#sitting at home with my freshly broken tailbone

[hermits-that-craft]

Marionette Roulette - Chapter 3

TW: Teen death mention, crying, signs of abuse

ao3 link in the reblogs

Tommy lies in his bed, sleep gently placing him in his bed. He was with Tubbo, in his dreams. Why couldn’t he stay? He misses his friend.

Tommy hears footsteps around his small cell. They have a strange sound - both heavy and armoured, clinking against the ground, but light as well. As though the person is wearing armour, but hiding it under layers.

Tommy knows, starvation addled mind still functioning enough for fear to recognise that Dream is the visitor. He doesn’t sound like Techno, or Wilbur, or even Phil as he walks. And in any case, Dream is the only one who is allowed to visit him. Who would visit Tommy, the teen who got his best friend killed? The teen who hurt so many people that Techno knew before he left to join Wilbur’s revolution, his older brother trying to keep him from harming more. The teen that Wilbur knew was a monster, Pogtopia helping him see that Tommy is the route of his problems.

Tommy’s head blooms in pain, and Tommy can’t help the whimper that falls from his lips. Dream looks to him, surprised that the teen is awake.

He’s spent a week in the prison without moving or eating, just taking sips of water as Dream forces him. Tommy knows, somehow, that Dream is worried, or even fearful, for what is happening to Tommy.

But it hurts. His head hurts so much - too much. Why does it hurt so much?

“Oh, Tommy.” Dream hums in sympathy, and Tommy feels the bed dip from the weight of the other man. “See - this is what happens if you don’t eat. You get hungry.”

“Head.” Tommy curls into a ball, his hands on the top of his head. He can feel warm, sticky blood in between his fingers. “Bleeding. Hurts.”

“No, don’t be an idiot.” Dream tutts, smacking Tommy’s hands away from his head. “You’re just hungry, because you’re stubborn and you refuse help. That’s why Tubbo died - you refused help.”

Tommy wails at the reminder, the pain in his head spreading to his fingers, feet and tailbone. His whole body feels like it’s on fire - it’s not fair.

“You know, Tubbo’s funeral is tomorrow.” Dream says. “His father even came. Where is your father, Tommy? Picking up better children because you’re a monster who kills everyone he loves?”

Tommy screams again, all anger and grief and acceptance, because deep down, Tommy knows that Dream is right.

Tommy is a monster. He’s the worst of all his brothers, of anyone in his family. 

Of anyone on the server.

---

“Welcome to the server, Captain-”

“Save it Dream.” The man says, walking past the server’s admin to Phil, who avoids looking at the man. Jordan takes his sunglasses off, his eyes filled with tears.

“Jordan-”

“Tell me it was a prank.” Jordan begs his friend, his voice hollow. “Tell me I didn’t outlive Tubbo. Tell me that my son is just around the corner, giggling under his breath. Tell me that this server, that was promised to be safe, is safe! Tell me that Tubbo is still alive!”

“I’m sorry.” the words fall like a guillotine from Phil’s lips, and Jordan falls to his knees, a sob ripping itself out of his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Who.” It’s not a question, rather a demand for justice. “Who?”

“Me.” Dream says blankly. “I was aiming for Tommy, your son jumped in front of him.”

“You mother fucker.” Jordan spits, lunging at the admin as though killing him will bring back Tubbo. “Bring him back! Bring my son back! You swore that this SMP would be safe for him - for him to experience SMP’s before he turned 18! How could you!”

“I can’t bring him back.” Dream lies, though the only people who know he’s lying are held on a tight leash. It doesn’t matter though, Phil and Techno escorting Jordan away from Dream, leaving behind the admin, who in turn stalks away from the world spawn.

Sunglasses lie in freshly kicked up mud, their red frames shining in the sunlight. A small hand reaches down, giggling as he picks it up.

He doesn’t know why his Dad is so upset with Dream, but he’s sure that he’ll feel better once he gets his glasses back!

