Chapter Text
Tommy has no idea how he got into this demigod shit.
It was supposed to be a normal field trip to a museum of modern art, an end of the school year trip that he supposed was ‘educational’ enough for his teachers to allow a bunch of misbehaved ADHD middle-grade kids to go to.
So here he was, sitting in the back of a beat-down bus, desperately trying to avoid being hit by flying paper projectiles and blocking out the loud chatter of his classmates. Tommy glanced over to the seat next to him where Tubbo sat staring out the window. On occasion, he would look up to the front of the bus, before shrinking back down to his position, twiddling with the bronze bracelets he wore on each wrist.
“Oi, why the fuck are you doing that?” Tommy frowned at the sight of his anxious best friend.
Tubbo blinked. “Uh, doing what?”
“That,” Tommy motioned to the front of the bus with his head. “You keep on looking n’ ducking n’ shit.” He attempted to scan his surroundings to catch anything out of place, but nothing seemed amiss. It was just the same as usual, kids all jabbering and shouting while their teacher yelled at them to calm down.
“It’s really nothing, Tommy. I’m fine,” Tubbo smiled, but his eyebrows were still creased with worry.
Tommy glared and frowned harder. Obviously something had to be bothering him if he was acting like this . So he searched a bit harder, eyes eventually ending up at the very front of the bus.
God, not this again, right?
“It’s not Mr. Tweeds again, is it big man?”
Tubbo bit his lip and looked away sheepishly.
Ugghhhhhh-
Mr. Tweeds was this old sub that had filled in for their English teacher who left a while back -- something about their old one having a mental breakdown or some shit. He had old, leathery skin and always walked bent over a cane like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Honestly, he wasn’t too bad to other kids, if not a bit strict, but for some hellbent reason, he was insistent on being a huge fucking bitch to Tubbo. Tommy could count the dozens of times he had made Tubbo come up to the front of the class to read in front to the class or write on the board, knowing fully well of his dyslexia, and then had the fucking audacity to fucking punish him for it.
Tommy had tried to convince Tubbo to let him punch the old man -- or at least let him stay back for detention to keep him company -- but for whatever reason, Tubbo never seemed to want Tommy to even get close to their teacher.
Even now, even as Tubbo was clearly uncomfortable with the old hag, he kept trying to push Tommy’s worries away, kind and considerate as always.
God, how Tommy wished he wouldn’t.
Tommy swiped a hand through his hair. He glanced back to the front of the bus, and then blinked. The substitute teacher in question was glaring at them, red eyes unblinking, with an annoyed look on his wrinkled face.
“Uh, Tubbo? Mr. Tweeds is staring at us.”
Tubbo stiffened. “What?”
Tommy frowned. “Yeah, he’s just totally staring at us. Being creepy as fuck though.”
“Tommy, look away.”
“Eh, it’s fine big man. What could a fucking old man do to me?”
“Tommy, please , I’m being serious right now.”
Tommy turned to face Tubbo, who was shivering and shaking, a fearful expression imprinted on his face. He seemed to grip onto his bands for life.
Tommy squinted. Writing he never noticed before blended together on the bands. Despite his dyslexia, he found them quite easy to read. One band had been fondly labeled ‘Spinz’ and the other ‘Spuns.’
“What the fuck,” He whispered. “Tubbo, what’s up with you?”
“I- I can’t tell you.”
“Tubbo.”
Tubbo put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t!”
“Please, Tubbo. What’s so wrong with Mr. Tweeds? What can’t you tell me?”
Tommy’s words felt like honey in his mouth, thick and too-sweet on his tongue that it made him dizzy, but it was almost like an instinct that he couldn’t stop the pour from his mouth.
Tubbo’s eyes softened. “I-”
The bus stopped with a soft hiss. Their chaperone teacher, Mrs. Maple, announced that they had reached their destination. Tubbo seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had been under, seemingly ignoring the events of what just happened. “Gods, finally we’re here. Took them long enough- oh! Tommy? Are you okay?”
