Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tubbo fidgets with the buttons on his suit jacket, the shiny gold a pretty contrast to the forest green fabric. The notion seems utterly laughable to him, but he’s nervous to see Tommy.

It’s been a while since the blond was last in L’manburg. A few weeks after Tubbo became president, Tommy had left. “I just need to clear my head for a while. I’ll be back,” he had said. Nearly a month had passed with no Tommy and no word from him. Until a few days ago, when Tubbo had received a message via carrier parrot. It was from Tommy, saying he was okay and would be home in a few days.

Tubbo had felt happy at first, but now he was nervous out of his mind. The past few days had been spent making preparations for Tommy’s return. Everyone wanted to make his homecoming special, so the whole nation had pitched in to decorate and prep food to welcome Tommy back with a feast. The entire time he was helping prep, Tubbo had felt like a blob. A wobbly, wiggly version of himself that had no solid shape and was made only of nerves and worry.

He was terrified that something might go wrong, or that he hadn’t done enough to welcome his dear friend back home. Even with the entire nation covered in banners and candles and lanterns, Tubbo kept wondering what else he could do. He’d even been tempted to temporarily lift the ban on explosives to allow fireworks, but in the end decided it wouldn’t look good for a president to go around breaking his own laws.

Presently, Tubbo is standing about ten feet from the gates of L’manburg. One of the first things the country had done after the revolution against Schlatt (after tearing down and replacing the hideous obsidian flag of Manburg) was build a wall around their territory to prevent attackers from waltzing in freely. Along with that project had come a large gate. It was made of spruce wood and opened with a pulley on either side, requiring two people to lift it.

Watchtowers dot the wall, where people often take turns scanning the terrain beyond. Mainly, they watch for invaders from the Dream SMP. In the short time Tubbo has been president, there hasn’t been much activity. Just a scout every now and again. They keep watch anyways, on edge after a history full of war. Fundy is sitting in one of the towers closest to the gate, keeping an eye out for Tommy. Eret and Puffy each stand by one of the pulleys, talking. Everyone else mills around, staying close to the gate while talking to one another.

The air in the nation has been filling up with anticipation since Tubbo made the announcement about Tommy’s return. It feels like electricity, energizing the clusters of people, making them more alert. Every slight noise from outside the gate turns heads.

Tubbo, zoned out while worrying his mind and his button, doesn’t notice Niki approach. When she places her hand on the president’s shoulder, he startles, drawing in a sharp breath and snapping his head to look at her. Seeing that it’s just his fellow council member, the tension drops from his shoulders and he slowly exhales. After the Second Revolution, Tubbo had decided to alter the way L’manburg’s executive branch ran. Instead of a single president, he wanted there to be multiple leaders. Soon after the coup, before Tommy left, there was an election that voted himself, Niki, and Tommy in. Fundy has been acting as a stand-in for Tommy since he left.

Niki’s brow is creased slightly in concern. “Are you alright, Tubbo? You look nervous.”

He doesn’t try to hide it. “I am, Niki. I really am. It’s just,” he pauses for a moment and sighs, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. What if he’s changed a lot- what if I've changed- and we don’t get along?” Tubbo keeps fidgeting with his button, eyes locked on Niki’s.

Niki uses her hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to gently turn him to face her fully. She puts her free hand on his other shoulder and squeezes. Tubbo catches the sparkle of her promise ring to Puffy in his peripheral vision. “I can understand your worry, Tubbo, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Even if he has changed, you’re Tommy and Tubbo, L’manburg’s favorite dream duo. You’ll work it out, I’m sure of it.”

The way Niki’s gaze locks onto Tubbo comforts him. She looks so certain. Like she’s telling Tubbo that the sky is blue. It settles him some, but he still grips the button on his jacket. His fingers have stilled, though.

“Thank you, Niki.”

“Anytime, Tubbo.”

Right as Niki finishes speaking, Fundy hollers from his tower. They both glance over as he yells, “Tommy’s back!”

Tubbo looks back to Niki, eyes wide with excitement. The other council member is grinning. She squeezes his shoulders again, then gives him a soft shove towards the gate. “Go! Go meet him!”

Nerves temporarily forgotten, the brunette takes off. The built-up electricity crackles through the air and into his body, making his limbs lighter. In that moment, Tubbo is sure that he has never run faster.

Eret and Puffy have started pulling up the gate and Fundy is scrambling down from the tower, rushing to join the crowd that has gathered a few feet away from the wooden bars. They are packed in tightly, already calling hellos to Tommy. When they notice Tubbo, though, they move and let him barrel through.

When he gets to the front of the crowd, stumbling to a stop, Tubbo’s eyes finally land on Tommy. His hair is ruffled and he’s smiling, eyes lit up as he scans over the crowd of his friends. When his gaze falls on Tubbo, he grins even wider. At the same moment, they take off running.

Now, Tubbo is sure, he’s never run faster. The boys nearly bowl each other over as they crash into a hug. They grip each other tightly. An observer would swear they’d never let go.

Relief and affection pools up inside of Tubbo, filling him to the brim and making him feel warm. Tommy is safe. Tommy is here, in L’manburg, in his arms. No more wondering where he is or if he’s okay.

“I missed you so much,” Tommy breathes, the hint of a laugh tangled in his syllables.

Tubbo sinks deeper into the hug. “I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re back.” He grips the other boy tighter, if possible.

Their words are muffled, faces buried in each other’s shoulders. Tubbo could stay like this for hours and not mind.

But they do break apart. Tubbo tries not to feel a little sad and grins up at the taller boy, who grins back. He’s not sure he would ever admit this out loud, but Tubbo had missed those bright blue eyes of Tommy’s.

The taller boy grabs Tubbo’s right hand in his own and squeezes. The look he gives him sinks into the brunette’s soul, conveying words he hasn’t said aloud. We'll finish this later.

Tubbo nods and gently lets his friend’s hand go. As he walks away, it feels like something is missing. Like Tubbo has taken his hands off a warm mug and the cold is seeping into his skin. He can practically hear Tommy saying, “Clingy bitch.”

Tommy is greeted like a hero returning from slaying some vexatious beast. The crowd jumps on him, each person gripping him close in turn and welcoming him home.

As Quackity is greeted with a yell of “Big Q!” Tubbo finally notices the dog. Really, he’s unsure how he missed it in the first place. It’s about as large as a small bench and fluffy beyond belief, with fur the same color as the quartz blocks that make up the Prime church. Tubbo’s heart melts a little when he sees the familiar green bandana tied around the dog’s neck.

The dog barks in excitement, running around, picking up the crowd’s energy. Many L’manburgians are already dishing out pets. It’s a challenge, though. The dog only stays still for a few seconds before running more laps around the group.

Tubbo also notices the parrot, then, flapping around nearby Tommy’s head. It’s mostly green with just a little smudge of a lemony yellow on its forehead and wings. It’s the same parrot that delivered Tommy’s message. Tubbo had sent the bird back to Tommy afterwards, bearing a response letter and a little pouch with a few cookies made by Niki.

The light, energetic feeling vanishes from Tubbo’s limbs when he sees Tommy stood in front of Wilbur. The tall brunette looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot and picking at the hem of his gray sweater. For a few seconds, they do nothing but stand across from each other, staring. The scene sucks the electricity out of the air, hoarding it all and turning the pair into a greedy storm cloud.

Finally, Tommy reaches out a tentative hand. Wilbur glances between the hand and Tommy’s face, then carefully takes it. They shake and Tommy moves on quickly, finishing his greetings. The stolen electricity slowly leaks back into the atmosphere.

The group had moved outside of the wall earlier, following Tubbo after he booked it out to meet Tommy. Now, they lead the blond into L’manburg, towards the spruce platforms where the podium once stood. A long table has been set up and covered in food and dishware. Tubbo snags a seat next to Tommy and lets himself get swept away in the energy of the group. They loudly tell stories, taking turns updating Tommy on what’s happened since he left and listening as the blond regales them with tales from his time away. Being around everyone like this, eating together and talking about anything and everything, warms Tubbo’s heart. He feels happy. By the time the sun sets, his cheeks are aching from so much smiling.

The L’manburgians stay at the table well into the night, orange light cast from lanterns keeping the mobs at bay. But as the moon traces a path through the sky, the group slowly thins out and people return to their homes for the night. Eventually, there are only a few people left at the table.

After Quackity leaves, clapping his hand on Tommy’s shoulder when he walks by, the blond nudges Tubbo to get his attention. “Do you want to head back up to your house? I’m pretty tired.”

Tubbo agrees and the two say their goodbyes, leaving Eret, Philza, and Fundy as the final three at the table. Tubbo privately wonders where Wilbur has gone, figuring he would’ve stayed with his father and son, but thinks better than to ask. It seems like a charged question, and he’d rather not ruin the mood.

As Tubbo and Tommy make the short walk home, the dog and the parrot trailing along behind them, there isn’t a single quiet moment. They chatter back and forth about everything and nothing. Tubbo once again feels warm. He’s missed this, all of it. Everything that he couldn’t do with Tommy while he was gone.

When they reach his house, Tubbo opens the door and gestures for Tommy to go in first. The dog follows, parrot sitting atop his fluffy head, then Tubbo enters. Tommy, of course, has his own home in L’manburg to stay in. He was around long enough after the revolution against Schlatt to build one. But they had decided via carrier parrot that he would stay with Tubbo for a few days, giving the pair time to catch up and see each other more.

While Tommy gets settled in the guest room, Tubbo sits in a wooden chair near the bed and they keep talking. Tubbo never seems to run out of words with Tommy around.

“So, what’s up with the dog?” Tubbo inquires as the great, fluffy wolf sits in front of him. It places a large paw on his lap, so Tubbo scratches its head.

Tommy flits between his bag and the wardrobe, putting away his armor and spare clothes. “That’s Walter. I had set up camp for a bit in some woods and he came to check it out. I gave him some steaks and when I went to leave, he followed. He’s been with me for about half the time I’ve been away, I think.”

“He’s massive.”

Tommy cracks a smile. “Seriously. A child could use him as a pony.”

Still petting the dog, Tubbo turns his gaze to the parrot sitting on the headrest of the bed. He makes a mental note to bring Tommy some things for it tomorrow. “Did you name the parrot?”

“Yeah, Henry II. What’s up with the parrots anyways?” He pauses in putting away his things and looks at Tubbo, brow creased in confusion.

“It was Ponk’s idea. He figured it would be nice to have a way to send messages, so he’s been training up parrots. He runs a little mail building where most of them are kept. Got built a week or so after you left.”

“Has it actually been helpful?” An edge of doubt creeps into Tommy’s voice, but he seems rather curious.

“I mean, it was helpful to get some warning before you got back, so we could prepare to give you a big welcoming. Besides that, it has been pretty convenient. I’ve been using the system to send people notes. It’s sort of nice to not have to go to peoples’ houses to communicate with them.”

Tommy hums in response as he resumes putting away his things. As he finishes, shutting the wardrobe, he says, “That was really nice, by the way. Thank you, you guys didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course we did. We all wanted to. Although, the decorations were mostly Wilbur. Man barely stopped working on them since we got word you were coming.”

Tubbo realizes too late that he probably shouldn’t have brought up Wilbur, especially after how tense Tommy had been back at the gate with him. Kicking himself, he hurries on, “By the way, Tommy, you’re still invited to take back your council seat. I’m sure Fundy will be thrilled to be relieved of his post. He’s been working really hard, but he doesn’t enjoy it all that much.”

Tommy pushes the tip of his shoe into the floor and glances off to the side. “Er, yeah, about that, do you think he could stay on just a little while longer? I- I don’t know if I’m feeling up for that yet. Everything is so different, and I just need some time to adjust if…if that’s alright.” He looks at Tubbo again on the last sentence. Tubbo is a little surprised but understands. “I’m sure you could ask him about it. I was planning to show you around tomorrow anyway, so we could stop by his and Phil’s and Wilbur’s house and speak with him. We could invite Niki along, as well.”

If asked, Tubbo would say he wants to invite Niki because she’s also on the council, and conversations about the council should involve her. And that is partly true, but he also wants another buffer in case they end up talking to Wilbur.

Tubbo tries to start up the conversation properly again, but it’s not quite the same. Tommy still seems somewhat tense, and sort of withdrawn. The brunette wishes he hadn’t brought up Wilbur like that. The comment had turned the air thick- it almost felt hard to breathe.

When he thinks he might suffocate by staying in the room any longer, Tubbo says goodnight, wanting out before his tongue can dig him a deeper hole. “I’m just down the hall if you need me,” he adds as he gets up from the chair.

