#the way he went out and carried the pail lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaotically-chill · 3 years

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Brother

a clingy duo story

I’m going to try and post more stuff on here, just trying to figure out a format and a schedule lmao :)

The oak had aged, Tubbo noticed as he grazed his hand over the rough wood, its planks sun-bleached with time and warped with the memories it had been burdened with. The bench was warm, loved by the sun for years while it was kept empty of visitors. He remembered the first time he and Tommy had sat down on the bench, watching the sun set behind the tree-blurred horizon line. He grimaced as the tired wood creaked under him as he sat down, wondering what his counterpart would say when he saw how evolved the bench had become.

“Those were the good days, weren’t they?” Tubbo flinched at Tommy’s voice, uncharacteristically reminiscent.

Tubbo chuckled, “Yeah, the good days: constantly avoiding TNT and running into enemy territory while trying to find food for some meager dinner.”

“If only Niki had joined earlier, we’d be eating like royalty.” Tommy laughed, easing himself onto the bench next to Tubbo. “But I’m serious, we were so awesome together back then.”

Tubbo looked down, fiddling with the ring strung through the chain around his neck, “We were only awesome because we were young. Because we didn’t have to worry about the regrets we would have.”

Tommy leaned back against the wood, closing his eyes as if he could relive every single word they had said to each other. “We were the founders of a nation that had grown from a drug van, a fucking drug van, Tubbo. A tiny little caravan with a flaming hot dog on top, smoking out of the windows with Wilbur’s projects. We created something incredible out of that! You and I, Tubbo. We did that. You and I.”

He had to admit, there was a beauty to the harsh environment he had lived in for so long while in the midst of a war. But that war had ended, like so many others that he had plunged himself into, and they had taken different paths, traveling the same road in two different directions. He never wanted to admit that the Tommy he knew back then was not the Tommy sitting next to him, he had changed, with time, with trauma. But Tubbo had changed as well, and maybe it was the changes he had undergone that forced him to rip down the veil of juvenile ignorance, or maybe it was time and age that had led him to finally look through it.

Yet, here they were, sitting on the same bench, looking at the same sunset, finally meeting on the same road once more, even for just a small lapse of time. But sunsets don’t last forever.

“Trees grow, Tommy. They grow and their branches and leaves grow to shade away the sun. It’s just that sometimes the branches cover the sun completely, leaving the rest of us in the dark.”

Tommy looked at him, eyes a shade of blue Tubbo could never quite remember the name of, but they conveyed the same memories as his. Memories of unspeakable horrors and sad truths and beautiful beginnings and endings, they were all the same to the two boys. “Can’t we trim back the branches? Just for a day?”

Tubbo smiled, “Yeah, yeah we can.”

The two stood from the bench, silently apologizing for the violent creaking of the wood as they relieved their pressure from it, and walked over to Tommy’s home.

They returned to the bench shortly after with soap and water and fresh screws. The sun was almost gone now, Tubbo noted as he scrubbed away years of dirt and blood and grime from the wood. Memories neither him nor Tommy wanted to look back on. Tommy was next to him, replacing rusty nails and screws with new ones. When they had finished, the two brothers stood back and admired their work, both remembering the first time they had done this, tired and sweaty and weak. But this was now, after they had grown stronger, mentally and physically. After they had seen war and peace and exile and execution. They wiped no sweat from their brows, only tears from their eyes.

“Remember that time,” Tommy fell back against the revived seat, “we were in the middle of battle. There were arrows flying everywhere, nobody could tell whose was whose, and you were right in the middle of it all.”

Tubbo remembered, although he tried not to. “You must have seen me or something, ‘cause the next thing I remember is you covering me while I reloaded my crossbow. You emptied your arrow supply to keep me safe.”

“You know why?”

He shrugged, “Because we’re friends?”

