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The last thing Tommy saw before he died was a cracked smiling mask against crying obsidian.
Everything hurt. His bones were fragile and bruises dotted his skin. He could only open one eye and his vision swirled. His throat burned and he felt like throwing up. Surely he had to be dead. Death was welcome- anything was better than this excruciating pain. It didn’t help that white light blinded him from all sides. He just wanted to go back to sleep.
Tommy woke up in an unfamiliar place, the white slowly trickling out of his vision. His eyes cleared and he sat up, having been laying on uncomfortable white bricks. Everything was white here, actually. It was a bit unnerving.
He looked down at himself, noticing he was clean for once. His skin was- his skin was translucent? What the hell…
Tommy wished he had a mirror.
He stood, and was surprised when it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt, actually. His mind was clearer than the sky, his head was pounding, his skull intact. No bruises were found on his body. He could breathe normally.
Tommy breathed in, relishing in the clean air. He looked around him, startled by this place’s beauty. Open grassy fields were dotted with birch trees, and an enormous castle lay just in front of him. It was detailed with gleaming white arches and staircases leading to hidden rooms. If this was heaven, damn.
Tommy began to explore, heading through the archway. He found random books, but they were empty. It was so quiet here. Tommy felt at peace. He never wanted that to change. He stopped at a small clear pond, briefly glancing at his reflection. His eyes were colorless, grey. He really was dead.
The atmosphere grew colder. Tommy grew wary, he had taken too many left turns. He wanted to get back to the open fields, not these tight corridors.
Turning down one, hoping he would see something familiar, he- stopped in his tracks.
It was fuzzy, almost hidden by a cloud, but Tommy knew what he saw. There, in the distance, stood two men. They were bickering, their voices clearer than rain. One stood, towering over the other, his trenchcoat making him intimidating. But the other didn’t back down, his teeth baring as menacing taunts left his mouth.
“Your fucking delusional.”
“I know what I felt! He isn’t supposed to be here yet!”
Tommy inhaled sharply. He knew these men. But he only cared about one.
Tommy ran. The biggest smile on his face, his feet quick against the white stone, shouting, “WILBUR!”
Wilbur turned, eyes unbelieving.
Tommy skittered to a stop in front of his brother. He grinned, searching his face, expecting a warm welcome. It did not come.
Wilbur exploded, “TOMMY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE.”
Tommy’s heart slammed into his chest. He missed the quiet already.
“What? What do you mean? Wilbur I-” He raised his hands in protest.
“WHAT THE FUCK TOMMY- YOU AREN’T- THIS ISN’T...” Wilbur trailed off, his voice cracking. Was Wilbur… worried?
“Tommy- what happened?”
Tommy didn’t know how to answer that. He diverted the question, eager to avoid Wilbur’s piercing gaze.
“So what the fuck is this place? It's bloody clean.”
“Yea, for you,” Schlatt mocked.
“OH FUCK OFF,” Wilbur and Tommy shouted in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.
Wilbur forcefully laughed, clearing the tension.
“Tommy. What happened?”
“How much can you see? Of the server, I mean?”
“All of it, if we try” Wilbur breathed.
“Right…. so you know about exile then. After you left, the stuff that happened,” Tommy questioned, trying to avoid pissing Wilbur off.
“Yes,” Wilbur groaned, frustrated with the younger boy. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean to leave you- or, Ghostbur didn’t. Technoblade needed me, and then… then I just melted,”
Tommy was surprised. Wilbur never apologized for anything. Least of all hurting Tommy. He cracked a grin, “Did you miss me?” He expected Wilbur to scoff and say no.
“Yea,” His face was sincere. He met Tommy’s eyes, widened in shock.
“Oh. Good.” Tommy couldn’t remember what it felt like to be missed.
“How touching,” Schlatt’s voice drawled.
Wilbur turned on him, ready to curse that fucker-
“-Wilbur,” Tommy began. “I think you know what happened to me. You just don’t want to say it.”
Wilbur turned around, a dangerous glint in his vision. “Dream?” His name hung in the air, turning it ice cold.
