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TommyInnit was not having a good day.
That was a given at this point, between all the fighting and wars and politics, he never truly had a goddamn break. Always caught between the crossfire or forced into the middle of a battle. He didn't have time to think. He couldn’t, every second that passes where he doesn’t double or triple check if something dangerous is about to happen always ends in tragedy.
But this time was different.
It’s not like he was having a bad day per se, it was just one of those days where you just couldn’t do anything. You felt stuck and stagnant. Lost in your thoughts. Yeah, that was the day Tommy was having.
That’s the problem, him being lost in his thoughts. He never had time for thinking. Not to mention he hated being left alone with his own head. He despised it. It felt like he was drowning. Drowning in a bottomless ocean of his own brain. He never had time for thinking because he didn’t want to. Maybe that’s why he was so emotional.
Although right now, that’s exactly what’s happening isn’t it?
Stuck in his dirt hut, lying in bed, and staring at the ceiling with one of his arms covering his vision to block the thoughts (though it was a useless endeavor). Tommy was drowning yet dry. He couldn’t think yet thousands of thoughts plagued his mind. Everything and nothing at the same time.
Alright, today sucked. He was having a bad day.
He was useless, that was a given. It was as if he physically couldn’t move. He hated it. He fucking hated it. He hated himself too.
“Okay, that’s it. I can’t fucking take this anymore.” He blurted to the air, as if it were a person and were listening to his plights. Maybe it was. He’d like to think so.
Quickly, he sat up on his bed and brushed his hair back with his hands. God, it was getting greasy. He should probably take a shower soon, and maybe get a haircut. Though he does like the ponytail style he currently has. A trim will do, he supposes.
That will have to wait, he needs to get the hell out of here. It’s horribly stuffy and it’s suffocating. He rubs his bleary eyes and stands up, stretching his arms behind his back while doing so.
Slamming the door open, he stumbles outside, not even bothering to close it. The fresh air helps clear his mind a little as he breathes it all in. The sun is about to set, he notes this as he turns his head toward the bench. He spent way too much time on his bed, it almost felt like his tent back in exile—
No. He shakes his head repeatedly, stopping that train of thought before it gets too far.
Tommy looks back to the bench and walks towards it. He runs his hand across the top of the board. It reminds him of Tubbo, obviously. His best friend. He misses the fella, though he would never say it aloud. It’s been a bit since they hung out. Granted, Tommy was busy doing whatever Wilbur wanted him to do; and Tubbo was busy with Snowchester and whatever he and Ranboo were doing with that Zombie Piglin baby.
“Wonder how the lad’s doing.” He mumbles to himself a little fondly. Maybe he should head to Snowchester for a little. He needs some company anyway, why not have it with someone familiar.
He pulls on a red and white hoodie he keeps on himself at all times to wear when it gets chilly (it’s not exactly snow-gear but it’ll do) and trudges towards Snowchester. Hoping the sight of Tubbo could cheer him up.
The road there is a long and tedious one in Tommy’s opinion. Sure, it was a prime path and a hyperspeed tunnel away, but there were many things slowing him down on the way. For instance, the prison was always in sight on the way there. No good memories came from that place. And If he were to take a shortcut through the field just in front of the bench, he’d have to deal with the unlit areas which mobs could appear from. It was turning dark after all, and he’d honestly rather not take damage today.
He decided to go down the prime path and past the prison to Snowchester. It at least had some lighting around it to avoid getting hurt. Seeing the prison again wasn’t the mood lifter he wanted but he’d push through to get there.
(His skin still tingles and his brain still feels fuzzy whenever he passes by, as if he was being torn apart and put back together once again. Like he was being ripped into tiny little pieces and stitched each piece into the wrong spot. He could almost see Dream’s hysterical smile. It’s horrible.
He doesn’t like going near the prison.)
As the prison finally disappeared out of view behind him, he stood in front of the hyperspeed water tunnel. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a trident (nor does he have anything valuable) on him; and he’d rather not get his clothes wet if he were to step into a snowy biome. Do you know how goddamn cold that is?
“Fuckin’ hell. The world hates me, it’s confirmed.” He mutters as he climbs on top of the tunnel, and starts hopping along the frames. He almost trips and falls, but that’s the price you pay for being poor in this stupid server.
Tommy finally arrives in Snowchester, stepping foot on the snow. The chill of the wind immediately passes by and he pulls his hoodie tighter around him for warmth. He starts walking towards the cabin where he knows his best friend is, suddenly eager to get inside and get warm. And to annoy him, of course.