“Because we’re brothers, Big Man. And I’d do it again. Because I know you would do the same for me. Even if I was dying and couldn’t escape to safety, I just know that you would be there in seconds to rescue me. And if you were drowning out there in the ocean, I promise you, pinky promise, swear on my goddamn life, I would give you my fucking lungs if that meant you would be able to swim to the shore. We’re brothers, Tubbo. I’ve got you, brother. I always will.”

He could feel the tears in his throat, muffling his words. But they both knew there was no need for such things like conversation. Their history spoke for them, their memories of sitting on that very same bench, leaning against each other to keep from drifting off to much needed sleep while the soft melodies from the jukebox carried on and on and on. Tubbo threw himself forward, wrapping his scarred arms around Tommy’s battle-worn chest. He felt Tommy return the favor and they stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging words that could not be conveyed using vocal cords.

The next day, they did the same, sitting on the bench they had built and rebuilt, watching the sun disappear behind the trees. They came back the day after that, and then the day after that. Before long, they knew to wait for the other before putting in a disc to listen to.

They didn’t often talk, they didn’t see the reason to do so. They just sat next to each other, enjoying the quiet company of brothers.

And then Tubbo found himself waiting at the bench alone. He waited, and waited and waited and waited. Tommy never came. And then, right as he was typing out a message to the missing boy, a message popped up on his comm.

TommyInnit was beaten to death by Dream

He didn’t react with words. Couldn’t bring himself to scream anger or grief. Tubbo simply sat down on the bench, and sobbed. He stayed at the bench for hours after the sun left him to be alone with his grief.

He came back the next day, dried tears still on his cheeks. They didn’t come today. Today he just thought. Thought about how much faith Tommy had put into him. Thought about how much he failed his one, true friend. His brother in arms. He couldn’t think about anything else. It was too much, he couldn’t breathe. The guilt was weighing too much on his shoulders. He was drowning.

He came back the next day. And then the next. And the next. People would walk past, offering words of consolation and sympathy, but all they could find was a boy who just wanted his friend back. Nobody could do that. Nobody who wasn’t responsible for his death in the first place. People stopped trying to comfort him.

The sun was setting as Tubbo played with the gold rings on a necklace around his neck, humming Mellohi absentmindedly. Then, “Those were the good days, weren’t they?” Tubbo flinched at Tommy’s voice, uncharacteristically reminiscent. He shot straight up from the bench, disbelief plastered on his face. Tubbo tried to speak, but only half words and stutters left his mouth. It was good enough for Tommy. “I told you, Big Man, I’d give you my lungs so you could breathe.”

Tubbo barreled into Tommy, feeling the grateful warmth of his brother as he wrapped his arms around the sobbing boy. He cried apologies and relieved words that were all the same to Tommy’s ears. They were safe now, in each other’s arms. Safe from the horrors of war and death and betrayal and loss. They never let go of each other, at least, not figuratively. They were always there for the other, to stand arm in arm against an army of soldiers. But they always came back to the bench, everyday, washing away the dirt and grime, laughing about memories of the past and the present. Every day. Every single day. Two brothers sitting at a bench that had carried them through life and death and life again. People walked past them on their way to and from business, every day. They watched the two boys grow into men, and even then, not a single day went past where the laughter of brothers didn’t light up the faces of everyone who walked past. Tommy and Tubbo grew, never apart, always trimming back the leaves of the tree. Then, as they left one late night, they grasped their hands together, and made a promise. A promise of brothers, of ties that could never fray, a promise that broke all others, and walked through the Prime Path, and into L’Manburg. And that was their dying day. That was their promise.

The oak had aged, Niki noticed, as she ran her fingers through the deep grooves of the bench. She had brought a pail full of soapy water and a sponge, sat down next to the bench, and got to work. The wood was warm, well loved by the sun while it waited for its visitors. She remembered the first time she sat on the bench distantly, but the memory of her standing side by side with Tommy and Tubbo in front of their bench, promising them that everything would be alright was forever sewn into her mind. It was so long ago, most in her position would have forgotten it, but she never did. For how could one forget the legacy that the two boys shared?

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