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he had been laughing as he was told through pity filled eyes and a frown. two simple words that made his entire world crumble around him.
“tommy’s gone.”
“what do you mean he’s gone?”
tubbo asked with a nervous chuckle. he didn’t like where his mind went to when he first heard the words. he didn’t want to believe what he already knew had to be true.
sam looked at tubbo with a sour expression, and tubbo felt what little optimism he had fall.
“he died, tubbo. i couldn’t—i couldn’t get to him in time.”
tubbo felt numb. he blinked slowly before shaking his head.
“maybe he faked his death to get out of the prison?”
tubbo’s mind was racing, trying to come up with some logical explanation. some way that tommy was still with him.
“no, tubbo, you don’t understand. he’s gone. for good. i was supposed to be there, but— i didn’t get there in time. i didn’t think he would actually do it.”
ranboo had made his way over by that point.
“wait, so like he-he’s dead?”
“i— yeah. dream... actually killed him.”
“can we kill dream?”
tubbo was angry. sam was supposed to protect tommy. that was his job. tommy and tubbo hadn’t lived most of their lives trying to be free of dream just to die to his hands when they finally are. it wasn’t fair. why did tommy have to suffer this fate? why couldn’t dream suffer it as well?
“i— no.”
tubbo felt even more furious. why couldn’t he kill dream? why did this happen? how did it happen?
“wait, how though? how?”
“yeah, how did he die?”
ranboo’s voice was solemn, but sturdy. tubbo was glad he was there.
“he just— he— i— i have to go back. i have to go back.”
with that, sam took off running through the prison’s entrance. tubbo yelled out after him.
“what? you’ve answered like no questions!”
tubbo reached for his bow and took a shaky shot at the warden. it nicked him in the forearm. sam yelped in pain as he looked back at tubbo one last time and then disappeared.
“what the hell?”
tubbo screamed toward where the man once stood. he didn’t know what to do. he marched toward where sam had disappeared and began pushing the button the older man had pressed, hoping it would take him somewhere. to sam, probably. to tommy, hopefully.
“you can’t,”
ranboo piped up, heart breaking as he watched his friend’s frantic movements.
“that only activates the— that’s just a doorbell, basically.”
tubbo fired another arrow, this one directed at the portal used to enter the prison cells.
“what—oi!”
“are we allowed to— are we able to go in?”
ranboo asked, voice a little weary as if he wasn’t sure it was the best idea. tubbo didn’t really give a shit. he was going to either see his friend or get some answers. maybe both.
“i’m going to.”
the brunette’s voice was full of unwavering determination. he wasn’t giving up that easily. he stepped into the portal.
ranboo watched as his friend disappeared into the purple haze. he knew this probably wasn’t a good idea. he sighed before he too entered the portal.
“i’m gonna’ be honest, i don’t really believe it,”
tubbo said once ranboo joined him, his vision warped and his stomach turning. the portal was working. he stepped through to the other side.
“yeah. there’s no way that he actually died. i don’t think.”
ranboo was trying to cheer up his friend, but he knew by the way that sam had reacted the news was probably true. his best friend’s best friend was gone. and now, ranboo was left to deal with the aftermath. he had never been good at the whole grief thing, from what he could remember. although, he couldn’t really remember at all, he supposed.
tubbo was spit back to the entrance of the prison, ranboo following closely after. the portal wouldn’t take them through to the cells.
“sam’s locked us out.”
tubbo’s voice was quieter than it had been earlier, less sure. they walked out of the prison entrance, silently agreeing that there wasn’t much else they could do. however, there came a strange noise from the prison, and the teenager looked back toward the entrance to see sam walking straight at them.
“he actually did it though. he— he beat him to death.”
tubbo’s mouth was dry, ranboo could tell he was struggling to come to terms with the news. he asked what tubbo had been wondering.
“but— he’s not actually dead though, right?”
“yeah—“
“no, nononono.”
ranboo’s voice was firm. his eyebrows were furrowed. maybe he wasn’t as accepting of the news as he had thought he was. sam couldn’t be serious. tommy wouldn’t let dream kill him. sam wouldn’t let dream kill him. this was all just a sick joke. just a manipulation tactic. just like the exile.