His hand stops just about as he’s about to knock on the door. He stands there, conflicted feelings buzzing around his head. Would Tubbo actually care about this? It’s stupid, he doesn’t want to bother him. He already does that too much. Coming here was a mistake.
Just when he’s about to turn and leave, the door swings open. There stands Tubbo with the Zombie Piglin baby named Michael in his arms. Tommy’s eyes widen in shock as Tubbo’s eyes widen in unison.
“Oh— uhm.” Tubbo starts, looking startled. He quickly regains composure and eases his face into a smile. “Hey, Tommy! I didn’t know you were coming. What’re you doing here?” He sheepishly grins, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
Michael shifts in Tubbo’s arms and stretches his arms out for Tommy, his tiny hands opening and closing as if he was asking to be carried by him, like he wants to be held by his Uncle Tommy.
Tommy blinks and takes a step back, eyeing Michael bitterly and crossing his arms. He can’t be an uncle, for more than one reason. Just look at that kid, being all pampered and crap. It looks like a little twat in Tommy’s opinion. Too small and too weak.
(Weak. Of course he’s weak, he’s a kid. Michael is so fucking fragile. The toddler is what it is, a toddler. A child. One that’s being held so gently. It’s how a child is supposed to be held. Tommy thinks he’s about to be sick. He can’t do that. He can’t handle that title. He’s too fucking dangerous for it. He’s too weak. He’ll only hurt it.)
No, thank you! He doesn’t want that thing touching him any time soon.
He looks to Tubbo, who’s now staring at him confused. It looks like the one-sided staring contest between him and Tubbo’s son has been going on for a second too long. “You doing alright, big man?” Tubbo asks, tilting his head in concern.
Tommy lets out a small snort, thinking about how bad the timing was. Tubbo really does come in at the worst times, usually barging in uninvited. He supposes he learned it from Tommy. That’s been their friendship for their whole life. One of them always arrives without prompting; and they don’t mind. They never mind. It’s a bit like an unspoken rule.
(They haven't spoken in a bit though. He doesn’t mind, not at all! He’s a Big Man after all. Even if he feels so much more lost and lonely without him. Even if he doesn’t feel like anyone at all recently. It’s fine. He knows they’re both busy. He’s just being an immature bitch, like he always is.
And if he does feel all of these things, it’s not like he’ll tell anyone. Even if that’s part of the reason why he came here in the first place. It’s fine. He’s fine. They’re both fucking fine. Shut up, brain.)
“Uh, dude? Are you…?”
Tommy immediately snaps back into reality and fumbles, looking up at Tubbo with wide eyes. “What? Oh— oh shit! Yeah, yeah…” He trails with a lopsided smile, a little embarrassed. “I was just, you know, passing by. Looking for all the women.”
“Passing by.” Tubbo parrots back with an unamused tone, purposely ignoring what Tommy said afterward and clearly not believing a word that’s coming from his mouth. Although, if you looked close enough, you could see he was holding back a smile.
Tommy notices this and decides to go along with it. He would never admit it but he does miss messing around like this, so he rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Yes, Tubbo. Passing by, checking around. All the synonyms.”
“All of the synonyms, huh?”
“All of them. My brain is a storage of all the knowledge in the world.”
“Hm, I guess you are the biggest man after all.” Tubbo teases. “Makes sense you would know all the synonyms, and have all the knowledge.”
Tommy lets out a laugh, he feels so much lighter. “Exactly, Tubso! Exactly. We’re on the same brain wave!” Coming here was a good idea. See, brain? He has got this.
“Mhm. You and me, bossman.” Tubbo shoves Tommy playfully, which makes him let out an undignified yelp. It makes Tubbo roll his eyes as he adjusts Michael in his arms. “Anyways, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.” He looks back at Tommy expectantly.
“Ah, shit. Right.” Tommy stills for a second. He pushes down the urge to put on an act like he usually does. It doesn’t work. “Like I told you, you know, I was passing by.” He replies, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
That’s a lie. Tubbo knows it. Tommy knows that Tubbo knows it. Tubbo doesn’t comment on it, at least not directly. But it’s like he couldn’t help but pry. “Right, and you decided to pass by and stop at my place specifically?” He questions.
(It makes Tommy feel vulnerable again, he doesn’t like that. Vulnerable means weak. He can’t be weak. Not again. He knew that this would happen. God, why did he ever come here? Why does he have to feel like this?)
Something snaps inside of Tommy. He scoffs, glaring at Tubbo. He can feel his blood boiling and all of those positive emotions that he was feeling just went down the drain. “What? Can’t I visit my best friend just ‘cause I felt like it?”
