Work Text:
Tommy is gone.
Tubbo pushes himself up in the morning, gets out of bed. He shuffles over to the bathroom and splashes water onto his face. When he looks up at the mirror, he sees his face, scarred and worn, tired beyond tired, lost beyond lost.
Tommy is gone.
He makes himself walk down the stairs to the kitchen. Makes himself prepare a breakfast that he will sit on the table and stare at. Makes himself sit there until the food is cold and his stomach twists at the smell of it. When he can’t stand it anymore, he gets up and scrapes the plate into the trash, stomach empty, heart empty- hungry but not for food, wanting but not for something he can have.
Tommy's gone, Tubbo whispers to himself. Tommy’s gone.
He says it to himself all the time now- morning, afternoon and night- trying to let the syllables connect, trying to make the words make sense. Tommy is gone.
He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to not believe it- hates the limbo that this puts him in, the constant state of blur that he’s living through. This heavy tar that he’s trying to wade through- these mental gymnastics that he doesn’t know how to bear without his best friend at his side.
Tommy’s dead, Tubbo whispers to convince himself. Tommy’s dead, and Tubbo wants desperately to be proven wrong.
…
Tommy’s yelling his name.
Tubbo doesn’t turn, a bit preoccupied with carefully digging up the roots of their beet plants, and he expects it when a body comes rushing at him full force. Tubbo yelps and golden blond fills his vision, pushing him to the ground. Tubbo gets over his shock and uses his hands to push Tommy over to the side, getting dirt all over his L’manburg uniform- all over both of them. Of course, neither of them really care, too busy trying to wrestle each other into the ground, too busy trying to win.
Eventually Tubbo pins Tommy- the wiggly bastard- and Tommy starts laughing, loud, breathless laughs. The kind that makes people worry he’s going to keel over, the kind that makes Tubbo taste happiness in the back of his throat.
Truce, he’s calling in between giggles, truce.
Tubbo gets off of him and instead of the tackle that he’s expecting, Tommy just reaches up to pull Tubbo back down until he’s laying by his side, looking up at the blue sky.
Lay here for a minute, Tommy would say, and Tubbo has so much to do, so much that he needs to finish, but he does. He lays there with his head on Tommy’s chest and Tommy’s heartbeat under his ear, looking up at the clouds, breathless from joy.
He’d lay there, with Tommy, and want to be nowhere else.
…
Tubbo stays inside now.
When he first moved out here, it was because of the high mountains, the white powder that came down in sheets, the way you could fall asleep to the sight of green, and then wake up to blankets covering almost everything around you. It was like the land was buffed- as if there was a huge dome over it, like nothing could get in.
Tubbo liked to walk from Snowchester all the way to the community house- he liked to feel the change in temperature, liked to see the difference in terrain, liked to feel the difference when going from his fresh start down to a place where too much history hid in the cracks. It was weirdly nice- cathartic in a way that he couldn’t explain.
Nowadays, Tubbo doesn’t leave Snowchester. Doesn’t even go outside to sit in the wintery air.
He can’t imagine walking down the prime path that he built, seeing the flowers that he planted, looking down at the crops he tended to. The little house in the hill that he lives- lived - in.
And maybe it's selfish. Maybe. Because Tubbo isn’t the only person grieving. He knows that Ranboo is grieving too- can hear it in the hours of the early morning when Ranboo thinks he’s sleeping. Can see it later, when Tubbo officially gets out of bed and shuffles downstairs and spots new thin markings on his cheeks- scars of grief, tears for Tommy.
He knows there are other people on this server who loved Tommy. Who cared about him.
But it still isn't-
It's could never be-
Tommy was his. Tommy was his and his alone- not Ranboo’s, not really, not in all the ways that matter. No, Tommy was Tubbo's and likewise, Tubbo was Tommy's. And that’s the reason that Tubbo can’t look at cobblestone anymore- can’t see cows or chickens or carrots or untilled crops without shaking. That’s why, whenever Tubbo sees his reflection in the mirror- when he looks in the mornings and has to whisper those dreadful words as a reminder- he wants to curl away and heave, he wants to open himself up to the elements, let them do what they wish with him.
He can’t go anywhere without Tommy by his side, can’t look at anything without seeing him there.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.
…
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tubbo thinks. Just get to Tommy.