“dream beat him to death.”
“eh— i don’t think he’s actually dead.”
ranboo said it with a chuckle, and tubbo’s head was pounding. this was all just a prank, right? this couldn’t have actually happened. there’s no way tommy would be put in a situation where dream, powerless, weaponless dream, could kill him. right?
“yeah. i don’t think he’s actually dead.”
“what do you mean? don’t you see where he died in the...”
sam’s voice trailed off, and tubbo’s hand twitched toward his communicator.
“i’m telling you that he actually killed him. you know what— never mind.”
sam was off again, heading back into the prison with one final glance over his shoulder at the three boys standing outside of it. his eyes lingered just a second longer on tubbo, and his eyes darkened.
the two boys stood in silence for almost a minute before ranboo spoke up again.
“there’s no way he’s actually dead. sam wouldn’t have let that happen. right?”
ranboo was apprehensive, he was pacing along the grass, leaving heavy footprints in the mud.
“i...”
tubbo looked down, his voice once again lowered. wobbly.
“i don’t know.”
“sam... yeah, no. sam plays tricks sometimes, right?”
tubbo gave a halfhearted nod. he could be right. sam did play jokes. he knew how to distract people.
“maybe... maybe it’s just a ploy to divert people’s attention from the prison.”
“yeah, probably.”
“you know, to make it to where ‘oh, the prison isn’t interesting. dream’s just locked in here, no one else is locked in here’.”
“mhm, yeah.”
ranboo’s voice was distant, and the air was thick with unspoken agreement to not breathe the words ‘tommy is dead’.
“there’s no way he’s actually— i refuse to believe that.”
tubbo let out a little laugh. it was dry and humorless. ranboo laughed along anyways, his just as strained.
“yeah. besides, it wouldn’t have been cool anyways.”
“yeah,”
tubbo laughed again, this time a little more realistically.
“tommy’s not one to go out without a bang.”
ranboo scoffed in agreement, and tubbo hated how it sounded like they were talking about him like he wasn’t still there. because he was. tommy would not die like that, the stubborn bastard. no way.
tubbo stood up and ranboo was quick to follow. he wasn’t sure where exactly he was leading them, but he wanted to stop looking at that damn prison. they walked toward the hotels in silence.
“what are the five stages of grief? what’s the first stage of the five stages of grief?”
tubbo’s voice was soft, so as to not disturb the peace that had fallen between the two teenagers.
“i-uh. i have no idea.”
“is it denial?”
ranboo stopped walking and looked at his friend. tubbo had already stopped and was leaned against the fence separating tommy’s hotel from their own. ranboo bit his cheek.
“maybe.”
“i think...”
tubbo’s voice trailed off once more, and he was speaking so quietly that ranboo was sure if he couldn’t hear so well, he wouldn’t even be able to tell what he was saying. ranboo just stared. jack walked up to the duo. he hardly looked bothered, ranboo stood in front of him, in front of tubbo. it was a protective stance, anyone who looked could tell, but jack didn’t let it bother him.
“how are you?”
jack feigned concern. his eyebrows were drawn and his eyes were slightly squinted, but his lips gave him away. the corners were twitching upward ever-so-slightly. ranboo took notice.
“i mean... it hasn’t happened, he isn’t dead.”
tubbo’s reply wasn’t quite what jack had expected. he sent a somewhat dirty look in tubbo’s direction.
“do you plan on leaving denial, tubbo?”
jack’s voice was humored, and ranboo scowled at the older. jack wasn’t being very considerate. ranboo thought him and tommy were friends. didn’t they go way back? weren’t they both in l’manberg together?
“no,”
tubbo smiled up at the boy, watching as he put his red and blue glasses back onto his face.
“i think i’m gonna stay here for a little while.”
ranboo felt filled to the core with sadness. he didn’t understand what was happening. why it was happening. how it happened so quickly.
