, his head felt dizzy, and faint from the lack of oxygen, and he was so tempted to just let himself drift and sink. He looked at the distance between himself and the shore and sighed. He closed the distance between them, all but throwing himself on the sand and staring up at the sky for a solid moment before the wetness sticking to him got irritating.

He wrung the most water from his clothes as he could once he stood, still damp and cold from waking up in the ocean. The day’s only just started and he was already exhausted, he just wants to go back to bed – forever, preferably. The light fuzz in his mind didn’t help to make the day go by any faster.

His stomach grumbled as he chopped a few trees down, his arms ached as he didn’t take a break, and his clothes got tattered and stained with more blood as he made no move or resistance to any surviving mobs or logs that barely missed him.

One of the skeletons – that had been stupid enough to follow him into the daylight and promptly burned to death – had dropped their bow, their enchanted bow, and Tommy ran to stash it under Ghostbur’s house.

The fuzz had only grown since the morning, his whole body and mind working a smidge more sluggish, and he lingered just a bit too much at Mushroom Henry. Tommy grimaced.

"Stop it," he whispers to himself.

He never knows when Dream will show up, he'd never made it clear when and what days he would arrive, he just would. He couldn't risk the possibility of Dream finding him, regressed . Tommy's basically a sitting duck in that situation.

Tommy ignores the aching, longing need want to relax and forces himself down into the cave anyways, he needed to catch up again – Dream keeps blowing his stuff up, but.. He was a friend, there was a reason for it, surely. He forgot his food, he notices once he’s at the bottom of the stairs. It’d be too much a hassle to go up just for that, he argues, and so he continues down into the cave, on the verge of starving.

Life finds a way , he thinks as he finds a flower, saxifrage, growing in between some rocks. Instinctively, Tommy reaches out to pick it but a voice right fucking behind him startles him, and he jumps.

“What a pretty flower, Tommy.” Dream whispers and the words bounce off the empty walls of the cavern. “You can put it down the hole with the rest of your things.” Dream smiles.

Tommy plummets into littlespace, tears springing to his eye. Desperately, still facing away from Dream , he tries to claw his way out of it.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Dream places a hand on his shoulder, something meant to be warm and comforting but only felt cold and controlling at this moment, and emphasizes, sternly, “ Tommy .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy slurs, tears running down his face as he kneels to dig a hole. He hiccups, whispering apologies when Dream’s hand returns.

“Tommy,” This time the word is uttered much softer. “ I’m sorry, you can.. keep your stuff today, okay? Why don’t we go pick some flowers, since you seemed to like that one? I’ll wait for you on the surface, don’t take too long.” Dream’s footsteps sound and fade as he leaves.

Tommy wipes his tears but crumbles to the floor regardless. 

Dream was being nice, offering to do something so nice and soft just because Tommy seemed interested in it. It was nice, it was friendly. Dream was a friend, he tried to convince himself.

Dream was being nice.

(So, why did he still feel so afraid?)

The fear eats him up inside, and if he’s not careful, he’s gonna slip far past what was acceptable. Tommy couldn’t indulge himself, he couldn’t slip into babyspace right now. Not when Dream was being nice and a friend, and Tommy had to be a good friend, so that Dream doesn’t leave either.

Tommy treads on thin ice, on a tightrope, and gathers himself – pulling himself out of the warmth. He’s not big by any means, but he’s not small either. It wasn’t acceptable, but–

“ Tommy! ” His voice is sung, echoing in the cave. “Don’t make me come get you.” He warns.

Tommy tenses. “Coming!” He calls back, voice warbling.

Tommy is a good friend, he can’t be a baby . Dream wasn’t here to take care of him, Dream was here to graciously hang out with his pathetic, miserable self.

Tommy’s half-regressed (not that he’d admit it), lonely yet not alone, cold, starving, suicidal, and bleeding – probably ill, physically, but depressed all the same – but he had to pick himself up and act like Tommy , the long eroded and broken boy but was still believed to be around, kicking and causing mischievous and making obscene jokes.

Exile was a vacation, anyways. He should enjoy it, even as Tommy shuddered with fear and self-deprecation.

No. 4

Calamity

Being a quick adapter was a trait you’d want to acquire if you wanted to survive more than a couple of months – weeks even – in the Dream SMP. Things change constantly – your allies, your enemies, your home.