He’s limping and bleeding, with tears blurring his vision- it’s so bad that he can’t even think straight, his head spinning like a top. His breathing is sporadic, unable to slow, only fit to speeding up. He puts one foot in front of the other though, and trusts that his feet will carry him to where he needs to be, that the way to Tommy’s house is etched in his bones, is steeped into his blood.
When Tubbo collapses. It’s against the dirt of Tommy’s home, it’s to the sound of Tommy’s startled yell. He feels familiar hands turn him over, and suddenly he’s blinking up into wide blue rings. His name is being called and Tubbo needs to pay attention, needs to focus, needs to stay alert and on edge because anything could happen- nothing is ever safe.
But Tubbo doesn’t, he drifts, because Tommy is here, is pillowing Tubbo’s head on his knees, is brushing his calloused palms over Tubbo’s injuries, is speaking to him in low tones, worried. Tubbo is as safe here as he can get- he knows these walls, these hands- he knows that Tommy will bite and snarl and claw at everything before letting something touch Tubbo in this vulnerable state.
He knows Tommy- he’s with Tommy, and so he knows he’ll be alright.
...
After a while, Tubbo stops wasting food. Not by eating it, but just by not bothering to cook it.
Ranboo notices, because of course he does, and drifts around Tubbo in the mornings, taking his place and preparing food for Tubbo to not eat. He doesn’t even bother with pretending to eat it either, and when it’s dinner time, and he’s sitting there at the table, too tired to feel sick, he doesn’t even reach for the silverware. There’s simply no point.
Across from him sits Micheal, and Tubbo knows how unfair it is that he can’t manage to suck it up. He can hear Michael and Ranboo talking late at night. Can hear his son asking why Tubbo won’t eat, why he looks so ill, why he drifts around like a zombie and just sleeps all day.
He honestly finds himself unable to look Micheal in the face, and it's like an avalanche inside whenever he tries. Just torrents and torrents of guilt and shame and grief.
No one ever says how heavy grief is- no one ever talks about the way it can stick to your fingers and lay over your lungs and infect every thought you have. No one ever mentions how grief can split you into pieces, make you into something that you've never been- a person that you never thought you'd be.
No one ever talks about how it can take something and change it, all the way down to the core- how it can ruin something forever.
Tubbo can't look straight at Micheal. He's unable to see him without seeing the kid that his best friend would never get to meet.
…
"We're starting a fight club," Tommy says, grinning in that devious little way of his. Tubbo follows along, because his best friend is stupid, but he can't imagine being with anyone else. "It's gonna be great- pogchamp, one might even say."
"Oh, that good huh?"
"Oh yes, it's going to be so poggers- imagine this Tubs-" Tommy leads Tubbo to the ladder sinking down under his house. "Imagine, we get some red wool, some smooth stone- we make a ring, alright?"
He hops down and Tubbo does as well, turning to look around the empty room. Tommy is moving forward, pointing, drawing dimensions in the air with his finger.
"We can have a stand here, for concessions, and then a stand in the front where they'll pay to get in."
And just like that, Tommy was painting a vision before Tubbo's eyes, one that might not work out, sure, but a vision all the same. Tommy was moving like a live-wire, sparking and jumping and sharing his excitement. It makes Tubbo think he can do anything, that he can complete anything he sets his mind to.
Tubbo smiles. "Alright bossman, I'll gather some red wool, then."
…
It takes a week, but Tubbo makes the decision to head outside.
He just wants to check on the house, maybe get some fresh air, as per Ranboo's pleading request. And besides, through the grief weighing him, Tubbo's begun to feel a heavy sense of paranoia biting at the edges of his conscious.
The house- Ranboo, Micheal, him- they're all vulnerable. They're a sitting target. They're out in the open and Tubbo needs to find out just how out in the open so he can do something about it.
He puts on his coat and his boots and his gloves- if not for anything, then at least to mask how much his hands shake. He opens the door, steps outside, inhales the cold brisk wind. He manages to get three steps away from his front door before he's dissolving- falling to his knees, shaking and sobbing in the snow.
He can't see or breathe or move- because there are people walking by, citizens, wearing red. They're wearing Tommy's color, Tommy's red.
They're outside painting themselves in red like it isn't Tommy's. Like he isn't- like he's not-
Tubbo leans over and presses his face into the snow, letting the white cover his vision, letting it block out all the red. The cold hurts, but it's a welcome pain over the sight of-
He shudders.
He wishes he could only see in grey tones- he wishes red wasn't a thing. He wishes that Tommy never took the color and made it his own, just like he took Tubbo and made him his own, just like he took the server and left pieces of himself everywhere. Even in the things he didn't affect, he's there, because Tubbo can't help thinking what if.