“right. have fun with that.”
jack let out a laugh and then walked away, leaving ranboo and tubbo alone.
“i—“
ranboo hesitated as he looked at the boy opposite him. he looked so broken. ranboo supposed he was. he had been through so much. he didn’t deserve to go through this, too.
“i have something i have to go do . i’ll— i’ll talk to you later, okay?”
tubbo’s gaze shifted slowly from his shoe up to ranboo. he half attempted a smile.
“see you later.”
ranboo gave a quick wave before he made his way out of the yard of the hotel. he walked slowly down the path to a bit of open grass. it was somewhat trampled, far from unexplored, but it somehow still flourished with nature. he began to dig up some of the flowers in the field. he chose red tulips, poppies, dandelions, and white daisies, representative of the boy they were being taken for.
ranboo had found a book in techno’s house a while ago when he was bored. it was full of different types of flowers and their meanings. ranboo loved the idea of it. he memorized almost every single page.
poppies were a symbol of remembrance. white tulips were used to show condolences, to give an apology. daisies were used in the olden days on the graves of children. ranboo thought that was bittersweet, but they were fitting to the current situation. dandelions symbolized emotional healing. out of everything, ranboo hoped those reached tommy. tommy was just a kid. a kid who had been through an incredible amount of pain, grief, and trauma. if anything, ranboo hoped that he could be happy now. that he was finally free. that he could heal.
once he was happy with the small collection, ranboo made his way to tommy’s first home. it was ugly, ranboo couldn’t deny that, but it meant a lot to the blonde. he loved the way it was built, and even when he was given the chance to change it, he rebuilt it exactly the way it had been. ranboo kneeled down by the entrance, and he began to dig little holes on either side, planting the flowers he had picked minutes earlier.
once he had finished, ranboo took a step back. it looked like him. somehow the red was exactly the same shade on the dumb t-shirt he wore all of the time. ranboo sat down on the wooden path in front of the home, shovel thrown haphazardly beside him. he began to tear up, the skin below his eyes stinging with the contact. he had known tommy, maybe not as much as a lot of people there, but they were undeniably friends. ranboo knew what all had happened to him. they kept each other company when they were at their loneliest points.
ranboo felt empty. tommy never got to be free. he never got to just be a kid. he was always faced with war and difficult choices and running a country. just when he was beginning to he happy again, just when he was beginning to heal, he—
ranboo shook his head. he stood up and brushed his hands on his thighs before stretching and heading back to his home. he looked over toward where he’d left tubbo, only to see the boy was watching him too. ranboo turned away and began walking again.
tubbo couldn’t stand it. he didn’t know what to do. tommy— his tommy — was gone. maybe. tubbo still didn’t know what to think. he felt numb as he received the news. he felt numb as he denied it. he felt numb as he watched ranboo plant red and white flowers outside the boy’s home. he felt numb as he sat there alone. he didn’t want to believe he was gone. something in him just wouldn’t let him.
tommy was what had given him hope. tommy had given him a purpose. he was his best friend. the person he would do anything for, and who would do anything for him. tubbo felt his eyes glaze over as he grasped harshly at the grass, pulling it out. his hands were lathered in mud and small pieces of the grass he’d torn up. he couldn’t find it within himself to mind.
he remembered the conversation he’d had with tommy back whenever dream had them in his secret hideout. he recalled tommy asking him who he was without tubbo. tubbo remembered replying ‘yourself’.
now, as tubbo sat alone, staring at the last project his best friend had taken on, he wondered the same thing tommy had. who was he without tommy?
tubbo didn’t have an answer. he wasn’t really himself, was he? it had always been them. the duo. tommy and tubbo. never one without the other. whenever they were separated, they always found a way to come back to each other. they were each other’s home. as long as they had each other, they had a place where they belonged. tubbo understood how tommy felt now. how could he go on when his other half was gone?
an idea popped into tubbo’s head, a bad one, really, but he stood up nonetheless. he pulled out an enderchest and placed it in front of him. he hadn’t looked at the gift in a long time. he hadn’t needed to. tommy and tubbo had been fine for weeks. dream was in prison. they were free. tubbo had tucked it away the day that they locked dream away. he hadn’t touched it since. he reached in and got it out.
the metal was ice cold in his hand from negligence. the smooth lid was snapped shut, and tubbo took a deep breath as he reread the engraving like he’d done a million times before.
