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“I hate you,” Jack screams across the roof. “I hate you, so fucking much. I want you dead.”
Tommy just laughs at that. “Didn’t you try that before, pal? You failed, didn’t you? What makes you think you can kill me now?”
Jack can feel his throat working, his eyes burn hot with tears, and he takes a shaking step in Tommy’s direction. There’s rain pouring on him, soaking through his clothes, and he can’t feel it. He can’t feel anything other than the festering, burning anger that’s beginning to erupt out of him. “I only failed because your stupid ass was too slow to the target zone,” he cries. “Niki tried, she tried so fucking hard, but you were dragging your feet and you missed it. And now I’m going to kill you for real.”
“What makes you think you can do that?” Tommy shouts back. There’s a wild, crazed undertone to his voice, and he points accusingly at Jack. “I came back, you know. Dream brought me back. I have three lives again, you pussy.”
There’s a moment where Jack feels calm, where he feels the rain sliding down his neck and the freezing wetness of his clothes against his skin. He sees Tommy laugh, all sarcasm and bitterness, before the anger that’s been boiling inside of him for months erupts out of his mouth.
“I died too!” He screams across the void, across the rooftop to Tommy. “Did you know that? I fucking died, Technoblade disemboweled me, and I came back too! You’re not fucking special! For once in your stupid life, you’re not the main character with the special abilities! I did it too!”
Tommy finally, finally looks taken aback, his eyes widening a fraction and his confident posture loosening. Jack feels a sickly undercurrent of satisfaction rush through his blood, and he laughs.
“Surprising, huh? Is it scary, Tommy, not being the main fucking character for once? To know that shit happens to people other than you?” Jack’s sword handle is slippery in the rain, but he still pulls it from his hip and points it at Tommy. “You’ve done so much to hurt me. You forgot about me.”
“So what if you got revived too?” Tommy shoots back. His bravado has returned, his hand on his dagger and his eyes narrowed. “You’re just the idiot who follows me ‘n Tubbo around and treads on our heels. You’re not a main character at all, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it.”
Jack takes another step closer, blinks the rain out of his eyes. He can’t tell what’s tears and what’s just normal water anymore, and he supposes it won’t matter in the end. “Can you just fucking listen,” he screams. “For once. I tried to tell you, when you first came back—I told you that I was going to kill you. That I had planned to. And you started talking about—fucking Moana or some shit! You didn’t listen to me at all, and you never have!”
“Why the fuck should I listen to you?” Tommy is laughing again, but not humorously—it’s snarky, venomous, meant to hurt. Jack feels sick. “You’ve never had anything good to say, have you?”
He pauses, and the gods of the server choose that moment to let lightning crack across the sky, illuminating the roof of the Big Innit Hotel in stark white light for a millisecond. Jack is reminded of his brief stay in hell. The words that come out of Tommy’s mouth next are carefully chosen, tipped with poison and shot into each of Jack’s limbs, weighing him down like a neurotoxin and bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.
“What good have you contributed to the server? What important things have you done here? Everyone knows you as me or Tubbo’s sidekick, or the weird guy who hangs around Niki. I swear Tubbo’s going to get annoyed by you someday, or he’s going to leave you for Ranboo, like he did to me. You’ve been mean to me, you’ve manipulated me, and you never listen to me. You’ve never been important here, and honestly I don’t think you ever will be.”
Jack stares at him. He feels numb, empty, sick and tired and pissed off, and God, life would be so much easier if that stupid red and white shirt fell off the roof with the rest of the boy. He swallows back the bile in his throat, blinks away the molten tears in his eyes, and readjusts his grip on his sword. “This ends now,” he says, and he hates how his voice trembles. “I’m going to kill you.”
Tommy drops into a fighting stance, practiced and casual, and holds out his dagger. “Try it, pussy.”
And so Jack does.
