Chapter Text
The cold stone in his hand felt comforting with each one he laid out on the ground, forming the familiar building as the sun set off in the West. Tommy has no idea how far in the jungle he is, or how long he took to get here. What he does know is that he’s made at least a dozen of these buildings in the path he’s taken, a few days were used to mine and collect resources but outside of collecting the materials there wasn’t much else he did besides continuing further in or sleeping to help his pained wounds. After so much time had passed he was happy to know that his wing’s ache had dulled, now being able to stretch it out far enough for his feathers to extend past his arms.
After staring down at the base of whatever he was making Tommy put away his materials for the time being, unable to look at the structure. Then he had simply attempted a few experimental beats of his wings to push himself up a few feet into the air, and with a silent cheer for himself he made it in the air with minimal pain. Though there was a minor hiss that left him when there was a slight bit more strain in his wings than what he was expecting, it made the joy fall through to make the moment bittersweet. A deep sigh escaped him as he carefully leaned back and rested himself to look up to the skies above him. A pain had flickered in his chest, but it had no external cause, just the internal need to find solstice in the sky.
An even deeper necessity to be with the people he cared for. To see his friends soft smile that was worn so brightly, his fathers kind face that was worn down with time, his brothers nimbly hands that had always managed to create the perfect tune from his guitar, Technoblades excessive uncaring facade that would crack whenever he offered his cloak to Tommy when the cold grew too much for him, even Ranboo’s calming voice that had delved deeper into an enderman dialect when his emotions ran high. Yet these perfect memories were quickly plagued with the other side of themselves, the ragged reality that was pained to reimagine, that he tried to avoid but his mind refused to let the thoughts leave.
Ranboo’s painfully inexpressive face as he accepted the fall of L’Manburg so easily. The maniac expression that had flushed away with heaving breaths and tremors as a sword went through the stomach of Wilbur’s torso. The once empathetic Phil who held onto his dear son after his death, to the cold smile that he bestowed as he watched the TNT fall on doomsday. The secret soft underside of Technoblade was quickly armored as he laughed out in battle, knowing the extremes to which they went to make the land a home, only to watch it burn into nothing more than a crater into the world.
Then there’s Tubbo. His friend, who stood by him in battle. Tubbo who sat by him as they listened to his discs. Tubbo who was always his rock, the person who always was there to ground him. Tubbo who spied for him. Tubbo who risked his life for him. Tubbo who lost his life for being caught on his side. Tubbo, his close friend also down to his last life. The same Tubbo who exiled him, sending him to an isolated hell, forcing him to cling to Technoblade for support. Hiding his shaking limbs during that time with an obnoxious smile and an overuse of jokes, managing to hide his nightmares from the man who brought them.
The same Tubbo who had attempted to execute the person who took in Tommy. Tubbo who befriended Dream as he mentally tormented him without fear of repercussion. Tubbo, when Tommy faced the biggest loss so far, when he watched the fruits of labor and war spoil in front of them. Watched as it blew up in his face just as so many pieces of armor and weapons he had worked so hard for had been in the past. The vivid memories of the yelling were ingrained into the sides of his skull. But he tried to push away the thoughts, and connections of him and the rest. He was furious in the moment and in just as much pain. Tubbo was angry, but he wasn’t angry at him. He was upset, but he wasn’t upset at him.
But the way he yelled at Tommy only made him curl into his own body, bring his wings around him defensively as he prepared for the expected emotional impact that was going to come hit him without a doubt, the memories had stabbed at his mind, singed the edges with fire. His friend was a constant pillar in his life, and to finally feel the uneven break between them, caused by no one else but themselves. Tommy couldn’t imagine going up to him again to see him face to face. Not anymore at least that is.
With the metaphorical string cut, he couldn’t help but recognize the manner of which they had their platonic breakup of sorts. Was it even set in stone? Was it even a true sever or were there still threads attached, as they always have been in the past? His thoughts merely continued to crowd his mind. A fight between the idea of Tubbo and himself being completely separated, never to see eye to eye again simply because they wouldn’t be able to push past connections between themselves and the people who did everything in their power to cause anguish.
Even visibly, the horns on his friend's head was a gut churning reminder of their home's dark past, just as his wings were like rubbing salt in an open wound for the present.
He couldn’t tell if he was right and he didn’t want to be able to tell. He wanted to forget about the world around him, wanted to drown out his noisy thoughts with the easy tunes of music. He didn’t want to find himself loathing in the troubles that the universe threw at him. He desperately needed to get his mind off of the setting sun that was his own doom.
