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Tommy blinked.
The earth seemed to rumble below him. Slowly moving back and forth. Was he high? Did someone splash him with a potion of harming? He didn’t feel sick - he felt uneasy. His mind moved slowly, looking around him. Was this an earthquake? L’Manberg had only had one before, but Tommy guessed that he couldn’t control when the earth decided to shift.
Not only was the ground moving - slowly and steadily, pebbles shifting under his feet, lizards within the grass losing their footing, dirt puffing into the air as the particles moved through the air - but it was humming; low and harmonic. Tommy felt the need to match it’s pitch, the same way he matched the bell’s tone in the village, the same way that he would match the pitch of Wilbur’s guitar during odd hours of the night. The tone was soft, almost soothing, a voice, deep and thick, whispering Tommy’s mind to sleep.
Blood rushed in his ears.
He could distantly hear a voice - voices - shouting. Miles and miles away. Why was he so far away? He couldn’t look up and check, however - his eyes were stuck on his hands. On his feet. On the earth. There was a pink-ish brown-ish rock rolling around by his feet; touching his left boot every other roll.
“Tommy!” Was heard distantly, blocked by the blonde’s hyperfocus on the paved floor.
Suddenly - Tommy was back at the beginning of L’Manberg, Dream was in front of him, giving some shitty lecture on independence. Wilbur and Tubbo were on each side of him, his older brother holding his shaking hand, trying to mask his fear of the masked man and his bandits. Tubbo, who was always secretly so much stronger than him, stood by his side, chest puffed out, eyes forward. L’Manburg was blown to pieces, much too slowly - Tommy’s skin still marked from the flash, the burning almost unbearable - the lake saving the group of them from dying at the hands of Dream and his goons.
The light was blinding.
His skin gliding against the pavement, scraping raw - it was deadly silent.
He knew he was screaming, he could feel that he was screaming, shouting, screeching - his lungs hurt. Everything hurt. So much hurt, in fact, that nothing hurt at all. Everything was so much, too much - yet, it was all nothing at all.
In his mind, within the fog, was one thought: Where was Wilbur?
He immediately scrambled upwards, ears not registering the screams around him, and his burnt and bloody appendages unfeeling. His panicked breathing wreaked havoc on his spent lungs, bruning with the dust and debris of the explosion.
Everything was in slow motion, he could only hear a deafening and constant ringing. He stumbled forward, doubling over himself, as his mind could not register the wreck before him, only narrowing in on the fact that his brother - where was his brother?
Within the deafening silence, only one thing could be heard; a young boy, screaming, crying for his brother.
Tommy shrieked: “WILBUR!” He quickly coughed, letting the soot covered spit rest in his palm without much thought. “WILBUR - WILBUR WHERE ARE YOU?”
The ringing wouldn’t subside, only his desperate pleads making it through his severely damaged ear drums. “WILBUR PLEASE - WILBUR!” He stumbled forward again, only stopping when he realized he was inches away from the edge.
He stared at the pebbles.
“Philza -”
Wilbur?
“Philza, kill me.”
What - what was he doing?
“Philza, kill me please.”
No -
“Kilza Kilza Kilza, Kill me.”
NO -
Tommy’s head snapped up, ignoring the blatant pain that it caused. He was only in time to see his father impaling his brother with a diamond sword. Wilbur looked happy. At peace. Blue eyes, like the ocean, stared at brown eyes of an oak forest for the last time. The familiar feeling of warmth and comfort covered by cold darkness. The forest was raining -
“I’m so sorry, Son.” Phil whispered, fingers playing with a wisp of brown hair.
He pulled the sword out.
Tommy let out the loudest, most desperate cry that any of these men had ever heard; “NO!”
He stumbled forward again, being pulled back by rough hands gripping his burnt wrists. “WILBUR”
A low voice mumbled, getting close to Tommy’s ear, “Theseus, get away from the edge.”
“GET OFF - GET OFF YOU BASTARD, LET ME GO.” Tommy clawed at the hands, scratching , and kicking whatever he could get his hands on. His nails digging into soft flesh, trying to get it off.
“Theseus, you’re going to kill yourself - STOP IT.” Techno wrangled his brother, who was kicking and screaming and violently fighting his help. Tommy wouldn’t stop moving - he was in shock.
“LET ME GO - WILBUR. WILBUR! SNAP OUT OF IT BIG MAN -” Hot tears moved down Tommy’s face, as he broke down. Jaw clamping onto Techno’s hand, biting hard. The man hissed, and brought his hand back, however the other arm just tightened it’s hold around the blonde’s waist.
He felt bile raising in his throat, but he couldn’t stop now - he couldn’t - he had to get to Wilbur - he couldn’t give up now - he couldn’t -
“Tommy,” Techno spoke lowly, monotonous. “You’re in shock, you have to calm down.”
“PHIL - THAT WAS HIS LAST LIFE - YOU BASTARD - YOU FUCKING BASTARD - oh my god, that was his last life.” His breathing heaved, coughing. He gagged on air, trying to move Techno’s hand around his waist, he needed more air - any type of air. He coughed, hard, burning his throat, his lungs screaming, everything felt wet, and gross - and overwhelming. He gagged again, choking up blood, right onto Techno’s hand.