He’s been training, ever since he came back from hell, from that white and fiery purgatory. He’s destroyed dummy after dummy, spilling hay across his floor and across the forest floor in Snowchester, and he’s honed his skills to a point where he can hold his own in a fight. His sword isn’t enchanted, and it’s not made of netherite like Tommy’s dagger, but it’s iron and it’s been through thick and thin with him, and he feels a flash of satisfaction when it slams into Tommy’s chestplate and makes the kid wince.
The concrete beneath their feet is slick and dark; their feet slip and slide as they fight. At some point, Jack knocks the dagger off the side of the roof, and right after Tommy wrestles the sword from his hands and throws it to the side. Jack pushes Tommy to the ground, Tommy pulls him down, and then they’re just fist-fighting.
“I hate you,” Jack chants throughout, his voice going rough and raspy. Tommy shoots back angry taunts, stupid little comments that only fuel Jack’s anger, and bites Jack’s hands and arms. He’s like a weasel, squirming and feral, and Jack has to punch him a few times before Tommy lays back, panting, and watches him with wary eyes.
Jack stares back down at him, feeling good, feeling better. His sword is a few feet away, and before he reaches for it he makes sure to sock Tommy in the stomach to keep him from running.
“I’m gonna tell everyone,” Tommy wheezes as Jack flicks water off his blade. “They’re all gonna know that you killed me, for no fucking reason. They’re gonna arrest you and throw you in jail, with that stupid green fuck, and you’ll be stuck there forever.”
Jack levels his sword at Tommy’s neck. “I want you dead,” he responds. “I’ve wanted you gone for ages. And this is my chance.”
Tommy laughs, an angry little cackle that echoes across the rooftop, then spits a mixture of blood and saliva into Jack’s face. “Then do it already, bitch.”
“Fuck you,” Jack chokes out. He’s crying again, and he’s frustrated and tired and pissed off. His sword is shaking. “Fuck you, man. You can’t let me have anything, can you?”
“If you don’t kill me, maybe I’ll let you have something, whatever that means.” Tommy’s left eye is swollen, his teeth glazed with blood. Jack feels his own ribs throbbing, and his wrists and hands are punctured with teeth marks. “What do you even want from me?”
Jack laughs at that. It’s exasperated, mixed with a sob, and he wipes his face with his sopping wet jacket sleeve. “I’ve told you,” he cries. “God, I’ve told you like five times at this point. I want you to listen to me, and I want you dead. That’s what I want in regard to you.”
“Well, which is it, then?” Tommy’s still panting. “D’you want me to listen or do you wanna kill me? Make up your mind, bitch.”
Jack pushes the sword against Tommy’s neck, hard enough to break the first layer of skin. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, and then can’t think of what else to say. There’s supposed to be a witty one-liner, an angry sendoff to the little asshole who has made his life hell. And he can’t say anything. He can’t move his sword.
“I wanted you to apologize,” he blurts instead. “I wanted you to fucking—to say sorry, for at least one thing. You killed me. You watched me burn to death. That’s just one thing you’ve done, and it might have changed things if you had fucking apologized.”
Tommy’s watching him warily, neck stretched to avoid the sword. Jack stares at him as he keeps talking, feeling the anger drain from his body until all he feels is just a sick sadness. “You abandoned me in Manburg. You left me with Schlatt, of all people, and you didn’t even come to check on me when I got back. You never were interested when I started my own country—all you cared about was L’manberg this, L’manberg that. You didn’t even notice that Wilbur killed me because he thought I was a traitor or some shit.
“And then I went to visit you in exile, and I thought I was being nice, I thought you’d appreciate it, and—” Jack’s fully crying now, snotty and loud and gross. “You killed me. You fucking—you pushed me into lava, and you dangled the fucking fire resistance potion and watched me turn into ash.”
Tommy opens his mouth to speak and Jack pushes the sword back against his neck. He’s not even angry anymore, just annoyed and sick.
“I thought we were friends,” Jack sobs. “I thought you liked me, that you respected me. And then I fuckin’ died for you, in your stupid war for the discs and for L’manberg, and nobody noticed. Nobody even cared.