There wasn’t much to do around the very setting a person had no full comprehension of except build or explore. Build. Build, he needed to build a house, and for once a content feeling rested in his chest about where he was. There was no need to go in any further. He was where he needed to be, a soft mumble of the voices echoing in his skull reminded him of how many small sanctions he made on the way up to the point he was at now.
He was finally far enough in that if done right, no one would find him. With a sigh of relief falling past his lips. So carefully unfrulling from his protective fetal position from up in the air he looked to what was originally going to be the base of another one of his tiny buildings. Temples. Temples? Well, he could only assume that they did in fact look like a kind of temple, but that was unimportant in the moment. What was important was the fact that there was no need to make another one.
With a deep breath he turned his attention to the largest tree around him, an involuntary unconscious beacon to his very being. A deep determination festered within. Rubbing his hands together as he looked up to the top of the tree, an honest to god's fall from that height would kill him. So he just wouldn’t fall then. His mind was suddenly wiped of the pain that was the past few months as a giddiness formed within his chest, an excitement growing as well as a hint of nervousness. Finally a slight ray of sunshine ran over his life as he prepared to fly up, hopefully not causing nearly as much pain as his first long flight did. Surely it wouldn’t cause near as much pain, considering how short of a distance it is up to the top.
So with an invigorated motivation, standing up and extending out his wings Tommy took in a deep breath before holding it, and slowly letting it go, then quickly his wings pushed against the air, shooting him up into the sky. Taking in an excited gasp he couldn’t even feel the intense soreness that still rested in the base muscles of his wings. Instead he was so starry eyed at the sight of the jungles canopy that started to become even with his eye level with each push of his wings.
With another beat into the air his breath was caught in his throat as he looked around to the vibrant leaves that now rested beneath his feet, but with the tilt up of his head a smile spread across his face as he realized that he could go up even higher, that he can continue up higher into the free and untouchable air. And so he continued up further, faster, body moving up into the skies until he bursted up past the top of the highest tree around him. A tingle of freedom rested deep within his chest as his eyes glossed over with tears, yet they weren’t tragic. They weren’t plagued and caused by the painful memories that have engraved themselves within the side of his mind these past few days. Instead they were from the overwhelming amount of relief that flooded him.
No longer was he trapped within the confines of an intricate web of manipulation, or bound to the beasts of the world, who no matter how wondrous, brought brutality with them, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Neither was he bound by the chains of reputation or expected loyalty to a country that died when he last saw it. He wasn’t being held onto by a leash of any friendships. He had lost all ties, and it tasted like a bittersweet victory.
He felt the setting sun’s bright rays lay across his face, letting out the tension in his shoulders he closed his eyes to enjoy the warmth. When it came time to open them again he felt reluctant to do so. Not a bone in his body wanted to open them to see the darkening sky, yet even still when he did his emotions did not fade into nothingness, or fizzled out into a soured feeling.
Looking back down to the tree he planned to take refuge in,a spike of anxiety hit his chest, causing a painful riff, biting down on the tip of his tongue he carefully lowered himself into the thick branches. His limbs felt weak as he pressed down into the bark of the tree and vines. Crawling over to the edge he looked down the side and past the miles of jungle that surrounded. Certainly from this height he could lose his last life if he wasn’t careful enough.
Letting out a shaky breath he pushed himself into a more secure part of the tree, letting his wings wrap around him as a faux blanket all the while as he pushed himself into the bark. Letting out a deep breath he let his eyes close, and for once he was going into a world of fantasy and dreams more calmer than he would come out.
“The self is not so weightless nor whole and unbroken. Remember the pact of our youth.”
The world was strangely cold. Well it’s always been cold, but it’s especially cold right now, it was like needles were pricking his skin and digging into his muscles. Pushing against pressure points and causing pain to shoot through his being. He twitched against the cold stone of the ground. Ground? Why was he on the ground? Forcing his eyes open he took in the environment that he woke up in.
Dread filled his very being as the mismatched yellow and stone walls crowded him, head on a log that was carried from a small isolated Hell, and a cold chill that ripped him apart. It was colder than it was, but he wasn’t focused on the temperature. He was focused on the fact that he had just woken up in the hole of a room beneath Technoblades house. The fire that kept his cabin so cozy remained upstairs, having never followed him below the stone floor.