---

The funeral isn’t as long as it could be, but no one knows if they would have stayed stable if it was longer. It rains the entire funeral, appropriately, and although no one lights the meadow where the teens are buried, no mobs enter. Red poppies and blue forget-me-nots grow as though the meadow was destined to be a cemetery. 

The caskets are lowered into the graves silently. Tubbo’s is small - too small, why is it so small - though Tommy’s is the same size as an adults it’s light. Two disks lie in it, along with some polaroids that Ghostbur had donated, of times long since passed. They were not Ghostbur’s in origin, but Tubbo’s and Tommy’s. The thought still counts, as the ghost did not attend the funeral, or say anything to the living.

Niki is the first to speak. Her words don’t flow like poetry, and she stumbles and chokes her way through her sentences, but the emotions are raw and true and they bring the most comfort to the fathers who have lost their sons. 

Quackity speaks next. It’s a short speech, one that he wrote with Karl and Sapnap’s help, the paper tearstained and running. His hands shake while he speaks, talking about the good times he had with the two teens. New L’Manburg, running drugs, even parts of Pogtopia and Manburg are brought up, and by the time he leaves the stand, Quackity is close to collapsing. Karl and Sapnap pull him into a close hug, letting the man cry on their shoulders and silently promising each other that they will not be the next to go - for the fiancee’s sake.

Fundy takes the stand, and though he can’t stand for more than five minutes, his speech brings up memories of before wars and countries and disks - he talks about a meadow so similar to the one that Tubbo and Tommy are being buried in. About playing with his uncle and friend who were just younger than him. He collapses soon after saying that Tubbo and Tommy had asked him to bury them in a meadow like it, hoping that they like the one he chose for them. Eret helps him off the stage, pulling Fundy away from Phil and Techno without Fundy needing to ask him.

Phil takes the stage quietly. He makes it through his entire speech without crying, though he collapses into Techno’s arms the second eyes are off him. His speech was neither short nor long, here nor there. It talked about Tommy, the gremlin who never grew old enough to discover what type of hybrid he is. Was. It spoke about Tubbo, the kind boy who would play with Tommy in the meadow near their home. It never once said anything about power, though it’s clear that Phil wanted to blame power struggles for the deaths.

Jordan speaks, in a wistful tone that tells everyone exactly who gave Sam the black eye. He talks about raising Tubbo, about how when Tommy was over the two boys were a handful but sweet. How the two would insist on helping him make dinner if Tommy was spending the night. He never brought up how he was promised a safe server for his son to play on. It’s clear in the hardness in his eyes that he despises the admin for his sons death.

Ranboo is the last to speak. He waits until Phil and Techno leave before taking the stage, and the silence that falls at the enderman hybrid’s little rebellion tells him that he needs to let everyone know. He reads every memory of the pair in his memory book. From burning Georges house to meeting them on the prime path, thinking that they were going to grind. Ranboo is not a poet, but the venom he spits at Dream is enough to make everyone remember the once living president. Ranboo speaks about hearing of Tubbo’s death. Of Tommy’s exile, and what he witnessed once. Of broken screams that he heard from Logstedshire after Tommy was long asleep. Of wet sobs that he could hear from the presidential office after a meeting with the butcher army.

“Their deaths are on everyones hands.” Ranboo spits, before he walks into the forest. He stalks into the forest, small burns pocketing his face as he refuses to bring an umbrella. 

---

Tommy lies on his bed, blood soaking through the sheets and covers. He doesn’t know how much more pain he can handle, how much more he can take. It hurts so much, bones growing in places no human should be able to grow them. 

Though he is Phil’s son, and none of them were human.

Phil himself is an avian hybrid, Techno being a pig (boar, Techno would say). Wilbur was more difficult to work out, but he was a salmon hybrid, practically a siren with the talents he had.

Tommy is 16 now. Of course his hybrid traits are coming in. 

He remembers when Techno and Wilbur’s came in. The hugs from Phil, the carefully brew potions to help them. The cards and care and love that was given to the twins. Tommy will never get that. He doesn’t get warmth, freshly dried clothes from the drying machine. He gets cold obsidian walls and a wall of lava that he can’t even drag himself towards. 

