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Tubbo was exhausted. That was the basics of it.
He couldn’t explain much more than that because then he’d sound crazy. After all, who would believe that him, along with his best friend and ex? best friend’s family? (The labels were still confusing) had lived through the same day 27 times and each and every single time, Tommy had died.
Over. And over. And over.
He remembered each and every one so clearly. The first few times the day replayed, it had been confusing. No one understood just why they’d black out and wake up only to see it was Tuesday all over again.
It hadn’t taken long for him and Ranboo to discover that the other was experiencing the same thing. After all, everyone they talked to aside from each other acted as if they were crazy for asking why it was Tuesday again.
The two had soon figured out a pattern to the day and had gone investigating. The investigating mention was rather irrelevant as it didn’t do shit since Techno had called about Tommy being dead and had Tubbo and Ranboo mentioned in his suicide note.
Anywho, depressing shit aside, that had made sure that they knew the rest of the Craft family were also time looping and the wold darkened a few moments after Tommy died every time.
That entire discovery had taken entirely too long (22 days to be exact, the knowledge being because of Ranboo’s cataloguing on the days). And they were currently still trying to figure out ways to prevent Tommy from fucking killing himself.
Number 23 was an impromptu party that went to shit when Wilbur hugged Tommy and caused a shit chain reaction of events that caused a blackout when the blonde excused himself to the bathroom.
24 consisted of a nature walk where their friend thought of the incredible idea of disappearing when the rest of them weren’t looking and soon creating a restart.
That cause everyone to be way too clingy in 25 which, as they figured out, was a shitty idea because Tommy hated the ‘fakeness’.
Tommy also hated pity but they accidentally showed it a smidge too much the next loop.
They didn’t show enough of anything the next so here they were at 28 and Tubbo was fucking exhausted. Most definitely traumatised from actually seeing his best mate of six years die. God, this was fucking depressing wasn’t it? He was supposed to be putting that aside but he just grabbed new depressing shit. Oops.
But he could see that most of them were also tired. Not physically, no. They would wake up at the start of a reset feeling as they did before they began looping but hope was beginning to dwindle in him.
Look, he knew it was bad. He loved Tommy, he really did but it was so hard to keep him alive. It was awfully hard to be pissed at someone who had died 27 times but sometimes the frustration bubbled to the top.
Loving Tommy was as easy as breathing to Tubbo. The blonde was funny, knew how to fill up the silences and could bounce off Tubbo’s eccentricity well. But sometimes the jokes weren’t funny jokes, they were just insensitive. Sometimes the silences were wanted. Sometimes… the other bounced too far off of what he said and went off in his own world.
Yes, loving Tommy Craft was easy but so was not loving him.
You could ask the school. The blonde wasn’t well-known for the right reasons. Tubbo knew that when he properly got to know the boy he latched onto on induction day but everyone had their faults. That didn’t mean that the faults didn’t irk the brunette to extremes sometimes. No, he’d had multiple occasions of where Tommy’s personality crossed the line between tolerable and stop-hanging-out level.
Those periods would last a few days tops and he’d feel bad seeing his friend shovel food down alone before heading off to a practice room (food was not allowed in practice rooms, that was a clear rule Puffy had) to do whatever it is he did there. Play the piano? Mope?
Tubbo wasn’t glad that the other was lonely but in the moments where he was, the shorter was annoyed enough at Tommy that he could disregard those feelings of concern and pity. Definitely hiding the pity; the younger hated pity with a burning passion.
“Hey, Tubbo!” Phil’s cheery voice spoke through his phone. How was he so cheerful?
“What’s the plan this time?”
“Going around town. Pop in some shops and buy things for Tommy.”
Their plan was to trying anything and everything. Really, it was to just do something different everyday and goddamn hope it worked.
Tubbo was hoping desperately.
Number 28. It had to be a lucky number for someone out there didn’t it? And whoever that was, Tubbo wanted that person to have chosen the right number out of the infinite options because each repeat only got harder.
And so he walked towards the town centre, passing by Ranboo’s house on the way so they could walk together. Were they skipping school? Fucking obviously; These were dire circumstances.
Tommy waved them over, blooming that smaller flower of hope in the bouquet that had began to wilt. Happy Tommy was a good thing. It also meant a certain tall brunette hadn’t royally fucked up yet.
Tubbo and Ranboo talked amicably with Tommy after apologising for not making up with him since the two were determined the best people for the blonde to be around the most as their relationship with Tommy was the least strained out of them all. Which, now he thought about it harder, was really fucked up. Like, really really fucked up.
