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justalittlelemony · 3 years

Text

Cold

Read on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 5,055

Tommy and Tubbo try to work through the aftermath of the festival.

Full fic under the cut

The first thing Tommy noticed was the shivering.

He hadn't really expected to fall asleep right away after the hell of a day he had. None of them really wanted to be around either Wilbur or Techno, so after they had finished listening to Blocks, Niki, Tommy, and Tubbo had pretty much gone straight to bed. It had taken Tubbo some time to fall asleep, and for a while, Tommy worried that he would be kept up all night from the discomfort of his injuries. But eventually, Tommy felt the smaller boy's breathing even out, and soon, he was fast asleep as well.

As expected, falling asleep quickly was not equivalent to sleeping well. Only a couple of hours later, Tommy was awake, eyes blinking groggily. Based on the clock on the wall, it wasn't quite midnight yet, which meant there wasn't much he could do to spend his time. He could tend to the potato farm, but Tommy didn't really enjoy farming that much, and the potato farm was kind of Technoblade's territory, who was certainly someone whom he did not want to see. He could always expand the tunnels, but there wasn't much purpose in doing so anymore. Tommy had become quite adept at sneaking around Manberg, and with Tubbo no longer going between the two places, there wasn't much use in creating any more than the existing tunnels. At least until morning, the only thing he could do that his sleep-deprived brain could come up with was keep an eye on Tubbo.

He shifted in the cramped bed, twisting around to face the other sleeping boy. It took his eyes a moment to adjust in the dark, but once they did, a strike of concern shot through him.

Tubbo was shivering, his arms and knees pulled close to his chest. His breathing was short and ragged as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Tommy could see the sweat glistening on Tubbo's forehead from the sliver of light coming from the ravine. Without thinking, he pressed a hand to his forehead. It felt warm, warmer than he thought it should. He was pretty sure that meant he had a fever, but he couldn't quite remember. It was always Wilbur or Tubbo in their little makeshift family of three that would deal with colds and fevers. Tommy knew some, enough to keep him alive, certainly, but not enough to tell if someone had a fever.

He stayed still, mulling over his options before making a decision. He slowly climbed out of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too badly. Stood up fully, he turned to the bed and rearranged the thin blanket over his friend's shivering form. It did nothing to stop his shaking.

Quietly, he crept out of the room and into the main ravine.

The only way to tell the time in Pogtopia, other than a clock, was by the sounds coming from the ravine. During the day, one could hear the faint movements from the caverns, the soft murmurings of conversations bouncing off of the stone walls, the echoes of footsteps. But at night, it was dead silent. It was a heavy silence, an unnerving silence that conveyed what every inhabitant already knew to be true.

Pogtopia was not home.

But despite the expected silence, Tommy found himself grateful for it. It let him know that, at least for now, he was alone, with no Wilbur or Technoblade lurking or laughing as they had been only hours earlier. He wanted nothing more than to stay alone, or even better, go back and be with Tubbo, the one person who he fully trusted.

But Tubbo was sick and he needed help.

He walked over to the far end of the ravine where he could see the faint glow of a lantern. Wilbur had set up a desk during Pogtopia's early days. It was his own little area, just as Tubbo and he had the bench.

Sure enough, Tommy could see Wilbur hunched over the desk, quill in hand. His grip on it was as tight as he methodically wrote on the paper below. He didn't seem to notice Tommy's presence behind him, engrossed in his writing. It reminded Tommy, a little bit, of the Wilbur before the election. Sat at his desk in the White House, writing important documents that Tommy never cared to read. Wilbur had seemed so distinguished at the time, the perfect fit for president.

Now, Tommy wasn't sure what to think.

"Wilbur?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the man went rigid at the sound. He sat up a bit, placing the quill in its inkpot. Without turning around, he asked, "What is it, Tommy?"

"I," His voiced cracked a bit, not fully prepared to be used. "It's Tubbo. I think he's sick."

Wilbur didn't answer right away. "Are you sure?"

"He's shivering an awful lot, but I checked his forehead and it's warm.”