Before he can leave, Tommy crosses the room and grabs his friend’s arm, tugging him into a hug. Tubbo squeezes back, again glad that the boy is in L’manburg and within his reach once more. A small smile tugs at his features.

“I really did miss you, Tubbo. Thank you for the party,” Tommy murmurs against Tubbo’s shoulder.

“Of course, Tommy. We were glad to do it.”

The boys break apart and say a final goodnight before Tubbo goes to his room. As he gets ready for bed, he thinks about how Tommy is acting about Wilbur; he sort of shut down after the mention of him. It worries the brunette, but he tries to brush it off. Surely, it’ll be fine in a few days. Tommy just needs to get used to being back and sort things out with his brother.

Chapter Text

Soon after Tubbo and Tommy wake up the next morning (or afternoon, rather) they’re out the door. Before going to speak with Fundy, they stop by Niki’s and ask her to come along. She obliges with a smile.

On the way there, the three talk and soak in the gorgeous day. It’s warm and sunny and the sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. They banter back and forth, exchanging playful jabs while Tubbo and Niki point out new buildings to Tommy. The president would go so far as to think that it’s a perfect day. The conversation and the sunlight drip sweet honey into his chest.

Tommy seems fine after last night, and it once again strikes Tubbo just how strange it was for him to be gone all this time. It’s like he was missing something vital while the boy was away. Him being back feels right and good.

When the group comes to a stop at Wilbur, Philza, and Fundy’s house, which is a little larger than most of the others in L’manburg, Tommy gets weird again. His expression dims and he shifts his weight between his feet, looking uncomfortable. The change in demeanor is immediate and puts a hard stop to the conversation. The warm honey that had collected in Tubbo’s chest is diluted with a bucket of cold seawater.

Niki is the first to start up again. She approaches the house, stopping for a moment to squeeze Tommy’s shoulder, and knocks on the oak door. Tubbo gently taps the back of his hand against Tommy’s, a wordless question that is familiar to both of them. Tommy answers by grabbing the brunette’s hand. Tubbo squeezes and hangs on, giving Tommy silent support.

Philza answers the door, his face brightening at the sight of Tommy. “Hey! Great to see you all. Come on in.” Niki goes in first, then Tommy lets go of Tubbo’s hand and follows. Philza kisses his son’s head as he walks by. Tubbo is the last in and Philza closes the door behind him, ruffling the boy’s brown hair affectionately. “So, what are you all here for?” he asks.

“We need to speak with Fundy,” Niki says. She smiles sweetly at Phil. Her smiles remind Tubbo of alliums- pretty and soft. Niki always passes out smiles like it costs her nothing, and her smiles are nearly as calming as a good cup of herbal tea.

“He’s in the kitchen right now. We were going to have lunch pretty soon. I’ll make you guys something to eat while you talk.”

The group is ushered into the kitchen. They greet Fundy and sit down at the table with him while Philza stands at a nearby counter, making sandwiches.

“So, Fundy,” Tommy starts, “I was wondering if you would be willing to keep filling in for me for a little while. I know we agreed before I left that it would only be until I got back, but I just…I don’t think I’m up for it yet. I’d like a little more time to adjust. A week, maybe. Is that alright with you?”

The fox looks uncertain and twitches his tail a little as he considers. “Just another week?” he inquires skeptically.

“If you can stand it, yeah. I’ll be back to it by then, big man. Promise.”

Fundy sighs through his nose, then nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. One more week, I can do it.” It seems like he’s saying it to himself as much as he is to Tommy.

“You’re sure?”

He nods, a little more confidence behind him now. “Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Fundy, I really appreciate it. Truly.”

They talk for a little bit longer, eating the sandwiches that Philza brings to them. Mainly, Fundy, Niki, and Tubbo fill Tommy in on the new laws and what improvements they’ve made, as well as discussing their ideas for new projects.

After they eat and put their dishes in the sink, Tubbo, Niki, and Tommy say their goodbyes and head out.

After the council members leave, Fundy sits at the kitchen table for a little longer. Just another week, he thinks to himself. You did this for a month, you can handle another week. It’ll be fine.

Wilbur appears in the side doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame. He must’ve been in the living room, listening, because he asks, “So, you’re going to be on the council for a bit longer?”

Fundy tenses. He doesn’t remember when he started hating talking to his father. He decides that it must’ve been some point between when he came to Pogtopia with his diary and when Wilbur pressed the button.

“Yeah. Just for another week,” he replies, looking at Wilbur, “Tommy says he wants to get used to L’manburg again before he gets back into a leadership role.”

Words hang unsaid in the air, and after a moment, Wilbur pushes off the doorframe and walks away. Probably back to his chair, Fundy thinks bitterly. The fox has noticed that his father has three hobbies now. Zoning out for concerningly long periods of time, floating through spending time with him and Gramps, and reading in that chair of his for hours. Fundy wishes he could pluck the thoughts out of his father’s head. He wants, perhaps more than anything, to see what’s going on up there. Maybe it would give him some insight as to how his father can be so painfully close but so, so far away.

Tommy feels better now that he’s walking with Niki and Tubbo again, steadily getting farther away from Wilbur.

Being around Tubbo always puts him a little more at ease and Niki is sweet and easy to get along with. He remembers how excited he was when the two got elected alongside him for the council.

The little group slips back into a conversation once they leave his dad’s house, but Tommy’s heart is not quite in it. Just the possibility of seeing Wilbur had made him feel sick. How is he ever going to properly face his brother like this?

As they walk, Tommy can feel Tubbo’s stare on the side of his face. His worry is palpable, sending a spike of guilt through the blond’s gut. He hates to worry his friend, but he can’t help but get all spacey around Wilbur. The man’s presence whisks Tommy away so easily to a different place- a different time.

Tommy is pulled out of his worries by Eret.

“Hi there!” the man calls. He’s standing a few blocks above the ground, balanced on top of a short scaffolding pillar.

The once-king of the Dream SMP, now a citizen of L’manburg, is working on a house, which is currently a hodgepodge of a bunch of different blocks. Stone bricks, spruce planks, oak logs, and a whole host of other materials. At the moment, the man seems to be in the middle of tearing it down. A sheen of sweat makes his skin look glossy; the axe in his hand hangs lazily by his side as he lifts his other arm to wave. There’s a blue tent set up nearby, probably where he’s been sleeping while the house is under construction.

“Hi, Eret,” Niki greets. “How’s it going? Where’s Mingo?”

Who the hell’s Mango? Tommy wonders.

“Going alright. Mingo’s lazing about in the tent. Got bored of trying to get me to pet her.” He sits down on top of the scaffolding, managing to look almost regal atop the skinny pillar. “What have you all been up to? Council duty?”

“Sort of. We just got back from Wil, Fundy, and Phil’s house. Tommy wanted another week to settle in, so we were talking to Fundy about staying on a bit longer.”
Eret turns his gaze to Tommy. “Fair. I’d probably do the same. It must be strange coming back to all of these changes.”

Tommy says, “Yeah. All the new buildings and things have been throwing me off.” It’s true. There were structures in places he didn’t remember and it kept messing up his sense of direction. Without Tubbo and Niki, he surely would’ve gotten lost today.

The former king nods. “You’ll get used to it. Just takes a little time.”

Niki and Eret talk for a minute more, then they all say goodbye and move along. Eret gets back to his house, axe swinging away at patches of wood.

When they get to a split in the path, Niki says, “I’ll be off now. Quackity and I are going to walk around for a while today and think about what needs to happen next as far as rebuilding goes. I’ll bring some notes to the next meeting.”

Niki hugs the boys goodbye, then walks off towards Big Q’s house. Tubbo starts leading Tommy back home. The taller boy zones out for most of the walk. Tubbo leaves him to his thoughts for now, but Tommy can still feel the brunette’s concerned gaze on him every now and again.

When they get home, Tommy sits down on the couch while Tubbo starts talking about a council meeting tomorrow, and how he thinks Tommy should come along. Tommy tries to listen, throwing a few murmurs his friend’s way at the appropriate times, but remains far away. He keeps replaying the moment he heard the first explosion on the day of the Second Revolution in his head. All the words he’d wanted to scream at Wilbur that night- still wants to scream at Wilbur- fill his skull.

“Tommy, what’s wrong?” Tubbo questions, pulling the boy from his thoughts.

He looks up at Tubbo, who’s standing by a mirror that’s hung on the wall next to the couch. There’s a hook to the left of the mirror where the president has put his green suit jacket. His eyes display his worry openly. The spike of guilt from earlier returns, stabbing through Tommy and weighing him down. “I…sorry, Tubbo. I’m just thinking. I guess my head isn’t as clear as I thought it was.”

Tubbo comes and sits next to Tommy on the couch, close enough to faintly brush shoulders with the other boy. He doesn’t say anything, so Tommy keeps talking. “I thought I would be ready to- to come back and face all of this but seeing Wil is just…it’s weird, okay? It was just him and I for so long in Pogtopia. We were a team. Then things got bad and he, well…you know what he did. I thought it would be easier to face him after being away for so long but it’s still like there’s this- this wall between the two of us and I don’t know how to get through it.” Tommy's voice is heavy with emotion. It nearly breaks as he finishes speaking.

His friend leans to the side just a little, so his shoulder presses against Tommy’s. “How about we go to the bench?” he suggests.

Tommy smiles. The bench. How long has it been since he’s been there with Tubbo? “That sounds really good. Yeah, let’s go.”

For what he thinks must be the fifth time that night, Philza wakes up from a nightmare. He can’t remember the details, but the tears streak down his face nonetheless. Sadness and confusion plague him.

He sits up in bed, leaning his head against the wall. Fundy had gone to bed soon after sundown, and Philza had shooed Wilbur off to bed not long after that, refusing to let him sit up reading until sunrise again. He’d gone to bed himself after that and had been struggling for decent sleep ever since. Every time he drifted off, he had a nightmare and woke up with tears in his eyes and no idea what happened in the dream.

The man wipes his eyes and gives up on sleeping for now, swinging his legs gently off the bed. The cold of the stone floor seeps into his feet, sending a chill through his entire body. He gets up and grabs his favorite hoodie from a hook on the back of his closed door. Without the lights, he carefully navigates to the chest at the foot of his bed. The side of it is flush to the wall, filling the gap between the spruce wood planks and his bed. He opens it, balancing the top open against the wall. Ever so carefully, he brushes his hand about inside the chest, feeling around in the depths for the object he seeks.

After a few moments of blindly searching, his fingers meet with cool metal. He closes his hand around it delicately and brings it out. Just enough silver moonlight streams in his window for the man to see what he’s holding. Techno’s crown.

Thin lengths of metal swoop elegantly to form the circlet, ending in six severe points at the top. Bloodred garnets sit securely in the curls of metal at the base of each spike.

Philza had found his son’s crown in the rubble after the battle on the day of the Second Revolution. It must’ve fallen off in the fight. It’s a miracle, really, that it hadn’t been destroyed in the Wither blasts or the second round of explosions.

To Philza’s knowledge, no one knows he has the crown. He’s sure Techno is missing the old thing, wherever he is. He’d had it for so long, it’s like if Philza were to lose his hat, or Fundy his jacket.

Heavy grief settles into the man’s chest, making him wish he would just sink through the floor and be swallowed by the stone. He aches, every day he aches. Over losing Techno, over basically losing Wilbur, over Fundy having such an absent father- over everything his whole family has been through.

For a while, Philza sits there in front of the chest, cradling Techno’s crown and crying, making an effort to not be loud so he doesn’t wake Fundy or Wil. When he’s drained his eyes of tears, he stands up and places the crown on top of his chest of drawers. He stares at it a moment longer, wishing for the days when Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno were just boys, sparring in the yard while Philza cooked dinner and watched them through an open window.

At last, he finds his way back to bed, navigating easier now that his eyes are used to the dark, and curls up under the thick blanket. He lays like that for a while, the tears drying on his cheeks keeping him company until he falls asleep for the final time that night.

Tommy lays sprawled out on the bed in Tubbo’s guest room, covers kicked messily to the edge after a night of tossing and turning.

Tommy had returned from the bench with Tubbo hours ago. He’d felt fine and relaxed then, after indulging in the old ritual for far longer than either of their sleep schedules would approve of. But now he lies awake, unable to keep from thinking about things he’d rather leave tucked in the back corners of his brain.

