Archive of Our Own ^beta

After Ranboo’s death, Tubbo spent a few days wallowing in misery.

He dragged himself out of bed a couple of times a day to feed his kid and assure the poor little fellow that he wasn’t dead yet, and then crawled right back under his covers. And he no doubt would have continued living like that for who even knows how much longer had Michael not rushed into his bedroom in a panic, talking about monsters in their cellar. His son wasn’t usually easily freaked out. He’d never let fantasies disturb him. So it was likely that some kind of wild animal had sneaked in and was now potentially feasting on their reserves, so he had to deal with that. He couldn’t postpone it until after his last depression nap.

With a great deal of effort, he pushed himself up, shrugged on Ranboo’s old silk robe (not like he was ever gonna allow his deceased spouse’s ghost to use it anyway), grabbed a lantern and a sword, and headed down the rickety wooden stairs that Foolish had never installed railings on.

The cellar, much like everything else about the mansion, was huge. It was comprised of six different rooms, all storing different things: one had a variety of clothes they’d either outgrown, ruined, or no longer liked, another had different types of grains, another yet had maintenance tools and things they didn’t use too often, there was even a wardrobe down there full of preserves the citizens of Snowchester had gifted them (it was mostly fish, which nobody in their little family unit liked. But it was the thought that counted). One may have assumed that it would have taken him a while to find where an animal tiny enough to sneak in, likely from one of the vents, had gone to hide, but, as soon as he opened the door to the basement itself, his nostrils were overtaken by the smell of rot.

While it served him well as a guide, he had to cover his mouth and nose with his arm just to be able to bear it. With a zombie piglin as a child, he was more used to that specific kind of foul odor than most, and yet it was too much even for him. Something had to have died soon after he’d stopped going down there regularly, and the decomposition process had to be well underway.

He found the thing responsible for the smell in the basket room (Ranboo had taken to weaving wicker baskets in the last few months of their life to de-stress, and they’d been going through a lot) curled up in a corner on top of a whole bunch of old, fluffy jumpers. Half hidden as it was, in the flickering light of the lantern, his first though was that it was the biggest raccoon he’d ever seen. Its fluffy tail was loosely draped around its legs, dirt, blood, sweat, and pus covered every inch of its body, and one of its femurs had snapped badly enough that the jagged edges of the bone had pierced through its flesh and skin and were now jutting out.

It was only taking a few more steps that he realized that what was lying there wasn’t a huge raccoon, but Tommy. His face was hidden from the dirty rag that once used to be Tubbo’s green bandana, but his curly blond hair was still visible. Despite the cold down there (that room had a tendency to stay damp, and often had a thin layer of ice covering every surface) and the huge amount of blood he had to have lost with all his scrapes, cuts, and that major injury, his friend wasn’t shivering, and, while he wasn’t an expert in the medical field, he knew that couldn’t be a good thing.

Tubbo had never learned how to check if something or someone was alive without poking them with a stick, and doing so to what was likely the corpse of his estranged friend seemed disrespectful. Thankfully, at a closer inspection, he noticed the way Tommy’s chest rose occasionally. His breathing was faint, labored, and irregular, but it was there. It was present. There was hope.

Without any further hesitation, he called down his son so that he could grab the lantern and light up the way for them, sheathed his sword, and picked Tommy up. He didn’t know how to help with most of what was going on with his old friend, but he figured that bringing him somewhere warm and peeling off his dirty and wet clothes would be a good start. Maybe cleaning him up in general would be a good way to avoid infections… anything more than what he already had, judging by the blackened wound on his right leg.

Michael insisted on helping, so Tubbo sent him to fetch some lukewarm water, a clean sponge, and start the fire. While his son took care of those tasks, he laid Tommy down on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace, fetched a pair of scissors from the kitchen, and got to work on his clothes. They could barely even be called that anymore, even before he’d started slicing them up, to be honest. They were tattered beyond repair; there were some clean cuts through them that could have been sewn shut, given the chance (all matching the axe wounds underneath them), but, in most places, they’d been roughly torn apart. Likely having gotten stuck somewhere while his old friend crawled around their home unseen.

