Chapter Text
Tommy hated the quiet. Ever since Tubbo had left with the discs, Tommy's discs, the silence lingered like a dense fog, a deafening static curling in his brain like a dark cloud.
What made it worse was that not only his discs were gone, but no one would talk to him like Tubbo had. Even though L'manburg had finally reached peace, everyone was much to busy rebuilding the nation. Wilbur worked tirelessly on treaties and policies, doing his best to build a strong nation from the rubble left after the conflict, he had no time to talk to Tommy. Fundy and Eret were also occupied, fixing old monuments and building towering works of art, they were much to absorbed in such tasks to march about with Tommy.
So the boy was left alone to wonder about, snapping at any smp member he saw as he roamed. Lately his goal had been making his old foes' lives' as horrid as possible, going about causing any minor inconvenience and argument he could.
At least that was his goal until he saw how his traitor best friend reacted fo Tommy killing his bees. Tubbo looked at him with tear glossed eyes as if Tommy had stabbed him instead of the bee hive. His voice had wavered, as if he cracked once it would all come spilling out.
In all honesty, the response had left Tomny conflicted. On one side his stomach twisted with guilt and his heart swelled with the realization of how much he really missed his friend. On the other he felt some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing his friend shake and tear up, because now the other could feel exactly how Tommy felt. He laid in bed thinking about the interaction that night.
Tommy didn't see Tubbo after that.
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Weeks later Tommy walked past the Dreamteam's temporary housing, Punz had told him that's where he thought Tubbo had been staying. Punz had also mentioned not seeing Tubbo around a lot either, which worried Tommy further.
No one was about as Tommy entered the barracks, they looked almost untouched, the door unlocked and torches all long cold. He pushed the door open carefully, its loud creak piercing into the boy's skull like an arrow to the eye.
Sunlight washed through the few small windows lining the hallways, the doors were labeled as Tommy walked past them, the floors dirty, the sun illuminating the dust particles, no one had been here for a week at least.
'Tubbo'
Tommy pushed the door open, the room bathed in pale yellow light from the singular window, dust hang thick in the air as Tommy took the sight in.
In the center of the room lay the remains of a bed, sloppily chopped in pieces by an axe. A singular red blanket lay strewn over the remains of a mattress, its wool filling spilled across the floor. The wooden frame was snapped nearly in half, oak splinters tossed carelessly across the floor.
Tommy's blood ran cold as he softly touched the sheets, his hand gliding carefully across the remains of his friend's bed.
The sight was eerily familiar, if not identical to what was left at Tubbo's house days after his betrayal. All splinters and torn sheets.
What a weak, breakable thing that tied them to life. Kept them from dipping into the endless void.
Tommy crouched by the wreckage, holding that thin, dusty red blanket close to his chest, because it was all that might be left of his best friend. He shuddered, curling in on himself as he sat, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked down the fabric clutched in his hands.