Chapter Text
“Tubbo, wait- Tubbo, you fucker!”
Ranboo stifles a laugh as Tommy chases after Tubbo, who’d decided it would be hilarious to steal Tommy’s hat and promptly run away. Propping Michael up more securely on his hip, Ranboo leans against the doorframe, watching Tommy run around in circles. Ranboo admires Tommy’s persistence. Alas, it stands no chance against Tubbo’s sheer ability to outrun anything, especially if it’s funny.
Tommy catches sight of Ranboo first, and demands, “Ranboo, you bitch, help me!”
“Ranboo, if you help him, I’m divorcing you!” Tubbo shouts cheerfully. Ranboo laughs.
“Sorry, Tommy, you’re on your own,” Ranboo grins. Tommy flips him off without even looking at him. Ranboo makes his way to the couch, avoiding his still-running husband and best friend with ease and taking a seat on the couch.
He coos, “Bee and Tommy are so stupid, aren’t they, Michael?” Michael laughs and waves his arms a little bit, babbling in Piglin. Ranboo nods agreeably and perches Michael in his lap, returning to watching Tommy and Tubbo.
Just in time, apparently, as Tommy’s just gotten close enough to Tubbo to go, “You bitch!” and tackle Tubbo to the ground. Tubbo yelps, holding the beanie away from Tommy.
“You’re not gonna get it!” He declares, a laugh bubbling out as Tommy reaches towards it.
“Yes I am!”
“No you aren’t-”
Ranboo’s about to cut in teasingly, ready to roast Tommy or Tubbo or even both of them, but cuts himself off when he hears- something. He can’t quite pinpoint what it is – it sounds like ringing. A song, maybe? That wouldn’t make sense, though. There’s nothing nearby that could play that sort of tune, and Ranboo’s never heard it before so it’s unlikely it’s coming from the house.
He turns, question for Tommy and Tubbo on the tip of his tongue.
His question dies on his lips, though, when he sees Tubbo and Tommy, silent and curled up together and so, so small. They look so afraid. He scoops Michael up without a word, smoothing a soothing hand over his hair at the whimper he lets out, and kneels next to his best friends. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice pitched loud to overwhelm the ever-louder ringing echoing around them.
Tommy buries his head in Tubbo’s chest, still shaking. Ranboo reaches out to run a hand through his hair, aching to soothe his pain. Fear clenches in his chest as he looks to Tubbo, who scrunches his eyes shut. He’s also trembling.
“Dream,” Tubbo manages to choke out, eyes still closed. Ranboo’s blood goes ice cold.
“W- what?” Ranboo breathes, barely able to hear himself over the blood rushing through his ears. Tubbo takes a shaky breath in, finally meeting Ranboo’s eyes.
Tubbo repeats himself, somehow managing to keep his voice steady despite the way his hands are shaking. “Dream,” he says. “He’s out.”
And Ranboo’s world collapses down around him.
-
They decide to stay in Snowchester. One, because moving around in unfamiliar land that Dream knows like the back of his hand is a “fucking stupid idea,” in Tommy’s words, and two, Tommy and Tubbo are so done with being scared and hiding.
Ranboo can’t blame them. And this is their fight – as much as Ranboo worries, it’s hardly his right to interfere.
Tubbo spends every day checking on their weapons, brewing potions and doing all he can to make sure they’re ready. Tommy joins him, also grinding for armor and resources. And Ranboo- he does everything else, cooking and cleaning and making sure Tommy and Tubbo eat, because they definitely wouldn’t do so otherwise.
He can’t get them to sleep. It’s not surprising, but it aches all the same.
In the end, it only takes a week for Dream to find them.
And, in the end, it takes less than five minutes once Dream finds them for the three to be disarmed and bloodied, waiting at the end of Dream’s sword.
“You know what, Tommy?” Dream asks, a wild edge to his voice as he stands over the three of them. He’s yet to replace his mask, so the wide, crazy look in his eyes is on full display. Tommy coughs, spitting blood to the side before glaring fiercely at Dream.
