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It’s almost midnight when Tommy stumbles into Snowchester, cold and anxiety combined making him shake. He wraps his sweater around himself tighter, snow dusting the top of his hair, and trudges onwards. There are no lights in any windows, nothing to clue him in as to where any living person might be for miles, but he doesn’t have to think hard to figure out where his friend is. He fights through the snow and up to the front door of a small house.
Knock, knock.
No answer.
“God dammit, Tubbo,” Tommy mutters, fiddling with his half frozen fingers as they refuse to work bend and twist the doorknob. “Let me in!” His breath clouding his vision does fuck-all to help.
After some frustration the door clicks open and Tommy tumbles into the house with a startled yelp. Snow follows him in, littering the rough wooden floor. The house is dark, the only light coming from the feeble moonlight streaming through the small windows. In the middle of the room, a shadow peers at him, hunched on the floor, a mess of bulky clothing.
Tommy could recognize him anywhere.
“Hi,” Tommy waves to Tubbo.
“Fuck off.” Tubbo doesn’t move from his spot on the floor. Tommy closes the door to lock out the wretched cold and joins Tubbo, sitting down next to him. Tubbo doesn’t look at him.
Silence fills the tiny room.
Snow falls softly outside, the moon shines dimly, small animals move from whenever they came from to wherever they’re going. Two friends sit silently in a house, surrounded by it all. One of them can’t stop shaking, the other won’t move a muscle.
Tubbo is the first one to speak, his voice gravely and laced with just a bit of annoyance. “Why are you here?”
Tommy mumbles, “I wasn’t doing well alone.“ His usual bravado is lost somewhere in the stillness of the night.
“So you came to bother me, then?”
“You bet,” Tommy answers.
Tubbo just sighs, finally moving to turn his head towards Tommy. “I heard you’re spending time with Phil now. Why didn’t you go to him if you need something?”
Tommy’s face scrunches in a way Tubbo’s seen a million times before. “Phil upsets me,” he grumbles.
Tubbo laughs halfheartedly. “And why’s that?”
“He’s a dick,” Tommy responds. Short, surface level, avoidant.
Tubbo is so tired he feels almost lifeless. He can’t tell if Tommy’s presence is helping to pump just a bit of fire back into his veins or snuffling out the last embers of his motivation to do anything at all ever again. But… he can tell Tommy’s trying to stay lighthearted. He can tell there’s something beyond what Tommy’s said. Despite how heavy and heavy he feels, Tubbo says, “Alright dickhead, what’s the whole story?” It’s a crude way to phrase the question, phrased no differently that how Tommy and Tubbo talk normally, but Tubbo’s tone is different. there’s layers of genuine interest, genuine concern.
Tommy picks up on Tubbo’s intention, and he takes a small, shaky breath.
“Phil… he’s been trying to help me, now that Dream’s-“ Tommy’s breath catches. “Now that he’s back out and trying to get me. And he—Phil, I mean—keeps telling me to move on, and I try, but I can’t move on when Dream’s still out there waiting for me-“ Tommy’s voice cracks, and this time he stays silent.
Tubbo takes a minute to process the words, his mind working slower than normal with too much weighing on every cog. He doesn’t have enough energy to respond in some grandiose way, to say it’ll all be okay when it won’t or think of some perfect solution. So, he does the best he can do.
“You can stay here,” he says. “We can hide together.”
Tommy turns himself to fully face Tubbo, his head tilted and his eyes big with curiosity. “Who’re you hiding from?” Tommy whispers.
“Ranboo’s ghost.”
And, oh shit, Tommy’s stomach does a flip at that. Between the constant running and Dream being back and the PANIC, he’d forgotten… Ranboo’s gone.
Ranboo’s dead.
Tommy launches himself at Tubbo and hugs him without a second thought. “Tubbo, what the fuck, I- how are you- are you okay?” he exclaims.
Tubbo laughs, halfway between a laugh and a breath, laced with grief. “Nope.”
Tommy hugs him harder. “Fuck,” his voice cracks.
As much as he had resented the duo when they left him in the dust, when they left to become best friends without him after he died, Tommy can’t help but ache for Tubbo as he grieves Ranboo. Tommy should be grieving Ranboo too, he knows he should be, but he’s too high strung, too anxious, too scared to do anything but send everything he has towards helping his oldest friend.
Tubbo hugs Tommy back, after a moment. He’s much less energetic, he feels like he barely exists at all, but he does what he can, loosely hanging on. He can’t cry, and he feels like he should be crying. It’s bothering him that he’s not.
“His ghost just makes it worse, you know?” Tubbo says, barely any emotion leaking through to his words. “All he talks about is how damn happy he is to be dead.” A thousand pits drop to the bottom of Tubbo’s stomach. He feels like shit.
“Yeah,” Tommy says, his words dripping with emotion. “I’m sorry. About Ranboo.” Saying his words are surface level would be an understatement, but Tubbo knows he means every word and more. It means at lot, honesty, hearing in his voice that he cares.
