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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

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‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 2

The aftermath of the Manberg Festival was a Clingy Duo goldmine, so naturally I’ve been trying to write something for it for 8 months. In this edition of giving the early canon deaths more emotional weight: Tubbo was there for Tommy the night after he lost his second life, and he’d like to return the favour. Unfortunately, his temper gets the better of him. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left, and so. much. canon. dialogue.

part one | part three

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Night of the Festival

His own words echoed in his ears, “Be safe.” He’d embraced Tubbo up on the roof, and that gesture and those words had meant good luck. They’d meant don’t fluff your words, don’t say anything you’re not supposed to. They’d meant see you tomorrow in Pogtopia with a potato stew and something to discuss. Alternatively, they’d meant be careful, pick your moment and be ready to run. See you in Pogtopia tonight. Don’t stick around to see Manberg go up in smoke. Don’t stick around for the fireworks.

But as Schlatt raised the microphone he’d snatched out of Tubbo’s hands and yelled into it “MURDER HIM RIGHT NOW, ON THIS F*CKING STAGE. AND MAKE IT HURT.” and Technoblade - their ally, come on Techno - loaded a festival rocket to his crossbow, he remembered another thing he’d said, only minutes before that. To Wilbur, before they’d called Tubbo up to the rooftop. “Look, even Tubbo is having a lovely time… Look at him in his suit, he’s growing up.” And perhaps the worst one, flashing through his mind for a millisecond as Techno let the explosive bolt fly. “Look, he’s letting off fireworks!”

“Don’t you want him to be happy?”

They made their way back to Pogtopia, and neither contingency for that night had come to fruition. Manberg still stood, but Tubbo was no longer a part of it. Without context, it was the ideal outcome, but with every step homeward they ran through the subterranean tunnels, Tommy became more and more aware of Tubbo’s pained breathing, the whimpers and gasps between the pants, the way his grip on Tommy’s hand spasmed involuntarily. He figured even if Tubbo let go, the amount of blood glueing their palms together would prevent them from becoming separated. He’d stopped glancing back for people following them and was now just looking at his best friend. The injuries were bad, and TommyInnit was seeing red in more ways than one. He’d thought about carrying him, but he wasn’t sure where he could touch without causing more damage, plus, he needed his hands free in case they ran into anything or anyone. No one could be trusted tonight. He kept his hold of Tubbo’s hand as loose as possible.

They thundered up the steps and into the ravine they called home, and only when they were sure they were safe did Tommy put down his sword.

Tubbo leant heavily against the nearest wall, a bloody mess. He wasn’t wearing his jacket so much as it was wearing him. His shirt was past-saving levels of bloodsoaked, and his tie was hanging by a thread. There was a hole in the chest region of his shirt where the crossbow bolt had killed him, the puncture wound below, Tommy didn’t need to look to know that it would be healed, a neat little scar. He was more concerned with the damage the firework had done.

See, deaths were a b*tch like that. When you died any old death and came back, the killing wound would be entirely gone, scar and all. Other injuries you’d picked up, either as part of your death or just before it, healed a bit but lingered. There was a sizeable cut on his left side where Purpled had slashed another death into the library of his life, but it had mostly scabbed over already. Quick healing, multiple deaths. Nature’s blessings to a species that can’t help destroying itself over and over again. By tomorrow, the bruises and scratches from fighting a whole crowd of Manbergians single-handedly would be gone, and by the end of the week that long cut would be forgotten like so many others. But deaths that counted, deaths that registered in the tallies on your chest were different. The killing injuries were still healed, but they left prominent scars that would never heal. Tommy had two: one on the back of his head where he’d cracked his skull open trying to blindly scramble away from Eret’s trap, and one just to the left of the centre of his chest where Dream had shot him. And as well as scarring you for life, the injuries you had at the time persisted longer and were barely healed at all.

He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly that night, but in hindsight, he really should’ve known what was going on with Tubbo earlier.

