guided evolution [REUPLOAD] - Chapter 40 - ThousandEyedVoid (2024)

Chapter Text

Well, isn’t this just f*cking peachy?

Tommy’s out on patrol, of course. It feels like he hardly does anything else these days, even with all his end-of-term schoolwork and head boy duties. And what, you may be asking yourself, does he see? None other than mayoral candidate Schlatt, campaigning yet again in the middle of the f*cking city.

He’s up on a stage, presumably giving some kind of speech, and Tommy can see a little cluster of protestors by the barricade. He feels a little vindicated by that; a few of the signs even have spraypainted depictions of his mask. It makes him smile. What doesn’t make him smile, though, is the worryingly large crowd lapping up every goddamn word that Schlatt says.

“I hate this f*cking guy,” Tubbo says, and Tommy nods. Schlatt is the worst, and Tommy’s saying that with the supervillains in mind. “You should go down there and say something. Don’t let him talk sh*t about you! Guys like him don’t have any f*ckin’ guts, Tommy, I’m telling you!”

“You know what? You’ve got a point here, Tubs, I think I will say something,” Tommy says, and Tubbo makes a triumphant little hmph! noise as Tommy swings towards the building above the stage platform.

Schlatt’s shaking his head. “And let me tell you, when I found out about the horrific incident at Spider-Man’s little meet-and-greet, I was floored,” he says, and Tommy narrows his eyes. Tubbo scoffs, and at that, Tommy has to stifle a laugh. Schlatt sighs. “I mean, seriously. So much irresponsibility. Any public figure, especially public figures that are often targeted, know to have the proper security protocols in place. It’s basic safety sh*t!”

The crowd cheers. Oh, that’s not good.

Tommy hops down and peeks around Schlatt’s shoulder. “Ooh, great turnout, man! What a crowd,” he says, feigning awe, and the smattering of protestors starts to cheer and shout his name. This is a f*cking adrenaline rush. Schlatt whirls around and stares at him with comically wide eyes, frantically looking towards his security guards. Tommy leans closer and grins. “We both know you’re not gonna have them do anything on national news.”

“Oh, you little sh*t,” Schlatt grumbles, too quiet to be picked up by the mic, and Tommy grins, nudging him out of the way.

“Just a quick refresher on what actually happened,” he says, and the crowd starts to murmur to each other. Tommy taps the mic. “First of all, it wasn’t my idea, I was approached by a fan and wanted to talk to the community, hear their questions and concerns. I had no idea some wackjob with a box for a face was gonna show up!”

Schlatt laughs sardonically and shoves him to get to the mic again. “C’mon, anyone could’ve seen it coming. I mean, seriously, you plaster a Spider-Man event all over Twitter and not expect a supervillain to come and endanger civilians?” he scoffs, and Tommy narrows his eyes.

“My bad, I forgot I’m apparently responsible for what domestic terrorists choose to do,” he says, and he grins as a good amount of the crowd starts to nod along. “If you’re gonna sit here and blame me for supervillains that already had the technology on the way before I even went public, you go ahead and do that, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Schlatt glares at him, and Tommy’s grin turns smug. He’s clearly getting under Schlatt’s skin, and it’s showing. Schlatt shoulders past Tommy and tries to overtake the podium. “I am so sorry for the interruption, it’s almost as if vigilantes with no respect for the law have no respect for manners, either,” he snarls, and a few people in the crowd applaud. Damn. Tommy’s losing them. Schlatt grins. “Listen, kid, you might as well go home. For once in your life, leave it to the professionals.”

Tommy tilts his head in mock curiosity. “Oh! I had no idea that the professionals are getting cars and bombs and knives thrown at them as well, that’s on me,” he says, and Schlatt blinks. “You can call me incompetent, but who’s there for London when it really counts? The people don’t have any faith in the police anymore—”

“Because you’ve actively undermined their authority,” Schlatt says, leaning into the mic, and Tommy struggles to get to it.

“I haven’t undermined anything. All I’ve done is help, as much as I can and to the best of my ability. For you to sit here, doing nothing, calling me out with the absolute gift of hindsight has got to be the most stupid—”

“Gotta love ad hominem, am I right, folks?” Schlatt interrupts, gripping the podium with both hands, and Tommy’s brows furrow. “I’m not doing nothing, I’m campaigning to make it so that people like you can’t run around pretending to be a hero and breaking laws. The people of this great city had nothing to fear before you brought supervillains into the equation!”