Maybe it was something Tommy knew all too well for someone his age, but Tommy considered it to be one of his better traits. It was really helpful, especially with the recent repercussions of Schlatt’s administration and their new settlement into the ravine they now called their home.

Pogtopia.

Although, home is a far cry from what the cave actually is.

The cave wasn’t nearly as welcoming as one might think, – I mean, hiding in a cold, dark ravine because you’re on the run after being thrown out of your own nation isn’t necessarily Tommy’s idea of fun – and the rising state of tension between the rebellion and Manberg was only growing. The unfortunate byproduct was his brother’s (?) growing paranoia.

Wilbur in general was just.. getting worse, for the lack of a better word. He grew bitter, irritable, and hell, stinker . Wilbur didn’t entertain his silly bits anymore, instead only brushing him off or turning it into a lecture or just plain out snapping at him. It– It scared him.

Wilbur never yelled, not at him. Never. Well, sometimes, but it was always jokingly. If Tommy was ever actually annoying him Wilbur would just flat-out tell him. Tommy thinks the only time he’s been yelled at by Wilbur was because he was doing something stupidly dangerous or because he was in danger, things of that sort.

Tommy learned to pipe down and make himself as small as possible after that, or whenever Wilbur was particularly upset especially.

Speaking of, Tommy hadn’t been small in forever. The tensions had been too high recently, and whenever Tommy even slightly insinuated he might even be feeling small, Wilbur chastised him. God forbid he ever caught Tommy actually regressed.

In fact, that thought scared Tommy so much that it was enough to keep him big, much to Wilbur’s delight.

At least, it did for a while.

To no one’s surprise, it wasn't like a walk in the park. Tommy was overcome with fear and guilt, huddled up in the makeshift room made up of walls of cold stone.

Wilbur had already been a bit more upset than usual today, taking longer than usual to come back downstairs from his morning smoke, and when he did come downstairs, he just decided to ramble angrily to Tommy. Wilbur snapped at Technoblade when entered the room, seemingly for no reason, and that was enough to make Tommy quietly excuse himself.

He’d been spacey the entire time he followed Wilbur around and already got reprimanded a few times by Wil because of it. Tommy teared up when he got back to his room, not quite sure why he was so upset. Before he knew it, he’d slipped.

Tommy sobbed quietly. Slapping a hand over his mouth once he heard footsteps approach. He knew they were Wilbur's.

“Tommy.” Wilbur yelled, knocking harshly on the door. “Why did you leave?”

“L– Fuck off.” Tommy shouted.

Wilbur's shadow shifted, and Wilbur faltered. “Tommy–?”

“Go away!” Tommy cried.

Wilbur walked away, but a part of him wished he hadn’t – wished Wilbur had stayed and taken care of like he would’ve before, but he knew he wouldn't because Tommy shouldn't be regressing. There was a war on the way.

No. 5

Enjambment

Tommy no longer had the disk to play to watch the sunset with. The closest he got was the buzz and ache of his mind, filled with paranoia that hadn’t drained when they won the war like Tommy thought it would. 

Maybe that was a childish thought, to think everything would be resolved once L’manberg won its independence, but he so desperately wished it was real. He wished on a shooting star, he wished on birthday candles, he prayed to XD and Prime and YT.

But it didn’t, he still tensed when he heard a creeper sizzle, or when he looked at the hole the creeper left behind, he still tensed slightly when Dream came walking up the Prime Path or when he was a glint of the white abysm of the SMP’s king, Eret.

It was all his fault, really. Tommy hated Eret, even as a part of him missed them. She was the reason his friends – his family, really – had lost their first canon life. The blood wasn’t on Eret’s hands, but it still stained their crown, her cape, his throne.

Eret was the reason Tommy couldn’t listen to his disk anymore, the reason Tubbo trusted little now, the reason Wilbur couldn’t relax anymore, and the reason Fundy woke up from nightmares every night.

Eret was the reason Tommy couldn’t regress anymore .

He was so shaken with anxiety and fear and betrayal, that Tommy couldn’t settle down properly. When he did, he was so small and so helpless and petrified. All he could do was anxiously watch over his shoulder, hugging his small toy tightly, as he failed to quiet his wails.

Many nights ended with Wilbur holding him tightly, promising that he wasn’t leaving. Many nights, like tonight.

“Shhh,” Wilbur shushed, rubbing his back softly, as Tommy’s arms tighten and squeezed around his midriff. “Wilby’s got you, sweetie. Nothing bad gonna happen, I promise. You’re safe, I love you.”