He hasn’t lost his spark yet. Even as they’re all about to die, Ranboo can’t help but feel so insanely proud of his best friend.
Tommy spits out, “What, Dream?!”
“You’re done!” Dream laughs, throwing his arms out wide. “You’re so totally finished! I’m going to kill Tubbo, just like I should’ve done during the last fight. I’m going to kill Ranboo, too! And then, I’m going to kill you, so that you can watch it all happen and know that it’s all your fault.”
Tommy’s eyes go wide, losing their fierceness, and suddenly, Tommy looks so small and so scared and so very seventeen. “No,” he mutters, before he repeats louder, “No, Dream! You can’t-”
“I can, and I will, Tomathy,” Dream says cuttingly, and Tommy rears back as if stabbed. Tubbo’s quiet. Ranboo glances at him, scrambling for his hand when he sees Tubbo’s eyes wide and unseeing, his breathing coming much too fast.
Ranboo murmurs frantically, “Bee- Bee, stay with us. It’ll-” Ranboo cuts himself off, because- it’s not going to be okay. He can’t say that.
It settles in then, sinking and cold, that this is the end.
Tommy’s still muttering no, no, no, no from the other side of Tubbo. Ranboo can’t reach him, can’t comfort him, and it hurts. Dream laughs again. Ranboo hates him.
“You’re finished!” He repeats again, and this time, Tommy forces himself up. He sways a bit, but stays strong.
Tommy repeats, low and desperate, “No- no, Dream.” He raises his voice, not allowing Dream to speak. “I’ll-” He takes in a deep, trembling breath. “Me for them,” he states, clenching his fists. Ranboo gasps, his breath catching in his throat, and he feels Tubbo jolt beside him. “I- I won’t fight. I won’t do anything, you can do whatever you want with me. But please, please-”
Tommy glances over his shoulder at Ranboo and Tubbo. Desperation is all Ranboo can see swimming in his eyes.
“Please spare them,” Tommy begs. Tubbo lets out a whimper. Ranboo wants to cry.
Dream stares at Tommy consideringly. Ranboo opens and closes his mouth multiple times, but nothing comes out, and before he knows it, Dream is stalking forward and ripping Tommy forward. Tommy lets out a yelp, but goes willingly.
“Y’know- I was gonna say no,” Dream says casually, “But Tommy? Just this once, I’ll grant your request.”
Tommy’s shaking, and looks so, so scared, but his shoulders slump in unmistakable relief. Ranboo’s cheeks burn from tears, and he lets out a choked-off, “Tommy.”
“Tommy, you bastard!” Tubbo yells, and he starts scrambling to get up. “Tommy, you can’t-”
Tommy gives them a wry smile. “It’s already done, big man,” he says.
“Y’know, I’d like to tell you to put your things in a hole,” Dream says conversationally. “For old time’s sake.”
Tommy closes his eyes and whimpers. Tubbo and Ranboo finally get on their feet, leaning on each other. Dream scoffs out a laugh, drawing his sword back. “Too bad you don’t have anything left,” he says savagely.
And in one, smooth motion, giving them no more time to react, Dream shoves his sword through Tommy’s back, out and through his chest.
The part of Ranboo that isn’t crying out in utter despair rages at the fact that Dream didn’t even have the decency to make Tommy’s death quick.
Dream disappears in the next instant, and it takes only seconds for Ranboo and Tubbo bolt upwards and make it to Tommy’s side. Ranboo gets there just in time.
“Tommy,” Ranboo breathes, horrified, catching him in his arms and lowering him carefully to the ground. “Tommy.” Tubbo sobs, clasping a hand over his mouth and dropping to his knees beside Tommy.
He pulls himself back together just as quickly, digging around frantically in his pockets- looking for potions, Ranboo’s sure. “I have to have- there has to be something-” Tubbo mutters frantically, eyes growing wider and more desperate as more time passes and he doesn’t find anything. Ranboo looks away, not able to bear watching the desperation on his husband’s face fall into despair.