Tommy shivered. The powerful feeling faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him dizzy and cold. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” he managed to force out, voice suddenly sore. “You ready for this, big man?”
Thirty long minutes passed as they exited the bus and lined up inside the museum. The teacher walked along their tour guide, who led them along, lecturing about all the different art fixtures around them. Tommy didn’t really give two fucks. He was too busy looking at Tubbo.
The boy was busy looking around, scanning the walls of paintings, but Tommy could still tell he was anxious. Call it his ‘Tubbo instinct’ or whatever, but it was easy to tell by the way he hunched his shoulders to make himself seem smaller than he was, or how he kept fiddling with his bracelets.
They eventually moved on to a large statue of a winged old man, who bore a large scythe and was shoving a baby-like figure in his mouth. For some reason, the sight was enough to send a shiver up Tommy’s spine. It seemed to freak Tubbo out too, who grabbed Tommy’s sleeve tight and didn’t let go.
“Can anyone tell me who this is?” Mrs. Maple asked, her tone light.
A few of his classmates mumbled out a few incoherent words, but one kid eventually perked up. “Kronos?”
The tour guide nodded. “Yes. This is a depiction of the Greek Titan Kronos. He was the father of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, who defeated him in the Titan War for power over the world.”
A few kids nodded along, while a few laughed at the strange statue. Tommy shrugged. He honestly never cared for any of the Greek Mythology units they had taught earlier in the year. The stories were too long and boring for him to keep interest, and the big words made his dyslexic mind spin hard.
As the class began to move on, Tommy noticed Tubbo, who still stood frozen in front of the statue of Kronos, hazel eyes wide and far away. He gripped his friend’s arm and shook it lightly, concern ebbing at his chest when Tubbo didn’t respond right away. “Tubbo?” He asked, his voice soft.
“Mr. Erlea,” Mr. Tweeds voice announced loudly, which finally seemed to be what Tubbo needed to snap him from his trance, leaving him tense in Tommy’s grip.
The two boys turned to where the class was up ahead, where Mr. Tweeds sat on his cane, looking down on them with a damning expression on his face. “Holding up the class now, are we, boy?” The old man clucked his tongue in disapproval. “I think we might need to have another word, don't you think?”
Tubbo’s eyes widened in fear, his whole body shivering. “Uh-” he squeaked.
“Now, Mr. Erlea.”
Mr. Tweeds stormed off to another section of the museum, leaving Tommy and a shaking Tubbo in his wake.
“Tubbo?” Tommy asked. “What the fuck was that? Is he gonna fucking do something to you?”
Tubbo closed his eyes. His fists tightened so hard that his knuckles turned white against his bronze wristbands. “Tommy. Stay here a moment, will you?”
“Tubbo, you can’t just fucking dodge the question like that, you-”
Tubbo turned to face him. Tommy could see his eyes were slightly watery, but his face was the most serious that Tommy had ever seen it be. “Please, Tommy. You have to do this for me, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” Tommy’s stomach churned, but before he could protest anything, Tubbo was already marching after their substitute.
What… the actual fuck..
“Tubbo!” Tommy yelled. “Tubbo?” He was surprised about how his voice wavered, how soft it sounded.
There’s no way, right?
Right??
Tommy glanced over to where the class had already moved on, unaware of their sub leaving with a student in tow. Unaware of him. Then he glanced over to the stupid Kronos statue; the glazed eyes seemed to follow him, asking “are you really doing this?”
No, he wouldn’t, right? After all, he needed to catch up with the class. He couldn’t just leave them. Surely they would notice he was missing!
But Tubbo might be in trouble.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered. Consequences be damned, it was Tubbo! Protecting Tubbo was one of things he had promised when he was plopped into this shit building they called a special-needs school. And he intended on keeping that promise.
“Looks like I’m doing this.”
And then he rushed off toward the direction of Tubbo, unknowingly leaving any past shred of normalcy he had behind.