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The halls of Daroda shook, thunderous and terrifying. Whatever Xsdí was doing in orbit was powerful enough that cracks were forming in the millennia-old stone, breaking columns and fracturing the ceiling to bring chunks of carved stone and rock crashing down over their heads.
Tommy snaps his head upright as another roar hums through stone, and he doesn't know if it's luck, adrenaline or divine disaster that he catches sight of the cascading stone hurtling down straight towards them.
"MOVE!” Tommy yelled, and it's all the warning he gives before his hands are on Ranboo's flank and he's shoving them hard, registering Purpled in the air, on the other side and Tubbo—
Tubbo is behind Tommy. Tubbo isn't moving fast enough, and Tommy knows he isn't fast enough to get them both out of the way but he can’t do nothing—
Tommy spins on the ball of his heel, hand reaching out to the twin shouts of Ranboo and Purpled both, because despite the size of the halls and the height from which the crumbling column is falling isn't far enough and Tommy only has time to wrap his hands around Tubbo’s upper arm and yank him to his chest; bowing down over the Titraier’s small shape as brick and stone comes crashing down around them.
Weight slams into Tommy’s back, like thrown punches sharp and unrelenting; catching bone and soft flesh sitting unprotected beneath thin clothing, and despite the pain erupting across his body and Tubbo’s fear bleeding into the cacophony around them, Tommy keeps himself bowed over his friend and keeps himself between him and any danger.
Something cracks over the back of Tommy’s head and pain ignites like a wildfire, burning down his spine, deep in his bones. He staggers slightly, forced to all fours by the weight and his own weakness, but his arms remain tight around Tubbo’s trembling form until the shuddering stops long enough for him to lift his head.
The lights that line the walkways so deep in Daroda’s Halls flicker as if threatening to dim, or maybe that’s just Tommy because he shakes his head and the corridors don’t look as dark as they did a moment ago. They are slanted though, and Tommy knows that is all on him. He’s got an arm bracing Tubbo tight to his chest, and another on a sizeable rock that, mere moments ago, had been a part of the ceiling a hundred feet above.
Tommy wouldn’t be on his feet otherwise.
“Tommy—Tubbo, næ d’nor, d’nor. Are you okay?” Ranboo calls over to them from where they’re standing at the edge of the damage; Purpled hopping over the debris, his own hue of worry colouring his swears as he gets a grip on rock to lever it up and away from where it’s trying to pin Tommy to the ground.
They need to get out of here. The Hall isn’t stable, and from the continued explosions that ricochet through the caverns around them, Tommy is sure that Xsdí is determined to bury them all alive. If before, he’d had doubts that the demon bastard knew that Eret’s Primordial was here, enfolded beneath the roots of Daroda’s largest mountains, Tommy doesn’t have them now.
Xsdí won’t stop until he’d destroyed this entire planet.
“Incoming!” Purpled yells out in warning, and Tommy has enough awareness to get his feet properly beneath him; nanos electric in his bloodstream, alighting him with adrenaline that gives him energy and numbs his pain. He moves without thought, Tubbo in his arms and Purpled guiding him over fallen rock as they run seemingly in no particular direction back up the halls.
Ranboo takes lead, which is a good thing because they have more of an understanding of how the maze-like corridors are arranged, and Tommy just hopes that they have some kind of plan as he keeps pace, adjusting Tubbo in his arms, risking a quick glance down when there is nothing to trip—
Tubbo’s face is scrunched in pain, head pressed firmly against Tommy’s chest, beak snapped shut tight like he’s trying to bite down any sound of pain that threatens to escape him. Tommy fumbles a step, but he can’t take pause when more explosions sound overhead and they’ve got to keep running in case the collapsing halls trap them down in the deeps.
Tommy would regret having explored so far if he wasn’t preoccupied with the panic determined to suffocate him and the way Tubbo’s breaths are coming short and he’s hardly able to keep his pain muted. Tommy bumping him as they run can’t be helping, but Tommy doesn’t even know how Tubbo got hurt. He thought he’d protected him.
It at least explains why Tubbo hasn’t wrestled his way out of Tommy’s grip, but even the short time together has told him how stubborn the Titraier is, and for the fact that he’s not struggling, not even trying to fight and instead is just focused on keeping himself quiet—
“Tubbo. Tubbo, what’s wrong?” Tommy asks, voice as level as he can make it. He thought he’d managed to keep Tubbo safe; put himself between the cascading rocks and his friend, but with Tubbo’s face pinched in distress and the way his antenna keep snapping upright, he knows that wasn’t the case.