Since returning to L’manburg, he’s been unable to stop himself from thinking about the Second Revolution, and the things that had occurred in the days that followed. Tommy can’t remember ever feeling so much pain and anger before that. It had been with him every day, never letting him feel normal and fine. It’d curled around him like some wicked serpent. Even when they started rebuilding L’manburg, even during the council elections, even after he was been voted in, it stayed with him. Every last decision he’d made had been clouded by the grief he felt at losing two brothers- and the anger he held for both of them.

It became too much, so he’d run.

Tommy hates to think of it like that. He isn’t even sure whether it’s true, but some part of his brain whispers to him that he had run. Run from L’manburg in such a crucial time, run from his dad when he was going through the same pain as him, run from Tubbo, run from all of it.

For a month, he’d run, travelling who-knows-how-far from his country. During that time, he wandered and thought. There was so little else to do but think, which had been part of the appeal. No council work, nobody to talk to, just him and fresh air and time to think. After so long away, he had started to miss home and his friends and family. He’d thought he was ready to come back, he’d been so sure.

But now, he’s questioning it.

He couldn’t even stand being in the same house as Wilbur. How could he ever go back to being normal like this?

Feeling restless and frustrated, Tommy nearly catapults himself out of the bed, disturbing Walter and Henry II. The dog grunts, sitting up, and Henry II flutters his wings and readjusts.

Tommy digs through the wardrobe, careful not to bang around too much and wake Tubbo, searching for his coat and the sheath for his iron sword, jokingly named Knife.

When he finds them, he pulls on the coat and buckles his sheath on. Then, taking his sword from a hook near the wardrobe, he carefully slides it into the sheath. The motion is achingly familiar now after so many battles fought in wars. Walter and Henry II follow him from the guest room and out the front door, Henry II sitting atop the dog’s head like a little rider with an oversized horse.

The cool night air is calm, only the faintest of breezes floating across the dark sky. The moon misses its other half tonight, but thousands and thousands of glowing white stars keep it company. Tommy doesn’t take much time to stare up at the expanse of deep blue and bright white. He still feels restless. He needs to move.

He starts walking through L’manburg, no destination in mind. Though there are many new buildings, the pathways are familiar to him. Tommy lets his feet guide him, taking note of all the structures, old and new. Eret is right, he’s already starting to get used to it. In another day or two, he’s sure, he’ll be able to navigate to any spot in the country as perfectly as he used to. The idea is comforting. Like maybe everything will eventually return to normal, just like his ability to navigate.

Tommy ends up at the docks. He walks right up to one of the logs that line the edge of the platform, leaning against it on his arms. At some point during the walk, he’d rolled up the sleeves on his coat, so now the rough texture of the wood pokes the skin on his forearms, threatening to scrape him.

The sound of the waves fills his ears, soothing him to some degree. Spray from the ocean kisses his arms and sends a slight shiver through him. It’s nice out here, in the dead of the night. It’s completely silent, save for the ocean. Tommy leans over and pets Walter, fingers trailing through the soft white fur. Henry II hops off the dog’s head and flaps up to the log next to the one Tommy’s leaning on.

Despite the quiet night and soothing environment, Tommy’s brain will not be quieted. He stands there for another hour, at least, thinking of his brothers. Where had Techno ended up, anyways? What was he going to do? How much did he hate Tommy?

Tommy thinks, then, about how he’d not only lost two brothers the day of the coup against Schlatt, but he’d lost two idols as well. Ever since he was a kid, he’d looked up to his older brothers. Techno was so strong and dedicated, and Wilbur knew how to lead and plan. He’d admired them, even when he’d become a teenager, and still admired them during the wars. And now they were both as good as gone to him.

The thought brings Tommy to tears and he stands there for a while longer, adding his own saltwater to the ocean, relieving the heavy block of grief that had settled inside of him.

Chapter Text

Tubbo wakes with the sun. He hadn’t shut his curtains last night, and the window opposite his bed casts a bright, amber light over him. Despite being tired, and annoyed by the interruption to his sleep, he finds it in him to appreciate how the early morning sun turns his bedspread to flame. He turns his fingers around in the patch of light. It’s like he’s dipping them in magic. The red bandanna Tommy gave him has been sitting on his headboard for weeks, a small comfort in the time his friend was gone. The orange sunlight makes it look especially warm and vibrant.

After lying in bed for a few minutes more, staring at the square of orange light on his covers and skin, Tubbo forces himself out of bed and to his wardrobe. He dresses at a snail’s pace in black dress pants, a pastel green button-up, and a vest in such a dark shade of green one could mistake it for black from a distance. With a black tie in hand, Tubbo sleepily walks out to the living room so he can put on his tie in front of the mirror. The consequences of staying at the bench with Tommy so late last night are catching up to him. Worth it, he thinks.

In the middle of fidgeting with his tie, trying to get it just right, someone opens the door, startling the boy. A brief shot of adrenaline rushes through him as he whips around to look at the front door. His surprise turns to relief and then confusion when he sees Tommy coming through the door. He thought his friend was still asleep in bed- he certainly should be after last night. “Jeez, Tommy. You scared the hell out of me. Where were you so early?”

Walter pads over the couch and hops up, head resting on the arm nearest the mirror. Tubbo doesn’t mind. He reaches out to pet the dog’s big, white head. Tommy plops down on the couch next to Walter as he speaks. “I went for a walk,” he says, then yawns. Henry II squawks from his shoulder in protest of all the sudden movement. Tommy pets his little, green head apologetically. “Sorry, mate,” he murmurs.

“Well, are you up to going to that meeting with Fundy and Niki today?” Tubbo asks, turning back to the mirror to work on his tie. “We’re planning out the next few rebuilding projects. You don’t have to go, but I figured it would be nice for you to come along. Might help ease you back into things.”

There’s silence for a moment as Tommy thinks it over, then, “Yeah. Yeah, that might be good. When is it though? I think I’ll take a nap if I have the time.

He must’ve been out really early this morning, Tubbo thinks. “It’s at nine o’clock, at Fundy’s again. So you have a few hours.”

“Right, then. See you in a few hours.” Tommy trudges off to his room with Henry II still on his shoulder. Walter remains on the couch. Tubbo gives the dog one last pat, then heads into the kitchen. He’ll make some soup, he decides. He can reheat some for Tommy after his nap.

Tubbo sets about cooking, glad to have something to do to fill some of the extra time brought on by his early start to the day.

The sound of knocking rolls through the house. Fundy gets up to answer the door, knowing it must be the other council members arriving for the meeting, but his grandfather beats him to it.

When he sees Tommy at the door with the others, the fox is a little surprised. He had only expected Tubbo and Niki, especially after yesterday’s conversation. He supposes it makes some sense, though. Tommy should know what they’ve been up to before reclaiming his seat on the council.

After Gramps has warmly greeted Tubbo and Niki and given Tommy a big hug, Fundy leads them to the kitchen. For the second day in a row, they sit at the table and talk.

Niki places a book on the table in front of her and opens it to a recent page of handwritten notes. Loopy brown font scrolls across the creamy pages. The margins are packed with little symbols and arrows connecting extra notes to lines of text. Fundy wonders if the book would quite make sense to anyone but her.

Readjusting in her seat, she says, “I jotted down some things with Quackity yesterday while we were walking around. We saw a lot, but I want to highlight a few of the things we thought were most pressing.

“First, the water level in the crater is starting to rise with each bout of rain. It is shallow so far, but once it fills up more, we’ll get Drowned spawning. It would be easy for us to fight them off when need be, but it would be safer and more convenient to light the area up before they get the chance to spawn.”

Fundy feels sort of sick at the mention of the destruction his father had caused, but pushes it away and tries to focus on the discussion.

“We could chain up some lanterns,” Tubbo suggests.

“Or use sea pickles,” says Fundy. “It might be easier than dealing with scaffolding and screwing in hooks for chains.”

“You’re right, nice thinking. I’m pretty sure I have some tucked away somewhere, but we could ask for people to chip in anyways.”

Niki marks a little circle next to a line of writing in her book. “I can send out some letters after the meeting asking for help.”

She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and continues, “Next, there’s a strip of open land near Party Island. It’s in a spot that would be easy to connect to the paths, so it’s a good place to add something. Quackity and I were throwing around ideas yesterday and our favorite was turning it into a community garden. We could plant flowers and trees and set up some benches. And there could be a designated spot to grow a few crops, like berries and potatoes. Everyone has been good about getting their own food, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep an extra source around.”

“That would be good.” Tubbo shifts in his chair and leans forwards a little. “We could put a chest near the crops and stock it with bonemeal. But that might require us to build a skeleton farm.”

The four of them go around like that for a while, planning out and prioritizing new projects. Niki and Tubbo do most of the talking, but Fundy and Tommy contribute where they find it useful. Once they’ve gone through Niki’s list, they help her write out notes to the citizens of L’manburg, calling for help and sea pickles, as well as a few letters asking specific people for help with projects.

When they’re all done, Niki closes her book and stands from the table. “That’s everything taken care of for today. I’ll hand these letters off to Ponk to be delivered as soon as possible.” Tubbo and Tommy say bye to Fundy, then leave the kitchen, heading for the front door.

Niki hangs back for a moment, though. She reaches into her book and hands Fundy some loose papers she pulls out. Her promise rings from Puffy sparkles brilliantly in the daylight streaming in from a nearby window. “Will you read over these for me? It’s a few drafts for some of the laws we spoke about last time. I’d give them to Tommy and Tubbo, but you’re better with words than any of us. Figured I would use your skills while we still have you on the council.”

Fundy nods as he takes the papers, glad to have something useful to do. “Yeah, I can do that. Of course.”

Niki thanks him with a smile, then follows Tubbo and Tommy to the door.

Fundy feels good about the meeting. Being on the council had never been something he wanted to do, but it came with certain perks. Like the satisfaction that came as the reward of a productive meeting.

Still, he’ll be relieved when Tommy takes his post back. The only reason he’d agreed to this in the first place was that Tommy and Tubbo asked him to. “No person I would rather have fill my spot while I’m gone. I trust you,” Tommy had said. So, of course, Fundy had said yes.

Although he knew if Tubbo wasn’t already on the council Tommy would’ve gone to the brunette first, it still felt nice to be trusted. He’d been worried he would have trouble earning back trust after the war. For a while, Fundy had posed as a Schlatt supporter, gathering information about the dictator to smuggle back to Pogtopia at the right time. No one else had known he was faking. Much to his relief, he’d been able to slide back into his spot as a citizen of L’manburg easily after the Second Revolution. He was sure a few people had their doubts at first, but as hard as he had worked as a council member this past month, he doubted anyone could question his loyalty anymore. Or he hoped, at least.

Just as Fundy stands to go to his room, planning to start reading over Niki’s papers, Wilbur appears in the doorway again, like he did yesterday. He wears a gray shirt and eyebags.

The tall man is silent for a beat too long to make it not awkward, and Fundy is considering asking him what’s up when he finally speaks. “You could speak up a little more in meetings, you know. Tommy and Tubbo asked for you to fill in because they trust you and value your opinion.”

The critique annoys the fox. His dad is sort of right, but it feels like the only thing he talks to him about anymore is the council. Fundy knows he was never born to lead, and that’s one of the reasons he’ll be glad when Tommy takes his post back. The other is that Wilbur will finally stop talking to him about it.

Maybe it’s his attempt at bonding, the little pieces of advice. Wilbur was a leader once, too. Maybe his father wants to draw a connection between them because of that. But Fundy doesn’t want his father’s advice on improving his leadership skills, he wants his father to have a normal conversation with him. They never talk anymore. Throughout his life, Fundy had always been able to talk to Wilbur about whatever- nonsense, any questions that came to mind. They’d lost that somewhere. Now it was all stiff limbs and awkward comments back and forth.

“I could. I say what I think would be helpful. When I think of more ideas and helpful things to say, I will say them.” Fundy allows his annoyance to seep into his voice, then instantly regrets it. As frustrated as he is with him, the sting on his father’s face makes him want to pluck the words back out of the air and stuff them into the garbage.

Wordlessly, Wilbur walks out of the kitchen and down the hall. A few seconds later, Fundy hears his father’s bedroom door gently close behind him.

Another successful conversation for the books.

Tommy had been relieved this morning when Tubbo hadn’t asked where he’d been. He truly didn’t want to explain to his friend that he hadn’t gone to bed. He feels relieved again that their present conversation is staying away from the topic.

It’s just them two now, Niki having gone back home after they left Philza’s. They walk the paths of L’manburg, chatting about the meeting. Which projects they’re most excited for, how soon they think others will be done, what they want to tackle next.

