‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 1

My biggest gripe with how late the three canon lives system was brought in is that the early deaths never got the weight they deserved in canon. So I fixed that. The night of L’Manberg’s independence is the biggest party any of them have ever attended, but Tommy’s not in a merry mood. Tubbo finds out why. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part two | part three

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Night of Independence

“One, two, three, four, five-” His heart was racing, fingers tightening on the bowstring. There was a kind of dread in his heart like never before. Not only was Dream a better shot than him; he knew it. And to bet both the future of his country and one of his discs on his abilities…

“-six, seven, eight, nine-” His arms ached; his whole body ached. Bruises and scrapes and barely healed gashes littered his limbs from Eret’s betrayal. That b*stard. He snuck a glance at his fellows. They’d all lost so much today. All their things, a war, a country; not to mention a life apiece. Something had erupted inside of him when they’d woken back in the camarvan with a tally mark each: something red and explosive. And they returned his gaze, Tubbo and Fundy watching with bated breath. He couldn’t see Wilbur from the direction he was facing, but he imagined his expression was about the same. Fear, apprehension and just the smallest sliver of hope.

“-Ten paces fire!” And then it died, for the second time in twenty-four hours. As did Tommy.

The mood around the campfire was merry. Wilbur had poured them all drinks (watered down for everyone but him, especially Fundy) and was currently leading him and Tubbo in a half-drunk singalong of something that had started as the L’Manberg anthem, that had since devolved into innuendos about explosions and jokes about ‘independance’, though they kept in the parts with the names and the ‘it’s a very real and not blown up L’Manberg’. Tommy tried to have a good time, shouting “F*ck Eret!” every time that line came up, but the feeling was bittersweet. He slipped his hand inside his shirt and felt the tiny ridges. Two tallies. He hadn’t told the others yet. They’d given him enough pity when he’d told them how he’d traded away the discs. He didn’t need them fawning over him for this as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t been subtle enough. Tubbo sat down beside him, out of breath from dancing and grinning at Wilbur’s antics, and the first thing he laid his eyes on when he looked to Tommy was his hand inside his shirt. Tommy internally cursed himself and quickly removed it, but Tubbo had already latched onto the topic, “Feels weird doesn’t it?”

“Hm?” “The… Death mark.” A slight tremor passed over him, his eyes wandering down to where his own sat. The marks always showed just below a person’s collarbone, on the left side of the chest, close to the heart. “Maybe not weird but… I never expected to have one this- this early.” His words hung in the night air. They were both just kids, Fundy too, and they were all too close to a permanent death than they should be. But Tommy found some solace in how his friends had survived the war gaining only one. They were the lucky ones. Tommy had not only lost his most valued possessions but another life too. There was a line to death, and now Tommy walked along it, feet placed end to end like an acrobat tip-toeing a tightrope. Any moment now could be his last forever. It was unlikely he’d die right this second: he’d just secured peace for goodness’ sake, but what if? All it could take now was a stray arrow, a random attacker, a careless match finding an explosive in an untouched corner of L’Manberg, and that would be it for him. Gone.

Tubbo shuffled closer, “Tommy, are you okay man?” Drat. Once again, his face betrayed his feelings. He glanced around the partying men. Of all the people here, he trusted Tubbo the most, but mainly, the secret was starting to weigh him down worse than a full suit of netherite. He was tired of saying he was fine. Besides, it was Tubbo. His best friend, his brother. They’d been fighting together since the beginning: the Disc War, the Pet Wars and most of his other scuffles with citizens of the SMP, major and minor. He could trust Tubbo.

“Tubbo, I… Give me your hand.” One boy put his hand in the others’, and Tommy laid it on his chest, where they could both feel the lines representing a betrayal and a duel through the thin fabric of his shirt. Tubbo’s face changed from concern to horror to pity as he ran his fingers back and forth over the two ridges, checking, again and again, to verify what he couldn’t quite believe was true.

