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Violent, churning hurdles of wind lapped dangerously close to Tommy’s exposed skin, pressing near underneath the hem of his shirt and slicing dangerously between his whipping hairs. The feeling was both biting and painful, leaving sparks of repetitive agony running throughout Tommy’s body as he twisted and turned.
He was falling.
Falling, and falling, and falling.
Falling down from the heavens – his thin figure splitting open the very fabric of the baby-blue afternoon sky as he tumbled and seized.
He was like a hot knife through butter, a heavy stone being dropped in water, a pebble sinking within the singing seas, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to stop it.
Nothing in the world would be able to catch him now, to stop his rapid descent from XD’s clutches within the high skies. His course would forever be down, forever be sinking into the nearing ground below – into the taunting trees and the growling grasses – sloping down, down, down until his body hit the floor with an echoing shriek.
The aftermath would be catastrophic.
Tommy would be torn apart, both literally and figuratively.
His body would break, splinter into tiny, fragmented pieces filled to the brim with sharp bones and jagged memories. He’d be damaged and bruised, fading in and out of consciousness until his life force was sucked away from his bleeding form.
It wouldn’t surprise him if he were unrecognisable after the whole ordeal, too – so disfigured and deformed that his own ‘family’ wouldn’t be able to put a name on his body. Not Wilbur, not Techno, not even Tubbo.
His final, canon life lost to an accident so unprepared for; an accident that should have never happened in the first place; an accident that signified the last death sentence for somebody, a death that they would never be able to come back from.
And there was nothing that Tommy could do about it.
Unless-
Harsh, forceful wingbeats filled the open air, cutting through pained, fearful screaming and the sound of the hissing winds. It was repetitive and driven, a sound that began to fill Tommy’s rapidly beating chest with hope and desire, with a need for more.
Who...?
Phil.
Tommy’s eyes snapped open, crystal-blues widening considerably and lifting up, even more, to meet with almost an identical pair. Heh, he always had been told that he’d gotten Phil’s features more than his mothers, and that was only becoming clearer as he aged.
“Phil!”
He tried, cracked lips parting as best they could as he tried to scream his father’s name.
Tommy’s throat was scratchy and painful, burning with the heat of a thousand suns and each swallow felt like he was forcing even more sandpaper down against his delicate insides. It was agony all at once, but also something that he needed to just push through.
“Phil, Phil, Phil! Please, please-”
Tommy needed his dad, and if that meant feeling as if he was quite literally swallowing shattered glass, then so be it.
“Tommy!”
Philza was here. Phil was here. Dadza was here.
The avian side of Tommy’s brain, the underdeveloped, barely-there instincts had joined together in a constant, looping shriek of, ‘Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock. Flock.’
It was a looping melody, a chorus of whiny, needy voices that had Tommy’s heart clenching and his hands curling into painful fists – sharp nails digging into soft palms. The sounds were both annoying and reassuring, spiking a growing migraine and still reminding Tommy that somebody was here. Somebody could catch him. Somebody could save him.
Because, surely, Phil wouldn’t let him fall, would he?
Sure, the two weren’t exactly on the best terms. Sure, they’d fallen out on more than one occasion. Sure, Phil still saw Tommy as a disappointment and a traitor. But they could put that behind them, couldn’t they?
For just a moment, for just a single, fleeting moment, Phil could push past that resentment, that hatred, and that anger that he still held for his youngest ‘son.’
He could put it all behind him and instead let the need to save and protect take over his mind. Phil could reach out with those strong, calloused hands; he could tightly grip onto Tommy and pull him home into a safe embrace, he could-
The Avian’s gaze slowly wavered away from Tommy’s, bright blue eyes dropping and shifting towards the side, to Tommy’s right.
Oh.
Oh, right.
Tommy hadn’t been the only one to fall, had he?
There had been somebody else.
Somebody who...
There was Ranboo, gangly, long-limbed Ranboo, with all of his quirks and all of his split-coloured hair, falling exactly beside Tommy – whipping through the curling air like a shimmering being that had just been vaulted through a lulling afternoon sky.
Ranboo was sprawled and shaking, his body still quivering and shivering even in the injured state that he’d been left within.
If he narrowed his eyes, Tommy could just about glimpse towards the leaking, caressing trails of crimson blood splattered across the side of Ranboo’s pale face, the ones trickling from a torn scalp and leaving thick droplets spinning throughout the open air when they didn’t catch against slick skin.
It was the nasty result of an unexpected injury, an unexpected concussion that left the tall Enderman hybrid completely unresponsive, unconscious, dead to the world, though in a far nicer sense than actual death.
His eyes were clenched shut, vibrant strikes of typically glowing red and green hidden behind thin eyelids. Tommy felt his stomach lurch at the sight.
Ranboo was falling faster than he was.
Ranboo was nearing the ground.
Ranboo was unconscious.
Ranboo was...
Tommy’s gaze shifted back to Phil’s again. This time, there was less worry, less fear, less concern hidden within those raging sapphires. It had all been swiftly replaced with other emotions, with regret, with sorrow and guilt, and, oh XD, Tommy knew. Tommy knew what it meant. He’d always known, in the back of his mind.
In the very depths of his guarded brain, where he liked to shove the things that he didn’t want to think about too often - the things that made Tommy’s heart clench and his chest to tighten with both pain and despair. Tommy was aware. Of course, he was.