Together with his son, they worked in silence to do as much as they could. Michael even found some old, comfortable clothes from Ranboo that fit Tommy rather nicely. They were warm and, most importantly, dry, and they figured they would help. Although Tubbo steered clear of touching the broken leg beyond cleaning it to the best of his abilities. He didn’t know what to do with the visible bone beyond asserting that it probably wasn’t supposed to look like that. He didn’t even know if pouring a Health or Regeneration potion on it would help or do more harm than good.

Tubbo wasn’t a medic.

He was a scientist, sure, but more of the evil and mad kind. He did experiments that led nowhere. He invented nukes. He built machines that he sometimes happened to find a function for. He didn’t repair broken bones. He was completely out of his depth, and the more that awareness settled in, the more panicked he got.

Tommy was still breathing, but how long would that last?

Not knowing what else to do, he went to fish out his communicator from a chest with all of his old belongings from back before the L’Manburg times. He’d stopped using that thing at some point because Wilbur had been convinced that they were getting tracked through it, and he’d had no reason not to believe him. He didn’t know how many people still had theirs; he doubted it would be too many, but still, he sent out a general message of help. He didn’t specify that it was about Tommy, just in case Dream could see it; he just mentioned that he needed someone with some kind of medical expertise regarding hypothermia, broken bones, and a variety of infections.

Nobody answered.

It had been a long shot, but he was still disappointed.

With a sigh, he stashed it back where it was and headed back downstairs, where Michael was kneeling by Tommy’s side, his one eye was wide and full of concern. He picked his kid up and sat down, rearranging their position so that his son would be in his lap and pressed tightly against his chest. “We’ll figure this out, Mickey. You and me”.

---

An hour later, he still hadn’t moved or done anything else. He’d just been sitting there, cradling Michael as if his life depended on it.

A knock at the door gave him an excuse to do something that felt at least somewhat productive. With how frazzled he was by the whole situation, he didn’t think to peer through the peephole before opening. That turned out to be a mistake. Before he even realized who was there, Dream had pushed past him and entered his mansion.

The prick took his time to look around and whistle at the gorgeous interior decor. “Nice place you got here” he complimented, before turning around and spotting Tommy’s prone figure. “Damn, you weren’t kidding about his state. I haven’t seen him look that bad in a while. Welp, I’ll be taking him off your hands now-”.

Like fucking Hell Tubbo was allowing that!

In a flash, he drew out his sword and pressed the blade of it against the side of Dream’s neck. “You’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome around Tommy. Leave” he growled. His hand was trembling. It had been a while since he’d last trained, and he was no longer used to the weight of the swords, but that wasn’t the only reason behind his reaction. Above everything else, he was scared.

He was trying to put on a brave face for Michael. He didn’t want his son to see him breaking down. He’d already witnessed him at his worst; he’d tolerated that for longer than any child should have. He’d been a barely passable parent for days. During that time, the only thing he’d done right was hold back his tears. He hadn’t let a single one fall, not anywhere his child could see. He wasn’t about to fuck that up now.

And, besides, the last thing he wanted was to show his enemy that he was getting to him. Dream loved nothing more than to exploit every weakness he found, and weaponize every insecurity, every fear, every speck of envy. He was a manipulative bastard.

Instead of the anger or the bargaining he’d expected, Dream let out an amused chuckle. He didn’t try to move away from the blade already tearing at his skin, nor did he try to summon his own weapon and fight back. He just turned his head ever so slightly, just enough to barely meet Tubbo’s eyes. He’d rarely been on the receiving end of those soulless beady black holes, and he didn’t remember it being so unsettling. “But Tubbo, nobody else answered your plea. I’m the only one who came to help. And you clearly don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t have many options here; either you let me take him, so he can live, or you take care of him yourself, he dies, and I end up getting him regardless. Just like in prison. Are you truly willing to make him suffer more just to keep your stupid guilt at bay?” his tone was oddly sweet in a way Tubbo had never heard it before. It sent shivers down his spine.

Unfortunately, for as creepy as he was being, Dream had brought up a valid point. Tubbo had done nothing but stare intensely at his friend for the past hour. He’d exhausted all he knew how to do. And the masked man was still in possession of the revival book, as far as he was aware. Sam would have probably mentioned it if he’d ever been able to get it from him (although he didn’t know how much he could trust him after he’d killed Ranboo for no fucking reason). Death wasn’t a valid form of escape.