Tommy couldn’t help it. His separation anxiety and abandonment anxiety had both skyrocketed, and all his mind could be filled with were those corrupted thoughts of his family leaving him.

“Baba!” Tommy cried. “Ma’ left, they’s gone–” Wilbur cradled him, rocking him the best he could but Tommy’s cries only increased. “ Scared .”

“It’s okay to be scared, my little one..” Wilbur whispered, carding a hand through his hair. “I was scared too, but it’s okay. No one will hurt you anymore, I promise.”

Tommy's throat burned, he distantly thought about how much his voice would be fucked tomorrow. “Miss Bee,” Tommy whispered hoarsely, as his wails quickly shifted to sniffles once his throat gave out and he ran out of tears to shed. “JJ ‘n Ni’i–?”

“Yeah, we can go see everyone, baby, they’re still here,” Wilbur responds a little too knowingly – like he knows Tommy is just a few seconds away from crashing – and messes with his hair. Tommy’s eyes droop, and he soon falls asleep. Crying was exhausting.

Sleep was awful too, sometimes, sleep was full of monsters and scary thoughts his little self didn’t really understand other than his friends were angry and leaving . Sleeping was just as nasty and icky, and Tommy just prayed for a bit of peace.

He just hoped someone was still listening, still answering, for once.

Chapter Text

No. +1

Respite

Tommy doesn’t usually regress nowadays. Okay, well– He does, but he doesn’t do it willingly. Usually, he pushes it away until he can’t anymore; and then he’ll crash, for a few days he’ll be stuck like that, essentially free bait.

He used to have a healthy relationship with it, before.. a lot. Most noticeably, with Tubbo and Wilbur. Tommy doesn’t think he really can rely on Tubbo anymore, though. Tubbo's fucking married, and he has an actual kid. Tubbo was growing up, so why couldn’t Tommy?

He can put this behind him, nobody – nobody alive, nobody who remembers, and nobody who cares about him anymore – knows he even does it! Tommy can pick up different coping mechanisms, like smoking. Wilbur smokes, and he’s doing fine!

Tommy’s not gonna smoke though, that’s fucking gross. Plus, it’ll just kill him faster, anyway. With his weak ass fucking lungs, he’ll collapse on a single cig.

(And that fact was either a welcomed or intrusive thought depending on the day.)

He’d cooed at a stray cat, fuzziness almost encasing him. That’s bad. He can’t, he reminded himself. Tommy roughly pounds himself on the head, just a quick sting to remind him he can’t let his guard down.

There are so many people with their bows aimed at him, if he slips up (pun intended) he couldn’t guarantee many people wouldn’t take that as their opportunity and shoot.

Tommy shakes his head, only managing to inflict vertigo on himself, and stands on shaky legs. He shoos the cat before pulling his head immediately towards the sound of netherite boots on the wooden path, he tenses.

His eyesight has deteriorated, nowhere near Tubbo’s but still horrid, but he still recognizes the figure as Ranboo.

“Hey, Tommy!” Ranboo greets, panting as he doubles over to catch his breath. “That was a black cat, right?”

“You’re not fuckin’ colorblind are you?” Tommy jabs, feeling a bit strange cursing while– or.. nothing. Cursing was normal for Tommy, yup. Fuck, shit. He’s also completely ignoring the fact that colorblind people can see black and white, as far as he knows.

Ranboo shifts his eyes around, pupils not staying still. “I– Um, no? No, I don’t think so.” Ranboo says hesitantly.

“Yes, it was a fucking black cat, bitch.” He confirms.

“Oh!” Ranboo smiles, peering down the path, and nods. “Yeah, that’s Enderpearl. She likes to run.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like you.”

Ranboo frowns. “I– No, I think she likes me. Enderpearl likes me.”

“Okay, big man.” He responds, disregarding the eyesight Ranboo made with him.

“So,” Ranboo starts awkwardly. “I was– wondering? Would you like to come to dinner, in Snowchester? Just wondering, Tubbo wanted me to ask, is all.”

Tommy doesn’t think about it and simply answers, “Yeah, sure.” He regrets it as soon as he says it, and he thinks it shows, but Ranboo either didn’t notice it or decided to ignore it. “When?”

“Tonight?”

“See you then, pussy-owner.” Tommy shouts as he walks in the opposite direction despite Ranboo’s loud cackle and squawk.

