Chapter Text
It was a joke.
A simple, harmless sarcastic joke from Tommy’s now very alive older brother.
He doesn’t know why it’s left him, wind blowing through his hair, on the top of a very, much too tall tower.
He didn’t even know how he got here. He racked his brain, but the past few days had been a meshed blur, filled with conversations and things he couldn’t even begin to recall.
He might’ve met up with Tubbo. Might’ve seen Ranboo. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.
He’s just so. He’s so tired. And not just of things, not just of what he’s been through, because lord knows he’s sick of that. It’s the people. The people he’s grown so exasperated with.
Because Tommy’s kept his mouth shut. He didn’t complained when he was dragged from war to war, or when he had to patch up bow wounds and grazes on every inch of his body from Dreams prized swords. He didn’t complain when he saw the places he’s put blood sweat, and on the rare occasion, tears to build get blown up. Three times, at that. Twice by his enemy and once by his so called brother and former president.
He didn’t say a word to Wilbur when he had to drag Tubbos body away from the festival, holding back screams at the skin burnt at the hand of Techno, stay strong for Tubbo so the boy didn’t break down, no matter how desperately wanted to do so himself. He runs his tongue over the scar on the side of his mouth, from biting down on it so hard to stop himself from screaming.
He just about held his tongue when he got exiled. At the gruelling days spent gathering materials to have them blown up in his face. His things tossed and destroyed like it was nothing. Everything, everyone treating him like he was nothing. Till he found himself in a position much like the one he was in right now, just a little more determined in his survival back then. He only yelled enough afterwards, in a flurry of rage with Techno at his side, which hadn’t lasted long after he joined Tubbo.
And Techno. He didn’t complain when Wilbur let the man beat him to a pulp in a shadowy corner of Pogtopia. He took the hits the same way he took the words he spoke, except maybe the abuse was better.
Bruises heal. Memories don’t.
Techno did always tell him to die like a hero. Was this the way for a hero to go? Launching himself off a tower probably the same height as his hotel.
He remembers Jack. Jack Manifold and his stupid nukes. He’d felt so betrayed, so angry when he found out someone he thought was a close friend was attempting his murder. He’s no so mad about it anymore. He understands. He’d probably have tried it too. Too bad Sam was there to protect him.
Oh. He forgot about that. Forgot about Sam.
He remembers him that day. Like it happened mere minutes ago. The rage flashing behind his eyes, the grip on his arm so tight so rough and so so much like Dreams was all those months ago alone in exile with the tnt
Sam promised to protect him. He promised to be by his side, but all he saw as the man towered over him was a flash of green and a flash of pain, only accompanied by Wilbur’s cries, Dreams yells.
The day blurred, sounds and noises and the heat of the lava hitting him like a slap to the face, all the while Sam was accusing him of trying to help dream, the man who’d beaten him to death. Who’d caused him nothing but pain.
It was stupid of Sam, really. To ever think he’d be helping Dream. He wasn’t that fucked up.
He might be the warden, but he was Tommy’s friend. At least tommy thought he was. But judging by the threat to kill him if he ever neared the prison again, Tommy hardly thinks he could’ve liked him all that much.
I mean, he left him with Dream. In the cell. For a week. His stay ended up with a dead cat and a dead Tommy, bloodied and bruised on an obsidian floor.
He wonders what it was like to find his body then. He wonders who would find his now.
He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care who finds it or what they do with it. It’s not like anyone would care anyways. It’s just tommy. Troublesome, loud Tommy always causing problems and wars. It was probably better off without him anyways.
He’s sick of everyone. Of everything. There was only one person he cared about, that cared for him back just the same. One. And that person was dead because of him.
Ghostbur. At first he didn’t like him. It reminded him to much of Wilbur, but a fake Wilbur. He was nothing like the man who’d begged his father to run a sword through his chest. But he did soon grow to love the man. If that’s what you could call him.
He was soft spoken, and he was nice and he stayed with Tommy on the cold nights of exile, a phantom hand in his own. He was there on the nights Tommy would scream and cry, and he’d seen tommy break down so, so many times. And Ghostbur had helped every time, in any way he could. He stayed. He didn’t care about the past (mainly because he couldn’t remember it) he just cared about the now, and making sure Tommy was ok.
And by god, if he didn’t love it. It was like having a big brother, one who wasn’t trying to get rid of him all the time, all over again. He’d missed it. That familial love nobody else seemed to be able to give him. Not even Tubbo.
He was too busy with Ranboo now. But they were married. They had a kid, for gods sake. They had no time for Tommy. Tubbo had no time for tommy.