Instead, he brushes the bloodied hair out off of Tommy’s forehead. Tommy’s eyes are focusing blearily on Tubbo. Haltingly, and looking like it’s just making him feel more pain, he reaches out and places his hand on top of Tubbo’s. Tubbo freezes. His eyes fall on Tommy. Tommy coughs, managing a small grin. “It’s no use, Tubs,” he forces out.
Tubbo seems to break, in that moment, and Ranboo can’t help but let out another broken sob. Tubbo turns his hand around and grasps desperately at Tommy’s hand in return. “I can’t do this without you, Toms,” he whispers. He brings his other hand to Tommy’s cheek; Tommy leans his face into it. Something in Ranboo’s heart clenches and breaks.
Tommy shakes his head. He glances at Ranboo, gaze softening and bringing up another hand to grab Ranboo’s with. “You’ll be fine,” Tommy promises. “You have each other.”
He coughs, then, and it comes out red. Ranboo echoes Tubbo’s choked sob with one of his own. Tommy grips their hands harder, eyes going wide and desperate, “I love you,” he rasps.
“We love you,” Ranboo responds through his tears, and Tubbo nods, clearly swallowing back another sob.
“Love you so, so much, Toms,” Tubbo repeats weakly.
Tommy smiles.
He closes his eyes. His grip goes slack.
And Ranboo and Tubbo shatter.
-
Life after Tommy is…dull. Quiet. Wrong, in every way.
Ranboo buries him. Tubbo would’ve, Ranboo’s sure, but…Tubbo hasn’t been himself, since Tommy died. Ranboo can’t blame him. His other half is gone, and as much as Ranboo knows Tubbo loves him, Ranboo can’t measure up to Tommy.
Tubbo spends all of his time in the workshop, now. He doesn’t let Ranboo come in, and Ranboo can’t help but worry. He makes sure to leave food by the door, though, and every time he comes back and the food lays untouched Ranboo’s worry grows.
He only sees his husband when they’re going to bed. Sometimes, not even then.
Ranboo doesn’t know what to do.
When he’s not worrying about Tubbo, Ranboo takes care of Michael, and cleans the house, and searches for resources, and does absolutely everything he can to distract himself from- everything. Tommy’s gone. He’ll never again light up the room with his laugh, never again smack Ranboo when he makes a bad pun, never again give Ranboo a hug or ruffle Tubbo’s hair.
Ranboo’s tear scars have never been deeper.
-
Dream doesn’t come back. Ranboo can only find a little bit of solace in the fact that Tommy’s last sacrifice has actually seemed to work.
Tubbo still hasn’t stopped working every waking hour. Ranboo’s not giving up on trying, but- it hurts, seeing his husband like this. It hurts, and so he resolves to get Tubbo to rest.
It’s been four months since Tommy died. Tubbo hasn’t gone a day without working once.
“Tubbo,” Ranboo begs, when they actually go to bed at the same time that night. “Please just- take a day off. Just one.” Tubbo just looks at him dully. Ranboo reaches out and grasps Tubbo’s hand. “Michael misses you,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “I miss you.”
Tubbo’s gaze softens, just a bit, but his expression remains resolved. He grips Ranboo’s hand back. “I need to keep working, Ranboo,” he states. Working on what, Ranboo wants to ask, but he knows he won’t be answered.
Ranboo looks down, playing with their joined hands. “I’m worried,” he confesses. “You haven’t been eating. You’re always working. I’m- I’m worried, Tubbo.”
Tubbo’s silent, for a moment. Ranboo really wants to know what’s running through his mind. “I’m fine, Ranboo,” Tubbo finally says. He lays back, then, obviously shutting down the conversation, and Ranboo can’t help but wilt. Tubbo cracks an eye open, though, and whispers, “Night, Boo. Love you.”
Ranboo can’t help but go soft at that, and he responds, “Love you, Bee.”
A small smile plays at Tubbo’s lips as he falls asleep. Ranboo can’t help but feel relieved.
The next day, the workshop explodes. Ranboo tries to get inside, and eventually does, but- it’s too late.
Tubbo dies, and Michael cries, and Ranboo feels like a failure.
-
He keeps going. For Michael, and for Tommy’s sacrifice.
It’s almost not enough.