Dream chained his ankle to the corner, saying something about ‘pets’. Tommy doesn’t know, Tommy could hear him, could hear everything, all at once. It was too much, still is too much. He just wants to burrow under some blankets, under a building. Burrow somewhere safe, preferably with some blankets fresh out of the clothes dryer. And some running water nearby to wash his food with, and a close source of food and-

Tommy whimpers, bringing his hands to his ears. They no longer sit at the side of his head, but on the top of it. They’re soft and round, Tommy spends a lot of time wondering what species he is. What type of hybrid he is.

When he asked Dream, the man just laughed. He said it wasn’t important, he’s a feral animal that needs to be tamed anyways. Tommy is inclined to believe him. He knows he has sharp claws and feet with pads at the bottom of them. And a tail. He doesn’t know what it looks like, just that it’s there and it’s painful and still growing.

He can trust Dream as the man smells safe, Tommy often lies to himself. The man smells of nothing. The scent of blood or dirt should follow the man, but it doesn’t. Dream doesn’t smell of anything, but Tommy can’t afford to be choosy about who is his family.

He misses Tubbo.

----

A child watches from the trees, a black liquid falling from his eyes like ink. Unlike Ghostbur, who looks the same as he did when he was living, just grey; or Glatt, who’s horns are now red in contrast with his blue jumper; the child looks nothing like when he was alive.

His eyes are black, as though they were made from the void. His skin is whiter than paper, and the blood flowing out of the corner of his lips stands out as though nothing else in the world was that saturated. His clothes are torn, green shirt greyed and bloodied from the brutal death he experienced. The grass seems to wilt beneath his feet, and his hair floats as though he was encased in water, rather than floating in air. He simultaneously looks older than he will ever age, and younger than most of the smp knew him. His body is small, shorter than it had been in life, but his face bared the marks of someone who has lived lifetimes.

Ghostbur promised revenge - that he would flood the world to save Tommy. He would rise the sea until Dream brings his little brother home. The, if water is not threat enough, lava would take its place. The young - too young, far too young - ghost can’t believe that the sweet man who held him as he cried would do that to a world.

Didn’t believe it, not until Glatt spoke to him. Told him what Ghostbur had done to worlds as Alivebur. Had raised lava and water and could have been a god, but chose to play war against Dream in this server.

The ghostly boy believes that much. He pretends to only remember good things, but he doesn’t. He remembers what Alivebur did to Tommy. What Technoblade did to him. What Wilbur and Techno would get away with doing to the two boys. What Phil and Dream and Techno did to his country.

He remembers Schlatt. He remembers everything. Every detail, every crime. He forgot what happy memories he made, leaving only despair and anger, and the need to protect Tommy.

He doesn’t remember his father anymore. 

He let himself become hardened.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Always Too Late

         “Absolutely not,” I said, looking across the counter at Nick and Matt. “It’s one thing to have you guys wrestling out in your ring on the tennis courts. It’s something entirely different to watch you guys beat the hell out of each other all over the place. No. I’m not watching, and the kids aren’t either.”

           “Mama! I want to watch!” Mattie whined from the table where she was working on her math work. “I can’t learn if I don’t watch.”

           Pure terror turned me inside out. The baby settled inside me wriggled in response. I could feel the lump forming in the back of my throat. “No. And don’t you dare say another word about it, Mattea Jackson.”

           The brothers looked at one another, communicating in that silent way of theirs. Nick leaned against the counter. “Y/N, Sunshine—”

           “Don’t sunshine me, Nick. One wrong move and one of you could be seriously hurt. Or worse. So don’t ask me to watch this. Don’t ask me to say I’m okay with this.”

           “We’ve done this forever, Mama,” Matt tried, reaching across the counter to me. “We were backyard wrestling years before we got in a real ring. It’s going to be fine.”

           “Trust us,” Nick said quietly, watching me with his bright blue eyes.

