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It keeps me awake, the look on your face

Summary:

“Tommy?” His gaze snaps up, and suddenly someone is right in front of him, crouched to stare, trench coat pooling onto the floor around him, dull yellow sweater with it’s half-sewn gash, edges stained with blood. Next to him, another figure sits down, this one in dull blue, twisted, tan horns curving off of his head.

OR

Tommy arrives in limbo. Schlatt changed, and Wilbur stayed the same.

Notes:

Rated Teen for themes of death and swearing, Major Character Death and Violence because Tommy's last canon death was horrific :(

Trigger Warning for death, blood, drowning mentions, manipulation and abuse, aka canon typical. Stay safe <3

Title from 'only the young' by Taylor Swift

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“I don't think the revival book is real. Schlatt is dead. I’ve seen his grave, his corpse is there!”

 

“You know what? Why don't you go see him?”

 

-

 

The pain doesn't hit him the moment his head smacks the cool obsidian. It doesn't hit him when he cries out for Phil, for Sam, for Techno, not when his skull splits and blood pours down his face. In reality, time seems to slow, mind swimming as his eyes focus on Dream’s smirk, mask thrown to the ground, freckled face right in front of Tommy’s, Dream’s eyes widening in shock or horror and Tommy slides down the wall. His world turns black before his body hits the floor. 

 

The pain hits him in the seconds after, when it feels like his body has splintered, consciousness flitting away as the broken pieces of himself crumble. He’s in free fall, whispering voices too loud to understand and too quiet to make out, He’s laughing with Ranboo, Tubbo’s muttering threats with soft eyes-  His ears aren't his to hear with anyways, split off with the rest of him. Blood pours down what’s left of his face, the pain from his broken skull seeping into his vision, white spots blooming in his line of sight, and Tommy screams, The firework hits Tubbo’s face, Tommy screams, Wilbur pulls him back- The blood pours into his mouth and he chokes, boiling metal searing his lips and tongue, Hes drowning, he's in exile, unconscious body walking him into the ocean- It sinks into his gums and he can feel it on every taste bud, coughing and spluttering in a vain attempt to rid himself of the horror, He’s sick, Technoblade rubs his back as he dry heaves into a bucket- But he's still bleeding, the split in his skull widening, feeling his mind go fuzzy and cold. Eating ice cream, taking too big a bite, Tubbos laughter as he clutched his head and swore- The blood tears his skin apart, ripping until the few remains of his shattered body dissolve into the void, falling, He’s jumped from the tower- and he feels his back land on cool ground.

 

Tommy lays there for a second. The pain has gone in a second, his body has returned, he flexes his fingers, dimly noting the grey of his skin as his mind spins back to reality, pushing himself into a sitting position as his heart races.

 

“Tommy?” His gaze snaps up, and suddenly someone is right in front of him, crouched to stare, trenchcoat pooling onto the floor around him, dull yellow sweater with it’s half-sewn gash, edges stained with blood. Next to him, another figure sits down, this one in dull blue, twisted, tan horns curving off of his head. Tommy attempted to move away, hand slipping on the smooth dark floor, landing painfully on his elbow. “Woah! Uh, you- ok, Tommy, what the hell? What the fuck are you doing here?” The man wearing blue had leaned over, carefully grabbing Tommy and pulling him back up to a sitting position, slowly letting go with hands still outstretched, prepared to catch if he were to fall again, then retracting them to watch Tommy, brows furrowed. “Tommy-?” The man started, sounding confused, but the man wearing the trenchcoat cut him off. “Oh, shut up, Schlatt! God damn. This is great! Tommy, you get to spend time with me!” Tommy just stared, head spinning back to the man in blue (Schlatt, the other had called him) as he smacked the trenchcoat guy, causing him to slip and land painfully on his butt. “Schlatt, what the fuck…” He grumbled, pulling his legs into crossing. Schlatt glared at him. “I should ask you that, dipshit. What the fuck are you talking about, Wilbur? The kid is dead.” 

 

Schlatt. Wilbur. They were here, they were here and he was here, and-

 

“Oh my god, I’m dead.”

 

Both heads turned, a sympathetic look crossing Schlatt's face, a smirk crossing Wilbur’s. 

 

“Well, yeah. We’re all dead. And now you're here!”