-
Eventually, Michael moves out. He still visits, sometimes, but Ranboo’s on his own again.
All he can do is reread his book, day after day after day, and hope he hasn’t already forgotten what’s important.
-
When Ranboo dies, he’s alone.
-
.
.
.
-
Tommy’s eyes shoot open.
-
“Ugh.”
Eryn and Freddie glance upwards as Tommy stalks over to his seat next to Freddie, dropping into it and shoving his head into his hands. “Uh, you alright there, Tommy?” Eryn asks. Tommy glares blearily up at them, barely catching their concerned raise of the eyebrows.
He grumbles, “Just peachy.” One of them lets out a sympathetic-sounding noise. Someone puts a hand on his back and starts rubbing soothing circles into it, and Tommy can’t help but relax into it.
“You have another one of those dreams?” Freddie asks quietly. Tommy nods, head still in his arms. They both sigh above him.
Eryn must've come around to his side of the table, because an arm wraps around him from the other side. Tommy unwillingly leans into them, and Eryn murmurs, “You really should talk to someone about these, you know. They can’t be healthy.”
Tommy turns his head and gives Eryn a look. “They’d think I’m crazy,” he grunts. “You guys don’t even really believe me.”
“We do,” Freddie breaks in. Tommy glances up just in time to see them trade a look with Eryn over his head, and something heavy settles in his chest when Freddie continues hesitantly, “It’s…a little weird,” Tommy opens his mouth, and Freddie hurries to stress, “But we do believe you!”
“No, no, having super realistic visions about me being in another fucking life is pretty weird, I get that,” Tommy grumbles, shoving his face back into his arms and ignoring everything else around him. His eyes feel heavy, and his heart hurts, and fuck he hates nights like these.
For as long as he can remember, he’s been having- nightmares, dreams, visions, Tommy doesn’t know what the fuck to call them. All he knows is that they fucking haunt him, and they’re so real that each time he wakes up he has to remind himself that he doesn’t live in whatever alternate reality he constantly dreams up.
When he was younger, he used to think his dreams were normal. Surely everyone dreamed up an entirely separate reality, an entirely separate life while they’re asleep. But…he asked his parents. He asked his friends. He asked everyone he could if practically imagining a past life was normal, and everyone said no. Eryn and Freddie were the only ones that didn’t look at him weird for months afterwards.
Eventually, he stopped asking.
Sighing, Tommy leans back and stares at the ceiling. Last night’s dream was- actually nice, for once. It’d just been him and his two best friends in that life– imagined life just hanging out and having fun. (Tubbo and Ranboo. The details always fade, after a while, but he’s never forgotten those two names.)
They were having a snowball fight.
It was nice.
Tommy sighs, suddenly feeling crushingly alone, even though he’s surrounded by people and his two closest friends.
Freddie tugs him closer, and Tommy goes willingly. “I’m sorry,” they murmur. Tommy shrugs, and leans his head on Freddie’s shoulder. Eryn grasps his hand.
“Do you…do you miss them?” Eryn asks hesitantly, and Tommy’s heart clenches. He blinks, hard, for a second. He can’t cry. He doesn’t- these people aren’t even real. How can he miss them?
“Yeah,” he whispers anyway, because he’s nothing if not a fool. “Yeah. I do.”
It’s quiet, for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Eryn repeats again helplessly. Freddie squeezes his shoulders. It’s little comfort, at this point.
“‘s life, innit?” Tommy responds dully. The bell rings at that moment.
Freddie and Eryn stay with him until they have to part for their next class.
-
“Tommy, hand me those.”
Tommy blinks, looking up from his desk to meet his teacher’s eyes. She stares at him, unimpressed, holding out a hand. Raising an eyebrow, she says, “Well?”
He stares back. She gestures towards his Pokémon cards, which he’d been laying out on his desk absently. Something cold settles in his gut.
“I’m sorry, Miss, I can put them away-”
“No. Give them to me.” Her voice is cold and unyielding, and-
“Tommy, put your things in the hole.”
“No, Dream, please- please, no-”
“Put. Your things. In the hole.”