“Theseus -” Techno rumbled, looking at the blood the boy was coughing up onto his hand, the red liquid running down his palm onto his wrists and down his forearm - it was disgusting. It was painful. It was everything his baby brother was experiencing. “You’re screaming your throat raw, please listen to me. Please stop this - you’re hurting yourself.”
“PLEASE -” Tommy sobbed loudly, knees buckling, biting down on the man’s hand again, trying to get any sort of release. With every shake and sob let out of the small boy’s body, more and more blood surfaced from his throat.
Techno hissed, moving his hand and grumbling; “Stop biting me you prick.”
Instead of letting out another heart wrenching sob, Tommy bent over, the bile finally rising from his throat, to his lips. He lurched, gagging, his whole body moved with every choke, cough, and rupture. The vomit pooled beneath him, a mix of potions, bile, and blood, making a black mix of something along the lines of tar. On all fours, his stomach clenched in pain, sweat dripped down his brow, and his blonde hair became impossibly greasier. Between bouts of choking up the burning tar, churning from his stomach, he groaned, holding onto his abdomen, and moaned, still mourning for his brother.
“This isn’t fair,” The teen whispered between rounds, “Should’a been me.”
“Don’t fucking say that.” His only older brother growled.
“Should’a been -” Interrupted by a new gag. “Me. Anyone but him -”
“ Theseus. ”
He let out a weak moan, “Wil - Wilby. ”
The blue-eyed boy rested his head on Techno’s knees, closing his eyes, so completely exhausted.
Niki moved forward, reaching out to the boy who she viewed as a little brother, at the boy who was so clearly hurting -
Her hand cradled Tommy’s cheek.
Tommy opened his eyes. He was back at the caravan. He had a fever, a bad one - his wound had been infected, Fundy, still learning how to heal arrow wounds, could only do as much as he knew how to. Tommy had finished vomiting his lunch, for the 3rd time that day, as Wilbur sat behind him. Hand rubbing soothingly on his back, brushing briefly on his sweat ridden neck, his other hand scratching the back of Tommy’s head. Every so often, the blonde would let out a weak moan, resting his forehead on his arms. The teen eventually let up, sliding around to push his forehead onto Wilbur’s chest, letting out a thin sigh at the relief of rest.
Wilbur had cupped Tommy’s cheek, brown oak forest eyes looking into damp ocean eyes, lost and out of focus. “You’re doing so great my darling boy.” Wilbur had said, so softly, so reassuringly. It had only been them in the caravan at the time. Fundy, Niki, and Jack wanting to give the brothers space, and Wilbur not allowing Tubbo to see Tommy like this. So weak, so miserable.
“I’m so proud of you.” Wilbur had kissed his head, Tommy’s loud panting apparent, but not acknowledged. Tommy had been so tired then.
Tommy looked at Niki, his head still resting on Technoblades knees, pale blue, ice covered eyes, looked out of focus, dazed.
Tommy was still, so fucking tired.
As Niki rubbed her thumb across his cheek, Tommy flinched back, hard enough to hit his head on Techno’s kneecaps, sending pounding waves through his skull. He groaned.
“Fuck.” The teen mumbled, resting his head on his knees, staring at his boots.
Wilbur had made fun of him, when they first wore the stupid combat boots. Tommy was only 13, he didn’t know how to tie the laces.
“You gotta make bunny ears.” Wilbur had reminded the boy, a fond smile playing on his face, as he laced up his own boots.
Tommy had laughed, “Fuck you bitch.”
“No but really!” Wilbur had laughed back, shoving Tommy’s shoulder slightly.
“I know how to tie my fucking shoes! I don’t know how to put the laces in boots.”
“I see,” Wilbur had grinned, elated he got to teach his younger brother something new. That he still had control over Tommy’s small world - that he could still protect the blonde. “I’ll help you. It’s not much different than tying sneakers, just more holes.”
They had both grinned, happy to be in each other's presence.
Wilbur was the only one grinning.
Smile playing on the dead man's face. Too wide for real life. Blood spilling at the edges, as his teeth and and lips were caked in the crimson color. The cold dead eyes of his brother staring off into the horizon. Not quite at Tommy, but not quite away from him either, still watching out for him in death. The crinkles that usually laid under his eyes were gone, all tension released when he was finally put to rest.
His smile was always so warm, it lit up a room. Teeth straight and white, handsome. He always wished that he would look like his brother, even if they weren't related - he wanted the ability to melt the tension in a room with a single smirk.
His warm calloused hands were so pale and weak - what Tommy wouldn't do to see those hands play the guitar one last time. To rake through is hair one last time - to hold him and comfort him one last time. It was selfish maybe, to want all of this with his brother, but the teen couldn't bring himself to care. He was too busy reeling on the fact that Wilbur was actually fucking gone.
Tommy, was sobbing, gripping Techno's cape with white knuckles, begging to any god above, anything, anyone who could possibly be listening to bring his brother back. To give his brother back to him.
The blood seeped through his dark clothes, the sword had punctured on both sides, leaving his sweater and trench coat to be soaked in the dreadful liquid.
His pale white hands clutching for something not there - reaching our for someone not in his reach.
Tommy croaked, his throat raw, tears forming in his eyes; “He said he wouldn’t leave.”