In the name of revolution

Dirt and stuff or something

Tubbo jolts up at the sound of his window creaking open, the soft rasp of glass against wood cutting through the stillness of the night.

He's been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Now, apparently, someone has decided to break into his room.

Narrowing his eyes, Tubbo summons a sword from his inventory, the familiar weight settling in his hand as he readies himself to spring at the intruder.

But just as he prepares to strike, a mop of messy blonde hair and a painfully familiar face appears.

"Tommy," Tubbo groans, lowering the sword. "What the fuck? It's—uh—like, the middle of the night."

Tommy sits halfway through the window, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest and the other raised to his forehead. "Tubbo! Do friends really need a reason to see each other?"

Tubbo stares at him, caught somewhere between frustration and amusement. "They do when they're breaking into someone's bedroom at 2 a.m.?"

Tommy ignores him, hauling himself the rest of the way through the window and landing in a heap on the floor. He scrambles to his feet, brushing off his coat like nothing happened.

"It seems," Tommy declares, pointing an accusatory finger, "that you hate me and want me to leave forever and never come back. The betrayal."

Tubbo rolls his eyes but can't help the small, fond smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Get in here before someone sees you, you idiot."

Tommy grins triumphantly and flops onto Tubbo's bed like he owns the place. "Miss me, Big T?"

"No."

"Liar."

He can't help but smile.

They banter for a while, their easy, chaotic rhythm filling the room. It had been forever since they last saw each other and the occasion called for a tiny little harmless prank or two.

It's almost comforting to Quackity's office with dirt. Tommy insists it's "modern art," while Tubbo is pretty sure Quackity won't agree. Then, they raid Niki's café, Tommy shoving cookies into his pockets like a squirrel while Tubbo leaves a few emeralds and a hastily scribbled apology note.

Between bites of stolen cupcake, Tommy leans in, lowering his voice like he's sharing a top-secret mission. "Tubbo, listen. Wilbur is... more paranoid, lately. Talking on and on about how he "needs to take back his L'manburg" and how "everyone is against us." If I have to hear one more speech I might go insane."

Yep, that sounds like wilbur.

Tommy slumps a little before continuing on," anyway, he says we need a spy or something and you're obviously the best for that."

Tubbo raises an eyebrow mid-chew. "A spy?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, leaning back and waving a hand like it's obvious. "You're all sneaky and boring—perfect for the job."

"Wow. Thanks, Tommy."

"No problem."

Tubbo rolls his eyes but eventually nods. "Fine. But don't get caught doing dumb shit without me, alright? Stay safe."

Tommy grins, clapping Tubbo on the back. "You worry about me too much. I'm basically unkillable."

By the time they creep back to Tubbo's room, the first rays of dawn are already peeking over the horizon. Tommy climbs out the way he came, though Tubbo has to shove him a bit to keep him from falling headfirst.

The next morning, Tubbo is greeted by Quackity storming through the halls, a trail of dirt following him.

"Alright!" Quackity barks, holding up dirt-covered papers. "Which one of you little shits decided my office was a sandbox?!"

Tubbo, casually sipping his morning coffee, raises an eyebrow and plasters on his most innocent expression. "That's crazy," he says, shaking his head. "I have no idea what happened."

Quackity glares, suspicion radiating off him, but Tubbo just grins in return.