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tommy first met ranboo when he was fourteen.
it was the day, the one no one would forget, one that ranboo had nicknamed 'doomsday'. the name seemed far too fitting not to catch on.
that morning was not one that tommy would ever let slip from his memory, no matter how badly, how desperately, he wanted to. he'd awoken in his bed, blankets piled atop his shivering body, eyelids heavy and crusted with sleep. his pajamas had shifted in his sleep, one of the legs of his plaid bottoms having rolled up to his knee at one point, and both of his sleeves pushed back to different lengths. his socks were askew, and tommy hadn't questioned why he'd slept so well for the first time in so long. nothing had seemed out of the ordinary, not until he'd blindly stuck out a hand to feel for his phone on his nightstand.
as he lifted the screen to his face, squinting in a feeble attempt to shield his eyes from the blaring lights to check the time, his eyes instead fell upon a notification from only an hour before, an emergency alert, not too dissimilar to the missing persons ones, only it was far, far more sinister. a horrific infection spreading, more rapid than anything ever seen before, far too contagious for people to even step out the door, or leave windows open. and, yet, his parent's hadn't woken him up to tell him.
tommy had thrown himself out of bed, heart pounding, almost able to taste the acidic nausea rising in his throat. stumbling to his door, he'd called out for his parents, hands trembling as he cursed under his breath, fumbling hurriedly with the lock.
he'd ran out of his room so fast, he didn't notice the indented scratches on his door.
all but throwing himself down the stairs, tommy called out again, focused more on racing down each step rather than holding onto the banister and trying not to fall. it was almost a miracle that he didn't, throat burning as he screamed out his parents names, only to get no reply. desperation clawed at his chest, voice breaking pitifully as he reached the bottom step, socked feet sliding across the bloodied hardwood floor as he sprinted towards his mother's office. he didn't even get to the end of the hallway before the stench of blood hit him.
there were footprints on the ground, leading in from the smashed-in back door, crimson shoe marks scuffed against the wooden floorboards, glass speckled with blood. tommy remembered finding both of his parents, sat on the sofa together as if they'd fallen asleep watching a movie the night before, a blanket draped over their laps. only, there was so much blood, and neither of their chests were rising, and, god, were those bite marks?
there was something about seeing the corpses of the very people who'd raised you with such love and tenderness that you'd never felt alone in your entire life that left you unable to forget.
he couldn't forget that, never.
tommy didn't have time to mourn, though, of course he didn't, because mere seconds after his eyes fell upon the bloodied remains of his parents, the faint sound of gurgling and scuffed footsteps reached his ears, and his heart stopped. it was close, he knew that for sure, sounding almost like it was in the same house as him.
he was fourteen, and he didn't know what to do. he had no relatives he knew of, his phone was upstairs, and there was someone in the house with him.
there was a blur, a missing gap within two events in his memory of that day, and, next thing he knew, he was clutching a half-shattered vase in his hands, standing over a growling figure. it wasn't human, that was for sure, though it had once been. it's skin was tinged a horrific, sickly colour, rotted eyes sunken into its skull, a clear bite mark resting upon it's bony forearm. it was drenched in blood, though if that had been from the murder of his parents, or the broken vase shards embedded in it's skull, tommy couldn't tell. he just knew that it was down, and it wouldn't be for long, so he needed to get out.
and so tommy had started running.
he didn't know where to. he didn't know if he cared much about destination at that point, all he knew was he needed to get as far as possible.
but, of course, things never went according to plan, because, after god knows how long of running with sobs wracking his body and tears streaming down his face, legs aching and lungs constricting, he staggered to a stop, hands on his knees, heaving desperately for air. he couldn't afford to stop for long. tommy was fourteen, and tommy was the absolute opposite of athletic. his arms were thin, without the slightest trace of muscle, and he'd always got winded playing sports, but there had never been a moment where tommy didn't thank fucking god that he was good at running. not until then.
then, since apparently tommy had too much misfortune for one day, he'd noticed two bikes fallen onto the floor of the driveway to the house next to him.
bikes would be good, right? they were quiet, they were fast, and tommy didn't get quite as winded on them. it wasn't even an option to walk away, not for him, since he didn't hesitate to lift the handlebars into his hands, steadying the bike against his side as he caught his breath. whoever's bike it was could cope, tommy needed to get the fuck out-
"what do you think you're doing?"
tommy all but jumped out of his skin, a kid with split dyed monochromatic hair about his age walking around from the side of the house, a baseball bat wielded in one hand, a water bottle in another. he froze the moment he saw tommy.
he tried not to think about the green-tinted blood splattered on the kids shoes.
swallowing thickly, tommy tightened his grasp on the handlebars, face burning with humiliation as he realised the boy could probably see the tear tracks running down his reddened face, "listen, man, if this is your bike, i'm sorry, but i need to fucking leave."