Tommy knelt before his friend as he slid down the wall to meet him. He put one hand on each side of Tubbo’s face; the other boy dropped his arms from around his middle to meet them, his jacket finally falling off. Tommy made a mental note to burn it. The burns on Tubbo’s face were horrific, patterning the skin around his eyes and nose like a masquerade mask and spiking like an explosion. His eyes themselves had been mostly spared, and Tommy thanked Not Techno that he had fired the killing rocket at Tubbo’s chest. Still, they were incredibly bloodshot, very unfocused and milky in places, and swimming with all the wrong colours for a blue-eyed boy. Tommy recalled what Phil had told him once about treating burns, years ago after someone (naming no names) had stuck his arm right into an open flame after being egged on by his two older brothers. ‘The best thing for that is air.’ He moved on, murmuring “You’re okay, you’re alright.” to the boy shaking beneath his hands.

Unbuttoning a soaked shirt is difficult work when it’s just water, but the blood of a friend makes it just that loveliest bit worse. When he finally peeled it away, the full force of the metallic smell hit the air; Tubbo gagged at the scent and Tommy tried not to do the same. Somewhere under all the blood, there was a small, neat scar, but right that second, it was entirely obscured by ragged flesh. He was careful not to touch it too much, for every time he did, Tubbo shuddered and winced and curled in on himself, like an animal making itself small for protection. “Wait here.” It wasn’t like he was going to go far; it was probably more for Tommy’s benefit as he got up and jogged to a small room with a couple chests in it at the far end of the ravine. He rifled through both, pulling a half-empty bottle of water from one and a large first aid box from the other, and hurrying back to Tubbo. He was acutely aware of Wilbur’s voice emanating in sharp bursts from the communicator hanging limply from his ear, but he tuned it out as he knelt back beside Tubbo.

He flipped open the box first, cursing himself for never reading more of the large manual he tossed aside upon opening. On himself he could trust his patchy knowledge, but he didn’t want to cause any more hurt to his friend. “Tubbo, hey, listen to me,” He put his arms out, guiding Tubbo to lean on him. “This might sting- Okay, this will sting. Just, please, don’t move. I’ll get you wrapped up, and this’ll be over soon, I promise.” By this point, he’d pried away the ruined shirt by cutting it apart with the scalpel in the first aid kit and peeling it away, revealing the full extent of the burns. They followed the same pattern as the ones on his face, spraying out from the darker point of impact in the imprint of an explosion, except this one was much bigger. “Hold onto me, okay?” Tubbo’s response was breathy and pained, “I can’t- Can’t stop shaking-”

Tommy ripped open the packet of antiseptic wipes, whispering an apology as he pressed one to Tubbo’s chest, and the boy yelped at the burning sensation. His fingers dug into Tommy’s shoulders as the blonde methodically wiped across the mess of burned skin, the wipes coming away a reddish-grey. Tommy pressed his forehead to Tubbo’s as he finished wiping along the side and down the insides of his arms, cleaning away soot, ash, small particles of firework and dried blood. It all came away rather cleanly (thank Prime) but in places more red appeared, blood blooming in patches like poppies’ petals. Tommy discarded the last of the wipes into a dirty pile and, as quickly as he could, grabbed a roll of bandages and started wrapping, all the while murmuring to Tubbo, “Almost done, just a little longer, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Tommy heard Wilbur arrive just as he was taping the end of the final bandage down, the one he’d put around Tubbo’s left arm. The boy in question was practically in his arms, and as he finished he dropped the medical tape and just held him for a minute or two. He rubbed circles into Tubbo’s uninjured shoulder. “I don’t understand.” He looked down at Tubbo shifting to look up at him, pushing himself up slowly to lean against the wall again. “Wilbur said- Wilbur said to stay strong, and that he was on our side!” His voice cracked, and Tommy gave him a sympathetic look as a shiver ran up his spine. He thought about putting the jacket tied around his waist on and then realised Tubbo probably needed it more than him, since he was technically topless. “He was on our side!” “He just- I was literally talking to Wilbur! Over comms, I- He just-” Tommy exhaled heavily, muttering “What the f*ck.” over and over as he untied the arms of the jacket and slung it around Tubbo carefully. Tubbo wiggled halfway into it before he gave up and listed back towards Tommy, who settled with his head leaning on Tubbo’s good shoulder. “Where is that button.”