Slowly, he lowered his sword.

If only anybody else had answered… if only anyone in that damned server had ever cared…

Just as he thought that, heavily armored boots stomped up the stairs to his front door and inside. “Hello” Techno’s monotone voice cut through the tense atmosphere in his living room. “Oh, lots of people here already. I hope you guys didn’t mess anything up”.

For the first time in his life, he was elated to see the bloodthirsty warlord. He didn’t even care that Techno could find out that he had a son; he was just happy Dream was no longer his only choice. He still couldn’t chase the masked man out, not when there was a very real chance that Tommy, even with proper care, wouldn’t make it. If his friend had to be revived, he wanted that to happen there at the mansion, where he couldn’t so easily get kidnapped. And, with someone there that was just as strong as the green bastard, he, too, had to grit his teeth and compromise. From the way Dream’s fists tightened and his shoulders tensed, Tubbo could tell that he, too, knew that he was fucked.

“Techno! I didn’t know you had any medical expertise…” Dream forced out with an air of politeness so fake that anyone but the old piglin warrior could pick up on it.

Techno, however, was known for many things, but a capacity to pick up on social cues, no matter how obvious, wasn’t one of them. So, instead of getting offended by the tentative jab, he puffed out his chest proudly and grinned, showing off his sturdy tusks. “I learned plenty when Tommy moved in with me last year. That little raccoon had a broken ankle, a nasty cut across his face that was badly infected, and was so cold we had to chop off a couple of fingers to stop the necrosis from spreading. I didn’t think I’d get to use this specific set of skills again, but now I’m happy I did more research into it than was necessary back then”. It was rare to hear him rant so freely. Even while his tone remained perfectly flat, it was obvious that he was passionate about the topic. A lot of that enthusiasm quickly morphed into confusion once he walked past them and noticed who was lying unconscious on Tubbo’s carpet. “Him again?!” he shrieked.

Dream sauntered forward and tried to sling an arm around Techno’s shoulders, but the piglin sidestepped without even looking at him. Undeterred by that rejection, he straightened himself up and cheekily cocked his head to the side in a way that was weirdly reminiscent of Phil. A good strategy to get his intended audience to listen to him. “Tommy’s quite clumsy. I’m sure you have better things to do than waste time helping him yet again”. Tubbo could hear the victorious grin in his voice. He truly thought he’d done something there.

To be honest, in the couple of seconds it took for Techno to figure out he’d been meant to answer, Tubbo started believing that too.

It was well known that there was some bad blood between Tommy and Techno. Nowadays, they avoided each other like the plague. Tubbo wasn’t even sure he’d heard his friend mention the old warlord ever since they’d parted ways at the Community House. Then again… they hadn’t been hanging out much. Life had become quite busy for him with the wedding, the child, and his lab… And he was sure that the blond had his fair share of commitments too! He doubted that all he’d done ever since they’d taken down Dream together had been to get himself killed in prison and get a robot to build a hotel for him. That seemed unlike the lively teen.

Eventually, however, Techno squashed all of his worries. “I have nothing better to do” he admitted all too honestly. “Can’t even hang out with Phil ‘cause he’s busy bonding with Wilbur. And I can’t go adventuring with Ranboo ‘cause you haven’t brought them back yet. So… here I am”.

Tubbo wasn’t too big a fan of the obvious out Techno had offered Dream (even if he desperately wanted his spouse back and felt as if he was drowning without them). Exchanging Ranboo’s life for Tommy’s was on brand for him, but it was cruel. Especially since he had to know what Dream had put Tommy through (probably better than Tubbo, who had never pressed him to find out, who had so easily accepted his friend’s refusal of any apology, who had quickly washed his hands clean of that whole ordeal, happy to be rid of it) as they’d teamed up right after the blond had escaped his exile. By his own admission, he’d seen his condition and had nursed him back to health.

Sure, Tommy would more or less survive being held in captivity. Dream didn’t seem to want him dead… not permanently, at least. But that, in a way, was worse than him dying. It was more inhumane. And Tubbo would have never forgiven himself for letting things play out that way had the masked man accepted (although he knew that, selfishly, he wouldn’t have intervened either… he’d been too lost without Ranboo).