‘ your tommy’
tubbo opened the lid slowly. the compass was spinning rapidly, as if it had lost where it was meant to be pointed to. tubbo snapped it shut with an anguished screech. he felt the tears that had threatened to spill earlier begin to run down his face. they burned. it was true. tommy was gone. tubbo felt his knees give out.
he could feel it, deep down. the disconnect. that he was gone. he felt a sense of loneliness that he hadn’t felt since the exile. even then hadn’t been this bad. it was like a part of him died. he supposed it sort of did.
there was a part of him that really only existed with tommy. tubbo supposed it was his best side. they truly brought out the best in each other, but now there was nothing there. he couldn’t feel the flame of tommy that he had once felt in his heart. tubbo had lost his best friend. his brother. the one person he was more than willing to lay down his life for. tubbo felt himself scream until his voice gave out and there was nothing left. how was this fair? they were supposed to be free. this wasn’t fair.
he coiled into himself, cold from the wet grass, but unable to bring himself to care. he wrapped his arms around his mid. even when wilbur died, tubbo hadn’t felt like this. wilbur was cool, but he wasn’t tommy. nobody could beat tommy in his heart. tubbo stayed there on the grass, watching as the sun slowly began to raise. he fell asleep with despair in his heart and tear stained cheeks, compass still clutched tightly in his grasp.
the trip to snowchester had been long, but frankly, sam needed something to distract himself with. the march air was warm, and his boots sunk into the soggy dirt with every step. it had rained for almost a day straight. it was fitting, he supposed.
he wasn’t looking forward to this trip. how could he? he was going to tell a man about the death of a teenager— a man who probably couldn’t care less. sam bit his tongue at that. he couldn’t afford to think that way.
as he approached the cabin (‘is that the right word?’ he wondered to himself) , sam felt his feet stop carrying him. he hadn’t had that many positive interactions with techno. he couldn’t really think of one, if he was honest. nevertheless, he forced himself to keep going, and he knocked loudly on the heavy wooden door.
techno had been resting. something that had come very rarely over the past however many months since he’d shown up to tommy’s aid that faithful autumn day. his body was tired. it had yelled at him to give it rest for weeks on end, but he forced himself to keep going. now, as dream was in prison, everything was calm. techno had let down his guard. there were no real immediate threats. no government. things were safe.
so, he was resting. he had been organizing his house, of all things, whenever he’d heard the knock. assuming the worst, techno quickly grabbed the closest weapon, his crossbow, and made his way to the door, not even bothering to grab his cloak or remove his glasses. when he saw sam, it was somewhat of a surprise.
“uh, hello?”
techno’s voice was raspy from not being used, and he took a second to clear it before taking in his visitor’s disheveled appearance. sam looked— sad, to say the least. techno tilted his head.
“hello, technoblade.”
sam’s tone was solemn and serious. he wasn’t used to people using his full name anymore. he’d almost exclusively been called by techno for the past few weeks.
“can i help you..?”
techno sounded impatient, or maybe a bit surprised, sam couldn’t really tell. he sighed.
“i just came to tell you some news. i’m not sure if you’ll even care, but it felt wrong to hold it from you.”
techno’s brows furrowed as he tilted his head once more. sam knew it was techno’s way of telling him to keep talking.
“tommy has died. dream killed him in the prison. i couldn’t get there in time to stop it. he’s gone.”
techno felt his heart stop and his mind go hazy. tommy was gone? he couldn’t be. tommy was the hero, right? tommy was supposed to die like a hero. that was the whole thing. right? he wouldn’t just—
techno felt sick. sure, him and tommy weren’t on the best of terms. they hadn’t always gotten along. but as much as he hated to admit it, tommy was sort of like his little brother. he had already lost wilbur, he wasn’t ready to lose tommy too.
