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Tommy should have known something was wrong. He was a god. He was an immortal deity who’d observed mortals for centuries. If anyone knew how fragile and cunning they were, it would be him. Humans were finicky creatures; sometimes they could survive explosions and fires, and sometimes they died because they turned their head the wrong way. They were as unpredictable as the former god of storms, only more containable and less destructive.
It was very irritating how unreliable you mortals were.
Being banished to the mortal realm without powers was just as horrible as one could imagine. Tommy, never in a literal million years, would imagine himself walking to get to a place he wanted to go. Before, all he needed to do was snap his fingers for dramatic effect, and he would be there in a blink of an eye. Now, he had to put in effort and the work. He had been fed by a golden spoon all his life. He was the godly equivalent of a spoiled child, and that was what got him here.
To be fair, the mortal world did have its perks. It was far more populated, which Tommy was grateful for. His palace was always empty save for the servants he would summon out of thin air, but they didn’t make very good conversationalists. His power was vast, but not even he could shape a personality out of thin air. Making a friend didn’t seem like the best idea, because of the power imbalance. Could you imagine having your best friend kneeling to you every time you spoke? It was annoying and not a very good relationship.
Mortals, on the other hand, already had their own personalities and voices. Tommy didn’t have to ventriloquist a clay dummy to keep himself entertained because it was already built into the humans. Also, it was fun, to fuck with their minds and tell them nonsensical things that the human mind could never comprehend. It was always hilarious to see their brains scramble and try to make sense of it all.
“But Tommy!” you’d cry. “You shouldn’t be revealing godly secrets to any poor human!”
Well, not exactly. Tommy had landed himself in a secluded place called the Dream SMP. It was far from any other civilization, and the people who were allowed in were demigods, or heroes in their own right. Call it a sanctuary, if you will. Where demigods and heroes could live here without the fear of angering mortals or smiting gods. Not everyone was a demigod, however, and some were just humans or hybrids that ended up lost and stayed.
From what Tommy knew, there were many powerful demigods right off the bat. Dream, the only child of XD, the most powerful god of the entire council. Ranboo, son of Void, a banished god that XD himself saw to. It was no wonder that Ranboo and Dream didn’t see eye-to-eye all the time. Sapnap, son of… not even Tommy knew. He was a powerful demigod, but his powers haven’t presented itself, nor did the demigod himself know of his heritage. Tommy assumed it was best to not spoil him of his potential.
There were many more, but if Tommy were to list out everyone individually, he’d be here for an hours. It’s not easy keeping track of everyone when you had better things to worry about, like how he was going to survive another day with Dream out for his blood.
A god’s blood. Ichor. Tommy was as close to a mortal as a god could get, but he still bleeds gold. It was the only proof of his heritage, but if any mortal were to ingest it, they would spontaneously combust. He didn’t bleed easy, either, unless he had a weapon directly strike him; otherwise, only select few people knew about his unusual state. And only Dream knew who he was, thanks to XD’s gift of allowing him to “see all,” or whatever that means.
Thank his name that Dream is in prison. Otherwise, there’s no telling what else he would have done to the world and everyone in it.
Dream is gone, but his influence isn’t. The strings he pulled still stretches deep, buried into people’s flesh and puppeteering them to do his bidding. Even behind bars, he is still the puppeteer, and the world is his marionette.
Tommy should have known something was wrong when Tubbo asked him to look after Michael so suddenly.
Tommy might not have his powers, but he had his keen senses. They had nothing to do with his omnipotent self; it was just a quirk that he was born with. It had proven useful time-to-time, where he realized Dream was a wolf behind a smiley mask and Techno’s intent of imminent betrayal. It helped him now, only when it was too late.
“Tubbo!” Tommy smiled, greeting his best friend at the door. Michael was sitting on his shoulders, beaming at his father’s return. “Did you have a safe trip? Sneak off to see Ranboo or some sh—something?”
Tubbo managed a smile. It was weak and fragile, his skin white as paper. Despite his pale complexion, his lips seemed redder than usual. Tommy’s smile dropped. “Tubbo?”
Tubbo waved his hand, making a gesture to say he’s fine. “Just tired,” he lied through his teeth. His goat ears were semi-raised, an indicator that said that he was spouting bullshit. “Need some sleep.”
“What’s wrong, Tubbo?” Tommy lowered Michael down to arms. Michael, seeing Tubbo pass by them, his arms reaching out for his father. Tubbo merely chuckled and ruffled his head, but didn’t take them. He didn’t reply to Tommy either, choosing to wobble past him and head straight towards the stairs. “Tubbo, answer me.”
From the base of the stairs, Tubbo turned to him, holding onto the railings for support. Tommy could see his arm trembling and his eyes were unfocused, as if he were looking at the world through a dense fog. Like he was trying to hold onto the world of the living but slipping with every second that passed by. “I’m fine,” he insisted, voice shaking. He was very much not fine. “Can you look after Michael while I’m sleeping, I—”
A rupture of coughs erupted from his throat, both his hands shooting up to cover his mouth. They sounded wet, one that would tear your throat to shreds and leave you aching for hours after. They didn’t stop, only growing more vigorous as he went on, his entire body racking with his coughs.