“Pretty sure if it weren’t for me, the ‘professionals’ would have to be dealing with the villains, thanks. Besides, the only thing I’m fearing right now are those dreadful sideburns,” Tommy says easily, and the crowd of protestors whoops. Tommy winks at them. “Thank you, I’ll be here all week!”

Schlatt laughs again, and it sounds forced. “And we’re supposed to leave the situation in your hands? The hands of a man who let an esteemed officer die because of your own negligence and arrogance?” he says, and Tommy feels like he’s been shot. And as someone who has been shot before, Tommy can attest that the feeling isn’t great. “Not to mention the casualties of your other desperate grabs at victory. Anybody remember that horrible blackout?”

A good few people in the crowd cheer. Tommy goes pale. “Relax! You’ve got this,” Tubbo says easily, “just talk to Schlatt like you’d talk to a criminal!”

Right. Tommy can do that. Tommy can do quips and banter, it’s his specialty! “And while you were handing out blankets for a camera, actual citizens were patching the city’s electric grid back up again! Hope you enjoyed the photo op as much as the people you didn’t feel like caring about on camera enjoyed the cold,” Tommy says, and there’s a little commotion from the crowd at that. Schlatt’s voter-schmoozing grin falters. “You know, Schlatt, I’d tell you who you remind me of, but I feel like that’d be a disservice to Reddit moderators everywhere.”

About half of the crowd laughs—some surprised, some genuine, some positively cackling—and Tommy grins smugly down at Schlatt, who grows visibly angry. “Oh, you think you’re so—”

“Clever? Hilarious? Devilishly handsome? All of those are true, just a shame I can’t give you concrete evidence of the third,” Tommy says, and Tubbo cackles over the comms. Schlatt is f*cking fuming, and it’s kind of funny. “Geez, if you can’t handle a few hecklers, maybe being a ‘public figure’ just isn’t what you’re cut out for. I mean, look at me! My hecklers shoot me and I never look nearly as stupid as you do right now. Or is that just your face? Genuinely can’t tell. Does he always look like a wanker, or...?”

He aims that last question at the crowd, and they collectively lose their f*cking minds, cheering and laughing. The group of protestors is the loudest. Schlatt shoves Tommy out of the way and takes a firm stance at the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to sincerely apologize for this trainwreck—”

“No need, I’m sure they’re used to it,” Tommy calls out, and Schlatt swears under his breath. It’s picked up by the mic, and the crowd guffaws again. There’s a low rumble in the distance, and Tommy lets out a low whistle. “Gotta go, fellas! Things to take care of, cities to save, you know the drill. And remember, if a strange man with bad facial hair confronts you on the street and tells you to fear your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, kick him in the balls immediately!”

The crowd goes nuts, and Tommy gives them a two-fingered salute before swinging off towards the source of the rumbling.

“Automata’s causing problems down by where Phil works,” Tubbo warns him, and Tommy swears under his breath. He’ll just redirect Automata to somewhere else, it’ll be fine. As Tommy lands atop a nearby building, he wonders what the hell Automata’s doing all the way out here. It isn’t as though there’s anything worth stealing or destroying over here. “This is probably just a distraction, but you ought to take care of it anyway.”

Tommy nods and hops down to stand across from Automata, arms crossed. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a Wednesday evening?” he asks, and Automata tilts his stupid TV head at him. Tommy’s feeling fairly mellowed out—his appointment with Bad earlier today and getting to tell Schlatt off on national television were both pretty great.

“I do, actually, so I’m hoping you’ll give up fast enough,” Automata says, and Tommy narrows his eyes. The Sense starts to raise its metaphorical hackles, and Tommy glances at Automata’s twitching fingers. Something’s coming his way. Tommy dashes out of the way of a lamppost, and it crashes into a nearby building. Christ, this guy really doesn’t care about property damage. As Automata rips another from the ground, Tommy fires off a web at him. The dodge forces Automata to drop the lamppost, and Tommy dashes forward, his punch missing Automata by mere inches.

Tommy leaps backwards as Automata throws a car towards him, and Tommy ducks behind a dumpster, firmly sticking to it so that when Automata tries to toss it out of the way, Tommy can launch himself directly at Automata. They tumble onto the ground, and Tommy goes to punch through the television, only to find his wrist caught in a floating piece of metal that is straining to hold him back.