Tubbo wants to run for miles, or blow something up, or just get up long enough to get some fucking lights on, but his bones feel too heavy and everything in his brain feels black and rotted. He’s drowning in a pool of grief and its awful.
But he has Tommy. Tommy, who’s always been the embodiment of fire itself, alive and unpredictable, even when all Tubbo could do was try to catch on fire too. Right now, hugging Tommy, just a little bit of life returns to him again.
“Alright,” Tubbo says, moving so that Tommy is leaning on him him instead of flung halfway behind him. Tubbo’s done thinking about death and grief and the sinking in his stomach. “Enough about that. How’s it all been since… Dream got out?”
Tommy looks up at him. “Are you sure?” he whispers. Tubbo can’t tell if he’s asking if it’s okay to stop talking about Tubbo, or asking if Tubbo’s sure Dream is a topic he can handle after so much already. Tubbo nods either way.
Tommy curls in on himself more and lets out a shaky breath, trying to expell the building energy bouncing around in his chest and trying to force itself out.
“It’s been bad,” he admits, barely audible. he’s still shaking, he hasn’t been able to stop shaking. He knows this topic is dangerous territory, and he knows he’s already so close to breaking down and this will only make it worse. But more than breaking down in front of Tubbo, Tommy’s afraid to lose this chance. He’s afraid to lose the chance to talk about Dream’s taunting, his threats, the terror that follows him everywhere, with someone who might understand even just a little bit or is at least willing to listen. So he continues.
“Dream’s waiting for the right moment, I- I know he is. He’s waiting for everyone to stop caring about me again, and then- and then he’s gonna kill me over and over.”
“What?” Tubbo breathes. He sounds scared.
“He has the revive book, Tubbo.”
“Oh. yeah.” It’s a short response, but Tommy can tell by the way Tubbo begins to clutch at his sweater more tightly that he understands.
“He found me on his first day out of prison.” Tommy’s words begin to pick up speed, rising with his panic. “He took all the gear I’d hidden, he broke the portal which was the only way to get away quickly. He… he told me he was going to revive me, and then kill me and revive me and kill me and revive me and kill me and then he started killing me and I ran and SCREAMED and I- I don’t- I didn’t- SHIT-”
“Hey, hey!“ Tommy barely hears Tubbo shout over his spiral. “Hey.” Tubbo grabs Tommy by the sides, looking straight into his eyes. There’s a spark there that wasn’t there before. “Dream’s not gonna lay another fucking hand on you. I won’t let him,” Tubbo says. Tommy’s never heard Tubbo more sure anything in his life.
Tommy wants to respond, but all he can do is breath a bit and wipe at the tears streaming down his face.
Tubbo’s jealous that Tommy can cry while his own eyes refuse to do anything. He doesn’t mention it out loud. Instead, he reassures Tommy, burning with determination. “I’m not losing anyone else.”
Tommy clings to Tubbo’s coat like it’s a lifeline.
“I’m not losing you for a third time,” Tubbo whispers, afraid to say it, to jinx it, to test fate for a third time over.
Tommy sniffs. “He’s gonna find me and make me live forever but i’m terrified to live forever because it would be with him.“
“No, he won’t, because I’m here.”
“Does it even matter anymore how many lives I have?“
“Yes!”
“Why?” Tommy’s still crying.
“Because Dream’s never gonna kill you again! Because I’m here.” Tubbo’s the one hugging the other tighter this time. “Because I’m here.”
Silence returns between the two, because Tubbo doesn’t have anything else to say and Tommy can barely speak through his tears. To Tubbo, the moon is too bright and the room feels too big and and world is crashing down, dissolving into cold dead ash. To Tommy, the cold is overwhelming and his clothes are rubbing him just the wrong way and this house is far too vulnerable and the world is slipping away into a blur of colors and blind panic.
But Tubbo feels just a bit more alive now. With Tommy in danger, he has a project to focus on. He knows that’s a shitty way of thinking about it, but it helps the grief just a bit.
And Tommy has someone, finally. Someone that understands, because he’s been to hell and back too, and he knows about how terrifying the person who brings hell with him can be. At least enough to not judge Tommy when he breaks down.
Tubbo feels just a bit of fire return to his life, small and alive and dancing on top of the ashes that have made his grief their home. Tommy feels just a little safer. There’s still the overwhelming anxiety creeping through every inch of him, but with Tubbo’s company it takes a backseat. The worst could still happen, he could be trapped with Dream forever, live every day terrified, and never die. But at least he knows there’s someone out there who would at least try to save him. And right now, that’s enough.
Tubbo’s lost so much. Tommy’s so, so fucking scared. But they have each other. It’s enough.
“Thanks for letting me stay, Big T.”
“Yeah. Thanks for being here, bossman.”
“Yeah.”