“Does he have a fever?” Wilbur still had his back to Tommy.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was his anger from earlier, coming back in full force. Maybe it was Pogtopia itself, getting to him in the same way it got to Wilbur, who asked each question with the same monotone voice and still wouldn't turn around and fucking look at me. “I don’t know if he has a fuckin’ fever, Will. That’s why I’m talking to you," Tommy snapped. "He’s shivering, his forehead’s warm, and he’s still asleep. That’s all I know.”

If Wilbur noticed the change in Tommy's tone, he didn't show it. He merely waited for a few beats before picking up his quill again and replying, "Get Niki. She can help."

"Niki's still asleep. Can't you just-"

Wilbur turned sharply to the left. "Can't I just what, Tommy?" He wasn't yelling, but his words bit harshly through the air, echoing in the ravine.

Tommy took a step back. "Nothing. Never mind. I'll, I'll get Niki." The response seemed to satisfy Wilbur. He turned back to his desk and continued writing. Tommy stared for a few seconds before turning and walking back the way he came.

********

Respawn sickness.

That's what Niki said, and Tommy certainly trusted her diagnosis more than his own. Even without that, though, he had his own suspicions. It was fairly common, especially after losing the second life. Even more common if it was a particularly traumatizing death, the kind that leaves its mark on a person even after they respawned.

Combined with the chilly ravine and an already poor immune system, Tubbo was the prime candidate for respawn sickness. It wasn't a shock. It wasn't surprising.

But, looking down at Tubbo curled under the few, thin blankets Tommy could scrounge up, wet cloth on his forehead, it was frightening.

It was reminiscent of a different time. Not really a simpler time, but a better time. Of course, it wasn't the same, but it was similar.

This wasn’t the first time either of them had died, after all.

He had started to feel awful a few hours after giving his discs to Dream and ending the war. It wasn’t a gradual progression; it was abrupt. All of a sudden, he was lightheaded, dizzy, and felt like his stomach would jump out of his mouth.

Of course, it wasn’t his stomach, but its contents that came out. 48 hours of the most intense symptoms he had ever experienced: vomiting, congestion, fever, and more. Wilbur was quick to identify it. Turns out losing two lives in the same day was a great way to amplify the symptoms.

He wasn’t the only one to get sick. He might’ve died twice, but all of them had been killed in the Final Control Room. Fundy had something akin to a stomach bug and threw up a few times throughout the first day. Wilbur was extremely congested and couldn’t go ten minutes without coughing or needing to blow his nose. Needless to say, most of L'manberg was out of commission for their first few days of independence.

Tubbo had stayed with Tommy nearly the entire time, tending and watching him when no one else would. Tommy had asked him if he had any symptoms, but Tubbo shrugged off the question every time.

"Seriously, man, why are you here? I'm fine. Go lie down or something. You look like shit."

Sat at the foot of Tommy's bed, Tubbo's gaze flickered from his friend to the floor. Tommy may have been violently sick for the past couple of days, but he knew when something was wrong. "Tubbo?"

"I was scared, I guess, for you."

At the time, Tommy had laughed it off, calling Tubbo some variation of "clingy." But now, in the same position as his best friend had been only a couple of months earlier, he understood. He was scared. He had been scared during the festival and sat at the foot of his bed, watching Tubbo's restless sleep, he was still scared.

Part of him recognized the irony of the situation. It was sort of fitting that Tubbo had to watch him die in the duel and take care of him afterward, and now Tommy had to fill those shoes.

Tubbo stirred in his sleep, mumbling incomprehensibly. Even under the covers, his shivering continued. Tommy absent-mindedly adjusted the blankets, only stopped by the sight of Tubbo blinking his eyes open groggily.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Tommy asked quietly, careful not to echo his voice into the ravine.

Tubbo squinted, clearly still not fully awake. "'M cold."

Tommy shifted in his seat. "I know. Sorry, I don't have any more blankets for you. You've got a fever."

"A fever?" He glanced around the room, his eyes clearly trying to adjust to the dark. He sat up a bit.

"Yeah. Niki said it was likely respawn sickness."

"...Fuck."

Tommy laughed. "That's a fair reaction."

Tubbo pulled the cloth off from his forehead. "Wait, Niki was here?" Most of the sleep that his voice had been thick with just seconds earlier was stripped away.

"Yeah, earlier," Tommy said picking at the end of the blanket, "You were shivering real bad when I woke up, so I went to Wilbur, but he said to get Niki." He paused. "Thought it was weird. He used to be all over that kind of stuff before, when we were kids."