The teen was relatively certain that Wilbur had told his younger brother that he wanted the boy dead at least thrice in the past. Now he was working incredibly hard to avoid it? He was rather eager to do anything and everything as well as being overly disappointed and distraught when it was pointed out that the adult was probably the worst person for Tommy to be around.
No, there wasn’t time for Tubbo to have these sort of doubts. All of them needed each other in order to save Tommy.
“Do you want to go to the pet shop, Tommy? I’ll buy you any one you want!” only proved Wilbur’s desperation for his brother’s… approval? forgiveness? happiness? Whatever it was, it was kind of sad. As in pathetic sad, not pity sad. Wilbur Craft was not someone Tubbo ever planned to pity.
Tubbo himself may not be perfect but Wilbur was. In all the ways that didn’t matter. At least, in the younger’s youthful, ‘inexperienced’ mind, that was.
The man created a perfect image. Perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect family. But nothing was really true was it? Nothing about Wilbur was ever not fabricated. He would call his relationship with his ‘baby brother’ ‘complicated’ as they ‘sometimes disagreed on’ whatever it was as if that wasn’t the greatest understatement of the century.
Wilbur Craft would never dare to utter that he despised his brother. That he still blamed Tommy for something out of a literal newborn baby’s control after 17 fucking years. He would never admit that he was an arrogant, hypocritical dick when his image was a sweetheart, a music loving/playing person and a loving brother. Even Phil bought that shit.
The older had to know deep down that a lot of this was on him. Tubbo knew he wasn’t innocent. He was Tommy’s best friends, after all. But it wasn’t all on him.
Which was why Wilbur had been tripping over his feet to make it up to his youngest brother. It would have been far too late had the universe not been so graceful to let them try to save Tommy over and over again. It almost felt like a curse to see their failures repetitively but it was a miracle simultaneously.
Tubbo didn’t know what would have happened if he had woken up the next day to a call saying that Tommy had died and that was that. No repeats. No nothing.
In fact, he didn’t want to know.
The boy was scared shitless that in a universe where this Tuesday turned to Wednesday, he didn’t care. The past week (as in, actual week, not repeat week) had been a time where he was the most irritated and annoyed by Tommy than he had ever been.
When he saw a familiar scene of the boy eating by himself as quickly as possible, sneaking glances at him and Ranboo with a sad look, he didn’t feel the typical pang of guilt that sat at the bottom of his stomach. Even when he was incredibly infuriated, the guilt stayed.
Yet the past week, he realised with shock that he was entirely apathetic about it all.
What if that emotionless state carried over when he heard news that should be heartbreaking?
Tubbo really didn’t want to think about this, instead he needed to focus on Tommy… who was carrying a glass box? A pet box? There was certainly soil at the bottom of it along with some foliage.
“I bought Tommy a spider!” Wilbur exclaimed happily, as if one spider would end this nightmare. Maybe it could; Tubbo sure hoped this would end soon.
Tommy was beaming - it was rather contagious, as Tubbo found a smile on his own face - and added, “I named him Shroud!”
“Why don’t you hold him?” suggested Wilbur, opening the box and taking a humongous spider out and handing it to the boy whilst taking the box from him at the same time.
The teen took the spider but looked at the taller curiously, “Didn’t the worker say he was venomous? I remember xem saying to watch out for that…”
A smile had never dropped from Tubbo’s face so fast as he rapidly turned his head to face Wilbur, “What the fuck Wilbur?! Put the fucking spider back in the box!”
“It’s fine, Tubbo.” the adult added in an annoyingly condescending tone - one that a teacher would have when they were explaining something simple to you, “There’s a difference between ‘venomous’ and ‘poisonous’, after all. You’d only be affected by a venomous spider if you ate it, but if a spider bites you and something happens, it’s poisonous.”
“Isn’t it the other way around?!” Ranboo asked, their voice dripping with concern.
“I think I would know which way arou-“
“Fuck, he bit me!”
Everyone snapped their eyes over to who spoke, seeing Shroud’s fangs impaling Tommy’s skin and Tubbo stared in horror as the blonde’s face rapidly paled unnaturally.
As his vision darkened, Tubbo uttered three words with as much venom as he could. Hoping it matched the amount in Tommy at that moment from the stupid spider that someone thought was a good idea to buy despite fucking knowing it was dangerous.
“Fuck you, Wilbur.”