"what did you think i was doing?" the boy scoffed loudly, hastily making his way towards the bike at tommy's side, sparing a glance towards him, "that's my old one anyway. the pedals are rusted, but you should be fine," he shrugged as he placed the bat into the basket at the front of the bike, swinging himself onto the seat.
narrowing his eyes, tommy stared at the boy, silently trying to draw similarities between him and whatever creature he'd caved the head in of earlier, but there was nothing. he seemed...normal. "you really don't care that i'm just... stealing your bike?" he questioned, phrasing it in a way that he hoped made it obvious that he didn't, in fact, want the boy to care, rather he was simply confused. his mind was racing, not that it had stopped since he'd found his parent's bodies, but there were just so many thoughts clouding his head that he couldn't help the confusion.
the boy only laughed dryly, "course not. it's an apocalypse, you think i care about my old, rusted bike? bigger priorities, man," he hesitated, eyes falling onto something behind tommy and paling, "like the zombie coming our way. go, go, go!"
fumbling to get his socked feet onto the pedals, tommy saw the boy shoot ahead, biking down the middle of the road, and he didn't hesitate to follow once he could muster up the strength to push down on the pedals, ignoring the way it burned the soles of his feet as loud groaning and shuffled footsteps came closer and closer behind him.
"this way!" the boy called, glancing back to make sure tommy was following him, turning down a road leading towards a park, baseball bat jostling in the basket.
it took them four days before they'd decided they were far enough away to be safe.
four years later, only a week after they'd celebrated the first snowfall of that year, they would meet tubbo too.
"hey, dickhead, where did you put my shoes?"
ranboo snapped his head up to meet tommy's eyes, hands freezing in place, a damp washcloth held loosely over the same baseball bat from all those years before. "i don't know, they're your shoes, shouldn't you know?" he squinted, exhaling upwards to blow the stray strands of hair out of his eyes. his dyed hair had long since faded, the black and white split being replaced by a dusty blond, cut into a much shorter style. the two had discovered long ago that zombies- because of course, that was what those growling, staggering creatures were- were smart enough to latch onto the hair of anyone who'd let it grow long enough.
"you're such a dick," tommy grumbled, though both of them knew there was absolutely nothing behind it, no matter how hard he'd tried to feign annoyance, "it's literally winter now, man, my feet are fucking freezing!"
scrunching up his face in mock disgust, ranboo returned to scrubbing the baseball bat clean absentmindedly, "don't talk to me about your feet. go grab some socks, or something, or just put my shoes on for now," he hesitated, glancing back up with a sly grin, "or, maybe, learn to look for your own stuff?"
tommy flipped him off with a loud huff, "you fucking suck," he grumbled, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, though, from the glimpse ranboo caught of his face as he passed through the doorway, he seemed to be smiling. his stomping footsteps seemed to reverberate through their shelter, though he seemed to grow tired after mere moments, as they quickly died down.
with a fond smile on his face, ranboo turned back to the bat, eyes skimming over the crusted green-tinted blood with slight confusion. there were fingerprints on the handle, etched into the half-dried blood, and, raising his hand up to them, he found that they were far smaller than his. it couldn't have been tommy. for all of his loud jokes, and his tendency to be overly clingy at the worst times, he was actually incredibly respectful of ranboo's belongings, and had sworn to him, only a week after they'd first met, that he'd never touch the bat that ranboo carried with him.
at that point, ranboo hadn't told tommy that it had been a gift from his older sister, who he'd seen get mauled by zombies only minutes before tommy showed up, so his complete, unwavering respect warmed him. and when he had told tommy, after keeping that dark memory inside the confines of his mind for far too long, he'd been met with gentle, sympathetic eyes, and soft arms pulling him into a hug.
so this was absolutely not tommy, and it was far, far too small to have been ranboo.
"tommy?" ranboo called out, voice trembling nervously. he'd washed that bat only last week, so whoever had held it had to have done it within that week, and, since it had just turned winter, neither of them had left the house for days. meaning, whoever it was, they had to have gotten inside their fucking house. his heart started beating faster, thumping almost painfully against his ribs, "tommy!"
he was met with silence.
and, when tommy is involved? silence is never good.
just as ranboo stood, prepared to tear apart the house looking for him, his voice echoed from the doorway, sounding far too shaken and terrified to be tommy, but it was him all the same. "ranboo? can- can you come here, please?"
shit, the only times tommy was polite was when he was literally distraught. ranboo had watched him flip off zombies and threaten to sleep with their mothers while they were actively attacking him. he was never polite, not even in the face of danger.
he wasted no time in crossing the room, ducking down slightly to slip through the doorway, instinctively scanning the room in search of both danger, and tommy. one of which he found much quicker than the other, eyes locked onto the rusted dagger pointed towards tommys throat by a boy who looked like he was having some trouble trying to reach up that high.