Dream, however, didn’t take that bait. “Suit yourself” he said, shrugging.

Techno awkwardly nodded. “Yeah… that- that’s what I was planning to do”.

And, just like that, they formed the most unlikely of team-ups.

-

Tubbo left Techno with Michael to inspect Tommy’s wounds, while he dragged Dream along to brew some Regeneration potions, as per the piglin’s instructions. Apparently, those did wonders for blood loss in those rare cases where one didn’t have a few viable liters of matching blood to spare.

They were standing on either side of his one brewing stand, watching the ghast tear slowly dissolve and drip down into the three small glass vials at the bottom, when Dream spoke up again. “I’m surprised you didn’t get Techno to kick me out” he sounded intrigued more than shocked. His tone was conversational, but there was a glint of something Tubbo could see in his eyes even through the mask. He couldn’t decipher what it was, but it put him on edge again. Not that he’d fully relaxed at any moment around the man, but boredom mixed with the tiredness from the day and the week he’d been having had started to lower his guard.

That was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

He straightened up and summoned what little energy he had left to pull himself together. One would have thought that, after spending several days doing little more than sleeping, he would have felt more rested, but he’d never felt shittier. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he deserved nothing more after considering, for even a moment, giving his old best friend away in exchange for his spouse, but, with a great deal of effort, he managed to ignore it. Listening to his guilty conscience would do him no good while dealing with Dream; he was half convinced the man could smell that kind of weakness. “Tommy may need your revival powers” he explained, truthfully. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that, because I hear it’s not pleasant… but… it’s certainly preferable to letting him die”.

Dream laughed. There was no joke in what Tubbo had said, and yet the prick acted as if he’d never heard anything more hilarious before. “What makes you think I would use it to benefit you?”. He shrank in on himself at the mockery, ducking down his head in shame. Had it been truly so ridiculous to assume that after the threat the masked man had made earlier? It just felt like a foregone conclusion… “When Tommy dies-”.

“If” Tubbo feebly argued. He was ignored.

“I’m not gonna bring him back here. And you can’t force me to any more than Quackity was able to… convince me to give up my secrets” he spat out that last part with a level of earnest anger Tubbo had rarely heard from him. The last time had maybe been when he’d threatened to build obsidian walls around New L’Manburg and starve all of his citizens if they didn’t exile Tommy. And, before that, he couldn’t remember a single instance. His rant during the Community House fight had been different. Looking back, Tubbo could hear his smug satisfaction clear as day. “It would be better for Tommy if we skipped the unnecessary preamble, but, oh well. I doubt you’d have the gall to tell Techno of all people that his services aren’t needed. You’ve always been a coward, haven’t you?”.

Tubbo sucked in a pained breath.

Had he?

Everyone had regarded him as weak at one point or another. Wilbur had called him a yes man. Schlatt had admitted to only keeping him around because he considered him harmless and useful as a slight against his old rival. He’d been called a pawn, relegated as Tommy’s shadow, dismissed as the worst of the presidents. His bravery had never been called into question before, but maybe it should have. Maybe it was yet another flaw for him to throw on the ever-growing pile…

The last of the drops of the now-liquefied ghast tear fell into the bottles, so he wordlessly snatched them up and marched back into the living room.

He didn’t have the strength to respond to Dream’s taunts. Not that he would have known what to say…

Until not too long ago, he thought he’d been doing well for himself. He had a big house, a new country, a wonderful spouse, and an adorable kid. There was no estranged friend splayed out on his carpet, fighting for his life. No war criminals hellbent on making him question his judgment hanging around. No veiled threats being thrown his way that he knew would likely come to fruition sooner or later. Things had been simpler. He missed that.

And yet, even if he longed to go back, those memories were now tainted in a way. He was calling into question everything he’d done, combing through it for any mistake, any display of weakness, any act of cowardice. Had he distanced himself from Tommy because they simply didn’t have anything in common anymore after leading such drastically different lives, or because he’d been afraid to be confronted about what he’d done to him? Had he not visited him while he was exiled for months because he truly believed that his friend would have hated nothing more than to see him and wanted to respect his wishes, or because he had been afraid of the possible rejection? Had he given up after one pitiful apology because he agreed that it wasn’t needed, or because it was a convenient way for him to forget all about his guilt and start over with a clean slate?