–

Chat (a small plushie, it was a little TV head person with a blue sweater) stared right back at him as he shrugged his thicker, red jacket on. The coat was lined with fur and had the Snowchester flag patch on it, a gift from Tubbo. Tommy, no matter how much he willed and pleaded with himself, couldn’t bear to move the stuffed toy into his enderchest. He’d even tried hiding them away from his sight, but he always ultimately felt bad and dug them back up. It just felt– cruel.

So, they just sat there, with pleading, black eyes.

“No.” Tommy restated, firmly. He felt ridiculous, talking to it. It was childish. “You’re not coming with me because– I’m done, okay? I’m not gonna fucking do this shit anymore.”

Tommy didn’t whine (he did) as Chat continue to stare at him, and he almost caved, but a ping from his communicator brings him back to reality. It’s a follow-up message, from Tubbo, making sure he was coming.

Without a second thought, Tommy abruptly left, slamming the door behind him and not looking back. He doesn’t need any toys. He’s not a child, he’s not.

Tommy climbs onto the top of the tunnel, preferring not to drown today, and makes his way over to Snowchester. He’s careful with his steps, making sure he doesn’t step onto any ice once he enters the more snowy area, and jumps down onto some as he gets close to the mansion. He slips, but he’s fine – it didn’t even hurt.

Tommy speedwalks to the steps of the mansion, running up them, knocking roughly, and spamming their comms. While in the middle of another very nice message, he’s pulled inside by Tubbo.

“Tommy, oh my god, you’re so fucking underdressed,” Tubbo complains. He wipes some of the snow off his shoulder, helping him unzip it before being shoved away.

“I can do it myself,” Tommy grumbles, and Tubbo put his hands up in surrender. He throws the coat onto the coat rack. Tommy hums as Tubbo starts to ramble about something while Tommy struggles to yank his boot off. Tubbo sends him a look, silently asking him if he needs help and Tommy shakes his head feverishly. When he pulls the boot out, he sends it flying and, in return, falls backward onto his ass.

“Tommy–!”

Well, this was embarrassing. “ I’m fine ,” Tommy stresses despite the tears in his eyes, he can chalk it up to his fucked pain tolerance. “I’m fine, just–” Tubbo dismisses him anyways, pulling him up, and fussing over him as he gets led to the kitchen and into his seat.

Tubbo walked out of the room, moving to the separate but connected kitchen to help Ranboo, presumably with dinner. Michael was sat across from him, in his high chair, staring him down with wide eyes as he leans in.

Michael grumbles, babbling in Piglin. “Mimi.” He catches.

“Hello, Michael,” Tommy responds.

There’s not much of a conversion to continue on so it reminds one-sided. Ranboo makes his entrance, delicately balancing all the plates – minus Tubbo’s – in his arms as he slides them all onto the table, putting them down in front of everyone’s respective seats. Tubbo sits next to Michael, placing his plate down in front of him as he takes a sip from his juice. Tommy stares at his plate disinterested.

Ranboo had stepped out, grabbing the rest of the drinks. He should’ve probably offered to help, but he realizes a bit too late. They all begin to eat, and Tommy picks up a conversation. Tommy only falters a little bit when he notices how Tubbo lovingly cuts up pieces of Michael’s food before looking at him fondly and returning to eat his own. He shouldn’t feel jealous, he shouldn’t.

Time passes faster than Tommy can process, and before he knows it, he’s staring into the worry-filled eyes of his best friend. Tubbo has his hands on his hip, in ways Tommy’d seen from a third perspective when Michael was in trouble. Now the center of Tubbo’s wrath, Tommy squirms in his seat. “Tommy.” Tubbo murmurs, not quite like the irritated tones he’d expected or come to be so used to. “Why didn’t you eat anything?”

“I already ate.” He answers a bit too quickly. Tubbo gives him a stern look, having caught the lie just as quickly as it was said. “Um, I– I don’t know, I’m not hungry?”

Ranboo announces his return, – and in a house with three extremely traumatized children, two of which were literal war veterans, the custom was incredibly appreciated. He’d left momentarily to put Michael in his room to play or something, and muttered under his breath as he caught wind of the situation.

As Ranboo makes his way to stand next to Tubbo, Tommy can’t help but feel like a kid being scolded for not doing his homework, as much as that analogy is ironic Tommy hates how dread fills him anyways.

Tubbo tore his glare (although lovingly and mostly compassionate) from Tommy to make eye contact with Ranboo, communicating in ways only platonic husbands could, and Ranboo nods once.