Tubbo is rambling about some ideas he has for the community garden when Tommy realizes where they’re heading. The docks. Tommy thinks about last night and how long he had stood there, letting the waves spray his arms. He hadn’t realized how late he had been out until he’d noticed the horizon turning pink, drawing his attention to his knees, which were stiff from being in the same position for hours. They still ache a little.

Tubbo must realize he’s gone a bit quiet, because he stops talking and follows Tommy’s gaze, then smiles brightly. “I haven’t been here in ages!” he yells. The brunette takes off for the edge of the docks at a jog. The almost childlike excitement makes Tommy smile and he sets off after Tubbo.

When he catches up, he leans against one of the logs like he’d done last night. He takes one of his pointer fingers and absently rubs patterns across the rough surface. Tubbo is talking, and Tommy tries to pay attention, but continuously finds himself zoning out. He’s still tired, and he can’t seem to push his brothers out of his thoughts. It makes him a little angry. Damn Wilbur for taking up so much space in my head.

Like always, despite Tommy’s best attempts to hide it, Tubbo notices how his friend has shut down. The shorter boy places a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You look a bit drained. Do you want to head back to my place? I have to visit with Big Q, but you could stay in and rest for a while.”

Tommy nods, grateful for the out. The pair head back to Tubbo’s. When they get in the door, the brunette half-jokingly orders Tommy off to the guest room before leaving again. Tommy obeys, finding Walter already occupying most of the mattress. He shoves the wall of white fluff over a little, then climbs in next to him and buries his face in his dog’s coat.

Curled up at a weird angle to accommodate Walter, Tommy lets himself feel all the bad stuff. The guilt, the sadness, the anger. He lets it all overflow inside of him, making his heart ache and his eyes glisten. Eventually, the comfort of the bed and the residual strains of exhaustion from a sleepless night take over, pulling him in and out of dreamless sleep.

It wasn’t really a lie when Tubbo told Tommy he had to talk to Quackity. He does need to fill in the secretary of state about how the meeting today went and what they’d decided to do. But it could’ve waited, or he could’ve sent a carrier parrot.

Mostly, it was an excuse. He’d wanted time alone to think and to worry. Tommy kept slipping away from him. First at the mention of Wilbur, then at the docks. He would just recede into his own head and that would be it for the conversation. It’s properly worrying Tubbo now, but he doesn’t know what to do for his friend.

The president walks vaguely in the direction of Quackity’s house as he mulls over the Tommy Thing. It feels like no time has passed at all when he realizes that he’s nearly walked right by his destination.

Tubbo backtracks a few steps and goes up to Quackity’s door, then knocks.

The sound of footsteps approaching comes from the other side of the heavy spruce, then the door swings inward to reveal the secretary of state, dressed casually in a hoodie and his signature beanie. A grin cracks his face at the sight of Tubbo. “Hey, man! How’s it going? Come in!”

A small smile tugs on the president’s lips as he greets his friend. Big Q’s energy is infectious, and there’s always so much of it that one could almost reach a hand into the air and grab a fistful of it. It fills Tubbo’s stomach with a certain lightness that floats up into his chest.

Quackity steps to the side to let him by and Tubbo enters the house. A short hallway ends in a living room, with open doorways on either side of the space leading off to other areas of the house. The secretary of state steps past Tubbo and flops down on the couch, gesturing for Tubbo to take a seat. The president makes himself comfortable on the armchair across from him.

“So, how’d the meeting today go? Did Niki tell you about the community garden idea?” Quackity asks.

“Yeah, we all thought it was a good plan. We were discussing keeping some chests of bonemeal by a designated crop area, but we’ll need a skeleton farm for that.” Tubbo goes on to explain the more important details of the meeting to Quackity, getting cut off when he mentions that Tommy was there.

“Wait, I thought Niki said he wasn’t going to get back into council stuff yet,” he says, absently fidgeting with one of the strings on his blue hoodie while he speaks. One of his legs is up on the couch, tucked into his chest with his chin sitting on top of his knee.

“He isn’t- well, not really. Fundy is still officially filling in for him for another week. But we thought it would be a good idea for him to come with us to council meetings. Just to ease him back into things before taking on the full responsibilities again.”

Quackity is silent for a few seconds. The hoodie string lies limp in his now-still hand. His eyes flit up and down Tubbo’s face, studying his expression. Nerves flutter in the president’s stomach, wondering what the other boy is thinking. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Quackity finally speaks. “Something’s up, man. What’s going on?”

Tubbo sighs and leans back into the chair a little, caught. He doesn’t even consider whether or not to tell Big Q. The secretary of state had been a good friend to him, always willing to help or lend an ear, and they’d grown closer this past month. Tubbo felt safe talking to him about it.

“It’s Tommy. He’s been sort of off since he’s been back. I’m getting kind of worried.”

Quackity cocks his head to the side. “Off how?”

“He’s been zoning out a lot. Like, one minute he’s talking just fine and the next he’s dropped the conversation completely.”

The other boy is quiet for a moment, readjusting his beanie while he thinks on his response. “I’m sure he just needs more time to get settled. He only got back a few days ago and there must be a lot of memories here for him to deal with. Give him some time to process. And if it’s really bothering you, talk to him. He’ll open up to you if you ask.”

Tubbo thinks about that for a moment, absorbing the advice. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks, Big Q, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Tubbo.” After a pause, he says, “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you aren’t the same way Tommy is. You were there through everything, too. All the wars, the explosions. And you were close to Techno and Wilbur, too.”

The president hadn’t really considered that before. He felt he had grieved his losses already, but he suspected there would always be a sharp ache in his chest when he thought of Techno. What he wouldn’t give to horribly fail at practice fights against him again.

Quackity and Tubbo return to the topic of the council meeting, then simply chat about whatever comes to mind for another hour or so. When Tubbo leaves, his stomach hurts from laughing and he feels a bit better. The brunette walks home in the bright late afternoon sunlight, thinking about the advice Quackity had given him. He should talk to Tommy. If only he could gather the courage.

For once, Wilbur decided to go to bed at a semi-acceptable hour. He’d pulled plenty of all-nighters in the last month, reading his books well past sundown, but his dad had forced him to bed earlier than normal last night and it had disturbed his unusual sleep schedule.

As he’s about to enter his room, he notices a shaft of light poking out of his son’s room from down the hall. Wondering what he’s doing up so late, Wilbur goes to check on him.

He finds Fundy sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking through a stack of papers atop the cyan sheets. He seems tired. His ears dip ever so slightly and his eyes, peering at the writing, are half-closed.

“What’re you up to?”

Fundy glances up at his father, then looks back down to his papers. “Niki asked me to read over some things for her. Figured I would get to it now since we’ll be out helping for a while tomorrow.” The fox stifles a yawn.

Wilbur had received a note from a carrier parrot earlier, like he assumed the rest of L’manburg had. The note stated that the council was in need of volunteers and sea pickles to help do some mob-proofing under the Stilted Sector, as the section of L’manburg built over the crater had been nicknamed. Wilbur, Fundy, and Philza would all be pitching in. Though, Wilbur’s stomach filled with a certain dread at the thought of being that close to the destruction he had caused.

“Exactly why you should get some sleep soon. It’ll be a lot of work tomorrow,” he says.

“Yeah, okay, Dad.”

Wilbur could’ve sliced through the tension in the room with a sword. He can hardly remember the last time he’d managed to get through a real conversation with his son. He always managed to mess up somehow. But he supposed he deserved it for everything he’d put Fundy, and so many others, through.

Unable to see a way to salvage this pathetic attempt at an exchange, Wilbur awkwardly mumbles a goodnight and heads off to his own bedroom. He forgoes any sort of prep and dives straight for the comfort of the cozy bed and his favorite blankets.

Chapter Text

The fallen king is considering tearing down the half-finished house…again.

He readjusts his sunglasses as he looks at the heap of oak and spruce. All things considered, it doesn’t look bad. It’s far from the worst thing he’s ever built, and it isn’t done yet. With a little more time, Eret could turn it into something amazing. It would make for a great home.

But it doesn’t feel right- nothing has. For over a month- a month- he’s been trying to build himself a place in L’manburg. It’s been a never-ending cycle of building, frustration, and destruction. Rinse and repeat several times.

With an aggravated sigh, Eret pulls out his axe and starts swinging, taking down the failed attempt block by disappointing block. Building a house should be so simple, especially when compared to the castle he’d constructed for his previous home, but nothing he’s tried has felt right to him.

The tower style he tried first had seemed too much like his castle, which he no longer belonged in. He wasn’t a king anymore; he had no crown. He didn’t even have the company of his flamingos. If he thought too hard about their soft, pink feathers and elegant legs, his heart started to hurt.

Another attempt had been made primarily of spruce wood, with a sloping roof and red carpeting. It had complimented the other homes and buildings in L’manburg, but that didn’t feel right either. It’d looked like the home of someone who truly belonged in the nation, not the home of someone who had turned their back on it. Even after a month, Eret didn’t feel like he fit in L’manburg. Or rather, he didn’t feel like he deserved to fit in L’manburg.

So, he tried about a dozen other styles. Oak wood and shades of purple, birch and granite, andesite and stone bricks. When those didn’t work, he tore them down and started fresh. Countless nights were spent in the tent with a lantern, drawing up as many new designs as he could think of. And when they all failed, he thought up more. Time after time, something about the house wasn’t right. It never felt like home.

Frustrated, Eret swings his axe harder than is strictly necessary. Mingo, who has been basking in the sun nearby for the past several hours, meows unhappily at the noise and retreats to the entrance of the tent, half in and half out of it. Sunlight catches the high and low points of her luxurious cream-colored fur, turning the pretty feline into an artist’s sketch. The only splash of color is the pink collar at her neck.

Eret takes down half the unfinished house before realizing he’s being watched. The feeling of eyes on his back makes the hair on his neck rise. Tensing, he turns and sees about the last person he would have ever expected to pay him a visit.

Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a pale Wilbur stands a few feet from Eret’s building site. He looks uncertain and nervous, hands sort-of-clasped in front of him as he fidgets with his fingers. Eret, panting somewhat after beating up his house, looks at him quizzically, too stunned for words.

After a moment of strained silence, Wilbur says, “H- hey, Eret. I, um…see, I didn’t know who else to speak to so, could you maybe spare a second? You look like you’re busy, though, so, uh…” he trails off uncomfortably and his eyes go to his hands, which are now still but tense.

Once he gets over his surprise, Eret says, “Er, yeah, sure. That’s fine. I’m not too busy.” He leans against the wrecked remains of the house and slowly slides down a half-destroyed wall until he’s seated on the grass.

Wilbur takes a few steps forward, then says, “You sure you won’t axe me?”

The comment takes Eret by surprise, the words seeping into him and filling his chest with a cold dread that quickly freezes his entire body, down to the tips of his fingers. Does Wilbur really think I would do that?

Then, he notices the faint smile on Wilbur’s face. The way his lips curl up, almost perfectly symmetrical, paired with the humorous glint in his eyes is a familiar sight. It makes Eret’s heart ache for a moment, reminding him of a different time. He’s joking, the man realizes. Relief floods through him, rinsing away the freeze. He lets a small smile of his own tug on his face. “Yeah, I promise.”

Wilbur sits down across from Eret, crisscrossing his long legs. Intrigued by the new presence, Mingo pads over softly and sniffs Wilbur’s knee. He must not have noticed her approach, because he startles. He jolts a little, causing Mingo to recoil in response.

Recovering, then gently holding his fingers out to the cream-colored cat, he asks, “Who’s this?” Mingo sniffs his knuckles tentatively.

Eret smiles lovingly at the fluffball. “That’s a gift from Niki. Her name is Mingo.”

Wilbur seems to connect the dots from the cat’s pink collar to her name, and his eyebrows turn up sadly. He makes a sound halfway between an “oh” and an “aw,” staring at the cat as she nuzzles his fingers, “Eret…”

The former king’s eyes sting, making him grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Yeah.” After a pause, he says, “Niki came up with the name and everything, too. Said I seemed down and thought I could use a companion. It was really sweet of her.” And she had been right. Everything in Eret’s life changed after the Second Revolution. He’d lost his throne and his crown and had been thrust back into L’manburg’s ranks all in the span of a few minutes. He was glad to be back on his friends’ side (if he can call them friends still), but it’d left him feeling unstable and confused. Losing the companionship of his treasured flamingos had been the rotting cherry on top of everything. Mingo had created a constant in his life, and that was invaluable. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to thank Niki enough.

There’s a pause in the conversation while Wilbur pets the cat and the two get acquainted. When it borders on being awkwardly long, Eret says, “So, what brought you here? I doubt you came to discuss the tragic story behind my cat.”