“No... That is, that is definitely not what I meant—”
“Also, there’s literally no one else here— well, other than you and Ranboo, and you know, whatever that thing is in your hands. Who else was I supposed to visit?”
He knows he’s being too defensive. He knows that. Just a minute ago he was laughing with Tubbo and now he’s escalated things. But he came here for comfort and not for being pried into. He knows that Tubbo’s just asking questions but it’s infuriating. Being interrogated makes him feel like he’s helpless and… it’s just stupid. He just... he doesn’t want to think right now. Not right now.
“Tommy.”
Tubbo looks at him with exhausted eyes for a second, and suddenly Tommy feels incredibly uncomfortable. That’s the face that Tubbo made when they were negotiating exile. The face he made when their friendship was at its most unstable place.
The thought that he’s been pushing down hits him. Has their friendship ever recovered?
Why was he here? Why did he go here just to screw himself over again?
He’s drowning again. He’s on land and he’s drowning. His body feels suffocating. He wants to tear it off. Tear all of his skin off. He hates it. He hates it.
“Tommy, you’re tearing up.”
What? Tommy blinks. He must’ve zoned out and all that shit again. Confused, he presses a hand on his cheek and— ah. It’s wet. He’s tearing up.
“Fuck.” And that’s all he can say, really.
Tubbo sighs and his shoulders go slack. Tommy watches his right hand drags on his face in a mix of exasperation and concern (though he’s not sure what for). Fear pools at the bottom of his gut; and sure enough, Tubbo turns around to go back inside, Michael still on his left arm. The door, although not all the way, moves to close as he gently nudges it with his foot.
That’s it then, Tubbo fucking hates him. Of course he would, Tommy just insulted his son and wasted his time. He stands there, motionless. He’s an idiot for coming here. A wrongen. A horrible fucking friend. He’s mad too, at everyone and Tubbo and especially himself. Hah, when is he not? Fuck, why can’t he keep his mouth shut? He always does thi—
The door opens once again, and Tommy’s head shoots up in surprise. Tubbo is leaning against the door, Michael gone from his arms. Tommy looks at Tubbo who’s staring at him with his arms crossed. Shouldn’t he be gone by now?
“What do you want—”
“Get in.” Tubbo gestures towards the inside of his house with a tilt of his head, tapping a finger against his other arm in expectancy.
That leaves Tommy confused. He blinks multiple times, processing the information, until his face morphs into a small grimace. Ah. “You don’t have to pity me, bee boy. I can handle myself just fucking fine.” He spits out.
Tubbo groans, clearly annoyed. He runs a hand down his face again and glares at Tommy. “God— Tommy. I know you’re here to talk about shit, or not! Maybe we can just hang out or we can ignore everything like we always do. I don’t know!” Tubbo crouches down as if he’s catching his breath from the entire situation.
Tommy opens his mouth to say something— let’s be honest— probably bitchy, but Tubbo raises his hand as a signal for him to shut up. He looks back up pleadingly. “Listen, just— get inside before you freeze your ass to death. You idiot.”
They both lock eyes, both of them staring at each other, and they notice something. It really should’ve been obvious. It is obvious. They’re tired. They’re both so tired. Tommy doesn’t recall the last time when they haven’t been tired. Tubbo thinks they’ve always been tired. When did they stop being okay? When did they stop being kids?
Tommy looks away and wraps his arms around himself, scowling. He hears Tubbo shuffle and stand up straight. The silence is deafening. It’s almost hilarious. This is what he was trying to avoid in the first place and yet he walked himself right into it. He can almost hear Wilbur chastising him. He doesn’t want to think about Wilbur. He pushes the thought down. He breathes.
“Okay.” Tommy breaks the silence. He glances up to look at his best friend(?).
Tubbo’s eyes widen slightly before he quickly nods. He turns around, rubbing his neck, and leaves the door open for Tommy to get inside the house. Before turning a corner and disappearing from Tommy’s view, he calls out. “Make sure you close the door when you step inside, big man.”
His gut tightens at the nickname. Tommy doesn’t know why it specifically does this now. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like a Big Man at all, he hasn’t for a while. He hasn’t been feeling like anything at all really. Acting like more of a husk, if nothing else. That’s what he is most of the time. Empty.
He ignores his thoughts. God, he so desperately wants to stop thinking. He wants them to shut up. It’s funny how it’s only gotten louder since he’s gotten here.
Tommy leans to the side and tries to find out where Tubbo went, but he couldn’t see past the corner. That’s a little annoying, him just disappearing like that. Tommy does kind of deserve it though. He huffs out a breath and puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket, hesitating before stepping inside.