 

“Wilbur!” Schlatt was glaring now, Wilbur watching with an amused smile. “What? I’m happy to see my brother, leave me be.” Schlatt’s eyes narrowed. “Wilbur, that means your brother is dead. You should not be happy about that.” Wilbur grinned, eyeing Tommy. “I know. I don't really care, I mean, it was probably his fault, it's Tommy! He makes such dumb choices, you remember. Plus, now he can keep me company! You’re lame to talk to, man.” Schlatt looked horrified. “I would never be happy if someone died, even if I get to see them again. I don't want to think about Tubbo showing up here…” He squeezed his eyes shut as if to rid himself of the thought, shaking his head. Wilbur rolled his eyes. Tommy’s head swiveled between the two as they bickered. This- this isn't right. Wilbur had never been cool and cold, Schlatt had. Schlatt had never been warm and comforting, that was Wilbur, but it was like they had done a complete one-eighty. The Wilbur Tommy had known in Pogtopia had remained, hardened shell and cruel smile, but Schlatt had softened, a careful grip on Tommy’s forearm, worry in his eyes as he wiped the tears on his face, and oh, Tommy was crying. Schlatt rubbed his arm as he hiccuped, Wilbur just staring at Schlatt, eyebrow raised, glancing back at Tommy and rolling his eyes. “My god, Tommy, suck it up.” He griped. “Wilbur.” Schlatt snapped his gaze back to Wilbur, soft eyes now filled with anger as he glared. “Fuck off, man.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, clambering to his feet. “Jeez, just trying to have some fun. Let me know when you stop whining, Tommy. God, still so boring,” He turned to leave, startling slightly at Mexican Dream, who was now standing right in front of Wilbur.

 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, man…” Mexican Dream said, mask moving slightly with his words. Wilbur regained himself, rolling his eyes (god, he did that a lot) and tucked his hands in his pockets. 

 

“Just telling him to stop being a baby. I’m dead, you're dead, we’re all dead, he needs to get over it, he's just being annoying.” 

 

Mexican Dream stared at Wilbur for a few seconds, the green, white, and red porcelain mask on his face displaying no emotion, before he jumped forwards, absolutely decking Wilbur, who hit the ground with an echoing thud. He lay there for a second groaning, before being dragged away by the collar of his trench coat. 

 

Tommy watched, shell shocked, as Wilbur and Mexican Dream disappeared into the black fog of the void, angry shouts in Spanish vaguely heard from the distance. There was a pause before Schlatt cleared his throat, turning his attention back to Tommy. “You ok?” 

 

Tommy looked at him. “What the fuck. Where- what is happening?” He croaked. “I- I told him the revival book wasn't real, and,” Schlatt stiffened, but was careful to keep his hand on Tommy’s arm still, “and he told me to go see you. He had already been punching me, but my head hit the obsidian-” He cut himself off with a coughing sob. 

 

Schlatt sat still, unsure of what to do as Tommy cried. The two had never been anything remotely close in life, literal enemies, but his years in limbo had given him a lot of time to think, and honestly, Tommy was just a kid. That’s all. A scared sixteen year old, his son's best friend, who had evidently had his skull crushed on obsidian to prove a point. A point that his book was real, the secret to revival he had given to Dream in exchange for his alliance so long ago. So, carefully, Schlatt curled his hand from Tommy's arm around to his back, hugging him tentatively. Tommy just sobbed, curling into Schlatts chest. He didn't know how long they sat like that, muttering reassurance and condolence to the kid. Schlatt didn't know when his instincts to insult had turned into instincts to comfort, and he didn't know when Will’s had turned from kind to cruel. Death was a fickle thing. Made him pretty damn poetic, too. 

 

Tommy’s sobbing was slowing now, as he drifted off, hand curled in the soft blue fabric of Schlatt’s sweater. He gazed down at the kid. Dream had killed him, smashed his head into cool rock, to prove a point. How cruel. The needlessly complex plans Dream had come up with during the Manberg war hadn’t been nice, but this felt like a different level. Schlatt knew, on some level, that Tommy had been killed with the intent to be revived, and that gave him some comfort, that Tommy wouldn't suffer the eternal fate of the ex-president. For now, he was here, and Schlatt wanted the time to be good. 

 

 Tommy shifted in his sleep. 

 

“Get some rest, kid. You- you deserve it.” 



Notes:

Yeah, Mexican Dream beat the shit out of Wilbur. This is canon now

So yeah, definitely veered into ooc territory here, although we’ve gotten no limbo!schlatt canon content at all, so technically, I have creative liberty here ;) This concept was originally a brainstorm for a series I’m working on, but the series is intended to be more canon compliant, and this was just a random “what if?” scenario that didn't fit in cannon, but I thought was fun. Yes it's short, yes it's not my best writing, but it was entertaining and gives me something to post, so I hope you enjoyed it!

Comments and Kudos are always super appreciated, I love hearing what you guys think! Follow me on Twitter @/spicysnakebite!

-Juniper