Wilbur looks up from Mingo and meets Eret’s eyes. “Ah, right. It’s…it’s about Fundy. And Philza.” A crease appears between his eyebrows, accompanied by a small frown. He fixes a stare to the ground in front of him. “It just that I- I don’t feel like I fit in my life anymore. Fundy is cross with me, constantly. I always say the exact wrong thing to him. And Philza, as amazing as he’s been this past month, I know he hasn’t forgiven me. I really…I really let him down. I did something unforgivable and then asked him to kill me. And I would’ve gone happily. That’s not exactly something a month of family bonding can repair.” His frown deepens as he finishes speaking, and guilt plays over his expression. He stopped petting Mingo at some point while he was talking, his hand frozen in a fist a few inches above her. She rubs her face against it like nothing is wrong, then trots off into the tent.

Eret sits in thoughtful silence for a long moment, absorbing Wilbur’s words and piecing together a response. “Trial and error,” he says at last.

Wilbur looks up at him again, and Eret notices some tears have left glistening tracks down the other man’s face. More threaten to spill over, collecting in his eyelashes. A second that feels fragile passes in silence. “What?” Wilbur asks.

“Trial and error. Like this house of mine. I’ve tried building it dozens of times now, but I keep messing up and it never feels like a place that’s meant for me. So, I take it down and I start again. And each time, I get a little closer to something I could live in and call home.”

Eret trails a hand by his side up and down the wreck of oak wood planks. When it comes to rest on his knee again, he says, “Talk to them, Wilbur. Talk to your son, talk to your father, and keep trying. You’ll keep messing up, and it’ll be okay. You just need to keep trying. You gave up for a while- you utterly checked out. Fundy has had an absent father and Phil had to watch the downfall of his son. You’re right, no amount of family bonding or apologies are going to fix that. But time and effort will. I think what they both need from you right now is a little more effort.”

For what must be the hundredth time in the past five minutes, the two lapse into silence. But this time, it doesn’t feel strained or awkward. Eret’s words have spilled a feeling of hope into the air. It replaces the frustration he felt earlier, making him eager to get back to working on his house.

After several silent seconds, a smile ghosts over Wilbur’s features. He gets up, straightening out his black jacket. The man walks over to Eret and holds out a hand, who looks up at him in surprise and confusion. “Want some help with your house?”

After spending the rest of the day helping Eret, Wilbur is utterly exhausted. But he feels strangely good. He’d turned to Eret because he had no one else to talk to, but now he’s really glad that he did. His words had given Wilbur an air of determination- and hope. When was the last time he’d felt hope? Actually, when was the last time he’d felt either of those things?

He stumbles up the steps to his home, ready to collapse in bed for the night. He expects a dark house (his son had taken after Philza’s early sleeping habits) but instead finds the kitchen lights on, casting a yellowish square of light on the stripped spruce log floor.

The strains of a conversation die in the air as he walks in and shuts the front door. Cautiously, Wilbur makes his way into the kitchen. Sat at the table are his dad and Fundy. They look tired, but relieved. Surprise sparking through his arms and chest leaves the brunette speechless for a moment. Then, he stammers out, “Did…did you wait up for me?”

The faintest flicker of anger flares in Philza’s eyes, just for a moment before they soften again. It reminds Wilbur of being scolded as a child for taking a practice fight with his little brother a bit too far. “No shit, kid. We knew you would be fine, but…well, we were worried.”

“I’m sorry.” There’s an unexpected weight to the words that startles both Philza and Fundy. Clearly, Wilbur is talking about more than just coming home late. His dad tries to play it off. “I- it’s okay, Wil. Let’s all just head to bed and- “

He’s cut off by a light scraping noise as Wilbur pulls out a chair and sits at the table with them. He’s done pussyfooting this. No more tiptoeing through conversations or worrying his dad with sleepless nights or reading more than he talks to his own son. Wilbur grabs their hands, one of theirs in either one of his. He needs them to understand, more than he’s ever needed anything before.

“No. I’m sorry. I never said sorry to you two. I really, really am, though. What I put you through these past months, it’s not okay. I’ve been a terrible father and a terrible son. I’ve been absent and awkward, and I wanted so bad for it to just fix itself but that’s not how these things work. I did horrible things to both of you and I can’t keep going on without properly acknowledging that. I am so, so sorry.” He squeezes their hands. There’s a familiar sting in his eyes, so he turns his gaze to the wooden tabletop. Don’t cry, he begs of his eyes. Not right now.

The silence is deafening. Seconds pass in what feels like a year. When he finally can’t bear it anymore, Wilbur looks up at his family. He feels sick and relieved and guilty all at once when he sees the tears brimming their eyes. Briskly, Philza stands up, chair scraping rudely against the floor as he does.

The blonde man moves to stand in front of his son. Before Wilbur has time to register how terrified he is that he’s mucked things up further, his father is pulling him into a hug. He loses his grip on Fundy’s hand as he’s pulled up.

Philza grips him tightly, one hand holding his head. Wilbur’s heart soars and the tears break from his lashes. Waves of emotion crash through his chest and make every inch of his body feel heavy and light at the same time.

He grips his father tighter, absorbing the familiar smells. Pine trees and bread dough and the vaguest hint of smoke. It sends a pang through his chest, accompanied by nostalgia. Wilbur buries his face further into his father’s shoulder.

“Wil…oh, Wil. No matter what happens, you’re my son.”

Those words alone would be enough to make Wilbur break down completely if it were just them two in the room. But Fundy is still sitting at the kitchen table.

Fundy.

Suddenly desperate to see his son’s reaction, he breaks slightly from Philza, twisting in his father’s grip to look at the fox. Philza kisses his son’s head and gently lets go, taking a couple of steps back.

Fundy and Wilbur stare at one another for a moment. Wilbur swallows. It feels as though his whole body is being consumed by nerves and adrenaline. “I promise, I’m done floating through the days like some ghost of the man I was. I want to put in effort. I want to be a good dad to you, Fundy.”

There’s another beat of silence, then Fundy is out of his chair and practically throwing himself at Wilbur. In that moment, a weight comparable to that of all the world’s oceans lifts from his shoulders. His son’s arms feel like home and love.

Wilbur places his head neatly on top of the fox’s, gripping him as close as he can. Fundy’s shoulders shake and Wilbur’s heart breaks to know he caused his son so much pain. He rubs circles on Fundy’s back as he hugs him, just like he always would when he was a kid coming to Wilbur with a painful scrape or night terrors. And he knows, then, that Eret was right. It’ll all be okay, they’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

Tommy dodges Tubbo’s sword, barely this time. His limbs feel like they have bags full of stones tied to them, weighing down every dodge, parry, and strike. Tubbo attacks again and Tommy only just manages a weak block. His brown-haired friend seems to be tiring as well, but not nearly as much as he is. Where the hell is he getting all of this energy? Tommy wonders, his breaths coming out as wheezes.

The blond attempts an attack with as much energy as he can muster, but it comes out messy and Tubbo parries him with the same ease he would a child. Tommy takes too long to recover and the other boy takes advantage of the moment, hitting the back of his knees with the flat of his blade, making the taller boy lose his balance. All it takes is one final shove and he’s on the ground.

He’s almost relieved to be flopped on the ground, as exhausted as he is from going to the docks late every night. The boy even shuts his eyes. How nice it would be to just sink into the grass and sleep for a while…

“This is getting too easy,” Tubbo says above him.

Tommy cracks one eye open, squinting against the bright sun. The brunette has the blunt end of his wooden training sword pushed into the ground. His hands are on the pommel, leaning his weight against it. A playful grin brightens his face, spreading to his blue eyes.

Tommy just groans in response and closes both eyes again. The grass makes a swoosh noise as the shorter boy comes to sit by his side.

Tubbo is right, though. Tommy has been slow this morning. Normally when they practice with each other, they end up with a relatively even number of wins and losses. But out of all the practice matches they’ve done this morning, Tubbo has won all of them but one. And that was only because Walter had gotten in the middle of them one round, demanding attention and distracting Tubbo long enough for Tommy to land what they considered a “fatal blow.” Tubbo had mumbled grumpily about cheating but still shot the blond a smile while he pet Walter.

“Is something wrong?” the brunette asks now.

Tommy sighs internally and opens both eyes this time, looking up at Tubbo. His friend is facing the opposite direction to him, so his legs are splayed out near Tommy’s head and his hands, pressed into the grass behind him to keep himself sitting up, are by Tommy’s legs. For one of the first times since the blonde’s return, Tubbo is wearing casual clothes; jeans and a loose green shirt. A familiar red bandana is wrapped around his left wrist, making Tommy want to smile.

A part of him is happy. He’d really missed these simple things while he’d been gone, like sparring and Tubbo just being Tubbo within arm’s reach of him. If Tommy stopped to think about it for too long, he had an urge to grab hold of his friend and hug him as hard as he had at the gate his first day back. The boy stares at Tubbo’s red bandana, perhaps bordering on thinking about it for too long.

He must’ve been silent for too long because Tubbo pokes one of his knees with a finger. “Tommy, c’mon. What’s going on, big man?” Despite the joke-y nickname, the blond can hear the concern in his friend’s voice. A familiar spike butts its way into his gut. Guilt. He feels guilty for making Tubbo worry about him. His homecoming was meant to be great and happy. And the guy’s a president, for fuck’s sake. He should have more important things to worry about.

The spike drives itself deeper as words fall out of his mouth faster than he can think to stop them. “Nothing’s going on. It’s just…I’m kind of tired, is all. And rusty. I haven’t had a proper fight in a while, so I should’ve expected as much.”

Tubbo fixes a skeptical blue stare on him, so Tommy continues, “I’m fine, Big T, really.” The words taste like the time Techno tricked him into drinking spoiled milk when they were kids. Liar. The spike of guilt grows larger in accusation.

The brunette still looks uncertain but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and brushes loose blades of bright grass off of his dark blue jeans. Then, he turns and offers a hand to Tommy, who takes it gratefully, letting Tubbo help him pull himself up.

Letting his hand drop from Tommy’s as he bends to pick up the blonde’s discarded training sword, Tubbo says, “There’s a few hours before we need to be down beneath the Stilted Sector to help light things up. You should get some sleep before we go. I’ll make some lunch and wake you up a while before we have to go.”

Tommy nods. “Alright. Thank you, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nudges him lightly with his shoulder. “Anytime, big man.”

“And, hey, you got lucky today. In another month, I’ll be back to kicking your ass when we fight.”

Tubbo laughs. “You wish.”

The water beneath the Stilted Sector is still very shallow. It doesn’t quite cover the tops of most of the sea pickles that the group places down. But when a time comes where it’s high enough, the blue water will glow gorgeously.

When Niki had sent out the call for sea pickles and manpower, the council hadn’t expected most of L’manburg to show up. It would’ve taken about twenty minutes tops with only a few extra people, but with the crowd they’d gathered it would easily take ten. A few barrels and chests full of pickles, mostly from Eret (“Yeah, you’re the type of guy to always have what I need!” Tommy had joked almost affectionately to the tall man) had been carried out as well. Presently, Tubbo is stood by one of the chests, loading his arms up with a fresh supply of the natural light sources. His blue jeans had been rolled up several times before climbing into the crater, but the edges are now dark with water anyways. Mainly from all the splashing Tommy was doing.

At the moment, the tall blond is starting a minor water fight with Quackity, one arm filled with dark green sea pickles and the other scooping water in the secretary of state’s direction. He’s eyeing Fundy, who is placing pickles nearby, like he might be next.

Tommy seems full of energy now- the nap had definitely helped- but Tubbo couldn’t shake his concern. He’d never, ever beaten Tommy while practicing fighting like that. Even if the boy was rusty and tired, it shouldn’t have been that easy. Even on the worst of days, Tommy always put up such a fight. There was always, always a little bit more he could give to the battle. But just about every move he’d made earlier had been messy and poor and so not Tommy.

And besides that, there were the times Tommy had gone all quiet these past few days. He’d told Tubbo on his second day back that being in L’manburg brought back memories, which Tubbo could understand. It had been hard for him this past month or so as well. Memories were everywhere. Schlatt’s tight grip stalks Tubbo from every shadow, and the phantoms of the election day and TNT haunt the Stilted Sector. It’s inescapable.