There was a poignant pause as both boys thought. "I don't-" Tubbo started, then stopped. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly, carefully, "I don't think Wilbur much cares for me right now."

Tommy wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that of course, Wilbur cared for him. Wilbur wouldn't just stop caring for Tubbo.

He didn't.

*******

The morning had been far more eventful than he had wanted it to be, but frankly, Tommy should have known that something would happen.

But after going into Manberg, gaining a new ally, and begging Wilbur to hold on blowing up their home, Tommy was pretty glad to have an excuse to check on Tubbo.

Trudging down the dirt and stone steps to the ravine, he listened for the sounds of others, but couldn't hear any. Quackity was still in Manberg, but Tommy wasn't sure where Wilbur, Techno, and Niki were. Hopefully, Wilbur was just somewhere else and not in the button room again.

He made it to the doorway but was stopped by the sight of another person in the room. The figure was seated by Tubbo's bedside but stood at the sight of Tommy. It was the absolute last person he wanted to see there, of all places.

Technoblade.

"What are you doing here?" Tommy asked, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword, preparing for a battle he couldn't win.

Technoblade glanced down at Tommy's weapon, then back up to his face, giving him a bored expression. "Wilbur wasn't around and you were in Manberg. Thought someone should keep an eye on him. Respawn sickness is no joke."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "I don't need you to fuckin' lecture me on respawn sickness."

Techno crossed his arms and looked back down at Tubbo's sleeping form. Tommy gripped his weapon a little tighter. "Wilbur said he's on his last life now."

"Yeah," Tommy let the bitterness seep into his voice. He wanted to scream, to yell at Techno that he didn't have to be. That Tubbo could've had two lives left if he hadn't given in so easily, but his anger dies in his throat, stopped by the words of the man stood in front of him, spoken only a day earlier.

"It stays in the pit."

Instead, Tommy let out a resigned sigh. "All three of us are."

Techno turned back to him at that. "The three of you? You and Wilbur too?"

Tommy let out a sharp laugh. "Not all of us can be near invincible. There's a lot you weren't here for."

Techno seemed to ponder the younger's words for a moment. "How'd you lose 'em?" He didn't sound sympathetic or sorry. His voice gave off a morbid curiosity, the words of man to whom death only existed at the other end of his sword, but not as a thing to be experienced himself.

The irony did not escape Tommy. The Blood God, with countless kills to his name, asking a twice-killed sixteen-year-old about death.

"We all lost our first lives together, during the war. Eret, Eret took us underground, into this fucking room, and betrayed us."

"What's this button for?" Tommy asks, pressing it without thinking. Eret seems to freeze at the action.

Behind him, Wilbur stops looking in his chest and turns to face the person who brought them here. "Eret?"

It doesn't take long for Tommy to realize that something is wrong.

A sick grin crosses Eret's face. "Down with the revolution, boys. It was never meant to be."

Dream, Sapnap, George, and Punz pile into the room, swords in hand. There isn't even enough time to process the betrayal before all five four members of L'manberg are killed.

"I lost my second one later that day. I challenged Dream to a duel for our independence, and I lost."

The walk over to the boardwalk feels like a funeral march. Probably because it is.

Tommy isn't stupid. He knows what he signed up for.

The four soldiers are quiet, solemn. Fundy hands him the bow. Tubbo hugs him. Wilbur tells him to follow his heart.

Tommy meets his opponent at the center of the boardwalk. The artificial smile on Dream's mask unnerves him, but he glares defiantly up at it. Wilbur starts the count and the two separate.

At the count of ten, Tommy shoots.

"And then Wilbur lost his second the day you showed up, actually. He got shot while we were fleeing Manberg."

"My first act as president, the emperor of this great country, is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit!"

Tommy stands frozen as the crowd turns to look at them. He can't even process what Schlatt is saying. They couldn't have lost, Schlatt can't be president, everything's wrong-

But then Wilbur pulls him along, running, and says, "Tommy, we have to go!"

He listens and he runs.

Behind him, he can hear footsteps, the sounds of others giving chase. Arrows fly from the sky. Wilbur is running in front of him, leading him, but is struck by an arrow and falls. Tommy screams, but he can't stop. He has to keep running or they'll get him too.