His brief confusion gives Automata a window of opportunity to shove him away and put more distance between them. Tommy steadies himself and gets into a defensive stance. The Sense is on the lookout for any incoming objects, but it seems like Automata needs a minute to gather himself as well. “Why are you f*cking around over here, anyway? I hate to break it to you, but if you’re looking for more steampunk garbage to put on your outfit, Party City’s that way,” he says, pointing in the opposite direction of where he knows Phil’s building is.

Automata chuckles lowly and brings his hands together. Wow, Automata really likes the whole metal-objects-circling-him schtick. “Hiding behind the dumpster was a really smart move, kid. Good job,” he commends, and Tommy’s stance falters as he blinks in confusion. Seriously, what the f*ck is this guy’s deal? Automata sends the wave of miscellaneous sh*t in Tommy’s direction, and Tommy swings out of the way, landing on the awning of a nearby shop. Automata tilts his head again. “I thought distracting you would be much harder, but throwing things in your direction seems to do the trick just fine. I expected better from you, Spider-Man. Don’t disappoint me now, things are just getting good!”

Tommy scoffs. If Automata wants to play games, Tommy will make his own damn rules. A brilliant idea pops into his head, truly one for the ages. “Okay then, asshole, tell me…have you ever heard of a move called ‘the dragon?’” he asks, and Automata just stares at him.

“What the hell is that? What’s the dragon?” he asks, and Tommy grins.

“Dragon deez nuts—! Ah! Stop throwing cars at me!” Tommy shouts as he dives out of the way of a particularly sh*tty-looking Honda, which crashes into the shop. sh*t. Tommy gestures to the crater in the brick, and Automata laughs. “Dude! Not everybody’s got insurance!”

Automata shrugs and rips up another f*cking streetlamp. “Sucks for them,” he says, and Tommy catches the post, firmly planting into the concrete next to him. Seriously, Automata’s gotta stop destroying the street.

Tommy feigns left, then dashes behind a line of parked cars, silently apologizing to their owners as he sneaks forward. Sure enough, Automata starts throwing the cars every which way to get him to reveal himself, but he hesitates at the last car, probably remembering the dumpster trick.

“Is it too early to bring out Shroud?” Tommy whispers, and Tubbo’s typing starts up. Shroud whirs quietly, and the spider sigil on his chest rapidly unfolds into the little drone. Tommy pats its head, and Shroud scuttles out into the street.

Tommy snorts as he hears Automata yelp in alarm. “What the fu—!”

He’s abruptly cut off by a small boom, and Tommy peeks around the edge of the car, only to see Automata covered in webs. “I may or may not have added a synthetic web bomb to Shroud’s arsenal,” Tubbo says, and Tommy grins, dashing forward to tackle Automata into a wall. That should keep him occupied for a few minutes.

Shroud clambers up onto Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy dusts off his hoodie. “Say hello to my little friend,” Tommy says, cooing at Shroud’s cute tiny sets of red eyes. Automata struggles against the webs, and Tommy snorts. “You look like a f*ckin’ worm, man. Hang on, let me get a pic.”

He starts to take out his phone, only to be interrupted by several small metal objects flying at him. Of course, Automata’s hands are still uncovered. Tommy fires off a few webs, but not before Automata’s already got a jagged piece of metal cutting through the synthetic webs. Yet another car comes Tommy’s way, and he flips back, crouching and readying himself for more incoming objects.

The Sense chirps, and Tommy ducks to the left as Automata barely misses the side of his neck with a syringe. Oh, that’s f*cking creepy. Tommy whips out a web towards the syringe and tugs it into his own hand, handing it off to Shroud. Shroud’s abdomen opens up, and the syringe is tucked away. Tubbo can experiment with whatever that sh*t is later, but right now, Tommy’s dodging a bunch of various car parts and shrapnel.

Shroud quickly compacts back into his chest, and Tommy swings up onto a rooftop, eyes wide as Automata steps onto a car door and lifts himself into the air. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says. “You really shouldn’t underestimate me, Spider-Man.”