What he couldn’t understand, though, was how little communication he was getting from Tommy. Normally, they would tell one another everything. Unlike the blond, Tubbo had had other people to talk to during the past month, but it was never the same. No one could match how Tommy sat forward when Tubbo started talking about something eating at him, or the way he always seemed to know when to let him vent and when to try to cheer him up. And even when he didn’t know, he asked and they talked and they got through whatever was bothering Tubbo together. And Tubbo did the same for Tommy. Because they were L’manburg’s favorite dream duo.

But Tommy wasn’t talking to him as freely as he once had. It was killing Tubbo. He was barely resisting the urge, at this moment, to grab his friend by his shirt, drag him to the side, whack with a sizeable stick, and make the blond tell him what’s wrong.

For the second time that week, Niki sneaks up on Tubbo while he’s lost in thought.

“Tubbo?” she prompts. Her voice is like an exhale of sweet spring air.

The president inhales sharply and quickly pivots to look at her, barely keeping a grip on all of his sea pickles.

She smiles a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering what you are thinking about.”

Tubbo turns his gaze back to Tommy, who is now fending off both Fundy and Quackity. Water droplets cling to his straw-colored hair and he grins, a mischievous yet joyful glint in his eyes. “It’s just that…he’s been off lately, Niki. I’m real worried.”

She follows his gaze, smile growing at the water fight. “Maybe you should try talking to him about it, Tubbo.”

“I’ve tried that. He won’t speak with me about it. Not really, anyways.”

“If you really asked, he would. In a heartbeat, Tubbo.”

It’s late, now. The silver moon has long since traded spots with the sun. Tubbo hasn’t slept yet, though. He keeps thinking about what Niki had said. And Tommy, of course.

After the sea pickles were finished, some people had stuck around and they’d started in on the next few projects. There were so many opportunities for Tubbo to ask while he and Tommy were alone throughout the day. While they were reinforcing some of the supports of the Stilted Sector, while taking a break by the flagpole, on the walk home, and the entire time they’d been home since the walk back. But his nerves turned themselves into a needle and borrowed fear for a thread, sewing his mouth shut each time.

Currently, Tubbo is seriously entertaining the idea of barging into Tommy’s room and talking to him. Just as he’s thinking that he might actually gather the courage and do it, he hears Tommy’s footsteps in the hall. What’s he doing? Tubbo wonders.

He gets somewhat of an answer when the front door opens and shuts- slowly, carefully. After a few seconds of lying in bed, silent and still, Tubbo practically throws himself out of his bedroom and into the living room. He draws back the pine green curtains near the door and watches Tommy, accompanied by Walter, walk off. His sword sways in time with his steps, tucked into a sheath at the boy’s side.

Tubbo stands there for several moments, debating following or calling out to his friend when he realizes something that makes his stomach sink. Tommy has probably been going out every night instead of sleeping.

Wilbur wanders to his dad’s room to ask about going on a walk. It’s late, and Fundy had gone to bed hours ago, but Philza’s light is still on for once, and Wilbur doesn’t feel tired. So many nights spent reading and moping until the sun rose had smacked his sleep schedule thoroughly out of whack.

The door of his father’s bedroom is ajar, so Wilbur pokes in without knocking. “Hey, Dad, can we…” he stops midsentence. It feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him when he sees what’s sitting atop Philza’s chest of drawers. Wilbur thinks that it’s a feeling not unlike the time Tommy went a little too far with their light, wooden training swords during a practice fight.

“Is…is that…” Wilbur trails off, the question dying on his lips.

Techno’s crown.

“Yes,” his father says gently, after a moment of hesitant silence.

“Can I…can I see it for a second?” he asks. His voice sounds breathy and soft.

“Of course.”

Wilbur takes a few slow, uncertain steps over to the chest of drawers, then picks up the crown gingerly, as though he expects Techno to jump out from behind the door and yell at his brother for touching his stuff.

The crown, all elegant swoops and delicate (yet severe) points, is surprisingly light. And yet holding it makes Wilbur feel about a thousand tons heavier.
Gently, he turns the crown and holds it against his chest. The spikes only barely poke through the yellow wool of Wilbur’s sweater, but he swears they’ve all grown a foot longer and impaled him. Holding the crown, as dear as it was to his brother, Wilbur can almost imagine Techno encircling him in a protective embrace. Then, he wonders what on earth Technoblade is doing without his crown. Does it feel like a piece of him is missing, just as Wilbur feels like a piece is missing without his brother around?

Philza comes over and gently wraps an arm around his son. They stand there together and share the sorrow.

After several long moments of standing in his dad’s embrace and clutching the crown to his chest, he softly places the circlet back down on the chest of drawers, then turns to face his father. Not for the first time, Wilbur notes that Tommy had, without a shadow of a doubt, inherited their father’s bright blue eyes, while he and Techno had the same brown-almost-black shade. Phil’s eyes look sad, now, and concerned.

Wilbur slides out from under his father’s arm and grabs his hands instead, one in each of his own. He feels a little bad for what he’s about to do, but he needs Philza to understand. “I’m going to go out for a bit. I promise, I’m not going to disappear again. I just want to have a walk.”

Phil’s eyes search his son’s face, brows drawn together and lips curved into a frown. After a moment, he nods. “Okay. A promise is a promise.”

Wilbur leans forward and kisses his father’s head, then gives his hands one last squeeze before letting go and heading for the door. “A promise is a promise,” he parrots back, an old ritual.

Tommy goes to the docks again. The first night he’d gone to stand in the company of the sea, it had been by sheer accident. Now, he makes the short journey every night.

When he arrives tonight, though, someone is in his spot, leaned against one of the logs lining the edge of the dock.

He recognizes the figure in half of a heartbeat. At this point, Tommy reckons he could recognize Wilbur from twelve feet away on the night of a new moon with heavy fog.

For several minutes, he stands at the edge of the dock, wondering whether he should approach or not and worrying Walter will bark and give him away before he’s decided.

Finally, Tommy pushes himself to move forward. Walter follows, uncharacteristically quiet, as though he can sense his owner’s caution and distress.

Coming up on his brother’s left side, Tommy says, “Hey, Wilbur.”

The brunette seems surprised at his appearance, though not unpleasantly so. “Oh, hello, Tommy. What are you doing out this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

The two stand in silence, a certain tension weighing down the air. Tommy can still sense the wall between himself and Wilbur, but it almost seems fragile- breakable. If I say the right thing, will it finally come down?

Finally, Walter just can’t take it anymore. He pushes his snoot into the back of Wilbur’s knee and starts sniffing. His tail is wagging at the speed of sound, as though he’s been shoving his energy down for the whole two minutes he and Tommy have been standing on the dock and he can’t hold it in any longer.

Wilbur emits a little, surprised noise, then smiles softly. It sends a bolt of dull pain through Tommy’s chest, reminding him of the early days of L’manburg, before they even had independence from the Dream SMP. Back then, days were hard and yet smiles were frequent- Wilbur smiled like that all the time then.

As his brother leans over and extends a hand to let Walter sniff it, he says, “I’ve been wanting to ask, who is this big guy? He resembles a cloud.”

Walter nuzzles into Wilbur’s hand, letting him pet his fluffy white coat, as though pleased by the comment.

“That’s Walter. Met him in a forest while I was away. He’s been with me for a few weeks now.”

Wilbur hums in response and continues petting the dog, squatting down to have better access to his chin.

Both boys are silent for a while, but the waves fill in for them. Tommy closes his eyes for a minute and just listens. Along with the waves, he can hear Walter’s tail patting a repetitive rhythm on the dock.

Tommy gathers his courage to ask a question. “So, why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks, turning to look at his brother.

Wilbur shrugs before answering, still petting the dog. “I screwed up my sleep schedule. I started staying up late a lot after…” he pauses, a sheen of sorrow passing over his eyes. He tries again, “After…after everything that happened. I would sit up reading and that sort of thing until I fell asleep or the sun came out. Worried the hell out of Dad.”

Tommy almost laughs at that. Almost.

After a pause, Wilbur continues, “I’ve done a lot of things to worry Dad these last few months.” He draws his eyebrows together a little. His eyes have become fixed on the dog’s snowy face. “I talked to them yesterday, though. Dad and Fundy, I mean. I apologized for everything. I put them through so much and I want to fix it now. I’m going to start doing better for them, they deserve it.”

Tommy isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. But the wall cracks.

Wilbur lets out a half-amused, half-sad laugh. “You’d never believe who talked some sense into me. Just try to guess.” Finally, he meets Tommy’s eyes.
It throws Tommy off balance for just a second. Wilbur is smiling properly now, despite the remnants of sadness that cling to his features. When was the last time Wilbur had smiled at him? Or at least, smiled at him whilst not talking about blowing up their country.

It takes the younger brother a moment to recover. He shrugs awkwardly and stammers out, “I-I don’t know. Who?”

Wilbur smiles a little wider. “Eret. Out of all people, Eret.”

Tommy can’t suppress a slight smile at that. It is a little funny. He turns to look at the ocean. If he keeps looking at Wilbur, smiling with him, it might blow his brain up. “That’s kind of crazy. How’d that happen?”

There’s silence again. It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to not look at his older brother in the few seconds of quiet before he answers. Softly, Wilbur says, “Things were rough with Fundy and I had nowhere else to go.”

Six words steal the breath from Tommy’s lungs. It’s a harsh reminder of how much things have changed. It makes Tommy miss easier times- even before L’manburg. He would give nearly anything to go back to a time when his biggest concern was how many practice fights he’d won against his brothers and whether Dad was making his least favorite vegetables with dinner that night. Back then, there was never even the trace of a doubt that if Tommy, or anyone in his family, needed something, there were four people that cared within arm’s reach.

Wilbur stands back up, leaning against a log next to Tommy again, and they watch the waves together. Although he would like to appreciate the moment of peace with his brother, he can’t. Tommy can still feel the wall there, in disrepair yet still looming between them. It makes his stomach twist with nerves and muddles his brain with so many thoughts and emotions, he worries it’ll all overflow out of his ears.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep, Tommy?”

Because of you, Tommy thinks. He almost says it, too. But it wouldn’t quite be the truth. There were several reasons he couldn’t sleep- several figures that plagued his thoughts. There are multiple possible answers, so Tommy picks the easiest one to talk about. (The easiest one to talk about with Wilbur, at least.)

“Tubbo and I are in a bit of a rut.”

He can feel the surprise emanating off of his brother. “Really?” The brunette nearly shouts, sounding utterly shocked.

“Yeah. Things have just been…I don’t know, different, I guess, since I came back. I left to clear my head and it worked but as soon as I came back everything poured straight back in again. Just being here makes me remember so much. I can’t turn a corner without something reminding me of what’s happened and everything I’ve been through- everything we’ve all been through.” Tommy is a little out of breath by the time he’s done talking. Emotion had slipped into his voice, anger and grief mingling on his vocal cords. It’d made him speed up about halfway through speaking, shoving the words out like it hurt to have them inside of him.

“Am I one of the things you’re remembering, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice is impossibly gentle.

Shit. Tommy quickly tries to think up a response that’ll save him from this vein of conversation.

“Don’t bother lying to me, Tommy. We lived under the same roof for the first fifteen years of your life and we haven’t lived more than twenty feet from one another since. I know your tells. Just answer the question.”

He’s right, but Tommy wishes he wasn’t. He had come out here to avoid his feelings, not confront them.

“Yes, you are one of the things.”

It’s Wilbur’s turn to be silent. They seem to be passing it between them, like a ball in the worst game of catch ever.

Then, the brunette says, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s whole body freezes, making him completely still. He almost forgets to breathe.

“I put you through so much. When things got rough before we took down Schlatt, I went all crazy plans and TNT on you. That wasn’t fair. You were- you are- just a kid and I’m your big brother. I should’ve been there for you; I should’ve been a better role model. If nothing else, I should’ve at least protected you. I am truly sorry for how bad things got. I feel awful.”

They don’t make eye contact once while Wilbur speaks, they just stare out into the fluid blue void together.

Tommy’s eyes sting. A part of him wants to scream at Wilbur, another wants to break down and cry, and yet another begs Tommy’s legs to run.

An apology doesn’t fix all the damage Wilbur did, doesn’t even come near it. But…

“Thanks, Wilbur.”

It’s a start.

Neither of them speak for a while. Then, tentatively, almost like dipping a foot into a pool of water to check the temperature, Tommy says, “Techno, too.”

“What?” Feeling Wilbur’s gaze on him, he turns to look at his brother. The man’s eyebrows are pulled up in confusion and the corners of his mouth dip in a slight frown.

“I’m remembering Techno, too.”