He doesn't stop until he reaches Tubbo's bunker (Tubbo's still there. He left Tubbo in L'manberg.) With Schlatt's booming voice echoing through the land he once called his home, Tommy breaks down.

"And, well, obviously, you know what happened to Tubbo." The anger was present in his voice, but Tommy couldn't find it in himself to care.

If Techno noticed, he didn't say anything. He merely made a grunt of acknowledgment before kicking his chair to the side. Without so much as a sideways glance, he walked past Tommy and out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Tommy felt himself breathe again but didn't move until the echoes of the warrior's footsteps subsided. With slow steps, he made his way over to the chair that Techno had used. He sat down in it and faced Tubbo, who was, mercifully, still asleep. He'd let him rest for a little while longer.

Tommy began to undo the straps of his armor, letting the various pieces of iron fall to the ground. He'd never liked armor. He had never understood people like Dream and Technoblade, who never went anywhere without it. It was so heavy and uncomfortable. Tommy wanted to run and screw around. But armor was a necessary evil, especially during a war.

Is this a war?

It certainly felt like one, Tommy thought, glancing over at the bandages covering Tubbo. He wasn't sure how, but the other two wars hadn't seemed this serious, this grim. Maybe it was because the first time it was just a fight over some music discs and the second time they had each other in L'manberg. When they had died before, it felt worth it.

And now?

Sometimes, he wasn't even sure what they were fighting for.

He finished pulling off his armor, setting down the last piece a bit too harshly. A small clang echoed throughout the stone room. Across from him, Tubbo stirred and Tommy froze.

"Tommy?" Tubbo's voice was small, but he still coughed. "'S that you?"

Tommy stood and walked over, sitting back down at the foot of his bed. “Hey, big man. How are you feeling?”

“My head feels like crap, but other than that, not too bad," Tubbo said sitting up. He gave his friend a once-over, giving way to a look of concern. "Did something happen?”

“Not really," he said, the lie slipping out easily. Seeing Tubbo's unconvinced expression, he gave in. "Techno was here earlier.”

Tubbo seemed to wilt at the mention of him. “Tommy, I’m serious. I’m fine with it." He looked down. "I don't want there to be infighting because of me.”

Something boiled inside of Tommy at Tubbo's apathy, his defeated tone. "I don't give a shit about infighting," he seethed, doing everything in his power not to shout, "He killed you! I'm not just gonna let that go!"

Tubbo shrugged, seemingly indifferent to Tommy's anger. "I mean, it could've been worse. I'm still alive. That's all that really matters, isn't it?"

"No, that's not all that fucking matters! He hurt you, Tubbo!" As if to prove his point, he gestured to the bandages encasing the smaller boy.

Tubbo flinched, then muttered, almost to himself, "Why do you care so much?"

"Why don't you?" Tommy fired back instantly. Tubbo seemed to shrink even further into himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“'S fine," he replied quietly. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, an unfamiliar experience for the two of them. It was only broken by Tubbo clearing his throat and asking, "It's the afternoon now, right? I haven’t seen Wilbur around much.”

“Yeah." Tommy hesitated but continued anyway. "He’s been at the button room a bit.”

Tubbo's eyes grew wide with fear. “He didn’t-“

Tommy shook his head. “No. He hasn’t yet. Gave Big Q and I quite a scare, though.”

"Big Q was there?"

"Yeah. He's with Pogtopia now. He's gonna help us take down Schlatt." Tommy kept his voice level, but he was truthfully rather happy with this recent development. He wasn't sure he forgave Quackity for that had happened (not yet, at the very least), but it felt good to have someone on their side.

"That's good," Tubbo said, and Tommy recognized his tone instantly. It was his logical, analytical voice that he used to look at a situation from a detached point of view. "At least you'll still have someone in Manberg."

Tommy sputtered a bit at that. "Tubbo, that doesn't- That doesn't matter. I'm not- We're not gonna have him really spy for us. Not after what happened to you. We're not doing that again." He shook his head as if to emphasize his point. "I'm just glad to have someone else on our side. I've a feeling we're gonna need all the help we can get in the coming weeks."

Tubbo looked down. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help."