Looking around his head swam, his clothes were torn to bits, singed from the explosions, and framed his wounds that he was quick to try and recover. The voices that tended to echo in his head suddenly gained momentum as the footsteps above thumped heavily and was quick to diminish the distance between themselves and Tommy. He would only recognize it as the SMP’s most dangerous citizen. The fear was excruciating.
Escape. Run. Run away. Kill. Death. Run. Fly. Leave. Leave. Leave. He’s going to hurt you. He’s just like Dream. He’s going to kill Tubbo. Why aren’t you moving? Fly away! Fly away! Fly away before you die.
Yet he couldn’t. Already he was carting his fingers through his hair, crying out silently as he curled into himself. Tears had already crawled down his face as he heaved out deep breathy silent sobs. He had nowhere to go with frozen legs. His hands slid down from his head, making their way down and across each shoulder to reach around, only for the pained reality to hit as his hands were both met with stilled air.
His back muscles flexed instinctively, looking back to where his wings should be he let out a pained scream, leaning forward he forced his hands further behind himself towards the center of his back. A sharp spark was sent through him as his hands made contact with the bloodied amputated appendage. His screams echoed through in his hand made cave, rocking until his forehead was pressed into the ground. His cries shuddered his body and were caught in his throat.
The footsteps rang louder in his head, so he forced himself to twist his head to look to the ladder. Seeing the thick boots encased by the red cloak take a few steps down he nearly bellowed out another cry. Shaking his head, his eyes were squeezed shut, not wanting to face whatever reality the universe had decided to throw at him, and yet opening his eyes was worse. Because instead of seeing the bottom half of a beast of a man he opened them to a monster among men.
With a yell leaving him, no longer pained and more fearful, he ignored the blossoming world of hurt that was webbing their way across his back as he watched a familiar white mask walk towards him. His hands were quick to push against the ground, scooting him further and further back into a wall, pleas fell past his lips as he watched as Dream pressed towards him “No! No! Please! Please! Go away! I-I-” his voice was caught, unable to say anything else due to the pure panic that flooded him.
He was shaking, trembling violently, and the voices were screaming at him as the man approached. Run. Don’t let him get you. Don’t let him touch you. Don’t let him hurt you. Run. Run. Run. Why aren’t you running? You should be running. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to hurt you. Don’t let him. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. You are in the hole. Leave. Run away. He’s going to kill you. Kill you for good. Permanent. Gone. Forever. Run.
The voices were once again overwhelming which only made his tremors worse, his breathing became more ragged and his head buzzed as his hands gripped at the strands of his hair.
“Tommy.”
His worries froze as the familiar voice rang out. Once so calming. Once so soothing and comforting. But now the sounds of his brother's voice sent chills down his spine. He looked up through the hair that fell in front of his face, only to meet the fully white eyes of Wilbur, but this wasn’t Ghostbur. It was truly his brother, dead yes, but there in front of him.
“Wilbur?” He questioned out, and he was given a sad smile in return, his brother's hand had rested against his shoulder, “Tommy. It’s nice to see you again.” With the gentle words Tommy’s voices seemed to melt away into nothingness, “How, how are you here? Acting as though you’re, you’re alive. Are you, did they, did they get to resurrect you?” The questions poured out from him in a fury of curiosity. Though the shake of his head only caused more confusion for Tommy.
“They didn’t. I don’t want to be, but I’m here. I’m here to help you with somethings you might not want to.” His head suddenly felt fuzzy with confusion at the confession, “That I might not want to do? What does that even mean, wait Wilbur, how are you even here?” The brunette merely shook his head, “That is currently unimportant Tommy. What is important is the fact that you are going to be going through some changes,”
“Oh my God you came all this way to give me a fucking puberty talk, but then you say that what I think is important isn’t. Asshole.” “Tommy.” The voice was stern, with a glare being sent his way, “This is important and I need you to listen because I can tell you this right now, there is going to come along a very serious series of events and you won’t know how to handle it.” In a moment of slight strength Tommy had managed to find his old confidence, “And how do you know I won’t be able to handle it then?”
“Because I wasn’t able to.” Tommy had blanched at the statement, he didn’t even bother trying to hide it either, “Tommy I let myself fall down into the worst downward spiral. Not only did I not heed my early on warnings, but I didn’t have a mentor at least help me with that I desired, and I think even you could see where that had led us all.” Tommy blinked as the terrifying realizations dawned on him.