“Tubbo!” Tommy set Michael onto the floor and rushed towards his friend. Michael made sounds of confusion, not quite understand what was happening. He sped to Tubbo, holding his shoulders. He froze as soon as he touched him; under his thick coat, he was sickly thin. So thin that he could feel his bones underneath the fabric. “Tubbo? What’s happened to you?”
With one final, and perhaps the worst cough ever, he vomited into his hands. The sickly wretch caused tingles under Tommy’s skin and his hairs to stand on their ends, especially when he felt warm droplets splatter onto his cheek.
Through Tubbo’s gloved fingers, the color red began to seep through the cloth, and dripping down his cupped palms onto the floor. When he pulled his hands away, the lower half of his face was covered entirely with blood, his teeth red and the red liquid drizzling down his chin.
Tommy’s stomach dropped. “Tubbo?” He let go of Tubbo, unsure of the current predicament. “What—”
In his delirium, Tubbo somehow found the strength to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and glower at Tommy. “Nothing, Tommy,” he said breathlessly, shivering. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on the stair’s railings just before he fell. “Please take care of Michael. I—I need to clean this up.”
“What?” Tommy demanded, aghast. He wasn’t sure if he heard his best friend right. “Just clean this up? Tubbo, you need to tell me what’s happened! You can’t just hack your lungs out and tell me it’s nothing!”
Tubbo flinched at his loud voice. “Tommy, I can’t do this right now,” he rasped. “All I need is some sleep. Please, let me handle this. I’ve got it all under control.”
“Tubbo, no. You do not have anything under control. Look at yourself.” Careful to keep his voice down, Tommy gestured all around him, putting emphasis on the blood on the floor. “I’m your best friend, man. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell? Ranboo? Does he know? Did he do this to you? Did—”
“No, he didn’t,” Tubbo cut him off, wincing. He sunk to sit on the staircase, completely drained of energy and will to move. “Nobody knows. No one can. Not even you, Tommy, so please—”
“No!” Tommy interjected, voice rising. “I’ve lost so many things, Tubbo. So many things that you can’t comprehend! I’m not willing to lose you, too!”
His eyes flashed back to the scene where Sapnap plunged his sword into Henry, the only friend he’s had for hundred of years. He was forced to watch the life drain from the cow’s black, beady eyes, staring straight into Tommy’s soul, haunting him for countless nights. He thought back to when Dream manipulated Wilbur into orchestrating his own death – “a beautiful tragedy,” as the man claimed it, with fires and debris raining all around him as he fell to his own doom.
He lost his powers. He lost his palace. He lost friendships with gods because they were massive pricks to mortals. He was not losing Tubbo, no matter what it took.
“So tell me what’s happened,” Tommy begged, ready to get down to his knees if he needed to. Tommy had only begged once in his life; where Dream held an axe right to Tubbo’s neck. He’d begged for Tubbo’s life then, and he would do the same now. “Maybe I can help. Just tell me what’s wrong and who did this to you. Dream’s in prison. Everyone’s recovering and so are we. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Nobody did this to me,” Tubbo said, holding his head. “I did this to myself. Tommy, please, stop asking. I’m doing this to keep you all safe.”
Tommy bit his lip. “Keep us all safe?” he repeated, scandalous. “How? By killing yourself?”
“We don’t know whether if Dream will escape or someone else will rise to take his place,” Tubbo reasoned. “I have to be prepared. I can’t let any of you get hurt, or worse.”
“Are you hearing yourself?” Tommy hated how Tubbo sounded. He wanted to close his ears and pretend this was all a dream. He reminded Tommy of those delusional, self-centered gods who thought they could never be in the wrong. The world could conspire against them with facts and evidence and yet they choose to remain ignorant. And now that tone was appearing on his best friend, the person he’d least expect. “Just tell me!”
Tubbo looked up and stared straight into Tommy’s eyes. They were darker than a swamp and more poisonous than one. One that’s been scarred beyond repair. One that’s fractured from seeing too many tragedies play out until they’re unfixable.
“Nukes, Tommy,” Tubbo seethed. “I’m making motherfucking nukes.”
Tommy swore his heart would have stopped right then, but his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything but Tubbo’s voice and the adrenaline in his ears.
“Tubbo, you can’t keep doing this. Ranboo needs you. Michael needs you—” Tommy clutched the front of his shirt, his lips quivering from a foreign emotion. He hated it – he hated how weak and small it made him feel. “I need you.”
Tubbo peeled his hand from his mouth, wincing at the blood staining his lips and dripping down his palm. This was the boy that used to go pale at the sight of a sword, but years of hardships had changed him beyond recognition. The boy with the golden heart had turned to coal and dust.
“I’m doing this for them, Tommy,” he gasped, holding his sides with wide, frantic eyes. The front of his coat was splattered with red. “I’m doing this for you.”
Tommy didn’t get a chance to refute, as Tubbo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, collapsing. A sickening crash echoed in the room, leaving the wooden stairs splintered and blood pouring from the back of Tubbo’s head, the man sprawled out, lifeless and motionless.
“Bubba?” Michael babbled behind him, oblivious.