Chapter Text
It had only been a few weeks since he had been exiled, but Tommy felt as though he had already spent years in solitude. Dream came around a few times to burn his things and chat a little, but his presence was seldom welcome. The Badlands checked up on him a bit, but they hadn’t visited in many days, and Tommy was beginning to feel like he’d never see them again. Ghostbur’s presence was… conflicting.
On one hand, he kept Tommy company, and his hugs—though cold and barely tangible—were the only thing that seemed to push back the numb feeling that had been encroaching his mind.
On the other, some days Tommy would look at his hollow, smiling face, and he’d hear Wilbur’s old voice ringing in his mind. Those days were always the shittiest. The static was always louder on those days. Tommy wondered if he’d get used to it.
He sat on the top branches of an old oak tree, looking out into the sunset. The sky was blood-red, and Tommy couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d watched the very same scene on the bench with Tubbo. Tommy didn’t like to think of Tubbo too much, nowadays. It always made the static louder, memories playing like films in his mind.
He’d drop us at the second he realized we weren’t in the lead!
Tommy, you are hereby exiled.
The disks don’t matter, Tommy!
Tommy thought of the disks, instead. That train of thought proved to be just as miserable. Wil—Ghostbur had asked him why he cared so much about the disks one more time before he left out to visit New L’Manberg for Christmas. Tommy hadn’t answered.
How could he explain what the disks had become to him? How could he explain that fighting for the disks was all he ever knew? How could he explain that they were his reason to keep going ? How could he, when that reason seemed lackluster even to himself?
No reason to live is lackluster , he tried to argue in his head. A reason is a reason, and if the disks keep me going, I should keep fighting for them.
So, what? I’m just going to keep suffering alone for the promise of a few pieces of plastic? The static was back, its poisonous words echoing in his mind. It sounded like an overlap of voices, scratching like a damaged vinyl. Maybe they were right. Maybe—maybe the disks don’t matter.
No, they definitely do, they’re all that’s ever —
They. Don’t. Matter. Nothing does. They… they were fucking right! Nothing matters anymore . I have nothing . No friends. No home.
That’s not true! There’s Ranboo and the Badlands! And Logsted and L’Manberg! And… Tubbo…
Tommy barely heard the hollow laugh that escaped from his lips—barely felt the tears streaming down his cheeks. The sun was nearly gone, and the campsite below him remained desolate and dark.
Ranboo and the Badlands? Please! It’s only a matter of time before they throw me away like everyone else, before they get tired, before they see me for the “liability” I am. For fucks sake, even Ghostbur’s left me! And Logsted? Don’t make me laugh. This… this isn’t home. L’Manberg… that isn’t— can’t be home anymore. It… can’t . It’s not. As for Tubbo? Ha, he doesn’t even see me as a friend anymore. He hated me so much, he fucking exiled me. He never cared. No matter how much I always have.
He… doesn’t? He… never did . So then… what’s the point ?
For the first time since his departure, his mind was quiet. The jarring stillness washed over him, not a single sound in his earshot except for the gentle lapping of the waves on the empty shore.
Tommy felt… unsure. All along, he’d had a purpose to push him through the rough times—something for him to get up again. Without a purpose, without a point, without a person beside him to promise it’d be okay… what did he do?
The lava below him entranced him, and the static was louder than ever. It hurt , and he wanted to stop hurting . Dream grabbed his shoulder and the static quieted down a bit. Tommy walked away.
Tommy didn’t register as he climbed down the tree, eyes blank.
He asks them how to know when it’s too much, but no one replies. He’d notice the silence if the noise hadn’t gotten so loud. Tommy moved on.
Tommy barely realized he'd walked into his small tent, quietly rummaging through his chest.
He wants to go home for Christmas. He wants to see his friends. He wants to apologize. He asks Dream again. Dream says no. Tommy barely hears his reply over the buzz. Tommy cries once they’re gone.
He snatched the first book he saw, scribbling away the title previously written in ink and slowly writing his last words.
Dream says he’d kill him. He says he doesn’t care. He feels the blood pouring down his clothes, and the pain wins over him. The static is still manageable compared to death. He promises Wilbur he was wrong; that he does care. Tommy wonders if it’s a lie.
