Predator (DWT x OC)

72 (Part Two)

TW// Graphic descriptions of gore and violence.

"No!"

The voice that screams isn't mine, isn't someone from the silent crowd, isn't even Tubbo's. It's a voice I would know anywhere

It's Tommy's

I see him fly over one of the surrounding hills, sprinting down the grassy slope with fury in his face, blonde hair flashing in the distance. I see Schlatt take something from a guard, heavy, wooden, settled dangerously in his hands. I see Tubbo, ashen face, shrinking away, held by grown men in impenetrable armour and emotionless faces. 

And I can't move, I don't think I can barely even breathe, and Schlatt's words still echo so loudly in my head, like their being screamed into my ears, and he's going to kill Tubbo. 

He's going to kill Tubbo, and Tommy's here, and Tommy's alive, and Tubbo's going to die. Quackity's pleading with Schlatt, desperate hands clenched around a white collar and black suit jacket, shoved off and leaving crumpled crease lines in their wake, still trying to get him to stop. 

But he won't. He's going to kill Tubbo. 

"Tommy!" Another voice, so familiar it makes my chest hurt, calls out over the anxious murmurs of the crowd, and Tubbo's pleading, and Quackity's yelling, and that crushing, infinite definiteness that fills my brain with cotton wool and my mouth with sandpaper, and my ears with roaring nothingness. 

Wilbur's beanie clad head shoots up too, and he's scrambling up and over the hill, streaming after Tommy who has eyes only for his best friend and the man that's now aiming a crossbow at him, loaded with something red and white striped, twisted around the cylinder like a candy cane. 

Is that a firework?

He's going to blow him up with a fucking firework.

My feet start moving, and I'm running toward the platform, shoving people out of my way, eyes glued on Tubbo, watching Tommy and Quackity scream, watching Schlatt pull the string back taunt, watch the light leave Tubbo's eyes. 

He's accepting it, this fucking kid is accepting he is going to die. 

That image will be seared into my brain forever. 

A guard rushes to meet me when I reach the base of the platform, holding out his hand to stop me, and I can tell he's trying to yell something at me, deep bass tones that sound so far away, but I can't make out a single word and I also don't fucking care. 

He barely gets a hand on his axe before I jerk to the side, silver knife from my belt flashing, sinking all the way to the hilt into his eyeball, through the holes in his helmet. He collapses down on the ground behind me, and I start the mad scramble up the hill, just as the last remaining guards on the platform intercept Tommy and Wilbur, tackling them to the ground, while Tommy screams his lungs out, cursing at Schlatt, calling out for Tubbo, and Wilbur just stares. 

Stares at Schlatt, unbreaking gaze with bloodshot eyes, not even a flicker of emotion on his face. 

I reach the top, just as Quackity lunges at Schlatt.

I reach the top, just as Schlatt pulls the trigger. 

I reach the top just as a terrifying bang knocks me off my feet, sends my hair whipping around my head, and the world explodes in bright yellow, and pink and green and sharp crackles in the air above my head pulse, and there's this ringing, a kettle whistling in my ear, and everything is white, and I'm on the ground, I'm on the ground because there's dirt between my fingers and grass tickling my arms.