Tommy knew that Phil had never really... loved him enough.
There had been something there initially, at least, something that kept them linked and together, something that screamed of a familial bond no matter how farfetched or fake it might seem. It was almost like a red tether of string holding the two in conjunction, tight and secure.
But now, that string had worn far too thin.
It was snapping.
Or perhaps, it had already snapped.
Perhaps it had snapped the day that Tommy had betrayed Technoblade. He betrayed his big brother, betrayed somebody that he was supposed to love, look up to, and cherish no matter what. Tommy had sworn away their relationship and chosen the evil, villainous Government.
Perhaps it had snapped the day that Phil had killed Wilbur, the day the older man had shown up after years hidden away within the Arctic Empire, ignoring anyone whose name wasn’t ‘Technoblade.’ Phil had stood up there, perched within the ruins of L’Manburg, and killed Wilbur right in front of his youngest brother. A sword straight through his chest, with little to no remorse.
Perhaps it had snapped the day that Tommy had stumbled towards the Arctic where Phil and Techno resided, apologies on the very tip of his tongue as he knocked on their wooden door – wanting to achieve even that before he went out to fight Dream. Phil had swung it open, venom coursing through his words as he’d denounced Tommy as his own son and only watched as Tommy had limped away.
Tommy hadn’t taken any of those things seriously at the time.
Not as seriously as he should have, at least.
See, Phil had still been his dad, hadn’t he? Right? Even despite the arguments and the wars, even despite the fighting and the pain. Phil had still helped Tommy grow up into the teen he was today, helping him learn his silly alphabet and helping the poor blonde through challenging reading sessions.
Phil had been everything to Tommy; he’d aided him through everything that he needed, so, so surely... surely, he was still technically a part of the family, right? Phil had to at least like Tommy, right? Phil would save Tommy, right?
As selfish as it may seem - as it may sound - Tommy didn’t want to be the one to die. Tommy didn’t want to hit the mocking ground and feel the very moment that his bones turned to dust within his aching, crumbling body.
Tommy didn’t want that. He couldn’t go through that sort of pain again. He couldn’t be thrown back into harrowing flashbacks of painful beatings and untreated wounds, of nasty infections and splintered bones – viciously broken underneath the unrelenting press of a steel-toed boot.
But did that mean that Ranboo deserved it then?
No.
No, no.
Not at all.
Ranboo, in truth, deserved everything but that cruel fate.
Ranboo was perfect. Ranboo was sweet; he was kind, he was everything that Tommy wasn’t. He was gentle when he needed to be and strong-willed when he needed that too. Ranboo had a way with words - even if he stammered through them at times – and he knew exactly how to comfort those around him.
Ranboo was careful with his friends and delicate with his son. He had enough patience to sit and listen to Ghostbur’s insane rambling about quite literally anything and everything; he had enough spunk to keep up with Technoblade’s dry sarcasm and his mundane tasks; he had enough bravery to fight alongside Phil whenever the older man decided he wanted to go out adventuring.
Ranboo was the brother Wilbur and Techno always wanted.
Ranboo was the son Phil had always craved for.
Ranboo was perfect.
Tommy was... anything but.
The wind grew even more violent against Tommy’s skin, lashing out against his frail body and leaving red welts lining his goosebump-covered flesh. The whistling in his ears was only growing louder, and Tommy could sense the ground nearing at a rapidly rising pace.
The end result was already obvious.
Phil could only hold onto one of them.
He didn’t have the strength to grip onto both Tommy and Ranboo. It would be too much work – too much effort and too much labour. The attempt would only leave Phil off-kilter and could easily end up with them all toppling down, down, down into the approaching Earth.
The Avian couldn’t risk it.
He couldn’t risk all of them dying to a fate so cruel.
So who did he pick?
Who lived, and who died?
The Enderman or the Fool.
Tommy already knew. Tommy knew from the moment that guilt-filled gaze had met his own. It had hit him right like a sharpened arrow flying through his sensitive chest – piercing through thick layers of flesh and burying deep into his screaming, bleeding heart.
Tommy wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t kind enough, nor was he the right type of person in Phil’s eyes.
He’d always be a traitor, somebody who bred chaos wherever he stepped and left destruction in his wake. Tommy was evil. He was cruel. He was self-centered and rude. He was the villain in the story, stood behind Dream and Wilbur, behind Schlatt and Technoblade.
He was horrible and wrong, wrong, wrong.
He was a crack within the universe; a human bred from mistakes and terror. He was... Tommy was never meant to be, in a sense.
And it was his fault that Phil didn’t want him anymore, didn’t want his youngest son. Didn’t want to curl his fingers through Tommy’s blonde locks and hold him close whenever he suffered through gut-wrenching nightmares. Didn’t want to stroke his back and make him those steaming mugs of reassuring hot chocolate.
Tommy had ruined it all. He’d ruined the bond; he’d torn the string; he’d ripped away any sort of familial tie that Phil might’ve originally held tight around him like a puppet master and its dancing doll.
This was all Tommy’s fault.
It was all...
The wind played an echoing chorus as Tommy stared up into the blue sky.
Phil’s hands grasped onto Ranboo’s suit at the very last moment, pulling upwards with the sheer force of a fearful father and holding him close.
Tommy could only smile as slicing shards of grass similarly caressed his body, acting as a curling embrace within his final resting place.
He hoped that Alliums grew from where he was buried.