Chapter Text
The tunnels of Pogtopia echo with Tommy’s quick steps, dim lantern light casting flickering shadows along the walls. The anxious energy that buzzed inside him was apparent as he picked up speed, his fingers knotting into his shirt. The festival was tomorrow, and he’d spent hours watching it's preparations from afar, hoping to spot some important detail that might help him get a leg up in this mess. There was nothing really important to be learned… until he caught sight of Tubbo rushing from one of the menacing new buildings in clear distress.
Now he crept through the tunnels, following the sounds of gentle, muffled sobs. “Tubbo?” He called out. “You in here?”
“Tommy?”
There’s a waver in Tubbo’s voice that makes Tommy’s heart leap to his throat. He follows a split in the tunnel, and has to keep himself from falling to his knees when he sees Tubbo huddled against the wall, crumpled in on himself. His suit, an uncomfortable echo of schlatt’s, is half off, the jacket tossed along the hallway and the tie flung into the darkness of the tunnels.
Tommy kneels slowly, watching his friends shoulders shake as his eyes meet Tommy’s, big and round and overflowing with tears. Someone hurt Tubbo, and that makes Tommy furious .
“Hey, hey, what’s happened?” Tommy asks gently, setting his hand on Tubbos shoulder. Maybe normally he would crack some stupid joke, lighten the heavy cloak of emotion to make the conversation a little easier, but now… he’s known Tubbo for years. He can tell when Tubbo is really, truly in distress.
Tubbo takes a few heaving breaths, swallowing back another sob. “I-I was listening in on schlatt talking, trying to learn s-something to help you guys with the festival, and-“ he’s cut off by his own whimper. “He’s gonna kill me, Tommy. He’s made me plan my own execution, a-and once I'm done with my speech…” the sentence falls away into little gasping breaths, Tubbo trying so hard not to try.
The horror must be so apparent on his face, because Tubbo takes one look at Tommy and bursts into tears once more. On reflex, Tubbo is pulled towards his chest, sobs becoming muffled as he presses into Tommy. The tension held in his small frame seems to melt at the comfort, and finally Tubbo lets himself cry.
Hands shaking, Tommy does his best to run his hands through Tubbos hair in a soothing manner. He feels miles away from his body, red hot rage bubbling in his chest like lava. He wants to run from the tunnels, grab his armor and his axe, and march right up to Schlatt and kill him.
But he can’t. Tubbo needs him. And Tommy will not fail him.
“We’re leaving.” He whispers, pulling Tubbo back enough to make eye contact.
“But Tommy—“
“No Tubbo. We fought a fucking war, we bled and cried and died and got nothing. I’m not letting that tyrant kill you forever.” There's a steel in Tommy’s voice that he hasn't felt since the day he negotiated independence with Dream.
“What about l’Manburg?” Tubbo asks.
“Fuck l‘manburg! Fuck Schlatt, fuck quackity, fuck techno, fuck Wilbur, fuck em. We can get out of here. We've got everything we care about, right here.” His eyes soften a bit, shifting so he and his friend are sitting up, facing each other. “We’re just kids, Tubbo. I can’t— I can't do this anymore. Everyone we trust has turned their backs, and I can't lose you too.”
With a shaky breath, Tubbo nods. “Okay. Just for a little while, though. We can't abandon them, Tommy. We may have lost L’Manburg, but we can't just give up.”
Tommy can agree to that. Though he’d deny it if asked, he was scared shitless. Wilburs turned homicidal, Dream wants to help, God knows what techno is really up to, and Schlatt… Schlatt wanted to kill his best friend. Tommy was willing to bet he’d find some way to make it permanent, too. But despite all that, he couldn't bring himself to give up on them forever. They were his friends once, after all.
“Okay.” Tommy agrees. “Once it's safe, we can come back. Maybe we’ll even have some help to bring back too. Sounds good, big man?” He rises right his feet, holding a hand out to help Tubbo. Tubbo grabs it gladly, standing on shaky legs. A few stray tears still shine on his cheeks, but he wipes them off, trying to look, to feel brave.
“Alright Tommy.” He smiles. “Let’s start packing.”
__________
They watch the sun rise, and set, and rise, and set, over and over, each time from another unfamiliar place. They ride until the supplies run out, swords dulling, food going bad. They walk until they can't anymore, and then they keep going until the lights of a tiny village peeks along the horizon. And once their feet hit neat cobblestone paths, they stop, and for the first time in weeks they breath without fear.
The town barely blinks as the two strange boys integrate themselves in, building a house just on the outskirts. It starts small, one level and a few beds, but before they know it there’s a garden, and beehives, and smoke drifting from a tall chimney two stories up. Tubbo sells jars of honey in the market, and Tommy cracks jokes as he swiftly takes care of mobs and pillagers that threaten their little bit of peace. The two strange boys stop being strangers, and start being Tommy and Tubbo, the smiling young things that appeared out of nowhere.
The villagers can't help but talk, though. As kind as Tubbo is, they still see him flinch when someone laughs too loud. And Tommy may have the brightest smile as he makes terrible jokes, but people see the way he tears unto mobs a little too fiercely sometimes, eyes distant. And nobody can ignore when the night's peace is broken by a sudden scream echoing from the little cottage. Nobody can ignore the way they cling to each other like sailors lost in a storm.
Something happened to those boys, before they joined the little village. Something that makes them all wonder what lies in their past.
__________
Tommy wakes up to sunshine, which is a good sign today will be a good day, because most times he wakes up on the tail end of a nightmare. Thankfully no nightmares haunt him tonight, no ghosts of arrow wounds or ear-ringing explosions or dead friends. Instead, he wakes up with the sun, smiling when he hears Tubbos snores from the other side of the room.
It’s market day, and Tubbo asked him to help bring the apple harvest in for sales. After nearly a year in the village, their stall has become a familiar sight at the weekly market. Tubbo boasts about having the best honey in town, and no one has the heart to tell him he sells the only honey in town.
Once they’ve both woken up, and the crates of apples have been stacked next to rows of honey jars, Tommy decides to browse through the other wares while Tubbo makes conversation with the other locals. Stepping through the crowd, he lets his thoughts wander as he inspects barrels of fish and stacks of leather-bound journals. A few months ago, this would have been impossible to do. The thought of browsing a market, being greeted with a casual smile, it was a foreign concept. During the war, there was never really time for such social frivolities, and as soon as Schlatt gave him the boot his world became stone tunnels and stealth and the constant worry of betrayal. It was nice to things so menial, like make a garden, or buy a potato. He could even rest.
Tommy never forgot about L’Manburg, though. Deep down, he knows someday they’ll have to return. Sometimes he even thinks about bringing it up to Tubbo, but then he sees Tubbo living, really living! Not just surviving, not hiding or spying, just being Tubbo. He can't take Tubbo back to a life of fear. And if he would be honest with himself, he doesn't want to go back to that life either.
He’s startled from his thoughts when he hits something solid, tumbling to the ground with a thump.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry—“
Tommy takes a second to dust himself off, and stand again. “No problem man, just a bump is all.” He laughs it off. Finally he looks at the stranger who he ran into, a tall man with curly brown hair and a patched brown coat, and…
Tommy stops, hands starting to shake just a bit as recognition hits him.
“ Wilbur?”