God, he wishes Tommy never existed at all. Tubbo wishes he never met him. Tubbo wishes he was gone before they ever got the chance to cross paths, but more than anything he wishes that Tommy was here, beside him, to put a hand on his back and tell him he's being a pussy before helping him to his feet and inside.
He wishes Tommy was here to make him the worst cup of tea known to man to try and warm Tubbo up. Tubbo wishes Tommy were here, doing that thing he does, showing that he cares in his own little clumsy way.
Tubbo doesn't get to have that anymore. Tommy's hand on his, Tommy's side to collapse into, Tommy's smile to chase away lingering fears.
It's all gone.
Tubbo has to pull his own self out of the snow, has to care about himself now, all alone. He doesn't have his Tommy to quietly do it for him. He has to-
He has to live without his Tommy.
Tubbo throws up in the snow.
…
"It's a gift," Tommy blusters, face bright red, eyes down on the grass under his feet. He's holding out his arm stiffly, a red bandana gripped in his hand. "For you."
Tubbo blinks. "What?"
Tommy looks up, and then, apparently, tired of being embarrassed, just huffs, now impatient. "It's a gift for you, Tubbo. Haven't you ever gotten one before?"
Tubbo frowns. He can't- he can't say that he has. He doesn't really know what it means. But he's sure that leaving Tommy to stand with his hand out is not cool, so he reaches over and slowly takes the cloth from him.
He unravels it in his two hands and his frown deepens. It's Tommy's bandana- the one that he wears when he's playing outside, to keep his hair out of his eyes.
"This is- " Tubbo starts, looking up at Tommy.
"Yeah," Tommy blurts. He's shifting back and forth anxiously. "I wanted to- I don't fucking know- uh, give you something. 'Cause we're friends, yeah? So I wanted to give you that to show it."
Tubbo blinks again, only a bit confused. He guesses this is something that Tommy's family does- give each other things to show what they mean to one another. The gold that Wilbur and Tommy wear sometimes, the emeralds they all have, the little beaded bracelets that Tubbo catches sight of. They're physical manifestations of how much they mean to each other and they're well valued.
So to receive one- especially one that Tommy used to actually use, it means a lot.
"Thank you," Tubbo says, tying it around his wrist. Tommy relaxes when he does, smiling. "And- I have something for you too."
Tommy perks up. And Tubbo reaches into his pocket to pull out his bandana. It's funny, because he got one when he saw Tommy using his, figuring that he could do with one as well. And now, he's got a different one, and it's also because of Tommy.
"Here," Tubbo says, holding it out. "For you."
Tommy takes it reverently, his smile dipping and bobbing, eyes misting. "I- thank you Tubbo."
"Anything for my best friend," Tubbo beams.
"Best friend?" Tommy asks, wet eyes widening.
"The very best." Tubbo nods firmly. "Forever."
"Forever," Tommy repeats, laughing, tying his around his wrist just like Tubbo. "Forever."
...
The days kind of blur by, all of them hazy and distant. There are times when Tubbo wakes up and then suddenly it's the end of the day and he knows that he's done something, but he can't figure out what, and he doesn't have enough energy to try.
Ranboo lingers on the outskirts of his vision, hands posed worriedly, like Tubbo might collapse. How stupid, Tubbo thinks- he would never.
He would never fall. All he does is drift, and when you drift, you never move faster than a walk, so you can never fall anywhere. Nothing changes, it's just grey always.
And honestly, If he fell, Tommy wouldn't be the one to catch him, so Tubbo simply doesn't bother.
…
It's war.
There is TNT going off and the sound of metal clanging against metal is so loud that it makes Tubbo's teeth shiver. He turns and sees Wilbur pointing, turns back and sees Tommy running ahead.
Tubbo calls Tommy's name, and of course Tommy pauses to look, and then he's grinning- it's feral and a bit unhinged, but it's Tommy, and something in Tubbo's chest settles when he sees it.
It's war, and even still, Tommy is Tommy and so of course, Tubbo follows.
…
Days later, Tubbo finally comes to awareness and realizes what he needs to do.
In the middle of the night he crawls out of bed- not like he was sleeping anyway, whenever he closes his eyes he sees Tommy's curved lips and bright blue eyes. And honestly, Tubbo just- can't. In his dreams Tommy is still alive and well, and if he lets himself linger there for one more moment, then he won't wake up.