A memory- dream- nightmare- something slams into Tommy, and he straightens, staring into nowhere in particular. His chest hurts. His chest hurts. He faintly registers his breathing quickening and his hands shaking, and his vision is going black and fuck is this what dying feels like? Is he going to die? Is he-
“Tommy! Tommy!”
-and he rips himself out of it, gasping aloud.
He blinks rapidly, shaking his head, and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He finds himself breathing in pattern – “Deep breaths, Tommy. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight- there you go. You’re doing great, Tommy, keep going.” He doesn’t know where that came from, but it helps.
Eventually, he comes back to himself. The whole class is staring at him.
Mechanically, as if by muscle memory, he gathers the cards in his hands before holding them out towards his teacher. “Sorry, Miss,” he manages to say, grinning nervously. His hands are still shaking. “Won’t happen again.”
She just stares at him, eyes wide.
“You…you can keep them,” she says faintly. A pause. “Tommy…” she trails off, “Tommy, are you alright?”
Tommy forces a grin. It probably looks as fake as it feels. “I’m fine, Miss,” he reassures, and it comes out flat. The teacher stares at him doubtfully for a moment, but in the end turns away. Tommy slumps in relief as soon as her eyes are off of him.
“Alright, then,” she says, and continues the lecture.
Tommy spends the rest of the class staring at the far wall, shoving down panic from the memories- images that can’t be real.
They can’t be.
-
After that day, the nightmares only seem to grow worse. Before, Tommy…he got really vivid images, sure, but they were never as horrifying as fucking- seeing his pets die, or being beaten up, or even fucking dying. Before, he could fall asleep fairly easily if he was woken up by them. Now he can’t.
They’re solidifying in his head, too. At school, at home, asleep- he can’t stop thinking about them. They feel just as real as his life up until this point – just as real as his parents, as his school, as Eryn and Freddie. He feels like he’s lived through a war, as if he had a home and lost it. He feels like he knows Wilbur and Tubbo and Ranboo and so many others just as well as he knows his own family here.
Dying feels real, too. He can’t quite stand to be too close to hot surfaces anymore.
It’s not the same. He knows that, but the knowledge doesn’t stop him from flinching away anyway.
He can tell the people around him are getting worried, too. His parents are giving him increasingly worried looks every time he comes to the breakfast table with circles painted under his eyes, Eryn rarely leaves his side at school, Freddie comes over whenever they can. He wishes it were enough. It’s not.
As some sort of last-ditch effort before they make him start doing therapy, his parents suggest he finds a hobby. A coping mechanism, they say. Tommy thinks it sounds fake, but when he complains to Eryn and Freddie about it, they suggest he starts playing Minecraft. Which- okay, he guesses. It’s better than doing sports, so he guesses he’ll try it.
He plays it for the first time that night, and, shockingly, it helps.
-
“HA! FUCK YOU, BITCH!”
Tommy cackles, knocking Eryn off into the void in Skywars. This is fun. It hasn’t gotten rid of his nightmares, but it helps relax him. It distracts him, helps him think about anything other than explosions and holes and small, tight spaces. Instead it's blocks and fake swords and pissing off everyone around you. It's different. It's nice.
And, again, it’s so fucking fun.
“Hey!” Eryn yelps. Tommy just laughs again. “That was uncalled for!”
“Sucks to suck, bitch!”
Eryn sighs, but Tommy knows him well enough to know even without seeing him that he’s grinning. “You’re a dick,” he informs Tommy.
Tommy snickers. “Just be better,” he suggests, and punches Eryn into the void again.
“TOMMY, YOU ASS!”
Tommy laughs, and for the first time in forever, it feels real.
-
Tommy’s not quite sure how it starts, but somehow, he gets into watching people play Minecraft.
He kind of floats around the different creators, never quite sticking to one. Everyone has a different style – some serious, some more relaxed, all funny in one way or another. Tommy can’t help but think – what if he streamed or made videos? It’d be another distraction, and just be fun overall. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea.
He puts a lid on it for now, but he thinks he could definitely get into it.