It doesn’t help that Tubbo just shakes his head, a muttered “I’m fine,” slipping from beneath his clenched jaw that hardly persuades Tommy otherwise when they take a sharp corner and the momentum rocks Tubbo hard enough that he can’t keep his cries quiet any longer and they echo harsh beneath the sounds of Xsdí bringing destruction to Daroda.
“Shit—fuck, Tubbo—”
“S’ nothing,” Tubbo says, trying to push himself to sit upright a little more, turning his head to the side where they’re still running; Ranboo still leading and Purpled small enough that he can spin in midair, cut his flight and catch himself on Tommy’s shoulder, using clawed feet and grip alike to steady himself, on Tommy’s back. There’s an ache, a tenderness from where the rubble had tried to bury him, but it’s muted underneath adrenaline and his nanobot interference alike.
Purpled hisses low, beak cracking like a gunshot. “Fuck Tubbo, your arm—”
“It’s nothing,” Tubbo tries to repeat, but now that Tommy knows where to look between watching his feet and keeping pace—doesn’t need to worry about keeping pace when Ranboo realises their four-leg centurion size is faster and smoother than Tommy’s two legged gait, and between dodging falling rocks and manoeuvring steep stairwells that carry them closer to the surface, they reach behind with two hands, snagging Tommy around the midriff and dump him on their back without breaking stride.
“What is it? What’s going on? Tubbo?” Ranboo asks, their worry palpable beneath Tommy’s palm where his empty hand splays for a handhold where Ranboo’s back is smooth and curved, and he just about manages to throw his legs either side of Ranboo’s upper hips to save himself from losing balance; Purpled using his wings and his tight grip to keep Tommy upright just the same.
“Tubbo’s hurt,” Purpled says, leaning close from where he’s clinging to Tommy’s back, bowing over his shoulder to try and get a better look. Now that Tommy doesn’t have to watch where his feet fall, and only has to keep grip on Ranboo’s back as they carry them all, Tommy can coax Tubbo to show him his arm, trying to pry his arm gently from where he’s cradling it against his chest with his three other arms, almost protectively. But Tommy can see the damage and—oh gods.
One of Tubbo’s left arms, below the elbow is covered in blood; a viscous burnt orange that seeps between the cracks of his carapace and soaks into the short bristling fur that grows from beneath the layered shells. Parts are missing where it looks like Tubbo’s arm has been crushed, but—but he should’ve been fine!
Tommy thought he’d managed to grab him in time, to curl around him and protect—
Oh. But Tommy did.
And the arm that is injured—the blood seeping from cracked skin that is smeared over his own palm—is the same arm that Tommy had grabbed, in his desperation; not thinking about his own strength, not thinking that he needs to be gentle, not remembering that he’s stronger despite Tubbo’s own show of strength because he might be small but he’s determined and vicious and—
Still so very breakable.
Especially to a monstrous fucking Human.
“I…. I did this?” Tommy breathes, torn between wanting to curl around Tubbo and needing to get his hands off of him, because he’s already hurt him once—fuck he’s injured him, snapped his arm—his bone with just the grip of his hand and it’s not like Tubbo is weak and Tommy shouldn’t be that strong—
“Oh—gods, Tubbo I am so sorry—"
“It’s fine,” Tubbo repeats, but he’s breathing too shallowly and his voice is weak when he’s trying to convince Tommy as much. Purpled can’t keep his wings still much where his worry is obvious, and Ranboo is sparing glances when they can.
“It’s not fine,” Tommy says, trying to make it so Tubbo isn’t getting rocked so harshly from the momentum of Ranboo’s gait, but not sure how much he’s helping and whether or not he’s making anything worse. “Tubbo, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know. It was an accident,” Tubbo says, one hand coming away from the bloody mess to pat lightly at Tommy’s chest and then again to Purpled’s hand that is scrunched in his jacket, keeping him anchored. “I would’ve been crushed if you hadn’t—ah fuck—if you hadn’t have grabbed me. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but Tommy knows Tubbo isn’t going to accept an apology when he doesn’t think there is a need for one. Not like that is going to absolve Tommy’s guilt, but he knows that now is not the time to start that argument.
Not when Daroda’s halls are still collapsing around them.