“That’s why I wanted to kill you. You’ve done so much to me, so much to hurt me, and I know you’ve been through shit too, but that doesn’t—” Jack drops his sword and falls onto his ass, crying like a little kid. “That doesn’t let you ignore everyone else.” He takes a deep breath, or at least a deep as he can get, and chokes out, voice cracking, “I got hurt too. I was still a kid.”
Tommy sits up, warily and slowly, and watches Jack sob into his hands. There’s such a feeling of catharsis, of release and relief, and Jack feels strange. It’s been so long since he’s let himself cry.
“I was a kid too,” he repeats. “You ‘n Ranboo are always going on about how you’re just kids, how you’re young and don’t deserve to go through this, but I was seventeen when I came here. I fought in the same wars as you.”
There’s quiet between them, broken only by the rumble of thunder in the distance and the patter of rain on the concrete. Jack’s sword lays forgotten in a puddle. His crying slows, until he’s simply sniffling and breathing shakily, and then he looks up so meet Tommy’s gaze.
“So, you gonna turn me in, then?”
Tommy says nothing, and Jack laughs weakly at himself. “I was too much of a bitch to kill you, so take your chance now before I can get away.” He kicks the sword in Tommy’s direction, winces at it clatters loudly across the ground. “Kill me or run, your choice.”
“No,” Tommy says. He’s on his knees, catching rain in his hands and using it to clean the dirt and blood off his face. He furrows his brows at Jack and spits a tooth to the side. “What if you try to kill me when I go to run? I’d be a total idiot to trust you.”
“Why, because I just vented all my hatred toward you?” Tommy wrinkles his nose in disgust, and Jack rolls his eyes, muttering, “I’m tired, man. I don’t have the energy to fight you again.”
They sit in silence together, letting the rain hit them. Tommy’s face looks rougher without the blood and dirt on it. Jack examines his hands and arms, poking at the bite marks and wincing. Thunder rolls through the sky again, getting closer, and Tommy looks up.
“Thunder,” he says. “Reminds me of you, back when you first joined. Remember we all called you Thunder?”
“Yeah,” Jack says, laughing gently. “Fitting, innit?”
Tommy laughs then, a hesitant and quiet chuckle, but still a laugh. Jack laughs too, and then they’re both cackling, rolling on their backs under the rain and heaving for air. “Fucking hell,” Jack cries, holding his ribs. “Why am I laughing so hard?”
“I dunno, man,” Tommy crows, wheezing and slapping the ground. His words come out slowly, in between bouts of laughter. “I can’t stop!”
As their laughs turn to chuckles, and then to breathless gasps, the rain eases up as well. Jack sits up to see blue sky on the horizon, and he massages his sides as he takes deep, shaky breaths. Tommy rolls onto his knees and raises his head to look at Jack.
“So,” he says, that regular snarky undertone back in his voice, “are you going to kill me?”
“No,” Jack replies, and he’s being honest. “We’re not friends. But I’m not gonna kill you.”
“Mm.” Tommy regards him with clear blue eyes, one swollen and bruised, and grins all lopsided. “Alright, then. You won’t kill me, and I won’t tell anyone about this. Deal?”
“Deal,” Jack says, and he stretches out his hand. Tommy shakes it, firm and solid, and then their hands drop and the connection is severed. Jack goes to stand, to take the walk of shame across the server back to Snowchester, and Tommy says, “You wanna do this again?”
“What d’you mean?”
“This,” Tommy says, gesturing between himself and Jack. “Fighting. Talking. Seems like it helped you. And I’ve got some shit I want to say to you as well.”
Jack thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, alright. When?”
“Next week? I’ll let you know.”
“Alright.” Jack smiles, hesitantly, and right before he heads down the ladder he raises his hand to flip Tommy off.
As the trapdoor swings shut after him, he hears Tommy shout, “Oh, you prick!”