Down in Dream’s Attachment Vault, Tommy had asked him a question. He’d looked him in the eyes with that devastating honesty of his on full display and begged him, Tubbo, to tell him what he was without him. How could he possibly be anything if he didn’t have his best friend by his side? It had felt so obvious to him back then… Tommy didn’t need him. He shone brighter than anyone else. He didn’t need help to be himself, and there was nothing else for him to be. No pressure. No presidential role looming over his shoulders. He was free. Now, looking back, he wondered if that too had been an excuse.

Techno took the Regeneration potions from his hands without even looking at him. “We’re gonna need more of these. There’s a couple of limbs we gotta amputate” he muttered, while pointing at the blackened flesh all around the exposed bones on his right leg, as well as the extensive sea of missing chunks on his left arm that reached up almost to his shoulder. It was no wonder Tubbo hadn’t clocked him as human at first; the only time he’d seen a body so mangled had been during war. “Gonna need some Health potions, too, for the operation. And a leather strap to keep him from biting his own tongue off. Bruh… how does he always manage to get himself in so much trouble…?”.

As dire as the situation was, Tubbo was relieved to hear that there was hope.

He didn’t know if he would have been strong enough to stop Dream from dragging away the corpse of his best friend had the worst possible outcome come to pass. It really had been a while since he last trained, and he doubted that Techno’s investment in that situation extended far enough for him to be able to count on his help. Would there have been any option other than surrender?

As if he’d just read his mind, Dream appeared behind him. “I could always kill him and revive him. He’d be good as new then! No need for any improvised surgery required!” he cheerily proposed. He was far too eager about the idea of taking yet another one of Tommy’s lives…

Why did he have to be the one person who could bring people back? Would revival even have been worth it for Tommy if it meant being stuck with him? Would it not have been better if Tubbo buried him somewhere secret or somehow figured out a way to keep him in his home in the case he passed?

He knew that Dream didn’t need access to the body to bring someone back; he hadn’t needed it with Wilbur, after all. But they did come back to where the majority of the remains were, so he would be protecting Tommy by doing his best to keep him there. After all the ways he’d failed him, didn’t he owe that to him?

Techno’s face scrunched up in displeasure. “Bruh… Tommy wouldn’t want that. The last thing he’d want is for you, of all people, to mess with him. Again. If he were awake right now, he’d tell you himself that he’d rather give up an arm and a leg than deal with you” he deadpanned. One of his floppy ears was being flicked back and forth, a clear sign of irritation in piglins. Despite that, he didn’t yell or demand that Dream leave. He just got started on sterilizing the tools he’d need for the operation.

Dream scoffed. “And since when do you care this much about Tommy?”.

“I don’t” Techno claimed in a way that could have passed for sincere had Tubbo not once known him. He supposed that, after rescuing Tommy twice, even such a hardened war criminal couldn’t remain completely indifferent to him. His old best friend had always been very easy to love… he wasn’t sure if he’d ever told him that. He decided he would, once he woke up. “But I feel very strongly about preventing medical malpractice”.

“Huh? I’ve literally never heard you mention anything about that” Dream argued, his tone flat and exasperated. He’d never been a patient man, and he was rapidly losing what little composure he had. It would have been hilarious to see had he not been such a terrifying guy.

“You never asked me about my passions” Techno pointed out.

Dream dismissed that argument with a wave of his hand. “This is ridiculous. Tubbo, come now, are you really gonna let him mutilate Tommy when there’s a much smoother alternative? And, I mean, do you really wanna shoulder the burden of helping him to recover after the fact? You look like you can barely take care of yourself, and you’ve got a kid already. Be smart about this”. The way he phrased everything made it sound so reasonable. So logical. It tickled that selfish part of Tubbo’s brain that often took over in moments of panic.

He was struggling to keep himself afloat without Ranboo by his side. He couldn’t claim with absolute certainty what Tommy would have wanted, like Techno had done. He couldn’t be certain of what the right choice would have been. Especially not now that he’d started to question his judgment much more.

Frustrated by Tubbo’s hesitation, Techno groaned. “I swear, if it turns out that the guy Tommy betrayed me for can’t even be bothered to stand up for him when he can’t do so himself, I’m gonna start stabbing” he grumbled. There was no sword hanging at his side. That was clearly an empty threat. But it was also the reality check he needed to come back to his senses.

