BLIND | DreamSMP

XXV - Duality in the Dark

Tommy hadn't thought about Tubbo for a while.

Or at least, he hadn't wanted to think about him.

But when your arms are tied behind your back and there's a fox-man sitting behind you and you're on your way to the country you founded with your older brother who's wanted by the government and you can hear your ex-best friend murmuring nonsense because he apparently has a head injury, you don't have a lot to do other than think.

Tommy couldn't remember a time where he didn't know Tubbo. Phil had taken him in about a year after Tommy, when both boys were still snot-nosed toddlers who slapped and kicked and punched with their flabby little arms and legs and cried when they fell down.

His first and earliest memory was of Tubbo, around four years old, cupping a small crochet bee in his palms, a birthday gift from Phil, staring at the little thing like it was made of gold and diamonds. Tommy remembered that moment because in the next he had laughed and told Tubbo that only sissies liked bees. The younger boy had vehemently defended the prized possession, and soon they were shouting at each other over if crocheting made someone a sissy or not, and if bees were sissy animals in the first place. 

Over time that childhood innocence Tubbo had worn like a favorite shirt grew threadbare and was eventually replaced by a cloak of cunning mischief and a fascination with peculiarities. They were happiest then, Tommy thought, when the world was so simple and so easy to navigate, albeit the occasional repercussions for a wayward scam or scheme.

And then Tommy had left with Wilbur. Tubbo had wanted to go too, but Phil insisted he was too young.

"You're only fourteen," Phil had said. "Wait another year before you leave, so I don't worry too much while you're gone." 

So Tubbo had waited, and when he turned fifteen Tommy made the long trek back to the cottage for him.

Maybe it was that year of separation that had changed things. Tubbo seemed different afterwards, a little more distant, less like Tommy's sidekick and more like his own person. He didn't cling to Tommy, or act like his shadow anymore; instead he walked beside him and spoke his mind instead of parroting Tommy's.

Then they became busy with L'Manberg and the first war and the election and the disastrous results. No one had time to talk about feelings, least of all ponder why their best friend was acting strange. Besides, maybe it was just stress. Tubbo was acting as a spy for Pogtopia after all. Surely that would explain it.

The festival and the fireworks helped to explain it away even more. The boy had been through so much; it was only natural for him to say and do odd things that chipped further at their friendship. It was fine.

Everything was fine.

Except suddenly it wasn't.

Suddenly Tubbo was putting Tommy on probation, telling him he couldn't do certain things any more, reprimanding him again and again for rebelling against Dream, for attempting to defend their country; Tubbo's country, now that Tommy had passed leadership on to him.

And suddenly Dream was giving them an ultimatum; exile Tommy, or face a war they couldn't win.

He had been so sure Tubbo would stand with him in the face of oppression. That he would fight until the very end with Tommy, would rather go out in a blaze of glory and righteous flame than exile his best friend.

He had been wrong.

Maybe he should have seen it coming. Noticed the signs before it was too late. Done something to salvage their relationship.

But he didn't.

Dream had been right, in his sick, twisted way. Tommy was completely and utterly self-obsessed. He was so preoccupied with himself he had let Tubbo drift away from him, had let all his friends and family leave, and hadn't even realized until they were long gone. He had used those around him to fulfill his wants and needs without sparing a thought towards their own, and in doing so, driven them away.