Tommy nodded. “He uh… beat me to death. I’m bloody surprised I don’t have bruises left over.”
Wilbur saw red. He muttered under his breath, a string of curses, along with “That’s my fucking brother.”
“If I could, I would blow that fucker to smithereens,” Wilbur’s words sliced through the air.
“So do it, doesn’t this afterlife give us cool powers or some shit?” Tommy asked, unknowing.
“Afterlife?” Wilbur scoffed. “Tommy this isn’t fucking heaven.”
“Oh. Well damn, it's bloody pretty for hell, innit,” Tommy glanced at the white castle once more.
Wilbur was growing impatient, “This isn’t hell, Tommy! This is purgatory! We can’t leave! We can’t be revived, without Dream’s fucking permission. We can’t fully die either! WE ARE STUCK HERE.”
Tommy took a step backwards. Purgatory . Sounded made-up to him. But if they truly were trapped…
“So can I not go back? Can I not visit people?” The thought of not being able to see his best friend again… no.
Wilbur shook his head sadly. “We can only observe Tommy. It's like a camera lense, only they don’t know we are taking a picture.”
Tommy’s breathing became unsteady. Fuck this.
“Fine. How does it work? I want to see people,” He stated firmly, ignoring the bad thoughts that were festering in his head.
Wilbur turned on his heel, wordlessly beckoning Tommy to follow him, leaving Schlatt amused about the whole ordeal.
Wilbur was a fast walker, making Tommy nearly sprint to catch up. They rounded the corner and entered a room, a large bowl placed in the center.
It had ornate markings on it, and it was filled with clear water. Its pedestal was white, just like everything else in this damn castle.
“Do you trust me?” Wilbur’s honey eyes met Tommy’s dull grey ones.
“Yes,” He was certain about that.
“Watch, and do what I do.” Wilbur walked up to the basin, and leaned over it. He stuck his head in the clear water. What the fuck? That's disgusting, Tommy thought, before following Wil’s lead.
He submerged himself, waiting. Suddenly, the clear water began to change. Tommy saw flashes of color, wooden staircases, stone rubble. And then he was falling.
Tommy hit the ground. Fuck, that hurt. Ghosts should not have to feel pain. He glanced up to see Wilbur had landed gracefully in the grass. Fucking prat.
Tommy jumped up, dusting himself off. They were on the prime path. Tommy saw the server unfold before him. It seemed almost… lifeless. Tommy thought about his death, and what happened. Sam.
“Wilbur, where is Sam?”
Wilbur looked at him surprised, “I thought you would want to see- nevermind. C’mon, take my hand. This might feel a bit weird.”
Tommy grudgingly took the man’s hand, and then they were folding in half. Tommy’s air was squeezed out of him. There was a millisecond of pain, and then he was falling again.
This time he landed on his feet, but lurched forward, wanting to throw up. “What the actual fuck was that?”
“I dunno, it's just how we get around as ghosts. You get used to it,” Wilbur explained.
Tommy swallowed the bile in his throat. He needed to see Sam. He needed to make sure he was okay.
They had landed just outside Sam’s base, the man himself kneeling in front of his smooth stone doors. His armour was gone, scattered around him. His face was contorted into a small scream, but no sound escaped him. Tommy’s shoulders sagged at the sight. He never wanted to hurt Sam. Tommy knew that Sam Nook had always been a character, created for his own benefit. Tommy was forever grateful to Sam for everything he did, even thought The Warden was fucking terrifying. Even though Sam had locked him in the place that lead to his inevitable demise.
“Wilbur, can he see me?”
“No, we don’t have corporeal forms,” came the soft reply.
“Corporeal- what the fuck does that mean?”
Wilbur sighed, exasperated, “It means we are invisible. Although, I’ve found that if you go up and speak to people, they can sort of, feel your presence. It comforts them. I’ve done it to you.”
That startled Tommy. Before he could think about it too much, his feet carried him over to Sam’s limp body.
He knelt next to him, his hand tentatively reaching to touch Sam’s shoulder.
