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Life wasn’t like a storybook. At first, he just thought that was because things were only getting worse, and there was no happy ending. Now, he grasped the deeper meaning of the concept.
Life wasn’t like a storybook because there was no way to skip a part you didn’t like, no way to go back to when everything was better. Happy memories get buried under trauma and pain, until you only have a vague memory of what happy is supposed to feel like.
But maybe he could write his own ending, rather than be bound by words already laid out for him. Or maybe this was all part of the books end, and this was his closing chapter. At this point, Tubbo was willing to believe anything.
It was almost poetic to go out in the same way your best friend almost committed suicide. Everything was all his fault. He could trace every single thing that was going wrong back to him.
He had exiled Tommy, which was handing him to Dream on a silver platter. He had took the helm of a burning country and thrown gasoline on it. He was a failure, just like a wrong test answer. And you erased wrong answers.
His dark eyes took in the landscape, the one that would be the last thing he ever saw. There was the crater of L’Manberg, and the new country built on stilts. There was Tommy’s house and the prison, the hulking black cube that could withstand a hundred withers, maybe more. He hadn’t realized how high up he was when he was first building this, but his vision was periodically obscured by clouds.
Dream was in that prison. The memories of the fight came tumbling back, the weight of them nearly enough to make him lose balance.
He was a pawn, a sidekick. Before, when he was naive, he had relished in the thought. He hadn’t wanted the pressure of being a main character, the pressure to do the right thing. Back then, he wasn’t aware of what being a pawn or a sidekick entailed.
He was a side character, free to be manipulated, used, and made the villain however the author pleased. And he was done. He didn’t want to be used, to be another figurehead to kill and replace. If he was dying for the third time, it was on his terms.
“I was wondering where you were, big man.” Tubbo looked over his shoulder. Dully, he knew that he was supposed to be happy. He had gotten Tommy back. Tommy, his best friend, his platonic soulmate, his twin flame.
But now, he could see the scars his actions had left behind. Burns from explosions Tommy had never explained. Bruises as far as the eye could see on too pale skin stretched tightly over bone.
Eyes that had once been bright blue, sparkling with the spirit of a revolutionary. Steeled blue eyes with the strength of a fighter, of a survivor in Pogtopia. But now, they were dull gray, resigned and tired and haunted. Tubbo tore his gaze away from them and turned to the sky, which was soft blue, colored over with a solid layer of silver clouds.
“Hey, Toms,” Tubbo chuckled, smile wavering slightly as Tommy crawled off the ladder and carefully perched himself as far from the edge as he could, pressed tightly against Tubbo. “Why are you here?”
Tommy looked at him, bewildered. “You’ve been missing ever since we got the discs back. I tried everywhere, but then I found this banging cobblestone tower - ‘cause cobblestone is the very best block, obviously - and found you at the top. What’re you doing up here?” Tommy peeked nervously over the edge, flinching back quickly.
This was how Tommy nearly offed himself. A large cobblestone pillar had joined his nightmares when he saw it. He barely slept for fear of nightmares, actually, but when he actually did crash, he only had nightmares.
“Big man shit, innit?” Tubbo retorted easily, his brain going on autopilot. It was scarily easy to convince everyone that he was okay. Even when he had volunteered to be murdered, even where he accepted death, everyone had worried about Tommy. And he was okay with that, really! Okay, maybe he get a little forgotten. But Tommy was what really mattered.
Tommy didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he crossed his arms. He soon let them fall and gripped the edge tightly as a strong gust of wind nearly blew him off the edge. Tubbo was lighter than Tommy, sure, but he was already digging his nails into the stone, his nails bleeding with the force.
“I don’t believe you. Something’s wrong,” Tommy accused, eyes fierce. But he faltered when his gaze shifted to the edge, to the fall far. “But, uh... can we talk at the bottom?” Tubbo glanced back at Tommy, then at the fall. He nodded, and pulled out a water bucket.