Before Tubbo could respond, Wilbur’s voice behind them caught their shared attention, echoing tinnily from the communicators they had both been ignoring as well as around the cavern. “Tubbo, did you destroy a button behind where Ninja- Where we met Ninja?” Their older brother was leaning against the nearest wall of the ravine, his posture laid back and nonchalant, but there was something wrong with his eyes. There was no warmth in them; they were as unforgiving as the frigid stone walls. He held the microphone of his communicator right next to his lips as he spoke, only dropping it when both boys looked over at him. “No- No!” Came Tubbo’s hasty reply, and Tommy wanted to shake his shoulders and ask him again. (He refrained.) Tubbo writhed beneath Wilbur’s unrelenting glare. “I never knew of any button.”

Wilbur kicked himself off the wall and walked towards the two of them with a scowl and a sigh. “The button was gone,” He began, and there was no stopping him. “I couldn’t find the room! I couldn’t find the room; I built a room, and it was like linked up and it had redstone, and it was like- it was like hidden!” He threw his arms up in a great display of exasperation. “I can’t believe it.” He walked past them and away into one of the many side chambers of Pogtopia, a second “I can’t believe it!” echoing back towards them. Tubbo tilted his head and caught Tommy’s intense gaze and furrowed brow. “Tommy?” “Why did Techno kill you?” He sighed heavily, but this time there was fury building behind it. “They f*cked up for the last time.” “Don’t- Tommy I’m gonna be honest with you,” Tubbo closed his eyes as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know if- Before the thing, I kinda searched around the premises, I don’t think there was TNT planted.” “But there was a button back there Tubbo- You just heard, Wilbur said there was a button!” “Look, there’s a lot-” He opened his eyes again, leaning closer to Tommy’s ear, trying not to put any weight on any of his injuries. “Don’t-” He whispered, suddenly sounding desperate, his eyes wandering after where Wilbur had staggered off to. “Don’t stoop to Wilbur’s level, man.”

Tommy sighed. He knew Tubbo was right; there was something seriously wrong with Wilbur these days, he’d known it ever since he’d watched him pledge some twisted kind of allegiance to Dream. But every time he looked at Tubbo his anger surged again, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the bright flash of a firework. If he saw Techno-

“Uh… Big T?” Tommy blinked and shook his head. “Yeah?” Tubbo was pulling anxiously at some of the bandages on his chest. “I think- I think these are a bit tight.” “Ah- Sorry.” Wilbur staggered back into the main room of their hideout as Tommy went to work loosening the bandages slightly, working slower and more carefully this time. “You okay?” Tommy spared a quick glance back at their leader when Tubbo asked the question. He was standing on one leg, twisting the other foot back and forth gently. “Mostly. Think I did something to my ankle when I was getting off the roof.” He made a few noises of anguish then stopped abruptly, and Tommy could figure he was distracted by the voice coming through the communicator that Tommy could only just hear.

“Wait where are you guys I’ll meet up.”

He took one deep, calming breath, then ripped out the wire and threw it across the room. He finished re-wrapping Tubbo’s bandages and ran his hands along them to ensure they would hold when he moved. He wasn’t going to get angry. He wasn’t going to get angry. He would stay calm and make sure his best friend was alright and pretend their most powerful ally didn’t just betray them. He wasn’t going to get angry.