The Sense quickly tugs at the back of Tommy’s mind, and he ducks, just as the vent from the roof goes flying right over him. That would’ve knocked him off of the f*cking building! Tommy should probably start running. Not that he’s a coward, he just generally dislikes bodily harm, and he’s fairly certain that Techno would freak out if he comes home with a multitude of horrific injuries again.

“And you shouldn’t overestimate my tolerance for bullsh*t,” Tommy says, hopping off the building and swinging off in the opposite direction of Automata. There’s no way Automata can catch up with him now that Tommy’s ducking and weaving between alleys and side streets, right?

The big metal T from the Tesco’s sign that crashes into Tommy’s side says otherwise.

Tommy topples to the ground, wincing and pressing a hand to his ribs as he tries really hard to catch his breath. Son of a bitch, that smarts. Automata lands elegantly in front of him, stepping off the car door like a delicate little sh*t and glancing boredly at the pedestrians running away and screaming. How pleasant.

“I expected more from you,” Automata says as Tommy struggles to stand, and Tommy fires off two webs to propel a kick towards Automata. He connects, thankfully, but Automata starts to pull miscellaneous parts from a nearby building to push him back. Tommy tries to dodge and weave his way through the flying objects, but Automata just keeps pulling.

Nearby buildings have started evacuating; that’s probably a good idea, all things considered. There’s a loud creaking noise from behind him, but Tommy keeps trying to close the distance, swinging a road sign on a web as a sort of shield to push through the metal objects Automata keeps throwing at him.

Eventually, the creaking gets so bad that even Automata pauses, and Tommy turns to see a building start to crumble. Thankfully, it seems like everyone’s out of it, save for the guy still helping people out of the lobby. He doesn’t get a good look at who it is, though, because The Sense makes Tommy turn his attention to the car headed his way, and Tommy catches it, digging his heels into the ground as he skids back. Tommy sets the car down and turns back to the building as Automata starts to pull more from it, and his eyes go wide.

Phil.

It’s Phil that had gotten the last person out, and the building collapses around him.

Tommy’s ears start ringing. He might be screaming, but he can’t be sure; his head goes too fuzzy to register anything but the feeling of his soul being sucked out of his body.

Tommy barely registers Tubbo’s gasp on the comms, and he numbly raises a hand up to block the incoming car that Automata throws at him, catching it by the bumper. Tommy turns slowly back towards Automata, who seems rather shocked that he’d caught the car with one hand, and Tommy grabs another nearby car with his free hand, fingers crushing the metal in his grasp and denting it, probably beyond repair.

He doesn’t have time for this. Phil’s trapped under the rubble, probably injured, in need of help, and Automata is still playing this stupid f*cking game of cat and mouse. Automata stumbles backwards as Tommy rears one arm back and throws the car at him as hard as he possibly f*cking can, throwing the other almost immediately after. Automata desperately dodges as Tommy throws every f*cking thing he can get his hands on towards him, and finally, finally, he retreats.

Tommy runs towards the building, adrenaline and fear pulsing through his veins as he digs through the rubble. The Sense cries out in anguish and terror as he runs into a maze of walls and rubble, shoving glass and concrete out of the way. Towards the front, in a space nearly closed off, is Phil. Phil. Tommy scrambles to shove the rest of the debris off of Phil, eyes widening and breathing quickening as he unveils the massive metal pipe that’s stabbed into Phil’s side. There’s a horrible red stain that’s quickly spreading across Phil’s nice white shirt—Kristin had ironed it for him this morning, he had driven Tommy and Tubbo to school, he’d told Tommy to have a good day today—and Tommy hurries to web up the wound.

“You’re gonna be alright, you’re okay, the webs will stop the bleeding, I promise,” Tommy says, not even caring at the horrible tremble his voice carries. Phil groans, and his eyes flutter open. He looks tired. Tommy carefully moves Phil’s torso up so that he can check for an exit wound, and sure enough, the jagged end of the broken pipe sticks out from the torn hole in Phil’s shirt.

As Tommy hurries to web up the wound and tries to help Phil into a more comfortable position—Tubbo’s surely calling the paramedics, they’ll be here any minute, Tommy’s sure of it, he tells Phil this—Phil’s brows furrow. “It’s alright, you did as much as you could,” he tells Tommy, and he doesn’t know it’s Tommy, Phil probably thinks he’s dying in the arms of a stranger. Tommy nearly gags at the way the blood from Phil’s side leaks onto his hands, and Phil chuckles, which turns into a wince and a cough. There’s blood on the side of his mouth. “Don’t worry so much, you did great, okay?”