Wilbur’s mouth forms a silent “oh.” Then, he glances down at the log Tommy is leaning against. He swaps between pressing his lips tightly together and opening his mouth to take a breath. Like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.

“Spit it out,” Tommy says, adding a silent “bitch” to the end. He doesn’t want to go back to their normal rhythm of fake insults, not yet.

“Dad has Technoblade’s crown. I saw it. I- I held it.” Wilbur looks up at Tommy again, eyes flitting over his face nervously, as though searching for any sign he messed up.

Tommy’s mouth hangs open. He’s shocked speechless. Then, a little jealous. Never, in a million years, would Techno ever let Tommy, or anyone, come near that crown. It was the eldest brother’s most prized possession. He kept it in excellent condition and never went anywhere without it. And Wilbur had gotten to hold it. The brunette, seeming to know what he’s thinking, lets out a short laugh. “I know, right? He would murder me if he found out.”

Tommy snorts. “Damn right. You wouldn’t even see it coming. Just a flash of pink and then game over.”

They both laugh at that. Smiles adorn their faces, but it’s bittersweet. A cloud of something dense and sad hangs around them, reminding the brothers that they are still so far from where they used to be. They might never really go back to how things were between them, either.

And yet there’s a light hope, too, interwoven with the sadness. The possibility of their relationship, at the very least, getting better. If they just keep trying and want it badly enough.

There is so much more to be said. So many big things they still need to talk about. But, for now, they discuss all the little things they never got to say while they weren’t speaking to each other. And it feels as though the wall is filled with hundreds and hundreds of cracks, leaving Tommy with little holes to peek through.

The brunette stirs from his position on the couch, half-asleep and spine curved uncomfortably, when he hears the front door open. He blinks his eyes sleepily at first, wondering what’s happening, then scrambles to sit up properly when he remembers what he was doing before falling asleep. Tommy.

The boy has come home, finally. Walter trots off to the guest room, but the blond stands in the doorway, stopped in place halfway through the threshold. He looks surprised.

“What time is it?” Tubbo asks, stretching.

Tommy moves again, walking the rest of the way into the house and softly shutting the spruce door behind him. He doesn’t answer his friend’s question, instead asking one of his own. “Did you try waiting up for me?”

The president rubs his eyes, the rough sleep in the corners scratching at his fingertips. “Yeah, keyword being try. I figured I would let you have your walk or whatever, but I was worried. Have you been doing this every night?”

Tommy turns his gaze to the floor. He’s silent.

“Tommy,” Tubbo prompts.

The blond sighs and says, “Yeah, Tubbo. I- I have.”

“Why?”

Silence again.

It suddenly all becomes too much for Tubbo. He’s done his best to stay collected these past few days, giving Tommy the space he needs to process, but he can’t handle it anymore. Before he can stop it, all of the worry and frustration and sadness fills him up, driving him up off the couch to stand. The sudden movement causes Tommy to look up at him again.

“Tommy, please!” The shorter boy gestures wildly while he talks, emotions taking the driver’s seat. “I’ve been so insanely worried about you these past few days- this past month. I want more than anything to help you, Tommy. You are one of the most important things in my life. During the war against Manberg, I would’ve up and left everything if you had asked. I know I’m not one of Phil’s sons but you, Tommy, are the closest I will ever be to having a brother. Please, talk to me.” His voice catches a little as he speaks, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

Tommy looks a little shaken, and sort of guilty, which makes Tubbo feel guilty in turn. He hadn’t meant to snap at him like that. He just wanted Tommy to confide in him again like he always used to. He opens his mouth to speak again, to apologize, but Tommy interrupts him.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

The other boy slowly closes his mouth, the words caught in his throat. He has no idea what to say, so he opts for silence instead.

Tommy crosses the room in a few quick strides and grabs Tubbo’s elbow as he begins to speak, gently pulling the boy to sit on the couch with him. “I’ve been weird since I got back, I know. Being here reminded me of everything we lost. And I do mean everything.” The blond’s eyes drop to his lap as he squeezes his hands together.

“It kills me how things ended with Techno,” he continues, “the way we treated him. It’s so easy to label him as a traitor and be done with it but I know, I know, it’s not as simple as that. And just the fact that he’s gone and we might not see him again. I…” He trails off for a moment, squeezing his hands harder, making the knuckles turn white. A pang shoots through Tubbo’s chest. After so long with Technoblade in his life, the notion that they might never see him again seems insane. But after everything that had happened, it was a probable reality.

Tommy takes a deep breath and continues, “And Wilbur has felt like a completely different person for so long. When he started getting paranoid, back in Pogtopia, I had to watch him forget what we were fighting for. He might as well have left me alone, and he was the adult! My big brother meant to watch over me. Even after we’d won back L’manburg, it felt like I had lost. I was down two brothers and I had no idea how to get either of them back. It hurt- it still does. It hurts so, so much, Tubbo. But as much as it’s hurt to be back in L’manburg and remember all of it, I think I needed it.”

He looks back up at Tubbo again. His bright, blue eyes are so full of emotion, it sends a shock through the brunette’s gut.

Tommy saves him from responding by going on. “I think I needed to see it all and accept what happened and accept that people have started moving on. It’s time that I start moving on, too.” There’s a brief pause and the boy’s mouth hangs open for an instant, as though considering whether or not to say something. “I- I spoke with Wilbur earlier.”

Tubbo is still trying to process all the words Tommy just threw at him, like catching one hundred balls in quick succession. Just as Tubbo thought he had a handle on it, Tommy throws that one final, larger, flaming ball at him.

The brunette manages to avoid stammering and asks, “What did you speak about?” The question comes out gentler than he intended, laced with a certain inquisitiveness.

“How we miss Techno, how he’s sorry what he put me through. He told me about Fundy and Dad, too. He said he’s trying to be present again and be there for them. It really seems like the Wilbur I followed into war is coming back. And I think that’s a version of Wilbur I can forgive one day.”

There’s a beat of silence and before Tubbo can speak again, Tommy says, “I really am sorry, Tubbo. I should’ve been more transparent with you. I guess I just didn’t want to bother you with my problems. But that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry for worrying you. No more sneaking down to the docks every night, I promise.”

Tubbo smiles a little. “Pinky promise?”

Tommy looks down at his friend’s extended finger and wraps his own around it. “Yeah, pinky promise.”

“Good.” Tubbo settles back onto the couch, and Tommy follows suit. Now that everything has been said and taken care of, the late hour is catching up with them. They end up with Tubbo leaning over so his head is resting on Tommy’s chest, neither realizing that their pinky fingers are still lazily looped together between them. Tubbo vaguely notices that he can hear the steady beat of his friend’s heart.

“And Tubbo?”

The brunette, eyes closed, fights off sleep to hear his friend’s words. “What is it, Tommy?”

“I think of you as my brother, too. I love you.”

Tubbo smiles, a warm glow spilling into his chest. It makes him feel all fuzzy and warm- and happy. He inhales and exhales slowly, appreciating the moment. “Love you too, Tommy,” he says.

Tubbo lets sleep consume him, then, feeling happier than he has in a month.

Chapter Text

There’s always a moment right as one wakes up from sleeping that Wilbur appreciates. A moment that lasts less than a second, where everything from the previous day and the night’s dreams has been forgotten. Normally, Wilbur would cherish this little blip in his memory, begging for it to come back as he remembers the nightmares that haunted him by night and the one he had created for himself in the day.

But this morning, when that moment is over, Wilbur almost smiles.

He wakes earlier than usual, despite the late night.

He kind of feels good. After speaking with Tommy last night, it feels like he’s putting together the pieces of the broken life he had made for himself. Bit by bit, he’ll continue picking up the shards and putting them where they belong, as best as he can.

The smell of food drifts through the air from the kitchen. It encourages Wilbur to push himself out of bed, stretching out his stiff joints.

He meets his dad in the hallway and yawns as he nods in greeting. Philza smiles at him. “Morning, sleepyhead,” the blond man teases lovingly.

Wilbur hasn’t been awake long enough to snark back, so he sticks his tongue out and half-smiles.

They walk into the kitchen together, where Fundy has started making breakfast. Slices of meat sizzle in a frying pan while he puts together the ingredients for pancakes in a metal mixing bowl. There’s a small basket of ruby red sweet berries sitting on the counter near the sink, waiting to be rinsed.

Fundy greets the two of them as they walk into the kitchen. Philza moves to help him, but Wilbur puts a hand on his father’s arm to stop him. The man looks confused for a second, brows drawing together and mouth open as though about to ask a question. Wilbur just nudges him in the direction of the table. Philza mouths a silent “oh” and shuffles over to the table, picking up a book that Wilbur had left there many nights ago.

Wilbur takes a moment to gather his courage, then steps up to his son’s side. He can feel the fox tense, skeptical at first, but they fall into an easy rhythm soon enough.

When Fundy was little, he would always beg to help Wilbur make breakfast. And he would allow it, of course. There were so few things he wouldn’t let his little champion do. The two would consistently spend mornings in the kitchen together.

So, when they wordlessly divide tasks and work on breakfast together, it feels natural. They only speak to ask for something or to move the other out of the way. It’s the most productive conversation they’ve had in months.

When they’re done, Philza closes his book and sets the table while Wilbur and Fundy place down the meat, pancakes, and a bowl of freshly washed berries. This will be the first time in a while that they’ve all eaten a proper breakfast together.

When they’ve settled in around the table, passing around the food and pouring themselves water from a pitcher Philza brought out, Fundy says, “You know, Dad, the crater under L’manburg has been getting filled up by the rain, lately. Pretty soon, it’ll just look like a big pond.”

Just a big pond.

Wilbur already knows, and Fundy knows that he already knows, but he says it anyways.

A smile tugs on Wilbur’s lips. “That’s really nice.”

Just a big pond.

Chapter Text

When Tubbo wakes, there’s a slight pain in his neck. He winces as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. It takes a few seconds for him to remember the details of the previous night, sleep clouding his thoughts. He and Tommy had fallen asleep together on the couch after their conversation. His head is still on Tommy’s chest- he can faintly hear his friend’s heartbeat.

As Tubbo takes in his surroundings, he notices that his arm hurts a little too. It lays between him and Tommy, curled up at a somewhat odd angle, close to the other boy’s hand. Gently, he moves his arm into his own lap, making a face at the pain that shoots through his wrist. He gently twists it in circles, trying to stretch out the pained joint.

The boy sits there for a minute more, listening to the faint bump-bump echoing from somewhere inside Tommy’s chest. The other boy smells faintly of salt water, and, if asked, something that Tubbo can only pinpoint as simply Tommy. It smells like their childhood home and comfort and a nightmare-filled night spent close together.

Tubbo should get up, he knows, but he’s warm and tired. Still, with a deep inhale, he pushes himself off the couch cautiously, hoping not to wake Tommy.

The brunette stretches, working out some of the achy feeling that permeates his muscles, then goes into the kitchen.

The clock on the wall declares that the time is nine o’clock. It’s the latest Tubbo has woken up in a few months. Irrational guilt springs into his stomach and he pushes it away with a slight shake of his head. He doesn’t have anything important to do today, anyways. Besides, Niki and Fundy are more than capable of handling things without him for a few extra hours.

Tubbo decides to make eggs for breakfast. The process is familiar and he goes on autopilot, giving him time to think.

He wonders how things will be with Tommy today. The blond seemed determined and ready to move forward last night, but these things are easier said than done. Tubbo knows that it will take time for Tommy to go back to some semblance of normal. Still, he wonders if there will be any noticeable changes today.

A few minutes into cooking, Tubbo hears familiar footfalls coming from the living room. He half turns around as Tommy enters the kitchen. The blond has a slight bedhead, straw-colored hair sticking out in places. He brings a hand up to rub one of his eyes.

“Morning,” he says through a yawn.

“Morning, Tommy.”

The blond shuffles closer and looks over Tubbo’s shoulder at what he’s doing. “Eggs?”

Tubbo nods as he moves the yellow scrambled eggs around in the pan. “Yeah.”

Tommy sleepily hums in response and gently rests his forehead on Tubbo’s left shoulder. The brunette smiles a little. The moment injects a peaceful feeling into his chest. It’s so mundane, so calm, so far away from every last bad thing that has happened to them more recently. They’ve fought through everything together to come to this moment, where they can be peaceful in each other’s company. It makes all the battles and hardships seem worth it.

Suddenly, Tubbo’s stomach does a nervous flip, interlaced with feelings of dread and slight embarrassment. His smile fades. “Hey, Tommy, I’m sorry about how I blew up at you last night. That wasn’t fair, I should’ve kept my cool.”