Tommy cleared his throat, feeling awkward, “Hey, Sam. I know you're feeling like shit right now. I know you're blaming yourself, but…. I don’t want you to. It was never your fault. You did your best, Sam, and it was everything. So, please don’t feel guilty, mate. If it's anyone's fault, it's Dream’s. Don’t beat yourself up, okay? I wouldn’t want that, if I was alive. You taught me that… You were the best, uh, father figure, I ever had…” He trailed off, focusing on Sam’s face. His speckled green eyes were filled with tears, but he seemed to have been filled with determination. Maybe Wilbur was right, and something Tommy said reached Sam. Tommy stood up, letting his old friend grief. One down, I guess. This felt like a goodbye and Tommy didn’t know why. Surely this wasn’t the last time he would see the people he loved…
“Tommy, we need to go,” Wilbur stood tensely, staring at the sky.
Tommy looked up, seeing nothing. “...Okay?”
“Take my hand.” Tommy did.
This time they landed in snow, cushioning their fall. The nausea had lessened, but Tommy’s hatred for that method of travel had not.
“I needed to see Phil,” Wilbur explained. “Something felt off.”
That didn’t really make sense to Tommy, but he nodded anyway. The two brothers stood in front of a wooden cottage, a stark contrast against the snow. The world was silent out here. Tommy understood why Technoblade had made it. He understood the need to get away from everything.
They made their way up to the porch, pushing open the dark oak door. The scene that lay before them made Tommy’s stomach churn.
Technoblade, the warrior that never dies, never shows emotion, never dropped his scowl, was crying. He stood, leaning on his sword for stability, trying to form the words to tell Phil what was wrong. Phil, oblivious, panicked over Techno’s tears.
Wilbur pushed past Tommy, reaching for his older brother- his hand passed through him. Wilbur’s reaction pained Tommy.
“Techno, speak to me mate, what's wrong?” Phil’s voice was colored with concern.
Technoblade straightened his shoulders, heavy-ladened with the burden of the words he was about to speak. He met Phil’s baby blue eyes, “It’s Tommy. He- Dream… killed him.”
Philza broke. His one heart, strong and constantly beating, shattered into a million pieces. Wails filled the air as a father and brother mourned.
Tommy was horrified, his mouth agape. He glanced at Wilbur, who had an equal expression of terror written on his face.
“Wilbur?” Tommy’s question hung in the air.
“Tommy we need to go,” Wilbur’s voice was firm.
“But… they- don’t you want to help them? Talk to them?” Tommy grew desperate.
“Tommy. We need to go, now.” Each word was punctuated with pain.
Tommy reluctantly grabbed Wilbur’s hand, and they spun away into nothingness, leaving two broken men behind.
Tommy threw up. He tasted copper, having bit his tongue in the travel.
“Tommy, listen to me,” Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s shoulders. “Things are a lot different now. You're dead. That means your emotions have a much larger effect on people. It was too dangerous for us to speak to them in that state. They could’ve gone insane from grief alone. Do you understand?” His eyes were urgent.
Tommy nodded, still reeling.
“Good.”
After a beat, Tommy spoke, voice raspy, “Where is Tubbo?”
Wilbur closed his eyes, blindly looking around the server. He had a way of finding people.
“You ready?” His outstretched hand reached for Tommy.
Tommy wasn’t ready. But he had to do this. A final goodbye. He grabbed Wilbur’s hand and braced for impact.
They landed in front of Tommy’s old dirt house, surrounded by red and white flowers. Tommy had wondered who put them there.
Then he saw something that made his blood run cold. Tubbo, his Tubbo, sitting alone on the bench. Their bench. He was hunched over, crying softly, barely making a sound. Ranboo stood a distance away, torn between giving the boy space and comforting him.
Tommy approached Tubbo slowly, suddenly very nervous.
Tommy took a seat on the bench, parallel to Tubbo. It was just like old times, before death, before fire and rain, before war and destruction. From the very beginning, it had been the two of them, with the discs. Their laughter had filled the air and flowers had bloomed at their feet. The grass was yellow and dead now.