It’s a small-ass cabin, Tommy realizes while looking around. He would’ve thought, since Tubbo married Ranboo, that they would live in a huge mansion or something. The bitch is one of the richest people on the server after all. Hell, there’s a mansion just beside this place that’s most likely built by them, yet they still decide to live here where the couches are crammed together in a corner and the floorboards are dented by previous steps.
Everything here is well-worn, well-used, and well-loved. He guesses that’s why the family still stays here. There’s too many memories to leave behind; it’s too much of a hassle to move.
Tommy nearly shudders at the word. Family. He briefly wonders if he ever had one in the first place. Perhaps he did, long before everything; maybe that’s why he still lives in that dirt hut, maybe that’s why he’s still here, maybe that’s why he’s holding on too tightly. There’s too many memories to leave behind.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he turns around and pushes the door behind him with his foot. It shuts with a soft click, the locks automatically shifting into place. An automatic locking system. It makes him a little sick, the protectiveness. He doesn’t know why, or he doesn’t want to know why.
Apparently, he’s stared at the door for far too long, since Tubbo makes his way back into the living room— or wherever the hell he is in this house— and puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tenseness quickly travels through Tommy’s body as Tubbo stands near him and he quickly turns around to face him. Tubbo pulls away just as fast. They both look like they’ve been burnt, and the silence afterwards is thick.
He still doesn’t like being touched, especially after everything.
“Ah, right.” Tubbo finally speaks. “Sorry about that.” His voice is hoarse and he looks like shit. It makes Tommy’s chest tighten. He looks somewhere else.
Tommy notices that Tubbo changed out of his snow gear when he left, opting for something more comfortable. A green cardigan that’s falling apart from the seams. He remembers sewing that for him when they were younger and were actually kids. He doesn’t comment on it.
He brings a fist up to his mouth and clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah. It’s whatever, Tubs.” It really wasn’t but he doesn’t want to deal with that bullshit right now. It’d just be the icing on the already shitty cake.
“You can, uh—” Tubbo clenches his jaw. He’s holding back, it’s obvious as hell. He gestures weakly to the cramped corner of the house. “You can sit down if you want.”
That almost makes Tommy burst out laughing. The prick can invent a fucking nuke but he can’t hold a normal conversation, what a guy. Looks like Tubbo is still Tubbo, with his stupid family & nuclear weapons and all.
It’s too bad that Tommy isn’t part of that anymore.
Instead of saying all that, he just huffs a breath and steps to where the couches are, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets in the process. The seat makes a loud creak when his ass finally hits the cushion, and he can hear Tubbo let out a quiet snort before he tries to cover it up with a cough.
Dickhead.
Tommy flops his arms down, leaning his head until it touches the back of the couch. He blinks, before craning his neck to where Tubbo is still standing. “What do you even do here, just sit around and watch snow fall?”
There’s a pause, and it makes his heart pound, until Tubbo flicks his somewhat glossy gaze over to Tommy. “Well, yeah. Pretty much.” He shrugs.
“That’s pretty boring, Tubso.”
“It’s safe.”
Safety, what a novel fucking concept. Tommy hasn’t been safe in years, and Tubbo isn’t much better either. It’s only a matter of time before everything crashes down on them, so what makes Tubbo think that he and his precious family is safe? Someone could literally just walk into this place and blow it all up like L’manburg did—
“Tommy?” Not again. Focus, dumbass. Stop embarrassing yourself. “Ayup.”
“So,” A beat of silence passes, it makes them both twitch. “Why did you actually come here, bossman?”
For a second, it feels like it’s just them against the world again. Tommy and Tubbo. Tubbo and Tommy. Fighting green bastards and liberating countries. He can’t lie to him, not right now. “‘Cause I wanted to, you wanker.”
Tubbo raises a brow. “Yeah?” He looks at Tommy, and it’s like he sees right through him. It’s always been like that. Tubbo with the brains, Tommy with the heart. Feeling seen but almost never heard.
“...Yeah.”
In that moment, Tubbo holds his gaze for a second longer, and Tommy knows what’s going through his head. He’s looking for a lie, a contradiction, and it makes Tommy’s blood boil. As if he’s the enemy. As if they’re both not terrified as hell.
It feels like a goddamn century before Tubbo responds, it makes Tommy shift in his seat. Finally, he flickers his gaze to the ground and he gives a slight nod. “Alright,” He looks back up with a curious glint in his eyes, a look Tommy knows all too well. It isn’t a prying look, not like before. A look of understanding, maybe, an understanding that only he can figure out. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Well,” Tommy starts. “You can sit the fuck down for starters.”
“You’re hogging the couch, asshole.”