"surprise?" tommys voice shook, betraying the blank façade he tried to display, hands trembling at his side.
without even thinking, ranboo reached into his pocket, drawing the gun that they'd found on the floor of some store a long, long time ago. it was empty, of course it was, how were they supposed to get specialised bullets? but, still, the boy didn't know that. all he had to do was a light threatening. he outstretched his arm, face unreadable as he hovered his finger over the trigger. "what do you think you're doing?" he asked, and, finally, the boys eyes turned to him, and oh.
the boy looked rough, to put it lightly, considering he seemed to be about their age. one of his eyes had turned a milky white, with a long, sharp scratch running from his hairline to his chin, and right through his eye. you could almost see the indent in place of where the pupil should've been. his skin was littered with thin scars, ones that looked as if they had been done by sharpened fingernails, across his face, across his neck, and across the sliver of chest visible from his far-too-big shirt. his hair was overgrown, auburn curls brushing unsurely against his shoulders. and, for someone with a dagger to his best friends throat, ranboo had never seen someone look so scared.
"give-" the boy began, voice scratchy and hoarse, "supplies, i need supplies. no funny business, and i'll leave," he promised, but ranboo could see that look in tommys eyes, and he knew that would never happen.
tommy, with all the braveness of a man with the point of a dagger digging into the skin of his neck, shot the boy a grin, all wonky teeth and braces that had been on far too long. "what's your name?" at the boys reluctance, he continued, speaking just a little too loud, in that way that ranboo noticed he did when he wasn't really sure of himself, when he was reaching blindly and hoping it would work. "i'm tommy, i just feel like you should know that before you put your dagger through my neck. that one's ranboo, by the way. and yes, that is his actual name. stupid, isn't it?"
the boy watched him warily. "supplies," he demanded again, words breaking as his voice gave out.
"listen, man," tommy continued, just as ranboo was about to speak up. "you're- you're not one of them, right? you've clearly not been bitten, and neither have we, so how about you both just put your weapons down, because, if i'm honest, it's hard to have a conversation when i'm scared that, if i swallow too hard, my throat will be slit. so weapons down, yeah?"
ranboo waited for the boy to sheath his dagger before lowering the gun. maybe tommy was onto something, and wasn't trying to bullshit his way out of danger as normal. maybe, for once, he was actually heading in the right direction, instead of hurtling himself in blindly, "he's right. you're a hunter too," ranboo spoke, finally, not taking his eyes away from the boy for a split second. he was still far too close to tommy, and could easily draw the dagger quicker than ranboo could react. "we can get you supplies, and we can tell you where to find more," he hesitated, eyes falling over the boys malnourished frame, ill-fitting clothes, and outgrown hair. "have you been alone this whole time?"
finally, finally, it seemed as if they were getting somewhere, as the boy swallowed thickly, eyes downcast. "how long has it been?"
"four years, three months, one week, and six days," tommy cut in, ignoring ranboo as he blinked. he didn't know tommy had been counting.
the boy let out a shuddering breath, and that was answer enough.
"right, okay, just-" ranboo hesitated. both he and tommy hadn't been alone for long. they'd lost people on the same day, only hours apart, but the longest they'd been apart was only a few hours. this boy, the one who had been threatening tommy with a hand far too shaky, had been in the company of no one but zombies for over four years. they were absolutely not equipped to handle this. "can you tell us your name?"
there was a moment, a split second, where ranboo was afraid their plan had failed, and then, so quiet that he could barely hear it. "tubbo."
"great! come on, tubso, i'm getting you water, and something to eat, since you clearly need it," tommy began, clapping a hand onto tubbos back and beginning to lead him through the doorway at ranboos side. the boy, tubbo, only followed silently, crossing through into the other room.
ranboo caught tommys wrist as he reached his side, grip light and gentle, but just enough to make tommy stop, "what do you think you're doing?" he hissed, though there was no malice, and his concerned gaze betrayed him. "he just tried to kill you!" though ranboo was only whispering, he could feel tubbos eyes watching him through the doorway.
"you've seen him, ranboo. that knife was so rusted it couldn't break skin. it's more likely to give me tetanus than an injury. don't tell me you think tubbos a threat," tommy replied, voice equally hushed, gesturing lightly towards the boy as he spoke. ranboo turned to follow his gaze. and he was right. tubbo was shuffling awkwardly, exhausted eyes watching the two tentatively, hunched in on himself and arms wrapped around his middle in a feeble attempt to keep warm. "i know you, ranboo. you help everyone you can. don't tell me you weren't considering letting him stay. he's been alone for four years. i was alone for four hours, and you know how much that fucked me up. think of him, ran, he needs help, and there's not many people left to give it."
with a gentle sigh, ranboo shook his head fondly. "don't tell him he can stay, not yet. we don't know him enough. but," he spoke sharply, watching as tommy opened his mouth to protest, "i promise i'll keep it in mind, and we'll try and help him as much as we can, okay?"
"okay."