“um, sorry?”
his voice had gone raspy again, but this time from his being slightly frantic. tommy was dead. no more going on adventures with the boy. no more battles fought by his side. no more sparring together, or walking in on tommy rummaging through his stuff like a raccoon. no more protecting tommy from harm and pretending like it was just because of favors and power, not because deep down he actually cared about him.
techno knew he’d fucked up. their relationship was probably far beyond repair. but that didn’t stop his heart from shattering with the news. that didn’t stop him from immediately wanting to deny everything. to refuse to believe it until he saw the boy’s body himself. to run to tubbo and ask him if he was okay. techno felt remorse for one of the first times in his life.
he was just a kid.
“tommy went to visit dream. there was a security breach. tommy had to get locked in the cell with dream until i could figure out what happened. i—“
sam’s voice wavered as he diverted eye contact.
“i didn’t get there in time. i couldn’t stop him. dream beat him to death with a fucking potato.”
techno felt himself physically recoil. what a horrible way to die. so... unheroic. so anticlimactic for the boy who helped save the very lands they lived in. techno felt nauseous as his brain conjured up the taste of the potatoes he’d had earlier. he wanted to throw up.
“thank you for telling me, sam.”
“of course.”
with that, sam left, and techno slammed the door shut. he ran to the kitchen and leaned over the sink, emptying all of the contents of his stomach until nothing but bile came up.
once he didn’t feel shaky anymore, technoblade picked up the sack of potatoes slumped in the corner of the kitchen and hauled it over his shoulders. he walked outside and set it by the animals. he began to feed them with the spuds. then, he went to the farm, and he started picking every single potato sprout and replacing it with wheat seeds. techno didn’t think he could look at another potato without throwing up.
he walked back inside, night having already arrived, and he sat down at his desk. he began to write. he wrote to tommy. he wrote his apologies, his regrets, his feelings he’d hidden from everyone. he shared the moments he was most proud of, and those he didn’t regret but probably should. he shared his future plans and how life was going for him. he wrote until morning, a small book full of things he’d never shared with anyone.
when phil came back home, he asked techno why the potato sack was outside covered in snow. techno replied that he’d gotten sick of potatoes. it wasn’t until sam reached out on his communicator that phil learned the truth. that he learned of his son’s brutal death. that he realized how it had affected techno. the cabin was quiet for days. techno and phil leaving each other to grieve in their own ways.
techno’s way was filled with aggression. he was easy to stir-up. he’d broken several things around the house, and he even went on a hunting trip for a few days, returning with much more meat than normal.
phil’s way of coping was much more subdued. he slept a lot, kept quiet. techno knew to leave him, but he still brought him water and food at regular times during the day. he would sit with phil silently until he ate at least half of the food, before he would leave to go do whatever small form of destruction he could.
it wasn’t easy, but healing never was. tubbo knew he would never be the same. he knew that life would be so much harder without tommy to help him navigate it. but he also knew that tommy would hate him for sitting and wallowing in grief.
so, for the first time in a week, tubbo picked himself up. he and ranboo finished their hotel, and they made sure tommy’s was doing well as well. he helped sam build up the prison security so no one would have to be locked in their with dream again. he helped puffy clear the vines from the path, which he had personally gone through and repaired a few days earlier.
no matter what he filled his time with though, no matter what he accomplished, tubbo never felt happy. sure, he had ranboo to share things with, and ranboo was amazing. they got along perfectly. they understood each other’s humor, and they thought so similarly most of the time. but no matter what, he still longed to be able to mess around with tommy one last time.
tubbo set out on a mission. it wasn’t hard, what with the new guards and everything. all it had taken were a few threats and dream was already complying. it took two more days for him to totally give in. tubbo had gone to bed, ready to bring back his best friend the next day. he didn’t expect to be woken up in the middle of the night by a knock on the door, and he certainly didn’t expect to see a boy in a red and white baseball tee stood outside it with a compass in his hand engraved with two simple words:
‘ your tubbo’