"Don't. You've done plenty. I'm- We're not gonna let you put yourself in a position like that again." He paused, then continued quietly, letting his feelings spill out. "I should, I should've fucking stopped it. I should've never convinced you to spy for us. At least then, none of this would've happened."

Tubbo placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tommy, you didn't convince me. I made my own decision. And the festival wasn't your fault, okay? It was Schlatt's. There was nothing you could've done." He pulled his hand back. "I was dead the moment he put those walls up."

"I had a pearl," Tommy said, guilt lacing his words, "I could've gone down sooner."

"You would've been surrounded or worse, killed. You're on your last life too, remember? At least I had one to spare." He looked down. "Besides, it was only a matter of time before I got found out. I was surprised I even lasted that long."

(That admission hurt a little. Tubbo knew he was doomed from the start. Why didn't Tommy do anything to stop it?)

"I guess we've both gotta be extra careful from now on, yeah?" Tommy said, "Gotta make this last life last a while."

Tubbo laughed with disbelief. "You say that like you've ever been careful!"

And it was just like it was before, during the disc wars, before L'Manberg, just laughing and making stupid jokes. "Excuse you, I'll have you know my name is Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit. It's literally in my name!"

Tubbo giggled some more. "Sure, big man. Sure."

*******

The spoils of his mining trip weren't much, but they were certainly better than nothing.

Tommy was not one for mining. He would usually much rather just steal what he needed from the various members of the SMP. But he wasn't really looking for anything in particular. He mostly wanted a reason to stay out of Pogtopia.

But, looking at the clock he brought down with him into the winding underground strip mines, he figured no one would be awake past midnight.

Coming face to face with Wilbur and soon as he entered the ravine, he realized he was wrong.

Wilbur gave him a once-over. "Where were you?"

"Mining," Tommy said, holding up his pickaxe as if to illustrate his point, "Figured we could use some more diamonds." He held out his mining bag.

Wilbur took it from him, glancing at its contents. A smirk came over his face. "Oh, Tommy." His voice was sickly sweet with condescension. "Maybe you should leave the grinding to Technoblade."

Tommy snatched the bag back. "What do you need, Will?"

"I saw Tubbo earlier."

Tommy stiffened but kept his voice level. "Oh? How is he?"

"Wouldn't actually know," Wilbur drawled, "He was asleep the whole time."

"Yeah, sorry. That would be the weakness pot I gave him earlier." At the mention of the potion, Wilbur perked up. "Should've mostly worn off by now, though."

"The what?"

"Weakness potion," Tommy repeated cautiously, "He had a migraine and he needed to rest anyway, so I gave him a weakness pot to try and sleep it off."

Wilbur covered his face with his hands and started to pace. "Why would you do that?"

Tommy turned to follow where Wilbur was walking. "What do you mean?"

He sighed loudly and pulled his hands from his face. "I don't know if you've fucking noticed, but, Tommy, we're at war!" He had that manic glint in his eye, the same he had when he made the deal with Dream, when he egged Tommy on in the pit, when he almost pressed the button. "We are exiled from our country! We have limited resources! We can't just go around wasting our supplies every time someone has a fucking migraine!"

Tommy matched Wilbur's shouts. "It was a fucking weakness potion, Will. I'll just make another one if you're so bent out of shape from it."

"It's not just about the potion, Tommy! It's the way you tried to decorate with diamond blocks, the way you can't keep a single piece of armor for more than a day. You're thinking in the micro; I need you to think in the macro." Wilbur stopped pacing and put his entire stare on the boy. Tommy seemed to shrink under the weight of it. "You're careless, Tommy. Your solutions are only temporary."

Tommy was never one to back down from a challenge. "What, I'm not allowed to give Tubbo a potion now?" he seethed, "He fucking died for us, man, and you're just gonna let him suffer?"

Wilbur looked unimpressed. "It's just respawn sickness. He'll be fine." He turned to leave.

"People fucking die from respawn sickness! And he's still recovering from the fucking fireworks Techno shot at him!" Wilbur didn't stop, didn't even hesitate. He just went back to his desk, as if Tommy wasn't still standing there. The more rational, less angry part of Tommy realized that Wilbur wasn't right. That he hadn't been right, not really, not since the election. It wasn't worth fighting with him. "Whatever," Tommy said, throwing his bag over his shoulder, "I'm, I'm gonna go to bed."