First, a letter to Ghostbur—the only person who’d probably mourn his death. Next, to Ranboo and the Badlands—his only allies in the end. Next, Quackity and Fundy—his friends up until his exile. Phil and Techno—his family in blood, though it often seemed as though they weren’t a family at all. Niki, and Sapnap, and everyone he’d ever cared for—even if he knew, now, they never cared for him.
The static seemed to numb for each word he printed onto the paper, but it still felt as though he were stalling as he signed off each letter. He wasn’t sure why until he got to his last.
Tubbo. His best friend.
He almost didn’t write anything at first, his quill hovering over the paper, unmoving. Tears splashed onto the blank page, but Tommy paid them no mind.
Can't even come up with a proper goodbye, huh? What the fuck am I meant to say to someone who may not even mourn my death?
I… I want him to know I’m sorry. And—and I don’t blame him. And I’ll miss him. And I’m sorry.
“That’s a start…” he whispered to himself, his hoarse voice momentarily disrupting the quiet.
By the time he had signed the book of letters, sealing away his last words, the sun was nowhere to be seen. Tommy took the book in his hand and said his final goodbye to Logstedshire.
He wiped away the last of the tears on his cheeks as he walked through their nether portal, clutching the book tightly. Sweltering heat swam across his skin as he sprinted across the bridge, but Tommy still felt cold as ice. L’Manberg was right there . All he had to do was go through the portal to see it one last time. A part of him feared he’d lose his nerve if he saw it, but the other knew he was too far gone.
I just want to see the Christmas tree, and then I’ll go. I’ll go for good. On my own. I won’t give Dream the satisfaction of taking the one thing I have left.
He stepped through the purple gateway and the air left his lungs. He was finally home there. He could finally see the tree. He could finally walk the ground he missed so dearly.
He took a few paces on the prime path, but instead of the joy he had expected, he felt a greater pain with each step. Everyone was somewhere else, probably celebrating together. The streets were empty. Tommy was still alone. The one thing he truly missed were the people he’d already said goodbye to. The people he would never see again.
A sob erupted from his lips, quickly muffled by his shaking hands. He ripped off the green bandana he wore around his neck and the torn-up jacket he had stolen from Wilbur, throwing both on the ground next to the book for someone else to find in the morning. He shivered without the jacket hugging him any longer, but he figured at least they’d all know he defied Dream one last time before his demise.
“See you later,” he whispered shakily, not even bothering to scrub his face clean of tears again. He turned his back on his old life as he ran into the nether, desperate to be free of the pain. The lava called to him once more, the static crescendoed, and Tommy just wanted it to stop .
I wonder if the lava will finally stop the shivering. Maybe it’ll feel like a real hug. Maybe the cold will finally leave .
Teeth gritted, he took a step further towards the ledge of the bridge. He stood for what may have been hours.
It’s too late to turn back. Dream will have my head either way. I won’t give him the satisfaction of taking my last life. I’m sorry Tubbo, Ranboo, Wil…
Hands shaking, he stood on the very edge, looking onto the fiery orange below him. Time was passing, but Tommy didn’t notice.
Ghostbur is always happy. The pain can end now. The cold can end now. This can end now. It… it has to.
“Tommy?” The voice came from behind him, familiar, yet frail and filled with concern. He turned back to face the portal where Wilbur stood, head tilted.
“Wilbur,” Tommy’s voice cracked, “what are you doing here?”
“I… I could ask you the same thing. Tommy, why are your things in front of the portal? How did your things get into L’Manberg?” Ghostbur was smiling, but Tommy could tell how pained it was. He sighed.
“Wil, do you remember? Do you remember your death?”
“Well, yes, but Tommy what does that—”
“Do you remember what it felt like to lose your purpose?” Tommy paused, but the ghost didn’t answer. He instead began to reach out his hand, forced smile long forgotten. “Do you remember when you asked why the disks were so important, Wil? I figured it out. But, the thing is… they’re… not . They’re not fuckin important anymore. Isn’t that great? They don’t matter to me now. Nothing matters to me now. No more fighting, no more selfishness, no more liabilities, no more annoyances. Isn’t that great? ”
“Tommy could you please step away from the—”
“Do you remember, Wil, that one line? First spoken by a traitor—by Eret. Then by another—by you. Do you remember, Wilbur?”
“ Toms please don’t —”
Wilbur was moving quickly towards him, but Tommy knew he’d never make it in time. He gave a teary smile and a salute as the ghost’s eyes widened.
“It was never meant to be.”
TommyInnit tried to swim in lava .