           Tears burned behind my eyes. It wasn’t fair that he pulled that card. It wasn’t fair that they had made this decision without me. That they wanted Mattie and Nicole and Lee to watch this from the window. It was too much for me to handle.

           “Don’t,” I replied, my voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that and say trust us. You know that I trust you with my life, with our children’s lives, with each other’s lives. But God help me, I don’t know if I can trust you two not to take this too far.”

***

           It didn’t matter what I said. They were bound and determined to do this regardless of what I said or how much I begged them not to. I was close to calling Matt Sr. and Joyce to come take the kids, but I knew that their dad would egg them on. And not even Joyce and I could stop them after that.

           “You’re staying in here,” I said firmly to Mattie and Nicole, pointing them to the sofa in the living room. “And you’re not going to move until Dad and Papa have finished being idiots.”

           “Mama, please—”

           “No, Mattie!”

           She crossed her arms and huffed, angry at me. I didn’t care. I couldn’t hide how terrified this whole ordeal left me. I didn’t want to think about the aftermath and the sound of the video clips from the computer in Nick’s office once it was all over. The thought of being in the house just then was enough to make me feel sick.

           There was a loud thump out by the detached garage on the other side of Nick’s house. They may have started down on the tennis courts, but it seemed like they’d made it up to the house. I cursed them under my breath, my ears straining for every noise.

***

           It went on forever. I swore they were out there for hours, but it couldn’t have been longer than forty-five minutes or so. Mattie pouted the whole time, but I couldn’t worry about that. My eyes stayed trained on the door, waiting for them to appear.

           Time crawled on, and my stomach churned. I was sure that something had gone horribly wrong. That someone had broken something or worse.

           The side door opened, and Mattie jumped to her feet, ready to run toward her Dad and Papa. One look from me shut that down quickly. She went back to pouting, glaring at me as if she hated me.

           I made sure that RJ was in his swing and that Lee was in his playpen before disappearing into the kitchen. My heart fell into my toes when I saw them. I’d heard the splash into the pool, but it looked like they’d taken showers at Nick’s before coming back. They’d left their gear behind and come back in t-shirts and sweatpants, damp hair knotted back.

           But it wasn’t their clothes that worried me. It was the way Matt shuffled in, his hand wrapped around behind him, the back of his hand pressed to the base of his spine. It was the giant red weal that ran down the side of Nick’s arm. It was the scratches along Nick’s forehead and across his nose and cheekbone that were still oozing blood. It was the bruise that was already blooming on Matt’s forearm. It was the pain that was evident in their eyes.

           I sank against the counter, trying desperately not to make a sound.

           It wasn’t the time, but I couldn’t help myself. “Are you happy now, Nick?” I snarled, looking at my blue-eyed husband. I wanted to cry at the pain etched on his face and the blood turning to scabs on his brow. “You got your match. Do you feel better?”

           “Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t any different than any other bump we’ve taken.”

           “Yes, it is! Because those others were part of your job, they were accidents.” I gestured between the two of them, my heart beating overdrive in my chest. “You did this to each other on purpose.”

           Matt started to speak, but snapped his mouth shut when I glared at him.

           “Your children are going to freak out when they see you like this. RJ is too young to remember this and maybe Lee might not understand, but Mattie and Nicole know that you did this.” I felt my head spinning. I gripped the counter for support as the world tilted sideways. “Did you think about that while you were out there throwing each other off roofs and kicking one another in the face with a shoe of thumbtacks? Did you?”

           They both looked at the floor sheepishly. Matt shuffled across the space between us, and I swear I felt my heart break in my chest. He reached for me, one hand curling against my cheek, the other settling on the swell of my belly. His forehead bumped mine gently.

           “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured softly. He kissed me, a faint sort of kiss that was a barely there brush of his lips against mine. “I’m sorry. We’re dumbasses and we don’t think and I never should have let it get this far and I’m sorry.”