Tommy’s chest seizes, and he carefully reaches up to lift his mask, knowing that if there were any risk of someone else seeing, Tubbo would have warned him by now. He wants Phil to look at him. He wants Phil to look at him, to see his face, just in case. Just in case. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice catching in his throat as Phil’s face twists in confusion, pain, and realization. “I didn’t mean for this to—please don’t die, Dad, please don’t—you can’t…you can’t leave me, alright? Stay awake, please stay awake.”

In lieu of a response, Phil lifts a shaking hand up to cup Tommy’s face, and Tommy’s entire body shakes with violent tremors. He can’t hear sirens yet. Phil still has to hang on until the paramedics get here, they’ll fix him, they have to fix him. Phil smiles gently, and Tommy chokes on a sob. There’s so much blood.

It’s all over Tommy’s arms, all over his front, and it’s all over Phil. There’s nothing but red, so much red, and it’s leaking out of Phil’s mouth, dripping down his chin. It’s probably on Tommy’s face, smeared across his jaw from how shaky his hand had been as he’d pulled up his mask. It’s probably on his cheek, where Phil’s hand is warmly settled.

“I can’t tell you how proud I am of you,” Phil says, and that sounds far too much like he’s leading up to last words, which isn’t right. It’s not right, Phil’s going to be fine, surely the paramedics can’t be far. Tommy tries to put more webs on the wound, but Phil’s hand comes down to gently hold his wrist. “It’s alright, mate. I-It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay! It’s not okay, Dad, I—! f*ck!” Tommy chokes out, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold in his sobs. Phil is so pale. He’s pale, which isn’t right. It’s not right, because Tommy’s not used to him looking like that, looking so close to death.

Phil’s face should be full of life, he should be laughing about Tommy getting embarrassed, he should be singing along badly to one of Wilbur’s songs, he should be grinning about how great Techno’s grades are, he should be fondly rolling his eyes at Kristin joining in on calling him old. He shouldn’t be pale and getting colder, shouldn’t look so limp and tired.

Phil reaches up again and gently tugs Tommy’s mask back down. “Don’t…don’t risk your identity on my behalf, Toms,” he whispers, and Tommy just cries harder, trying really hard to ignore the way the mask sticks uncomfortably to the blood on his face. His dad’s blood is on his face. Tommy hunches over and gasps through a sob. Phil chuckles shakily and gives Tommy’s arm a barely-there squeeze. “Hey, is this…is it why you were so attached to that spider?”

“You saved him,” Tommy says, voice cracking, “and you saved the people in your building, Dad, you’re—you’re a hero, y’know? You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. Surely you know that, surely.”

“The guy that faces down villains every day is telling me I’m brave?” Phil jokes weakly, and Tommy laughs wetly, nodding. Because Phil is brave. Phil’s the most incredible person Tommy’s ever known, and Tommy’s the luckiest motherf*cker on the planet to be able to call him Dad. He tells Phil as much, and Phil smiles, though it looks more like a grimace. There’s more blood. Phil coughs and takes a really shaky breath. “Tommy, I’m…I am so proud of you. You and Wilbur and Techno, you’re all—”

“Don’t talk like that, don’t say things like you’re trying to have some poetic last words or some sh*t, because they’re not gonna be your last words, they’re not,” Tommy says, and Phil gives him an unsure hum. “Y-You’re gonna come home, and you’re gonna tell Mum you love her, a-and then me and Wil and Tech are gonna pretend like we’re grossed out, a-and then we’re all gonna have a family dinner, just like we have every day. You’re gonna be fine, Dad, y-you have to be.”

“I’m not sure I get a choice, mate,” Phil tells him, and his eyes start to flutter again. Tommy shakes his head frantically and tries to put more webbing on his wound. Phil doesn’t have the strength to stop him this time. Tommy perks up slightly at the sounds of sirens, but they’re definitely not close enough for Phil to hear yet. “You’re a great kid, and I know you’ll do great things. You can’t…you can’t save everybody, Toms.”

“I can save you,” Tommy says, still defiant, even as the only part of his hoodie that isn’t stained red in some way is the actual hood. “I-I’ll save you, you’re gonna be fine, they’ll get here in time, they’re on their way right now, Dad, please, just—just stay awake!”