One day, he’s absently clicking through streams, none of them quite catching his interest, when-
His eyes catch on a name, and he freezes.
Philza – Streaming Minecraft.
He shuts his eyes. Opens them again. The name is still there.
Restarts his PC. Opens the tab again, opens Twitch again, searches the name.
Still there.
Tommy’s breathing quickens. He pushes back from his desk, vision tunneling around the PC, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging, hoping the pain will keep him grounded. It helps, thankfully, but he still lets out a whimper, eyes still fixed on that stupid, stupid name.
“Tommy, you gremlin, get back here!”
“Tommy, I couldn’t have done anything about Wil. If anyone could’ve helped him, it would’ve been you.”
“Tommy, you betrayed Techno. You sided with the government. We’re clearly not on the same side anymore.”
“Tommy, put a little trust in Wil, will you? He's fine. Just be grateful he’s alive again.”
Tommy shakes his head, jerking himself from his memories. In and out, he reminds himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply until his head stops spinning and he can see clearly again. He opens his eyes back up, after a moment, and collapses back in his chair, suddenly exhausted.
Philza. The man who, in his dreams, killed Wilbur. Who was Technoblade’s best friend, who destroyed Tommy’s home and didn’t give a single shit about Tommy before or after he died. The man who had wings larger than life, who’s supposedly lived thousands upon thousands of years.
The man who…who Tommy always hoped would be his father, like he was to Wilbur. It never happened, of course, no matter how Tommy never stopped hoping. Tommy always was too naïve about stuff like that.
Tommy shakes himself once again. They’re not real, he reminds himself. They’re not real. They’re stupid, ridiculously complex figments of Tommy’s imagination. Tommy must’ve- he must've seen Philza’s name at some point before this, and that’s why he features in Tommy’s dreams. That’s all it is.
That’s all it can be.
He just breathes, for a moment, forcing himself to stop freaking out. Eventually, he works up the courage to sit up, to move his chair back to his desk and look a little closer at the name.
Hesitant, he clicks onto the stream, and the first thing he hears is “I am not going to jump into lava just to ‘test my armor,’ you chaotic shits!”
Despite himself, Tommy snorts, and something coiled deep inside of him eases.
He expects to want to click away immediately, but something about Philza – Phil, his chat calls him, again far too similar – is soothing. He’s working on a hardcore world he’s apparently had for four years now, which is insane. He’s similar enough to the Philza from Tommy’s dreams that part of him remains wary, but he also seems so different.
He’s laid back, cracks grins easily and indulges his chat, even when they tease him. He laughs at almost everything and is naturally entertaining. It’s similar, but different enough that Tommy can disconnect them in his mind.
It’s a coincidence, anyway, Tommy reminds himself. They’re not the same person. They’re not.
Tommy avoids following Philza anyway.
-
In the end, Tommy decides to start streaming.
It’s easy to choose the name TommyInnit as his username. It honestly feels a lot more him than Tom Simons ever did. There’s a reason he always asked to be referred to as Tommy, instead of Tom, he supposes.
He starts off with practically no viewers, which is to be expected, obviously. It’s fun, like he expected, playing up the more chaotic parts of him and having people enjoy it. Hearing people refer to him as TommyInnit, too, feels far more right than he ever thought it would.
Not for the first time, he feels like his “made-up” memories are more real than he ever could’ve imagined.
It’s nice. It’s really nice. It helps distract him from everything, and- it doesn’t do much for his nightmares, but he does find himself sleeping more easily.
He thinks he could get used to this.
-
“Hello, boys!”
Tommy laughs, heart lightening and grin widening at the sight of his viewers swarming in, flooding his chat with hiiiii tommy and ayyyy my streamer’s here and everything similar. He loves that people are actually excited to see him stream.
He finishes off his coke, and says, “Boys, I have a special one for you today.” He waits for the excitement to flood the chat, and then continues, “I invited – now, don’t get too excited, but I invited one of my school friends to join us today!”
Said school friend breaks in, tone exasperated in the way that Tommy knows means he’s grinning, “You are so dramatic, Tommy.”
“Eryn!” Tommy cheers, ignoring the light dig. “How are you, my friend?”