Taking a spoonful of Tommy’s food, he presents the food to Tommy innocently. It’s basically a suggestion, Tommy knows they’re not gonna force him– 

Tommy takes a bite.

Why did he do that–!?

Tubbo and Ranboo seem just as surprised as him, was he really that stubborn? ..Actually, yeah, he was.

Anyways, Tommy goes red. He opens his mouth to apologize but the words don’t come to him. He closes his mouth and opens it again, like a fish out of water. In the end, he ends up whining, hiding his face behind his hands pitifully.

Tubbo snaps out of it, and remarkably, he knows exactly what’s going on. It’s almost nostalgic, Tubbo notes as he smiles softly.

“Hey, Toms. Bubba,” Tubbo whispers, putting a calloused hand on Tommy’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay, no need to be embarrassed, baby.”

Ranboo’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “Tubbo?”

Tommy only curled more into himself. Tubbo shot a quick glare at his husband. “Boo.” He scolds. “Trust me when I say just.. treat him like Michael, okay?”

Tommy assumes he nods, as he feels Ranboo’s clawed hand brushing his hair carefully. He peeks out, only seeing Tubbo’s comforting smile, and that alone was enough to make Tommy burst into tears.

How long had it been since someone comforted him and really, truly meant it? Or looked at him softly and helped him eat, or knew what he was feeling like and didn’t immediately turn him away?

The two panic at the tears trailing down Tommy’s face – and perhaps the fact that he sobbed so quietly that if they weren’t looking at him they wouldn’t have even known he was crying.

“Oh, no tears, bug..” Ranboo murmured. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Tommy’s breath shuddered as a sob erupted from his throat, and he throws himself into Ranboo’s arms. Ranboo looks around frantically, suddenly feeling like a new parent all over again. He cradled Tommy in his hold delicately.

While Tommy calmed down, sobs reduced to the occasional sniffle, Tubbo explained to Ranboo just about everything.

“Oh okay,” They say, rocking Tommy subtly. “I get it.”

“Good, I would’ve divorced you for real if you hadn’t.” Tubbo chuckled, stretching his hands out to the boy in Ranboo’s embrace in a nonverbal way of asking to have him.

Tommy grumbled a little bit at the shuffling but ultimately leans closer to Tubbo. He felt smaller than usual – not the smallest he knows he can go. Though, Tommy wasn’t in babyspace yet, and he definitely wanted to keep it that way. Tommy had only ever slipped that small a handful of times, and he wasn’t the fondest of it. If there was one thing Tommy could still control right now, it was going to be that.

“Ran, can you get one of Mike’s old bottles and put some milk in it? I don’t think Toms up to eat right now.” Tubbo requested.

Tommy pauses. “Mm-mn.. no!” He mumbles, all whiney.

He hears a chuckle, not quite sure from who from where Tommy’s hiding his face in Tubbo’s shoulder. “Yeah?” Ranboo humors him.

“No’ baby.” Tommy frowns.

“What’s wrong with being a baby, ladybug?” Tubbo questions, “Isn’t Michael a baby?”

“Mikey’s an older baby, Bubba!” Tommy insists, nomming on one of his fingers. “No’ wrong.. Jus’ weird.”

Ranboo hums, “That’s alright!” Ranboo reassures, “You don’t have to be a baby, but you do have to eat, Tommy.”

Tubbo nods in agreement. “If you don’t eat, you’re gonna wake up in the middle of the night all hungry! And I know how grumpy you are when you’re hungry!” Tubbo teases, poking Tommy in the side.

Tommy breaks out in giggles, “Bee!”

“Alright,” Ranboo interjects. “Do I need to go get a bottle or not?”

Tommy, surprisingly, nods. Ranboo nods in response and sets off into the kitchen to get the bottle ready. “Oh,” Tommy says, eyes lingering at where Ranboo had disappeared from.

“What’s wrong?” Tubbo asks, clocking Tommy’s sad eyes. “Miss Boo already?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Um.. Chat..?”

“Oh!” His eyes light up in recognition. “Hey, Ran! When you’re done with that could you also fetch Tommy’s little TV doll from his house?” Tubbo shouts. After hearing a faint “Yeah!” from the kitchen, he takes Tommy – who he was still firmly on his hip – upstairs.