As soon as he entered the room, he dropped the bag to the side and immediately started towards the bed. He was tired.

Prime, he was so tired.

"Scoot over. I'm climbing in," he mumbled, nudging the other boy. Surprisingly, Tubbo responded almost immediately, pressing himself to the wall to make room.

(They had been doing this ever since they were kids. Wilbur would always find them huddled up close when they were younger. They had stopped when they got "too old" for it but had gotten back into the habit during the war for L'manberg. They always felt safer with the other near.)

Tommy's head landed on the pillow and he glanced over. Tubbo's eyes were wide open, staring concernedly at him. He certainly seemed more alert than Tommy felt, that was for sure. "I heard shouting. Is something wrong?"

Tommy covered his eyes with his hands. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Something clearly happened. You're all tense."

"I'm fine," he lied, "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

"But-"

"Tubbo, please."

"Okay," Tubbo whispered. A second later, Tommy felt the pillow shift as Tubbo laid back down.

Pogtopia was silent.

*******

The sun was up by the time Tommy woke.

He usually was an early riser, albeit, mostly out of necessity. He couldn't remember the last time he slept in.

Tubbo woke up earlier than him. When he woke, he handed him a carrot.

"What's this?" Tommy asked.

"Breakfast," Tubbo replied, taking a bite of his own carrot.

Tommy sat up and swung his legs over the bed. Tubbo sat down to join him. Tommy took a bite of his carrot, then looked at Tubbo. "Are these the ones from my chest?"

Tubbo looked sheepish. "Yeah, sorry. I couldn't find any other food in here."

"No, it's fine. I was just curious." Tubbo shrugged and continued eating his carrot, but Tommy continued to look at him. He looked healthier, certainly. The sickly tint was gone from his skin, although he still looked rather pale. Unfortunately, there was no good solution to that in Pogtopia. His movements were less sluggish, more pronounced. But what really caught Tommy's eye were the bandages. Loose and yellow, grime having accumulated over the past few days. Tommy was no healer, but he knew that couldn't be hygienic.

Tubbo looked back over at him. "What?"

"Your bandages. They need changing," he said, gesturing with his carrot. He stood up and walked over to the chest and started rummaging through it.

"Tommy?"

"What?"

"I don't think the bandages will do much good."

Tommy stopped sorting through the chest and turned around. "What do you mean?"

Tubbo was looking down. He looked uncomfortable. "They-" He hesitated, then continued. "These aren't wounds. They're scars." He touched the bandaged side of his face. "They aren't going to heal."

Tommy paused. "Still raw, though," he said, turning back to the chest, "Gotta keep them from getting infected."

"Tommy-"

"Tubbo, I don't give a fuck if you have scars or not, okay?" Tommy snapped, clutching the edge of the chest, "But I'm not gonna let you die from a fucking infection or some shit." He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but it did. He pulled out a small roll of linen. "Found them." Tommy stood. Tubbo was still sitting on the bed, looking away. Tommy started to speak and he looked up. "Do- does it bother you?"

"That I have them?" Tubbo shrugged. "No, not really. Though, it's not like I've seen them fully." He held his arms close to his chest. "It's just... new." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I'll get used to them."

Tommy sat back down next to him and asked the question he had been thinking since he first noticed the scars. "Do they hurt?"

"I didn't-" Tubbo took a breath. "I didn't know that it could hurt so bad. After I died, I mean. I knew dying hurt, but I thought it would stop, the pain, but it didn't. When I respawned, it felt like I was still on fire." He glanced back over at Tommy. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You haven't done anything wrong," Tommy said, mildly confused.

(Tubbo had been doing that, he noticed, ever since he got back. He apologized for nearly everything, even when it wasn't something to apologize for.)

"I'm," Tommy started shakily, "I'm glad you're still here. Scars and all."

Tubbo gave a faint smile. "Thanks."

"C'mon," Tommy said, holding up the roll, "Let's fix you up."

Things wouldn't really get better, not for a while. They knew this. They weren't adults, but they were realists.

But, Tommy thought, they could make it through whatever the future had to throw at them.

#dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #mcytblr #clingy duo #tommyinnit #tubbo #my posts #my writing

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