Tommy turned to face Tubbo, and upon seeing his tear-streaked face, pulled him into a hug.
This made the boy cry harder.
Tommy sat helpless. Any words he tried to say felt stupid and wrong.
He saw the jukebox was still there. Tommy sat up straight, realizing what he had in his pockets. Pulling out a familiar green disc, he slid it into the jukebox and pressed play.
Methodical notes filled the air. They sounded of sunshine and bee stings and shining faces. They sounded of birds chirping and two loud boys. They sounded like hope. They sounded like dreams.
Tommy felt Tubbo shift in his arms. He watched as the boy slowly stood, a look of shock on his face, as though he could hear the music. Wait, could he?
Tubbo began to sob. Ranboo ran over, enveloping him in a hug. Tubbo tried to speak, to tell Ranboo what he heard, but words fell short.
Tommy backed away, knowing he had done what he needed to. Briefly, he remembered something Tubbo said not too long ago…
“Everything must come to an end eventually.”
He was right.
Tommy turned and met Wilbur’s gaze, soft with compassion. He hugged his older brother, and mumbled, “Can we go now?”
“Close your eyes Tommy. That’s all you have to do.”
Tommy did. Suddenly he was being yanked out of the water basin, sputtering from the lack of air.
Slow claps could be heard behind them.
“Well done,” Schlatt said sarcastically. “That was quite the performance.”
“God you just LIVE to be an asshole, don’t you?” Wilbur shouted, pulling Tommy out of the room. Tommy was still dazed. His heart had just broken four times, for the four people he left behind. Through his clouded thoughts, one prevailed: Dream is the reason.
Tommy was angry. He was so angry he thought his blood would burst out of his skin. His head was pounding and his arms were shaking, and hell he was angry!
“Wilbur,” He gasped, trying to form coherent sentences through his rage. “Your telling me that I died, woke up in this hella clean purgatory , only for Dream to still have control over me?”
Wilbur opened his mouth but Tommy wasn’t listening.
“I GAVE UP EVERYTHING. I GAVE UP EVERYTHING FOR L’MANBERG. FOR MY BEST FRIEND. I SAVED THE FUCKING SERVER. DREAM, THAT BASTARD. HE WAS A PUPPET MASTER, TWISTING MY THOUGHTS, TWISTING TUBBO’S. HE RUINED EVERYTHING. SO I DIED! I WAS FUCKING BEATEN TO DEATH IN A PRISON BUILT FOR ME! I WAS HOPE AND HE KILLED ME!” Tommy screamed louder than he ever had. He drowned out the chaos in his head. He made his own silence from the words that left his mouth.
Exhausted, he dropped to a whisper, “I saved everyone. I was Theseus, Wilbur. I saved everyone and then I got exiled, left to die,” He spat. “But all this time, this whole fucking time, I wanted one thing. Freedom. So… you're telling me… that after all this time… I can’t have that? I can’t save anyone anymore?” His voice broke with emotion.
Wilbur was stunned into silence.
“I- I guess not Tommy. I’m so sorry.”
Tommy sighed with his whole body, dejected. “Fine. Wilby- I’m tired. I’m so tired.”
Wilbur stiffened at the nickname.
“I’ll take you to where you can sleep, okay?”
Tommy followed Wilbur down dozens of corridors, dragging his feet. He didn’t care where, he just wanted to sleep.
“You can pick any of these rooms. I’m here if you need me, okay?” Wilbur added as an attempt to bring Tommy back, to ground him.
“Yea, yea,” he muttered.
Wilbur left, once again feeling like he had failed his little brother.
Tommy was about to pick a random bed and sleep, hopefully forever, but then his attention was drawn to a light at the end of the corridor. He followed it, and found that it opened up into a huge courtyard. In the center stood a massive birch tree with white flower petals. A bubbling creek ran through the grass. A swingset and a bench sat lonesome underneath the tree branches. It reminded him of his own bench. Tommy’s heart ached for home. He didn’t know what that was anymore.
Tommy realized that after all this time, despite everything, he only had himself.
He was truly, utterly, alone.