Phil mouths something—it’s hard to tell what it is with his vision so blurred by tears, but Tommy’s pretty sure he knows what Phil had said anyway. “It’s okay,” Phil whispers, and Tommy presses a hand down on Phil’s side, as if that will stop the blood—blood everywhere, so much blood, it’s soaking through his gloves now.

Phil’s eyes slide shut, and Tommy screams. It dissolves into a cry, and he slumps forward, clinging to Phil, body heaving with sobs. His fingers twist in the fabric of Phil’s shirt, and Tommy presses his forehead to Phil’s chest, counting each fleeting heartbeat carefully. The sirens start to get closer, finally, finally, and Tommy cries out, trying his hardest not to look at Phil’s face, because if he looks, it’ll be real, it can’t be real. Phil’s chest is still moving, albeit slowly, underneath Tommy’s hand, so he’ll live. Surely he’ll live.

The ambulance pulls up to the police barricade, but no one comes out. “Please!” Tommy screams, clutching Phil to him as best as he can considering the metal pipe. “Please, you have to help him! He needs help, he’s—he’s really hurt! Anyone! Please! Please, help him! Help me!”

The sirens are too loud, everything’s too loud, the lights are too much, and no one has come to help Phil yet. Tommy’s throat feels raw, but he doesn’t care. He just keeps begging and screaming as loud as he can for someone, for anyone to come help Phil. After a minute—a minute too long, Phil might not have a minute—the ambulance moves past the barricade, and Tommy sobs go from panicked to relieved as the paramedics come out.

“You’re gonna have to let go of him,” one of them says gently, and Tommy nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he watches the paramedics carefully load Phil onto a gurney and into the ambulance. It’s terrifying to watch. The paramedic puts a hand on his shoulder, and Tommy damn near jumps out of his skin. “Are you injured? Do you need medical assistance?”

“No, no, no, I’m fine, please just…help him,” Tommy whispers, voice hoarse, and the paramedic gives him a skeptical look, but she gets back in the ambulance anyway. Tommy looks down at himself and bile rises in his throat. There’s blood all over him.

Phil’s blood is all over him.

Tommy stands numbly and stumbles out of the rubble, idly walking in the direction of the nearest emergency room. He gets to the barricade and numbly pushes past the cops, who are actively trying to berate him, and Tommy follows the sound of the sirens. Phil’s with the paramedics now, so surely he’ll be fine. They’ll save him. They’ll keep him safe.

Tommy just keeps walking down the road, ignoring the stares of pedestrians and the shutter snaps of cameras. He has to get to the hospital. He has to go see Phil, he has to make sure that they save him. Tommy hears someone call out for him—well, for Spider-Man—but he doesn’t stop walking. He has to get to the emergency room so he can see Phil.

It’s started to rain. Not that Tommy cares much. He’s still walking. He has to keep walking. What kind of son would he be if he didn’t visit his dad in the hospital? Surely Phil is fine. He’s still got garden projects to work on, buildings to design, family game nights to have. Tommy just has to see him, he has to look at Phil, who’s alive, who’s still breathing. Surely he’s still breathing.

Someone grabs his arm, and Tommy flinches violently, jumping back and instinctually shifting into a defensive stance. “It’s just me,” Tubbo says, and the numbness shatters. Tommy falls to his knees and hangs his head, hugging his arms around himself and trying his hardest not to start crying again. Tubbo kneels down next to him and puts an arm around him. “Come on, bossman, let’s get you somewhere more private.”

Tommy nods, and he lets Tubbo guide him back up and through an alleyway, to where Techno’s car is waiting. Techno gets out of the car, and the dam bursts. Tommy’s sobbing again by the time Techno gets to him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and Techno makes a distressed sort of noise that Tommy’s never heard from him before. “I couldn’t—he was—Tech, he could die.”

Techno swallows hard, and he ushers Tommy over to the car. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone from this family has their blood all over the seats,” he jokes weakly, and Tommy just crumbles into a myriad of apologies. Techno gestures for Tubbo to get into the car too, and he takes Tommy’s mask off. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you home. We’ll get cleaned up and go straight to the hospital, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tommy says again, voice breaking, and Techno and Tubbo exchange a worried glance.

On the car ride back, Tommy closes his eyes and hopes.

It’s all he can do now.

*****