Hideaway: A Dream SMP AU

8

The knife struck true, sinking into Tommy's flesh right where Tubbo had aimed.

Several inches away from his spine, from anywhere where the blow might have been fatal.

He whipped the blade away, letting blood gush out of the wound. He forced a dark laugh.

Tommy's eyes were wide with betrayal. "You—"

"Betrayed you," Tubbo finished. "I'm not sure why you're surprised." Despite the cold tone he forced, he could feel his lip starting to tremble. He stilled it instantly. He had to wear this mask, and he had to wear it perfectly.

"Murderer," Tommy hissed, tears sliding down his face. And his eyes... they were so pained, so broken, so betrayed— Tubbo could hardly stand to make eye contact. But he had to.

"I'm doing what's necessary," Tubbo countered. Dream, he thought. Act like Dream. He smiled, a smirk of triumph and cruelty.

From the look Tommy gave him, the insults that came out of Tommy's mouth, it was convincing.

Tubbo lifted the dagger still covered in Tommy's blood.

Something slammed into him with the force of a comet, sending him flying. Technoblade stood over Tommy's form, his sword ready.

Good.

Now Tubbo had reason to leave without killing him.

He fled down the rickety scaffolding leading up to the TNT launchers.

Tommy wouldn't die. Of that Tubbo was sure. He hadn't spent the past six months of his life in near-constant warfare only not to learn how to avoid dealing a lethal strike.

But L'Manburg... New L'Manburg... his home, the last place he and Tommy had lived together...

It was little more than a crater, a true crater, a chunk of rock and socialization carved from the ground, shattered and rained back down a debris.

Tubbo collapsed to the scorched ground, blood dripping off his flesh. But not his own blood.

Tommy's blood. Tommy's blood was on his hands.

And he had to smile, had to pretend he enjoyed it, had to make his eyes dance with a song of corruption.

The thought made him sick, and he keeled over, choking back his vomit.

Tommy's words echoed in his head. "You're something, someone. You're Tubbo Underscore. My Tubbo."

Never again. Never again would he hear those words from Tommy's mouth. Tubbo would never again be worth anything to anyone, never again be loved unconditionally.

He could never replace Tommy, never would want to, would never let go of the boy he cared about so, so much. The boy he'd stabbed in the back willingly.

I am a monster.

The truth, Tubbo found, truly hurt. Very, very much so.

"Tubbo?" Arms pulled Tubbo upwards, steadying him. Translucent gray eyes met his.

"Tubbo, what happened to you? What happened here?" Ghostbur wailed.

"L'Manburg," Tubbo choked out. "They destroyed L'Manburg. Phil, Techno, and... and Tommy."

"But— but Friend was in L'Manburg," Ghostbur realized. His face crumpled. "They wouldn't! Phil knew Friend was in his house— all my books were in the sewer— all our history— he wouldn't have blown it up!"

"They did," Tubbo confirmed, wishing he didn't have to say these words. Ghostbur's eyes drifted to land on Tubbo's hands. "Why do you have cranberry sauce on your hands, Tubbo?"

"Oh, that," Tubbo said, feigning a smile. "Tommy... gave some to me earlier."

Ghostbur seemed satisfied with this answer, turning to face L'Manburg's ruins. Phantom tears seeped from his eyes, dissolving before they reached the ground. Tubbo wasn't sure if they were tangible, or a supernatural illusion.

"I... I have to go find Phil." Ghostbur turned and ran off.

Tubbo watched as he left. Then he sank to his knees, to the ground, a deadweight.

And he cried for real, for everything, for everyone. For those he had wronged and those he had lost. For L'Manburg, for the discs, for Tommy, always for Tommy.

How can I ever look in the mirror again and see anything other than a murderer, a liar, a traitor?

How?

"Stop it," he whispered to himself. "You're not worthless," Tommy had said. "You're not worthless," Tubbo repeated to himself.

There was one thing worthy about himself, a tiny glimmer of redemption. And now that he'd stabbed Tommy, there was no going back. He had to commit to his plan, or he was truly useless.

One chance.

One chance to protect the people, the person he cared about.

Mask on, Tubbo ordered himself, dragging himself to his feet. And this time, never let it slip. Not alone, not when you think you are safe. Let it be both your sword and shield.

Maybe that was why Dream wore a mask. It was easier to hide.

He clenched his jaw, went over the details of the act he had to play.

You want power. You are corrupted. You will do whatever it takes, align yourself with anyone, to exact your revenge.

Tubbo almost flinched, noting the likeness of this facade to his plans with the Butcher Army. But the Army was for justice. As far as everyone else will see, this will be cold-blooded murder.

"Dream," he called, catching sight of the admin ahead. Dream turned, and Tubbo tossed the knife at his feet. "Remember my offer?"

"Is he dead?" Dream asked, instantly understanding. Tubbo shook his head. "Techno stopped me. But I hope this shows you that I'm serious."

"His blood is on your hands," Dream said musingly, his gaze lingering on Tubbo's red-stained fingers.

"Then are we in agreement?" Tubbo held out his hand, and Dream took it.

An oath signed in the blood of their enemy.

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:)

Tubbo's going to dark place with a dying candle to show the way... the question is, will his light be extinguished?