Tubbo slips downstairs and sits himself down at a desk, pulling down parchment and charcoal. He works until the sun is peeking through, lighting everything around him in gold, and keeps working until he hears Ranboo making his way downstairs.
He takes a break for a bit to placate his husband, but then is right back at it, and Ranboo doesn't stop him. Tubbo suspects he's grateful that Tubbo is doing something other than just stumbling around blankly.
By the end of the day, Tubbo has a whole book's worth of ideas. He heads to bed, but is up within the hour, ready to work, filled to the brim with something other than that pressing heaviness.
"Bee," Ranboo says softly when he comes down in the morning to see Tubbo sitting at the desk again, "is everything- are you alright?"
Tubbo nods jerkily. Of course, of course- he feels lighter than he has in the past three weeks. He feels- he's got something to do. He's going to see this through.
"Okay," Ranboo says reluctantly. He lingers for just a moment before leaving Tubbo alone.
Ranboo doesn't ask again. Tubbo doesn't bring it up.
In the next couple of days, Tubbo starts building nukes, starts rewriting his pages and pages of defenses, starts investing in netherite everything. He goes out mining and doesn't come back until he can't feel his arms, he sits at his desk and pens down nuclear equations and scientific theories until his eyes cross, he walks circles around his home until there are grooves in the pathways.
There are too many defenseless points, he realizes. There are too many openings for attack.
One by one, he works until they're all patched up- until nothing that Tubbo doesn't let inside can get to them. He's going to protect his family.
As the days go on, he feels less and less secure and Ranboo looks more and more worried, and Tubbo can't help the thought that slips in when he isn't actively fighting it off.
Maybe if he started this earlier- maybe if he has truly cared more, tried harder, maybe then Tommy wouldn't be- maybe then he wouldn't have-
Tubbo slams his book shut.
…
Dream is leveling an axe at him, and Tubbo can't help the way his chest jumps up and down, the way he can't get a handhold on his breathing.
"Give me the disks, Tommy," Dream says, and he sounds dangerous. He sounds like he's having fun. "Don't you want Tubbo more than two pieces of plastic? Don't you care about him?"
Tommy's breathing shudders- Tubbo can hear it.
He doesn't want Tommy to have to give up the disks. They've fought so hard for them, they've worked to get them.
But, prime, he doesn't want to die.
Tommy pulls himself to his feet, swiping the back of his wrist across his face. Tubbo's bandana is there, that flash of green is always there, ever since Tubbo gave it to him, and suddenly, without a word, Tubbo knows what Tommy will do.
And he's right when Tommy steps between the blade and Tubbo's chest. Of course, Tommy steps in front of him- he always does. And Tubbo is always safe behind him.
"Tommy," Tubbo starts, but Tommy shakes his head.
"S'alright Tubs," And he sounds soft through all his fear. "It's okay."
Then he reaches into his inventory and hands Dream what he asked for.
...
Tommy: tubbo?
Tommy: tubbo?
Tommy: are you there?
Tommy: I need help. pls come to my home.
Tubbo stares at his communicator. He can't feel his fingers, has no idea where his toes are. He doesn't think he's standing- or no, it wouldn't make sense that he's standing. He can't- there's no way that-
"Tubbo?" Ranboo calls- gentle, gentle, always gentle now. "Is everything okay? Who's messaging?"
Tubbo makes himself inhale so hard that it hurts and then thrusts the communicator screen at Ranboo. Ranboo reaches out to steady it, and oh- his hands are shaking. He's- he's trembling.
Ranboo gasps, then leans closer, knocking a cup over to get a better look. The water from the glass spills and burns his elbow, but Ranboo makes no motions of having noticed.
"That's- but, he-" Ranboo stutters and a wave of light-headedness passes over Tubbo as he realizes Ranboo is seeing exactly what Tubbo saw- Tubbo isn't making it up. "But, he's gone," Ranboo finishes, voice hushed and horrified.
"It's Tommy," Tubbo says hoarsely. "It's him. I need- I have to-"
He scrambles up and Ranboo rises with him, wide eyes rimmed with tears, but hands out like he's expecting Tubbo to fall. And good for it too, because the second Tubbo takes one step, his knees are buckling and he's going down. Ranboo catches him, and steadies him, before thinking better of it and pulling him close, curling his arms around him.
"I need you to breathe, bee," Ranboo says slowly. "I need you to take one deep breath- like this- and then let it out, alright? Do that for me. Do that for me and I'll help you get to Tommy. I'll take you, just please, breathe, please."