Tommy’s set on Tubbo and Ranboo’s bed, which was remarkably still the same white sheet from when Foolish had designed the original room. The room was more furnished now, thankfully, and the bed had been pushed to touch one of the walls now. Tubbo takes a quick stride into the walk-in closet and comes out with a few articles of clothing Tommy’s pretty sure are Ranboo’s.

“Alright, I admittedly should’ve probably asked Ran to also grab some of your clothes, but I forgot so you can just borrow some.” Tubbo rambles, setting the clothes next to Tommy for him to pick from.

Tubbo turns around to let Tommy change and takes the moment to grab a few extra blankets and pillows from the closet and something else from his enderchest.

“Done!” Tommy shouts.

Tubbo comes into the room, and Tommy is wearing one of Ranboo’s long-sleeved sleep shirts and one of Tubbo’s shorts. The sleeves are way too long for Tommy, going past his hands, and Tommy flaps his hands to let the fabric go all over the place for a bit.

“Aw,” Tubbo muttered. He kneels at the end of the bed and grabs Tommy's arm. He bunches the sleeve up and gives the baby a quick kiss on the forehead, making Tommy giggle quietly – who was now significantly much more tired. “Hey, Tom, guess what?”

Tommy babbled with a questioning upspeak. Tubbo smiles at his baby-ish reply but refrains from a comment in fear of Tommy shutting up. Instead, he takes a hand and pulls something out of his hoodie pocket. Tommy leans in, trying to get a peek at it, but Tubbo’s other hand covers it.

Tubbo smirks, amused. “Here.” He whispers, uncovering his hand as he hands it over to Tommy. And it’s.. it’s a pacifier.

Not just any pacifier, but Tommy’s pacifier.

Tubbo had kept it after all these years.

Tommy gasped, “T’ank you, Bubba!”

Tommy pops the paci in and hums, he’d basically forgotten what it felt like to have one. Before Tommy can delve any more into those thoughts, Ranboo peeks in through the bedroom door. He waves a hand, but Tommy’s more zoned into the particular item in his hand.

Chat.

“Chat!” Tommy beams, shout muffled by the pacifier in his mouth.

Tubbo greets the endermen-hybrid and takes the bottle from him.

Ranboo does a dramatic gasp as his attention turns back to the little, and he hands him the little plush. “Hi, Chat! Hi, Tommy!”

“Hello!” Tommy mumbles.

“Tubbo, he is so cute.” Ranboo cooes, leaning to the side to whisper to Tubbo like it was gossip or state secrets. Either way, it was unlikely Tommy would have heard him either way as he was preoccupied with babbling with the stuffed toy. “I love him so much.”

“He is quite cute, isn’t he?” Tubbo says, voice all love-y.

“I could’ve sworn you’ve said something like that about Michael, you’re not replacing our son, are you?” Ranboo teases.

Tubbo gasps. “Boo! I would never. They can both be cute.”

“True.” Ranboo smiled fondly.

Out of the blue, Tubbo claps his hands softly, garnering the attention of the two in the room. “Alright, bedtime!” He ushers. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Ranboo treks over to the lights and turns them off, crossing the room to close the curtains and turn the nightshade lamp on in one go.

Now, uncovered from the darkness, Ranboo can see his two best friends covered and snuggled under the softest blankets they have – Tubbo draped his hands over Tommy protectively, head pressed into Tommy’s neck, while the latter sipped quietly from his bottle, Chat hugged closely to his chest –  and it took all of his willpower not to melt at the sight. Instead, they just sigh softly and join them under the covers.

Tommy – who’s settled down in the middle, respectfully – latches onto him immediately, only furthering Ranboo’s losing battle. Ranboo’s tail wraps around Tommy’s ankle, and he hums in acknowledgment.

Ranboo folds. “I love you guys.” He whispers, practically on the edge of tears. His voice was so sickeningly sweet, fond, and genuine that it would’ve probably made Big Tommy cry.

Tubbo snorts, “Dork.” But Ranboo knows he means it too, and Tubbo does too. The fact that he pressed closer only solidified that.

Tommy pauses, and it makes the husbands think he’d already dozed off. Tommy hesitates for a moment. “Love you.” He whispered back, dragging the ‘you.’

Not too long after that would the three of them fall sound asleep, because that’s all they needed. To be together: safe , home, loved.

So when Tommy woke back up, there was no moment of panic or feeling of regret or embarrassment.. he just felt safe .

And he went back to bed, knowing that if he woke up big or little, he would be okay.