“You had, you, you-” He didn’t have the strength to say it, “I went crazy. I blew up L’Manburg and called for so much bloodshed.” The horror shined in Tommy’s eyes, his jaw moved with uncertainty, before words finally flowed out, “I, I don’t want to do that.” It came out as a whisper, unsure and almost pained, “And you won’t have to Tommy. That’s why I’m here.” Wilbur responded, a cold hand slipping away from Tommy’s shoulder, which honestly only made the area feel colder.
“But you are going to have to trust me. For this all to work. For you to be you. To keep all your memories. You are going to have to trust me.” A sad smile spread across his face, “And I know that you’re a little disappointed in your big brother right now. With how we ended things, but I can promise you right now, that you will never have to face that kind of disappointment again. A little trust in me now for a lot of happiness later you know.” He looked and started to move away from the bleeding blond. Already seemingly satisfied with how their interaction went.
“Wait where are you going?” Tommy watched as he moved back towards the ladder, “Wake up Tommy, you have a long week ahead of you.” With a huff Tommy forced himself to his shaking feet, “No, no I have more questions and I know you have the answers to them!” He called out, but it only seemed to cause Wilbur to form a hardened frown, “Wake up Tommy, or you’ll regret it. Don’t make this be the first shared truth between us.”
“I want answers before anything else Wilbur, I just, I want to know what’s going on. Please.” Slowly his brother crumbled before his eyes, dust and ash being mixed with the dark shatters of flesh, “I’ll see you soon Tommy.” The panic that hit his chest was painful, as if his own heart was being ripped out of his chest, but it was quickly replaced with fear as the world around him turned to immortalized chaos. The signs on the walls changed through the endermans written language, the pathway seemed different, the twists and turns of it was narrower and darker, and a button appeared before him.
Upon seeing it, tears flooded his eyes, the pain in his back rose, the voices in his head were suddenly screaming to push the button. Why wasn’t he pushing the button? You should push the button. Push the button and do to them what they all did to you. Push it. Push the button and set off the TNT. Maybe now Dream would like to be his friend? Maybe?
They were persistent and loud, from his spot he could see a growing shadow of a man from the hallway, who also seemed to have wings.
He knew of this room. Of the room where Wilbur died. Of the room that had all the redstone and TNT set to blow up L’Manburg. Closing his eyes he took in deep breaths, trying to find his way home, and awake as the voices pushed him onto press the button.
Thankfully he wasn’t stupid enough to do so.
“Where you go, I’m going. So jump and I’m jumping. Since there is no me without you.”
He woke up with a gasp, pushing himself upwards into a sitting position, breath trembled as he woke up fully. Looking around himself he took in his surroundings. He seemed to still be where he had fallen asleep, within the confines of branches of the tallest tree he was drawn to. Instinctively his hands flew to his back, hitting against the base of his wings. Relief instantly hit him as he let out a sigh, falling forward into himself as his body buzzed with anxiousness. Pressure built up in his head as he tried to comprehend his dream and what it meant.
Wilbur. He hadn’t seen or dreamt of Wilbur since a few days after he had exploded L’Manburg. While his presence, or lack thereof, had haunted him through exile, through his return, and through his fall, he hadn’t seen him in any form besides Ghostbur. Then for Wilbur to approach him, saying he was going to need to trust him again? It added anxieties that he would rather never have to face again.
Letting out a deep sigh he felt as his back had hit the bark, dulled eyes looking up to the vast clouded sky above him. His own thoughts had continued to plague him. The implication of the dream had there be any kind of credibility behind the words Wilbur spoke. He didn’t know what to believe in the moment, it all felt like too much. Practically he ended up deflating due to his predicament.
Find it.
Find it? Seems as though the voices that had wormed their way into his head were starting to act up again, though as long as they don’t focus on his current nightmare, they could offer a decent kind of distraction for the day.
The book. Find it. Hope is the book. Get the book.
They were gentle for once, a soft encouragement to find whatever book they wanted. Maybe if he found it he could ignore his responsibilities of his own home, and he could ignore the very present presence in his head. Shutting his eyes he weighed out his thoughts over what he could do. Weighing out the pro’s and con’s of whichever he decides to do. He could build his home, yet the echo of Ghostbur’s advice rang in his head and he didn’t think he could handle the memories. It came down to the question of whether or not he thinks that trying to find the book would be a waste of time.
He feels as though it wouldn’t.
So now he knew what he was going to be doing today.
“When the lights go out, will you take me with you, and carry all this broken bone? Through six years down in crowded rooms, and highways I call home?”