His hands came to rest either side of where Tubbo’s heart would be, and he was about to take them away when he stopped. There, on the left side, just under his collarbone.

No.

The first ridge, ever-present for both of them. F*ck Eret.

No way.

And… The second. New. Not there when he’d seen him last night, when he’d quickly thrown his green shirt at Tommy’s head. “No Schlatt, I’m- Yeah I’m in the library again… I’ll be right there.”

“Tommy-” Tubbo waved a hand in front of his face. “Tommy I’m alright, Tommy I’ll be okay-” He shook his head, wrestling with his anger. “No, no, Tubbo?” They both paused, looking into each other’s eyes, searching for the reassurance neither of them could give. “I- You-" He shook with rage, holding back an outburst. Where would it go?

What would he do? Run back to Manberg to the b*stard in power? Go upstairs and start fights with mobs? Go yell at Wilbur? As he started to cool off (for Tubbo; who was holding him by the arm and trying to calm him down), the tunnel vision receded. Getting angry wasn't an option right now. They needed to hold it together. Be logical, not emotional. Strategically plan their next move.

Unfortunately, that’s when one half-pig, half-man came trotting nonchalantly down the stairs of their ravine home, and the red mist descended.

“Technoblade! The Blade, the Blade!” Wilbur’s cheering did nothing to help his rapidly declining mood. “Tommy-” But he couldn’t hear his friend as he stood and marched, head down across the ravine floor. He was unarmed: not for long, grabbing a lonely axe sitting against the cavern wall. He could hear Tubbo struggling to stay with him; asking him to stop or egging him on? The spaces between the silence had turned to static.

Technoblade was still wearing full Netherite armour and holding his crossbow in one hand, the business end pointed at the floor. Wilbur bounced around him like a crazy man on a pogo stick, chanting “The Blade!” while Techno regarded him with something adjacent to bemusement. “The gang’s all here!” Wil shouted as Tommy and presumably Tubbo approached, one injured and one seething. “Ooh look out Techno, Tommy’s angry at you. Look at him, look in his eyes, look at his little axe. He’s pissed at you dude.” He laughed, and there was something about it Tommy really didn’t like. “Go on, go on Tommy. Say something.”

“Wil, this isn’t funny.” He turned on Techno, and the axe in his right hand felt remarkably light. He took a deep breath to regain some calm: that was a mistake. Like throwing fuel on the fire, TommyInnit exploded.

“Are you insane?! You just killed Tubbo, in front of everybody, at the President’s command.” He spat the words as he swung the axe before him in a wild arc; Techno parried it lazily with the side of his crossbow. “And you think you can just rock up here? You’re not even Pogtopia anymore, you’re just a-f*cking-nother JSchlatt pawn.” “I had reason to, Tommy, th-” “WHAT REASON?” “I was peer pressured, y’see, and I couldn’t just jeopardise myself like that, there was about twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.” “You can literally fly!” “I can only fly in the rain Tommy. It’s my one weakness.”

Tommy moved closer, only partially aware that Niki had inexplicably just joined them; Wil had amicably put an arm around her shoulders that she looked eager to escape from. “So what, you just bend to peer pressure?” “Yes. Immediately.” Niki seized her moment to run past Tommy when Wilbur practically collapsed in hysterical laughter on the stairs. All eyes were on him as Tubbo (who’d brought Tommy’s jacket with him) quietly asked “What’s so funny?” and you’d have to be deaf to miss the betrayal in his voice. Wilbur mimed (or maybe not) wiping a tear from his eye as he looked Tommy in his, “It’s just exactly as I predicted, isn’t it Tommy? No one here has any honour, not anymore. Everyone’s just following whoever has the most power. No one cares about sides! Everyone’s just doing what they’re told! Look, Tommy, what else do I need to convince you?” He slid down from his higher seat and stepped over to Tommy, moving imposingly despite the slight wobble he had with his battered ankle. He stopped arm’s distance away, holding his arms out as if to ask the question with them - open, undefended.