           My lungs burned as I choked to get air. One of my hands wrapped around Matt’s wrist as the other reached past him for Nick. He circled around next to us, slipping his arm around me and resting his lips against my hair. “I know you’re mad—”

           I looked up into his blue eyes and felt the air get sucked out of the room. My gaze shifted toward Matt, latching onto the deep tones of his brown eyes, and knew the floor had fallen away beneath me. “I’m not mad, Nick. I’m scared. I’m terrified.”

           They wrapped their arms tight around me, sandwiching me between them. After a moment, their arms moved, embracing each other as well. Nick gasped against my hair, sniffling as he tried not to cry. Matt didn’t bother. I felt his tears hot and burning against my cheek.

           “One mistake… one bad bump…” I whimpered against Matt’s chest, fingers fisted in his shirt. “I can’t do this without you. Without both of you. If something happened, if I lost one of you… it would break me. If I lost both of you… it’d kill me.”

           “Don’t say that, Y/N,” Nick retorted vehemently against my hair. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You don’t break that easy. And you wouldn’t give up on our kids.”

           Matt breathed deep to get a hold on himself. “I promised you, Y/N—we promised you—that nothing would ever stop us from coming home to you. Nothing. And, God knows, we don’t deserve you.”

           “Not even a little bit,” Nick added, lips curling a little against my hair.

***

           “Does it hurt, Dad?” Mattie asked after dinner. Nick was sitting in the floor with Lee and RJ, although he’d likely bruised his tailbone, so he was sitting on a pillow. His eldest daughter was on the sofa next to him, concern in eyes so like his.

           “Which part, my love?” Nick replied, grinning up at her as he held RJ by the waist so he could bounce.            She looked him over before pointing to the scratches on his face. He chuckled. “Nah, not much. Stings a little.”

           He watched his daughter shift her attention down the hallway to the bedroom where Y/N packed Matt into an ice bath. “Is Papa okay?” She twisted her fingers in her lap, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

           Sighing, he bumped her in the knee with his arm all while trying not to grimace when there was pressure on the swollen weal on bicep. “He’ll be okay. Mama always takes good care of him. Of both of us.”

           “Mama was mad,” she replied. “Really mad.”

           “She was scared.”

           For a moment, they sat quietly. Then she plopped down in the floor next to him. Before he could say anything, he glanced up to see his wife coming down the hallway. Her face was ashen and tearstained, her eyes glittering, her hands curved protectively over her belly. She had always been scared for them before big matches. But now, the terror was bigger and deeper than it had been before. Now… there were four kids and one on the way and she carried that worry with her every time he and his brother left for a show.

           She was a wrestling wife twice over. They’d met because of this business. But it was foolish of them not to realize that she worried twice as much as any normal wrestling wife. Seven times as much.

           Nick’s heart skipped a beat as she came by, leaning over to drop a kiss to his once bloodied brow. God, he loved her desperately and completely, even when she called him on his idiocy and his bullshit.

***

           Matt closed his eyes and sank into the feel-good pain of the frigid water in the tub. Y/N had paced back and forth between the bathroom and the kitchen time and again with buckets of ice to help ease the pain in his back. Every part of him hurt. But nothing so much as his heart at the knowledge of how much they’d scared the woman they loved.

           They’d been so wrapped up in this generated rivalry for the show that they’d never stopped to think what Y/N might think of it. She’d known them a long time, but she had missed their backyard days. Yet she’d seen them in the ring together… she knew what they were capable of together… and she’d carried this fear of what they’d do to each other when there weren’t any rules to stop them.

           She slipped back into the bathroom, another wide bowl filled to the brim with freshly-made ice from the freezer. She knelt next to the tub and gently shook the ice out into the water, swishing it around with her hand.

           Matt reached for her, not caring that it made his muscles burn and ache. He tucked her hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She was everything to him—to them. She was the woman who backed them up, who held them up, who carried their family while they chased their dreams. She was the mother of their children.

           God help him, Matt would die for her. He would do anything for her. There wasn’t enough space in his heart for the love he had for her. The universe wasn’t big enough.

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