Tubbo forces himself to slow- forces himself to breathe. For Tommy. For Tommy. Inhale, then exhale. For Tommy. For Tommy.
When Ranboo deems him sufficiently calm, they begin to move, through the house, out the door, down the road. They leave the cold of Snowchester and Tubbo would normally be sick by now, but the nausea is offset by the buzzing anxiety under his skin- the anticipation, the need.
He's greedy to see Tommy well and alive. He thinks he'll curl his fingers around him and never ever let go. If Tommy is alive, and Tubbo can touch him, then there is nothing that will be able to separate them again.
They make their way through the forest, through the portal, down the path. The further they go, the more it hurts, and the more anxious Tubbo feels. But they push through and Tubbo can’t help the way his brain begins to chant- Tommy, Tommy, Tommy- the recitation thrumming in his veins, shaking through his body, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.
Then, the house comes into view, and it looks almost the same as it did before- horribly empty, lifeless except for the flowers that Ranboo said he planted around the outside. If Tommy isn’t here- if this was a trick, a hoax, then Tubbo won’t be able to take it. He’ll shake apart right here on the lawn of his best friend’s old home and no one will be able to put him back together again.
But then- a head pokes out from the archway.
Messy blond hair, hunched shoulders, beautiful, beautiful, bright red.
Tommy.
Tubbo nearly collapses again.
“Tubbo,” Tommy whispers, his voice just a rasp. “Tubbo, Ranboo, you-”
Tubbo blinks, and in that blink one of them- or both of them- must have moved, because when Tubbo opens his eyes, Tommy is in his arms, gripping him tight enough to bruise. Tubbo doesn’t mind, holding just as tight, squeezing just as hard. Tommy is close enough that Tubbo can hear his heartbeat, the rapid thumping that feels like Tubbo’s own private symphony.
“You’re alive,” Tubbo says, again and again and again, because he feels like he has to, for all the times that he made himself believe the opposite. “You’re- you’re alive.”
Tommy whimpers and tries to tuck closer, tries to hide himself in Tubbo like Tubbo could contain him and keep him safe. Like Tubbo could keep him.
Tubbo can, and he will.
…
Tommy’s turning and walking away and Tubbo isn’t following him- isn’t catching up to stand right by his side. It feels wrong.
“Tommy,” He calls, just to see the way that Tommy turns back. “Don’t-” Then Tubbo falters, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Tommy hears the words left unspoken. He always hears them.
“I’m always going to come back to you, Tubbo,” Tommy huffs. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, man.”
“You sure?”
Tommy grins. Nods. “I’m sure. I promise.”
...
They head back to Snowchester, because it’s the safest place Tubbo knows right now.
Tubbo holds Tommy up the whole way, but in a much more real sense, Tommy is holding up Tubbo. It’s the way it used to be- where Tubbo is unsure of where Tommy’s hands stop and Tubbo’s hands start. Either way, they make it home, and Ranboo hurries off to make them some tea while Tubbo guides Tommy over to the couch.
They sit- more so both collapsing- and huddle together, shaking.
“You’re alright,” Tubbo says, and nothing has been more untrue, judging by the rims of ghosts in Tommy’s gaze and the way he hasn’t spoken louder than a whisper since Tubbo’s seen him, but that’s fine for now, that’s okay for now, because Tubbo has him here- real, alive, breathing.
Everything else can come later.
“You’re okay,” Tubbo says again, and Tommy’s eyes slip shut, his trembling slowing.
“Tubbo, Tubs,” He breathes. “I’m- I-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tubbo nods, then gently pushes him back so he’s laying down. “I’m here. I’m here, and you- you’re here, and we’re gonna be okay, Toms. We’re gonna be alright.”
Tommy inhales big, and exhales long, and Tubbo watches him like a starving man looking at a full furnace. Then Tommy curls a hand around Tubbo’s wrist and gently pulls him down to follow. Of course, Tubbo does. Always.
“Lay with me,” Tommy rasps. “Lay with me.”
Tubbo does, laying his head down on Tommy’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls under him. His warmth, his breath, his heartbeat. He’s alive. Tommy’s alive. He’s alive and safe and prime, Tubbo missed him. It feels like Tubbo just got his soul put back into his body. Tommy’s come back and it feels like Tubbo’s been made whole again.
Maybe it took a second, but Tommy kept his promise. And Tubbo will never stop holding him to it.