“Technoblade betrayed us on the whim of the President, the whim of the government. Tubbo decorated the stage for his own execution. And you-” Without thinking, Tommy put the razor-sharp edge of the axe against his brother’s chest. Both boys’ eyes followed his movement, and while Tommy felt repulsed by his own action (oh god, would I really kill him?), it just amused Wilbur further. “You wanted to blow up Manberg, just now. You said it, only minutes ago. ‘Where’s the f*cking button.’ You’ll always be my right-hand man, Tommy.”

The shove that Tommy gave him, turning the axe to use the other side, sent him stumbling back and crashing into Techno. He strode forward, using the axe again to wrench Wilbur out of the way. The older man was nonplussed, catching himself on the wall and laughing. “Let it out Tommy.” “WAS IT WORTH IT? WAS IT?” Technoblade whipped out his shield just in time to stop another one of Tommy’s wild swings from connecting with his neck. It bounced off his armour instead, leaving a scratch over the collarbone. “GET OUT OF HERE, GO BE NEXT TO YOUR ‘PRESIDENT’, YOU CLEARLY DON’T MIND KILLING FOR HIM.” “You really think you can destroy Manberg without my help, Tommy?” The next words out of his mouth came out as a low growl. “I could do without you taking a f*cking life away from my best friend.”

It was like the air temperature around them had suddenly dropped several degrees. A chill ran visibly down Wilbur’s spine as his crazed smile dropped, Tubbo looked at his shoes, Niki looked at him, and even Techno’s bravado seemed to wither away as Tommy’s pronouncement settled over the group. “Yeah. I don’t give a f*ck about peer pressure or whatever other bullsh*t you can come up with, not when you’ve just knocked him down to one life left. Do you know what it’s like? Huh?” He stepped closer, getting in Techno’s face; the pigman’s guarded expression returned. “No. You f*cking don’t. You’ve not even been in danger of losing a life. Me and Wil, we know what it’s like to live in fear of dying for good, every f*cking day of our godd*mn lives.” He turned and stepped back to gesture at Wilbur, who merely crossed his arms and regarded him coldly from his perch on the stairs. “Wilbur lost his second at the election and guess what? He’s been going out of his f*cking mind ever since-” “And what about you?”

Tommy felt Tubbo’s hand on his arm, and didn’t need to turn to know exactly what look he’d be getting. Don’t. “What’s that supposed to mean.” It was a challenge, not a question, and Techno’s never been one to shy away from an ultimatum. “You said it yourself. Wilbur’s been… straying from the path ever since he lost his second canon life in the aftermath of the elections.” He shrugged, looking Tommy directly in the eyes. His were brown, but he didn’t need to look to know that. They had been brothers once. “How have you been faring? How long has it been now, since the revolution?”

“You monstrous piece of sh*t!” Tommy flew at the Blade, swinging his purloined axe back and forth with reckless abandon. “How f*ckin’ dare you! You don’t know what it’s like to die, you b*tch! And then you think it’s okay to kill Tubbo on the President’s command?” “You think I wanted to? How was I to know that would be a canon death-?” “What the f*ck do you mean ‘How was I to know’?!” He mocked, still attacking, shouting between swings. “You executed him in front of a godd*mn crowd! Are you f*cking stupid?”

By this time, Tubbo and Niki had joined the fray and added their voices to the cacophony of Tommy’s bellowing and Techno’s reprisals. Niki was trying unsuccessfully to stop Tommy’s sudden mad tirade, though she proved ineffective in no armour as she kept having to duck out of the way of the recoiling axe swings. Tubbo stood to the side calling to Tommy, trying also to get him to calm down, though he seemed to lose faith much quicker and simply watched with a detached expression as the scene unfolded around him. And Wilbur stood over all of them on the staircase, observing the mayhem unfold as each of the main members of Pogtopia aired their frustrations for all to see. And Wilbur revelled in it. The violence, the noise. For a man with an unfinished symphony to his name, this could be the groundwork for a movement. His rebellion was falling apart at the seams, sure, but who knew witnessing the intricacies of the disintegrating stitching was so exhilarating? He had of course said yes when Dream invited him to Team Chaos, but the extent to which total bedlam was so invigorating thrilled him.