Quackity felt the pressure in his chest as he looked out to the crater that was created weeks ago, maybe not even that long but it felt like it. Attachment was formed with the land alone, the ghost of an exploded nation he served for through several administrations and aided in the country's rebellions, it haunted him in a strange way. Maybe it was because of people he had connected with, and how they turned out. How he turned out. How the pain of the aftermath seemed to outweigh any kind of pleasant memories he had in between.
Biting the inside of his cheek his brows pulled together in an up turned expression. He had manipulated his situation into his favor, swayed a child president so he could manage to accomplish his goals somehow, and this is how the fruits of any labor turned out. Blown into rubbled smithereens that had become nothingness in the grand scheme of things. After all the abuse he faced, the hurt he endured, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. In what exactly? He wasn’t sure.
Himself? Everyone else? No one? L’Manburg itself for even having the audacity to exist in the first place? He couldn’t pinpoint it. Pressing his lips into a thin line, his train of thought couldn’t help but think back to doomsday. He couldn’t help but imagine the expression that Tommy had on his face as he rested a few feet in the air away from them before he was quick to twist his body and disappear into the rainy abyss in front of them.
He could picture Tubbo’s face so clearly, the shock mixed with mild despair and betrayal. The way he shook as he clenched his fist to his chest, how his tears blended in with the rain that fell down his face, dripping from his damp hair, and falling off of the edges of his horns. Quackity seized up slightly at the memory. While the anxiousness of the implications formed he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Tubbo if his speculations were true.
The sound of careful footsteps sounded off from behind him, slow and quiet against the grass, charred by the remnants of the explosions. Turning his head he wasn’t expecting to be hit with the blunt end of an axe hard enough to be knocked down to his knees. With a hiss and a mumbled, “Fuck.” He held the side of his face as his head whipped to the person who had suddenly attacked him, having no idea who would do so with the pain of reality still being such a sore wound that he stood right next to.
But as soon as he was met with a sharp axe to the center of his face, and his eyes trailed up the arm of who it belonged to Quackity tensed as his eyes went wide. His jaw twitched as he moved to try and speak. To say something, anything really. But when he looked at the cracked mask of a faceless man he had no idea what he could say.
“You’re, Dream you said you weren’t going to be back for a while!” A soft and displeased hum escaped the other, and if he had a face to his name Quackity knew that he wouldn’t look very impressed, “Yeah, yeah I was. But a message just recently got relayed to me.” He spoke in an almost completely monotone voice, head tilted to the side as he stared at the man he pressed the axe against. Meanwhile, Quackity seemed to turn white as the other spoke, dangerous and threatening.
“Said that something happened between Tubbo and Tommy, and Tommy, well, he ran off huh? Also heard that you were there.” Confusion and a need to stand up for himself fueled him, “Wait, but, but how? Nobody else was there!” He had leaned forward, up towards Dream only for the axe to rest directly on the front of his throat, and something told him that Dream was standing on a mental tightrope, and Quackity shouldn’t test his balancing skills.
“What happened.” Dreams' voice came out coldly, and Quackity only seemed to grow genuinely confused, “You, you already know what happened-” He gasped as the blade's edge dug into his skin, blood pouring from the minor cut, and he could feel as his last life was being threatened. Instinctively he jolted away from the blade, only for his back to fall to the ground, leaving him more vulnerable to the other. As he gasped for air, Dream only seemed to press on, this time resting the large blade over the center of Quackity’s chest.
He started to shake as he looked down to it, before turning his attention back up to the monster in front of him. His breath was coming out almost trembling his entire self, rattling his lungs as he weighed his options. Unfortunately for Tommy, Quackity wanted to live, “He, he flew off. He had some hidden wings and just, he just flew off.” The blade pressed against his front harder, “That’s it! That’s I know that stood out! I promise!”
When the blade wasn’t pulled back he squeezed his eyes shut, mumbling some kind of soft prayer to whatever Gods resided out in the world, hoping that maybe somehow his life would be spared by the person of the SMP who was the most willing to get blood on their hands. Slowly his breathing picked up in pace as he forced his watery eyes open, only to pause as he saw the emptiness before him.
He was the only person around now.
As he thought over the situation his breath hitched. Dream was upset and planning something, that was never a good combination to have. Who could he even go to try and see if he could prevent any more harm coming to those he knows. Well he knows one or two people, but whether they’re willing to help is up in the air. Would it even be worth a shot to try?
There must be something that just telling them could do, even if it’s just back up in the long run, though his own fear ran deep.
Yet it would be best to speak to Philza as Tommy's father, and Technoblade as a close friend of his, to see if they would at least care.