Eryn sighs. “Better before I joined this VC,” they snark. Tommy rears back exaggeratedly.
He gasps, “You should be honored to find yourself in my presence, Eryn.” He’s grinning.
“I get quite enough of you while we’re in school, thank you very much.”
“Now that’s just hurtful.”
Eryn shrugs. “Suck it up, I guess.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, heart feeling lighter already. He’d had a really rough nightmare, that night, but this is already making him feel better. “Yeah, yeah, enjoy your free bullying TommyInnit time, I guess.”
“I will, thank you!”
“Oh, fuck you.”
All Tommy can hear his is friend’s laughter, and he grins, despite himself.
-
“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy? Do you want to be a hero?”
No, Tommy thinks desperately, flinging out a hand beside him and grasping Tubbo’s when it meets his own. No, he doesn’t want to be a hero, he just- he just wants his home back. He never wanted to be a hero. He never-
Technoblade doesn’t seem to give a shit about that, doesn’t seem to give a single fuck that he just lost his brother, and lets out a roar. “Then die like one!”
“No-” Tommy yells, as if their fate isn’t already sealed. “No, Techno, do-”
“-n’t!” Tommy gasps, shooting up in bed. His- his head’s spinning, and he can’t seem to get enough air in, and his chest hurts, and-
He lets out a quiet, gasping sob, stuffing his fist into his mouth. His teeth dig in, hard, the pain helping to draw him out of the uncontrollable panic he always finds himself in after one of these nightmares. Tears run down his cheeks unchecked. He swipes impatiently at them, and just wants to cry more when that doesn’t help.
It feels like every fucking night, now, he’s having one of these horrible dreams. Whether it’s holding Wilbur’s dead body after everything, to being exiled from the nation he gave everything for, to watching his home get blown up, to fucking dying – they’re all horrible.
It’s a wonder he sleeps at all, now.
The most horrible one is watching Tubbo – watching his best fucking friend – get trapped in a box and executed. His deaths, they’re horrible, but it’s nothing like being totally helpless when the most important person in his life (in that life) gets brutally murdered right in front of him.
He can’t do anything, and it always hurts worse than anything Tommy could’ve ever imagined.
Tommy sighs, burying his face in his hands, and wants to scream. He- he doesn’t know what these fucking memories are from, but he does know that he’d quite like them to stop haunting him like this.
Groaning, Tommy forcefully shakes himself from his memories. He drags himself out of bed, dropping down at his PC.
There’s no way in hell he’s gonna get back to sleep. He may as well play some Minecraft.
-
Tommy streams, later that night. He tends to do that, when the day’s been unequivocally shitty – it distracts him, when nothing else can, and Tommy needs that distraction a little extra tonight. He checks the front page of Twitch, mildly curious. His viewer count seems rather high for the night – maybe a few of the other streamers that are normally streaming around this time aren’t around?
Tabbing over while waiting for another round of Bedwars to start, Tommy scrolls absently past the dozens of currently-live streamers, making quips all the way to keep his chat entertained. It doesn’t look like many people at all are live – which explains the significant rise to his own viewership. Huh.
Well, he’ll be sure to make the best of it. Tommy scrolls back up the page, barely glancing at the other streamers as he makes to tab back over to his own streaming page and keep on playing. Except-
Tommy’s eyes catch on a name, and he freezes.
Wait a fucking second.
He faintly registers his eyes going wide, hand going slack on the mouse, before his shock overwhelms him. He spews out his coke, coughing violently. “S- sorry, chat-” he manages to choke out, barely registering chat’s alarm on his second monitor. “Gonna pause for a bit- technical difficulties-”
Without another word, he scrambles to turn his screen black and mute his audio entirely, minimizing all of his applications and making Twitch as big as he can.
Returning frantically to where he’d been, he checks the recommended streamers once again, looking closer this time. It takes a bit of searching, a frantic number of seconds of wondering was that really- before-
He sees it.
Instantly, his eyes burn with tears.
Right there, at the very bottom of his recommended streamers, is-
Tubbo – Streaming Minecraft.