“I’m gonna make a combat pit, hold on.” Tommy was only just in control of his own limbs at that moment enough to change the direction of his strike while he was doing it so it didn’t hit Wilbur. Wilbur, who apparently was so out of his mind that he didn’t see the danger in walking between Tommy and Techno while one of them was ineffectually trying to beat the sh*t out of the other, strode between them, carrying in his posture all the grace of a refined leader with a twisted ankle, pickaxe in hand as he made true on his pronouncement with a machiavellian grin in place. The others stared on with mounting worry as he went to work hewing a tiny chamber off to the side of the main ravine’s walkway. All except Tommy, who’d been thrown to the floor by the combined forces of his redirected swing and Steam Train Wilbur.

"What the f*ck?" He panted repeatedly, struggling to push himself to his feet without looking. "Wil?" Techno asked, as the quiet that had consumed the group grew. "Settle your feelings," Wilbur wheeled around, pickaxe slung over one shoulder, one hand indicating the hole-in-the-wall room that he'd just created like a showman with a new set-piece. "With your fists."

Tubbo was at Tommy's side again, shaky hands gripping him by the arm. "Tommy stop. The last thing we need right now is infighting." Tommy gave him an incredulous look. "Tubbo, he just killed you! If that isn't already infighting, I don't know what is!" "I- I forgive him." All eyes were on him once again; Wilbur looked weirdly agitated and Techno raised an eyebrow. "He didn't really have a choice, not when surrounded by so many enemies." He dropped Tommy's arm as the blonde stared at him with an open mouth and went to hold his arms, careful around the bandages. "I get it. So I forgive him."

They stood, a metre and many miles apart for just a moment, before Tommy closed the gap, pressing his axe into Tubbo's hands. Then he turned, swept his hair from his eyes, and dropped into the Pit. Techno was soon to follow, depositing his armour and weapons by the side of the stairs and joining Tommy.

“Sure you wanna do this, Tommy?” Tommy felt his senses heightening once more, sharpening, forming a tunnel in his vision that focused solely on the foe ahead of him. Funnily enough, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, living on a server like this. It smelt like ash and gunpowder. It had the feel of a bowstring.

Dimly, Tommy wondered if Techno felt it too.

He steadied his stance, “You killed Tubbo, Techno.” The pig hybrid shrugged, idly cracking his knuckles. “Alright… We settle our feelings with our fists.” He cast a glance up at the small crowd looking down on them, at Wilbur who was beaming at him with his hands scrunched up in his pockets, at the half a dozen civilians and Pogtopians that had dared to venture towards the arguing leaders and figureheads. “When we come outta here, win or lose, no hard feelings: it stays in the pit.” Wilbur giggled. “It stays in the pit.”

For a few seconds, the entire cavern stood still, the only movement coming from the overhead lanterns swaying in the cold draft blowing through the cave. With uncertainty in his movement, Tommy turned hesitantly, tilting his head back to look up at Tubbo. He asked him a silent question with a flick of his eyes: ‘Do I?’ Because really, this was a bad idea. Facing Technoblade in one-on-one combat was not going to end well. And right now, infighting was the last thing they needed. So Tommy put it in Tubbo’s hands, not for the first time that night. (He’d wanted Manberg to go.)

“I think, Tommy,” Tubbo said evenly, keeping his eyes firmly on his friend as the rest of the room turned to regard him. “Just do whatever you think’s right.” The logical thing to do would be to concede. But when one’s been attacked - he thinks as he follows the fold of Tubbo’s bandages, remembers the ridge by his heart - one does not apologise to one's attacker. “You killed him, Techno.” The pig looked back calmly, and it seemed like he almost smiled. “It stays in the pit.” “You took his second life! You can’t f*cking get that back.” “In the pit.”