Ghostbur did. Ghostbur always did.
Tommy looks down at his hands. Stained blue, from the lapis in his pockets.
He thinks of the tears leaving trails of burns down the ghosts face as Dream grabbed him in the prison. His pleads, because tommy said he’d be ok, said he’d be fine.
It was all his fault Ghostbur was dead.
That Wilbur was back.
White streak in his hair, a whole new life behind his eyes. He was a different man apparently, but Tommy was wary. He was always wary nowadays. He probably had reason too. Wilbur always was exceptionally good at twisting his words, good or bad. Tommy wonders if he has a scar from Phil’s sword.
Though he did have to thank him. He did give him the idea in the first place.
An offhand comment. A stab at “dark humour”. That was all it was.
“Well there’s one definite way you can see Ghostbur again.”
He’d let out a huff of laughter after that. Walked off to go torment someone, and left Tommy stood stock still behind him.
There was a way for tommy to see Ghostbur again.
The only way for Tommy to see Ghostbur again.
Death.
Death, dying, being killed. Whatever you want to call it. It’s all it took.
He wonders how he didn't think of it beofte. So simply. So easy.
One step.
He took one step forward and that would be it.
And it killed him, positively wrecked him that he couldn't even think of a reason not too. A reason to aim for water again.
There wasn't a reason.
All that was left for him was pain. Whether it be from harsh words or fists it didn't matter. He's tried so hard for so long to put up with it. He'd fucking died. He'd spent months in the after life and came back and he lived. He dealt with it.
But he's so tired.
So so tired
He wants to rest
He wants a hug. A hug from Ghostbur, he wants blue. Blue because the sadness in him only grows.
His hands reach up and fiddle with the little plait on the side of his head. He holds back the tears clouding his vision, the tightness in his chest. He thinks of his family. The family that failed him. The family that are basically the reason he's stood here.
Maybe if Phil was a better father he'd be ok. If Phil never went on his trips with techno, didn't leave Wilbur so pent up over looking after tommy that he had whisked them off to the new server niki had heard about. Maybe he wouldn't have been here. He'd be at the cottage in the old place they lived in.
His childhood home. He was happy there, that much he remembers.
He doesn't remember much nowadays.
Puffy called it a trauma response. Figures.
The cold whips the classic red and white shirt tommy has on, thin arms shivering underneath. This one is his favourite. It’d been left it in a chest somewhere hidden and he stumbled across it when he was roaming through the smp a couple days ago.
It was a chest he'd made months ago. Maybe even a whole year. A chest he and Wilbur placed when they were walking around one day, still dressed in their L'manburg uniforms. Wilbur had been carrying the shirt in his bag, and eventually just dumped it in a random chest., complaining that his bag was too heavy.
Tommy had been mad at him for a couple days for that.
But the shirt smelled like Wilbur. The woodsy cologne he used before he lost his marbles, after being stored in his bag all that time. He was surprised the smell hadn't faded to that of dust, but it was nice. Comforting, familiar.
He's not sure why he decided to die in it.
But he did.
His stomach rumbles. He hadn't eaten in days. Not that it would matter much now.
He looks down.
It looks so far.
So so far but so so welcoming
He thinks of Ghostbur.
Of his warm smile snd his warm hugs. Of his blue, and of his tears. Of how alone he must feel.
Tommy knows a lot about being alone.
His mind flicks to the note he left on Tubbo's bed. One note. For everyone. Mainly Tubbo, but he can pass on a message.
Tommy takes a shuddering final breath.
A step.
And he's falling, wind rushing through his ears.
He can’t find it in himself to scream.
And as quickly as it starts, it stops.
————————————————————
Tubbo walks into his room, face still warm from the bright sun outside. He drops his bag on the floor, stretching with a yawn. He glances at the folded paper on his bed. Picks it up, starts skimming it. Fingers grip the corners of the page till they crinkle, a broken son escapes his mouth.
Dear Tubbo,
im not really sure how to start this. the big man is speechless for once in his life. im probably dead by now. no totem or revivals this time round. do me a favour and ask them all to leave me alone.
I don’t really know how to say this, but I wanted to thank you. I know I’ve become a burden more as the years go by so thanks for keeping up with me. You really are my best friend. Or were I guess. I still have my compass. It’s around my neck right now. Kind of a parting gift you know? Tell ranboo and puffy I’ll miss them. I’ll miss you the most. I don’t have anything to say to anyone else.
ok. I’m stopping now beofre I start crying. I love you.
Live for me Tubbo.
-tommy
Ranboo walks in to find Tubbo sobbing on the floor, clutching a metal compass.