What had he been thinking?! Sure, he and Tommy weren’t as close as they used to be anymore. They barely talked, especially since Wilbur had come back and had started demanding all of his little brother’s attention once more. But that wasn’t an excuse for Tubbo to allow his foggy brain to trick him into repeating the mistakes of the past. He’d handed his best friend over to Dream once already, and there was nothing he’d ever regretted more. He’d allowed that decision to define him, to shape him into a worse version of himself, for long enough already. No more.

“Dream, I think you should leave” he hissed out.

“Finally!” Techno cheered before pushing himself up. He took care of positioning himself in front of Michael so that Dream couldn’t reach him and use him as a hostage in a final desperate attempt to get the upper hand. “Dream, you know the deal, I don’t owe you a favor anymore. So, either you listen to Tubbo, or I start stabbing for real”. Somehow, an axe had appeared in his hands at some point. He was almost as dangerous with one of those as he was with a sword.

Dream looked between them for a moment, then his gaze landed on Tommy’s unconscious form, and there it stayed. “This isn’t over. Even if I leave now, I’m never gone for good” he whispered oh-so-sweetly. Maybe he truly believed that his promise wasn’t a threat, but a relief. Thankfully, it fell on deaf ears, so it gave him no satisfactory reaction one way or another.

---

Well over a week passed before Tommy woke up. He was one leg and one arm short, but he was alive.

Techno stuck around that whole time. He insisted on the fact that he was doing so just because he didn’t want Tubbo to mess up his good work, but he had a feeling that he just wanted to make sure Tommy was okay. And, also, he’d seemingly gotten rather attached to Michael. Tubbo kept catching him playing with his son or cooing at him any time he thought they were alone.

When Tommy opened his eyes, Tubbo was right by his side. He shushed his pained groans and offered him a golden apple to alleviate his suffering as much as possible. His friend, stubborn as ever even after the close call he’d had, refused to eat it. “I’m fine” he grumbled. “I’ve had worse” he lied. Well… maybe he believed in that statement, but if that was the case, then that was highly concerning considering… everything.

Tubbo sighed. He gave up for the time being. Even if it had been a while since the two of them had a talk, he still knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting with Tommy. Besides, he didn’t wanna spoil the relief and unabashed happiness he felt at having his friend back with a petty argument. Not when there was something far more important he’d been reminding himself to tell him every hour of every day for that whole time. “You know you aren’t unlovable, right? You’re very easy to like”.

Tommy gave him a confused look, head cocked to the side. Like Phil. Like Dream. An acquired trait, probably. “Where did that come from? You can’t drop mushy stuff like that on a guy who just woke up from a coma…”.

Tubbo snorted. He couldn’t let himself be distracted. It wasn’t the time for levity, not yet. “I found you in my cellar, half dead. Why were you there?”.

Realization dawned on Tommy, and that smile he’d kept pinned to his face until then fell away. He couldn’t even look Tubbo in the eyes anymore. And he knew that it wasn’t out of shame, not his own, at least. Even after all that time, he still remembered some of the blond’s mannerisms, like the way he always insisted on pretending that everything was fine, and the way he refused to say anything that could be perceived as an accusation or critique. It was a learned behavior; Wilbur had never been a fan of negativity. And Tubbo doubted that Dream had been much more open-minded in that regard.

“I… didn’t feel safe at home” was all Tommy managed to come up with. They both knew that it wasn’t a real answer to Tubbo’s question, but, for the time being, he still dropped it.

There was time for a heart-to-heart later on down the line.

Maybe then Tubbo would admit to the selfish thoughts he’d allowed to fester for almost a whole afternoon. And then they could scream at each other. They could let it all out. They could have the fight they’d both been craving, but neither dared to reach for.

For the time being, however, Tubbo was tired, and he knew that Tommy was too.

He laid his forehead on his best friend’s chest and let out a contented sigh when Tommy’s expert fingers started massaging his scalp. “I’m glad you’re okay” he murmured.

Tommy answered with a noncommittal hum. Maybe he murmured something else too, but Tubbo had been running on empty that whole week, his eyes had slipped shut, and he was already far gone in the land of dreams.