He untucked his thumbs from the fists he’d made, “You killed my right-hand man. And you referred to JSchlatt as ‘Mr President’.” “I mean, that is his title.” Tommy nearly flew at him there and then. Wilbur picked up on that, “Do it. Do it. Kill ‘im.” They both looked up, alarmed, as Wilbur egged them on and continued to miss the letter ‘h’ from his enunciation. “Kill ‘im, punch ‘im.” Tubbo looked like he was trying to convince the ground to open up and swallow them all whole. Niki had Tommy’s discarded axe in her hands and looked like she might intervene. Or help Tubbo, one of the two.

“I’m not doing this for Wilbur.” Tommy declared, tensing his muscles. “You murdered my boy. You betrayed us all.” “I was peer pressured, Tommy. There were, like, twenty dudes who would’ve shot me where I stood.” “You can literally fly-” “If I’d blown my own cover we’d lose the last person we have that can go into Manberg without being hunted down. We lost one spy today; we could’ve lost two.” Sounding irritated, Wilbur suddenly called down. “When you’re ready Tommy.” The boy in question seethed, “This wasn’t about some f*cking military strategy.”

His hands connected with Technoblade’s shoulders, as he blindly aimed a kick to one of the Blade’s shins. They backed into a corner and Techno braced his back against the wall, lean-falling into it and bringing one foot off the floor to kick Tommy in the gut. Tommy came back with a punch, his fist outlining a wild arc that glanced off Techno’s collarbone as he ducked beneath it and jabbed Tommy in the side, sending the boy reeling, and yet surging back in for more. “Yes… Yes!” Came Wil’s disconcerting cheers. The imbalance of skill and power was plain to see: Techno hit harder, fought with the techniques of a seasoned warrior and pushed through Tommy’s punches as if he didn’t notice them. Tommy, on the other hand, fought like he was a kid on a playground. He wore down quickly, his movements getting slower and more telegraphed. Techno seized him by the shirt and threw him into the wall, where he stayed as the pigman rebounded off the adjacent one and slammed him in the ribs, the kid only just scrambling away on the resulting momentum.

Despite the condition of his opponent, Techno didn’t let up, and if the previous events of the day hadn’t occurred the way they had, Tubbo might’ve jumped in to stop the fight. Instead, he stood by, watching Wilbur’s reactions more than the carnage itself, as Tommy landed one punch and Techno landed four. Wil’s face was delighted, like a kid on Christmas; Tubbo longed to dispose of this imposter and find the Wilbur that had once protected them, the Wil that would never have let this situation escalate to this point. But he was gone, or at the very least buried as deep as the cavern; he’d made the pit after all. Tubbo wondered what President Wil would do, faced with his brothers clashing like this. Probably stop the fight, pull Tommy out, and scold him, like he used to: ‘Stop picking fights with gods, Tommy.’ Alternatively, he bounded about on the lip of the pit, shouting down “Get it out Tommy!” and “Think of what he did.” He seized Tubbo by the shoulders (which hurt, but he didn’t wince) and shook him enthusiastically while shouting “Think of what he did to Tubbo.” (which turned his stomach over).

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Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

#can i get an all caps pog in the chat for pogtopia-era canon extended sbi #i thought about changing it but if this fic is a relic of s1 then that has to stay #anyway i. am going to kill the post function but i will get all of this out before i sleep. i will #as always your feedback is so appreciated and Will be used to fuel future writing :)#dream smp #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #clingy duo #technoblade #wilbur soot #niki nihachu #dsmp fic #manberg festival #lmao i just realised i forgot to add my writing tag to the first post what a muffin i am #i just had to redo this whole post end me

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