The other boy lifts his head off of Tubbo’s shoulder, shockingly blue eyes making direct contact with his own. “It’s alright, Tubbo. I get why you did it. I was lying and being secretive and I-“

“That’s not an excuse,” Tubbo says, cutting him off. Distress creeps into his voice. “I should’ve just-“

Tommy cuts him off in turn, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s not. But I’m telling you, it’s okay. You’re human and you were worried. It’s okay, Tubbo.”

Tubbo takes a slow, deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “Okay,” he says as he exhales.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Satisfied, Tommy leans his forehead back against Tubbo’s shoulder. The weight and the contact bring the brunette comfort.

When the eggs are about ready, Tubbo asks Tommy to grab plates. He groans but obliges and returns a few seconds later with two. Tubbo scoops an even amount of eggs onto both and they go sit at the table together. The first few minutes are spent in silence, eating. Walter wanders into the room and sits next to Tommy, staring up at his plate, waiting expectantly for him to cave. Tubbo isn’t sure whether the silence is peaceful and sleepy or nervous and tense. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

When Tommy finally gives in and tosses Walter a small chunk of egg, he looks up at Tubbo and asks, “Is there anything going on today?”

The boy shakes his head. “No, nothing. And it’s your second to last day before you take back your council seat, isn’t it?”

Tommy looks surprised, then glances to the side as he thinks for a moment. “Yeah, it is.”

“What do you want to do today, then?”

Tommy pokes at a bit of egg while he considers. “It would be nice to walk around L’manburg for a while. Just hang out and be, I guess.”

The idea makes Tubbo smile. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’m down.”

The boys finish eating and Tubbo puts the dishes and cutlery in the sink. He’ll take care of it later.

They both go to their rooms to change out of yesterday’s clothes. Tubbo grabs a fresh pair of jeans and a soft, green button-down. He rewraps the red bandana around his wrist, making sure it’s secure, then meets Tommy in the living room. Henry II sits on the boy’s shoulder and Walter sits patiently by his side, tail wagging in anticipation of going outside.

Changed and ready, the two boys head out. They stroll aimlessly through the paths of L’manburg, talking about anything that comes to mind. Tubbo loses track of time as they walk.

Eventually, they come to the battered site of Tommy’s old house.

The boys stop at the sight. For a few seconds they simply stare, dead silent, conversation forgotten. They’d passed the house on their way to the bench a few days ago, but it had been dark and they’d been distracted. Tubbo wonders if Tommy even considered stopping to look at it that night.

The smooth stone walls have blocks missing. Bits of rubble lay like forgotten memories amongst trampled, patchy grass. There’s even a slab or two missing from the path leading up to the entrance.

Nerves collect in Tubbo’s stomach. Gingerly, he taps the back of his hand against Tommy’s. After another second of nerve-wracking silence, the blond accepts the invitation and takes Tubbo’s hand, giving it a brief squeeze. I’m alright, the action seems to say.

“Want to go in and look around?” Tubbo asks softly.

Tommy glances around the wrecked environment again, then says, “Yeah…yeah, sure.”

He tells Walter to sit and leaves Henry II with him for company. With another squeeze, the boy lets go of Tubbo’s hand and leads the way up the path and into the old house.

It’s not much prettier inside than outside. One of the furnaces is missing and a thin layer of dust lines most of the surfaces. The ender chest is gone. Tommy rotates in a slow circle, taking in the scene. Tubbo tries to identify exactly what emotion is on his friend’s face. It’s a blurred mixture of sadness and nostalgia and maybe a little bit of surprise.

Finally, he turns to Tubbo and asks, “Will you help me look through the chests? Might be some good things left.” Something soft and vulnerable like griefs wraps its way around his words as he speaks.

Tubbo nods and they get to work. Roughly ten minutes later, their inventories are loaded up with large sums of coal, some stacks of logs, and even a few diamonds. They decide to head back to Tubbo’s house to drop them off in the guest room chest before continuing their day.

On the way there, they bump into Fundy. The fox stands by the plot of land designated for the community garden project. He holds a pen and a notebook, sketching something and scribbling notes in the margins. A few barrels sit in a stack by his side.

Tubbo stomach drops a little. He calls out to Fundy and he as Tommy come to a stop. “Hey! I didn’t forget something we had planned, did I? Was I meant to help you today?”

Fundy turns and waves in greeting. “Hi, no. I was just,” he pauses for a moment, seeming nervous, “well, I was talking to Wilb- Dad about the community garden project earlier and since it’s almost my last day on the council, I wanted to do something helpful. So, I invited him to help me plan things out and put down some borders and draft out where things will go.”

Tubbo, remembering what Tommy told him of his conversation with Wilbur last night, smiles. “That’s brilliant, Fundy. Do you want any help or…?”

“Uh, no. No, I think we got it. He’ll be back soon, though, if you want to stay and say hi. He was just grabbing some more signs.”

“Nah, I’m sure we’ll see him around soon enough. We’ll let you get to it.”

“Alright. See ya, man.”

Tommy and Tubbo continue on to the house. When they’ve gotten out of earshot of Fundy, Tubbo says, “He seemed…I don’t know, happy? Hopeful?”

“And nervous as hell. I don’t blame the guy. It’s nice to see that Wilbur is sticking to his word, though.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

When they get inside the house, Tubbo passes the stuff he’d been carrying to Tommy and says, “I’m going to go check something real quick. Meet you in the living room."

“Alright.”

Tubbo goes to his room, closes the door, and goes for the double chest against the wall. He opens it and grimaces at the mess.

He really should clean it, there’s no reason for him to have so much junk in here- he has a storage room for a reason. But that’s an issue for another day.

He digs around and finds what he needs, then accesses the crafting table underneath the chest and places the items in a familiar pattern. Satisfied, he tucks the item into his inventory and goes to the hallway to meet Tommy.

The boys head back out, Walter and Henry II right behind them. They walk until their sides get stitches, then search for a spot to sit down. They come to the L’mantree and seat themselves under it. Hundreds of green leaves shield them from the warm sun. So much history is held within the oak tree’s boughs. It feels to Tubbo almost like sitting down at the side of an old comrade.

The conversation stills for a while as the two boys look up at the clouds floating across the sky. Every now and again, they speak softly to point out a cloud that looks like a certain shape. Walter lays in between them, napping. Henry II sits upon one of the L’mantree’s branches.

Tubbo feels extraordinarily relaxed. His and Tommy’s slow, deep breaths tangle in the air while they sit side by side and bathe in the peace created by their surroundings. A soft smile pulls at Tubbo’s lips as he picks up a hand to gently run through Walter’s white fur.

He almost feels disappointed when Puffy and Niki pass by them and put a pause to the moment. The couple holds hands, stopping in their tracks when they see Tommy and Tubbo under the tree. Niki waves cheerfully and Puffy shoots them a smile.

“Hey, guys. How’s it going? Everything alright?” Niki asks. She makes eye contact with Tubbo on the last sentence, giving him a meaningful look.

He stares right into her eyes when he nods. She smiles. “Yeah, everything’s great. Just enjoying one of Tommy’s last days off.”

“Awesome. It’s a beautiful day for it,” Puffy says, glancing briefly at the sky. “Oh, I meant to stop by earlier with some pumpkin pie I made for you two. Can I pop over just before sunset with it?” She tilts her head a little to the side. Curls of brown hair fall over her shoulder.

“By all means,” Tubbo says.

“Great, see you then.” Puffy bumps her shoulder gently against Niki’s. “Don’t let me forget.”

Niki turns an affectionate smile towards her partner. “I won’t.” She looks back at Tommy and Tubbo. “We’ll let you get on with your day. See you later.”

“Later, Niki,” Tubbo says.

Puffy and Niki keep walking and Tommy and Tubbo fall comfortably back into serene silence. Tubbo allows a few minutes of quiet before he says, “Hey, how about we go to the bench tonight.”

Tommy doesn’t look at him, but Tubbo can see his smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Tommy and Tubbo head for the bench shortly after Puffy and Niki drop off the pie. Walter and Henry II once again accompany them on their short journey. Tubbo feels tired by the time they arrive, relieved to take a seat on the bench. They walked for a good while today. He’s sure to wake up late again tomorrow.

Tommy slides into place next to him, looking at the horizon as the sky slowly begins to shift from blue to pink. The item Tubbo crafted earlier sits heavily in his inventory.

Walter lays down at their feet. Henry II flaps off of Tommy’s shoulder and lands delicately on the dog’s head. The green of the parrot’s feathers sort of blends in with the color of Walter’s bandana. Tubbo glances from the lime cloth around the dog’s neck to the red one around his own wrist. So many memories are attached to the two bright strips of fabric.

Tommy and Tubbo had spent most of the day talking, but there was always more to say with them. Some story from seven months ago the other had forgotten to divulge, a detail from childhood to reminisce over, a fighting tactic to discuss.

Their conversation tonight is punctuated by short silences, pausing now and again to watch the sinking sun. When the sky starts turning orange, Tubbo stands. Tommy looks up at him quizzically.

“I noticed earlier that the ender chest was missing from your old house and I thought you might like a new one.” With a tentative hand, he reaches into his inventory and pulls out the ender chest he’d made earlier, gently placing it on the grass next to the bench.

Tommy smiles and lets out a noise somewhere between a soft laugh and a gasp. Gently, he brushes a hand over the lid. It emits a soft, vaguely purple light that illuminates his skin.

“Thank you, Tubbo. Really.”

Tubbo sits back down as Tommy gently lifts the lid and reaches into the black depths of the container. He pulls out a jukebox and a disc. It’s not one of the discs, but Tommy still looks emotional as he holds it. He was always fond of discs, and he hadn’t had access to them while he’d been gone.

With great care, Tommy places the jukebox next to the ender chest and slips the disc in. As he sits down next to Tubbo, the first few notes of Blocks plays. It washes a feeling of comfort over Tubbo. Blocks has always been one of his favorites. He finds it soothing.

No conversation interrupts the disc. Its notes, beautiful and tranquil, are the only sound that floats through the air. The lowering sun splashes the sky with a gorgeous gradient of fiery colors. The music combined with the company and the beautiful display in front of them makes the moment feel special and separated from the normal passage of time. The sunset seems to go by in both an entire year and a single minute. Tubbo thinks it would be nice to believe that part of him will always be here, in this moment, watching the sunset and listening to music with Tommy.

Eventually, the light fades out to dark, stars slowly appearing to greet the waning moon. The last few notes of Blocks ring out into the night, and then all is silent. Neither of them speak for a while. Tubbo tentatively takes a breath before asking, “Tommy, do you ever think about how…every moment you’ve lived through leads up to the one you’re in now? Like, everything we’ve ever done has led up to us being here, right now, in this exact second. It’s…it’s kind of nice.”

There’s a beat of silence and Tubbo looks over at Tommy, who’s staring at the sky. “Jesus Christ, Tubbo, don’t get all existential on me.”

Tubbo laughs and looks back up to the sky, smiling at the joke as he watches more stars twinkle into existence. There’s a slight sting too, though.

After another short silence, Tommy says, “I suppose it is sort of nice, though.”

Tubbo’s smile widens a little. “How do you feel about getting back to work as a council member?”

“It’s a little daunting, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. It’ll be nice to have something to do besides think about everything bad that’s ever happened. I had a month for thinking, I’m ready to work, Big T.”

“That’s good to hear. We’ve got a lot to do. We’ve come so far since the Second Revolution, but there’s always something else that needs fixing.”

“We can take it. Watch, we’re going to be the best leaders L’manburg has ever seen. Better than Wilbur.” Tommy’s voice holds the light tone that indicates he’s joking, but honesty seeps through as well.

“L’manburg won’t know what hit it.”

Tommy laughs a little. “Yeah.” After a brief pause, he adds in a more somber tone, “Speaking of L’manburg and…things hitting it, has the Dream SMP been up to anything while I’ve been gone?

Tubbo shifts in his seat to face Tommy, who turns his gaze from the sky to Tubbo. “A scout on the borders here and there. Nothing big. Yet. Niki and I were planning to open a diplomatic line of conversation with them once you got back, but based on past experiences, I don’t know how that’ll go.”

Tommy nods slightly and drops his eyes to the bench. After a slightly shaky breath, he says, “Tubbo…what do you think is going to happen next?”

The brunette sighs lightly. “I don’t know, big man. But,” he reaches his hand out, palm up in invitation, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Tommy looks up at Tubbo for a moment, then back down at his extended hand. He grabs it and squeezes. It feels warm and reassuring. “Yeah. Together, like always.”