notus

Chapter 4: right twice a day / broken clock prince

Chapter 4: right twice a day / broken clock prince

BANG.

Tommy hears the crash, before he hears the yells.

He snaps his head up, staring at the ceiling. The broom falls out of his hands with a clatter.

He almost stops breathing, then.

Wilbur frowns at him. "Was that-"

"TUBBO!" Tommy, the Golden Boy, sprints out of the kitchen. He skids onto the steps, stumbling up and running - his footsteps thundering against the wooden floor.

Tommy slams into their room. Morning light filters through their window. Lazy flecks of dust fly.

And Tubbo's here.

Tubbo stares at him, with wide eyes. He sits, sprawled, on the floor - clutching at his chest. The covers of his bed are strewn everywhere. Unfamiliar clothes hang loosely on him.

Tubbo shudders.

"Tommy-" He gasps. "I-"

Tommy launches forward. He grabs Tubbo into a desperate hug, holding him close - holding him, holding onto, he's here.

"You asshole," Tommy seethes, and he doesn't mean it at all. "You took so long."

Tubbo grips the back of his shirt, just as tightly. The Goat Kid buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, shuddering out the shock of death.

Because he died. He must've. That's why he respawned back in his bed.

So Tommy holds him, for as long as it takes. He whispers comforting nonsense, apologises over and over for having such a stupid idea, and he lets the Goat Kid cry.

And Tubbo does.

They stay like that, until Tommy's knees ache and grow numb. Until long after Tubbo's sobs quiet down to silent sniffling. Until long past Wilbur's fifth check-up.

Tubbo's grip slackens.

Tommy begins to pull away. He's ready - always ready - to hold his brother again.

But Tubbo breathes, in and out.

Their gazes meet.

"Are you...alright now?" Tommy asks. He keeps his hands, hovering over Tubbo's shoulders. Here, but ignorable if needed.

Tommy waits.

Tubbo swallows, hard. His exhale shudders, as does he. The emotion in their gazes clash; frenzy and worry.

"Tommy-" Tubbo grabs his shoulders, suddenly. His grip is tight, knuckle-white. "We need to go back."

And Tommy gapes.

"What the fuck?"

Dying sucked.

Tubbo shuddered, wracked with shivers. He grips onto the blanket, wrapped around his shoulders.

He's grateful. He's terrified.

He died.

The door to his room swings open.

Tubbo snaps his head up. "Tommy-"

Tommy does not, in fact, stand in his doorway.

Phil does.

Phil steps, further into his room. He smiles, a gentle kind and warm. In his hands, he carries a tray; a bowl and a mug, both with steam gently wafting upwards.