“You never said-” He started to say, but Tommy silenced him with a finger to his own lips hurriedly. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.” He sighed. “Or detract from the celebrations. I’m fine. It’s just a second mark.” Tubbo gave him a look halfway between disappointment and sympathy. “First of all, it’s not ‘just a second mark’ and second, you know that because I can see it on your face. It’s affecting you, dude.” Tommy looked away, closing his hand around Tubbo’s. “I don’t wanna think about it tonight, but I can’t-” He looked around at his four closest comrades. “I can’t stop running it over in my head, how much we’ve lost.” He gestured around them, at the land of their country torn apart, at the small patch of scorched grass they’d found sound enough to celebrate on. His eyes met Tubbo’s, creased with worry. “Five lives between us. Five.”

“Well… We’ve lost a lot, but we’ve also gained, y’know? What you did-” “How do you feel?” “Hm?” Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand. “How does it feel to be down a life?” “Don’t you remember?” He smiled faintly. “It was only this morning.” “I was a bit preoccupied, Tubbs.” They giggled half-heartedly. “True.” There was a moment of quiet broken only by the sounds of the party, and then; “I suppose I’m okay. I know I’m a bit closer to dying now, but I’ve still got another chance. So I can manage, I think.” “Do you feel more… mortal? Vulnerable?” Tommy’s voice was small. “Yeah. Like, I know what it’s like to die now- or, I know I can die. That it’s possible. I think that’s what it’s like for the others as well.”

Tubbo’s gaze drifted to look over at Wilbur, and Tommy’s soon followed. “Well, he seems fine.” The blonde remarked as Wilbur whirled past, drink in hand, a brown coat over his revolutionary uniform, adding more and more names from the crowd around them to the anthem as Fundy looked on, bemused. “I guess,” Tubbo shrugged. “He’s a bit older, so it’s less… jarring to be down one. Still not ideal, but not entirely unexpected.” “Well he’s certainly taking it well.” And at that Tubbo laughed. “He’s also quite drunk. So drunk he hasn’t noticed Fundy’s stopped watering his beers down.” That brought forth a small smile from Tommy. Tubbo continued: “He’s had time, y’know?” He paused, waiting for Tommy to look him in the eye. “When… When did you notice it?”

“After Dream took off with the discs. I finally came down from the adrenaline rush when I was alone in my house, just before I got back on comms to let you guys know. I felt it while I was taking off my armour. The tiniest little sting... And there it was.” He remembers standing alone in his house, examining both the duel scar and the extra mark in the grimy mirror he’d taken off the wall and leant on the floor. For a moment it was like the floor had gone out from beneath him again, but luckily this time it wasn’t an explosion. It hadn’t crossed his mind before then: all his brainpower had been in use, between worrying for his friends, discs, country and bow skills. The physical and mental pain of losing the duel had kept his mind off his own mortality as well, but there it was, staring him in the face, taunting him.

‘Two lives in less than twenty-four hours,’ it seemed to say (and he’d be omitting important details to not mention how it spoke in an American accent) ‘You won’t make it to twenty, or eighteen, or even your next birthday. Are you running out of time? Are you running out of time? Are you running out of ti-’

“What you did was incredibly brave and selfless.” Tubbo’s voice snapped him out of the memory of Death calling out to him, or maybe that was just him being melodramatic. “More like stupid. I didn’t know what I was doing.” “Well, Wilbur did tell you, he said ‘ohh Tommy, this country isn’t worth your life’.” “I wasn’t thinking.” “Well... I don’t care.” Tubbo squeezed his hand. “And maybe that’s a little selfish, but we’re free because of the trade you made, and maybe you’d never have pushed Dream to that point without the duel. I don’t know. But now we’re free. We’ve been beaten down by that tyrant for so long, but now we’re finally free.” He gave him a firm smile, “Yeah.” It was hard not to get swept up in Tubbo’s good moods, so Tommy reached for his drink. “Cheers. To L’Manberg!” “L’Manberg!” Tubbo knocked his tankard into Tommy’s and they both took a long drink. Wilbur overheard them and knocked Fundy’s drink out of his hands in his tipsy enthusiasm, and then there was another round of My L’Manberg. And as Tommy listened to the growing, rowdy chorus of his country, he let go of his fears for a while. Maybe they’d never leave him for the rest of his life, but for right now, they had their walls, their drinks and their song.

And as long as there were more crosses on the flag than lines on his tally, he’d be fine.

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