“MLG water bucket, do you dare me?” Tubbo asked. He felt bad about lying to Tommy, but he was desperate for an escape, an ending. But Tommy immediately shook his head so hard Tubbo could hear his brain knocking against the sides of his skull. “What do you mean?”
“Ladder. Now, Tubbo,” Tommy demanded, his eyes terrified and knowing. Tubbo flinched, slightly, but quickly recovered. Tommy went first and scampered quickly down the ladder, pausing every minute or so for Tubbo to catch up at his glacial pace.
Tubbo’s mind kept wandering to how easy it would be to fall, to say it was an accident. But Tommy. He didn’t want Tommy to see this, and besides, if he fell, he would probably knock Tommy off as well, and he couldn’t live with that.
They both reached the ground safely. Tommy grabbed Tubbo’s hand and leads him down the Prime Path, then took a left, past the prison. They walked for an hour, at least, but Tommy and Tubbo were used to it.
Eventually, they reached a modest stone castle, decorated with shrubbery and surrounded by animal pens. Tommy’s tense shoulders relaxed, and he slowed his pace as he knocked on the door. A dog could be heard going batshit crazy, and the door swung open.
“Tommy? What are you- Fran, no - what are you doing here?” Sam asked, nudging his dog back from the door. Sam’s eyes wandered to Tubbo. Sam and Tubbo’s relationship had been a little rocky ever since he had exiled Tommy, but he had seemed to forgive him. Funny, especially considering that Tubbo hadn’t forgiven himself.
“Can we come in?” Tommy asked, glancing up at the darkening sky nervously. Sam immediately nodded, moving aside to let them in. Tommy began pulling Tubbo again, dragging him inside and up a staircase, to a room with a small sign with ‘Tommy’s Room’ written in familiar chicken scratch.
Something about the room screamed, ‘Tommyinnit lives here’, but Tubbo couldn’t figure out what, exactly. Maybe it was the familiar red and white color scheme. Maybe it was the three chests labeled ‘cobblestone’. Maybe it was the little cow figurine that Fundy and Niki had given him as a joint birthday gift she’s ago. Or maybe it was that Tubbo and Tommy had known each other all their lives, and knew each other.
Tommy sat on his bouncy bed, pulling his feet up onto the bed, crossing them and eyeing Tubbo expectantly.
Tubbo sat across from him, trying to sit as lightly as possible. His horrible eating habits combined with his naturally thin frame, he didn’t have any problem with sitting lightly.
They had a silent staring contest. Tommy’s eyes bored into Tubbo’s. His grey eyes, eyes that weren’t Tommy because surely, surely Tommy wasn’t that mature. Tommy was aloud and impulsive; he blurted out everything that came to mind and couldn’t keep still.
But here he was, sitting still and quiet, a patient expression on his face that Tubbo had never seen before. Tubbo stared back, not aware of tears flowing down his cheeks until a sob rattles out of him. He buries his face in his hands, and Tommy is there, his arms wrapped around Tubbo’s shaking frame.
The door creaked open and Fran burst in, jumping on the bed and spreading on Tommy and Tubbo’s laps. Same chuckled slightly, but the laugh quickly died when he saw Tubbo’s distraught face. Tommy looked distraught too, but also worried and guilty. Guilty for not noticing this sooner. I mean, what kind of best friend didn’t notice that their best friend was suicidal!
It then hit Tommy, really hit him, that Tubbo was going to kill himself. That if Tommy hadn’t gotten there, he might have killed himself. Tommy burst into tears, something that he hadn’t been allowed to do before he had been freed from exile, and Tommy buried his face in Tubbo’s shoulder while Tubbo’s face was deep in Tommy’s chest.
Sam’s heart broke for his surrogate kids. He rushed forward and wrapped all of them in hug, trying to get his arms around both of them at the same time.
Both eventually cried themselves to sleep, dehydrated, malnourished, sleep deprived, traumatized, and due for a long talk in the morning. Sam stepped back, draping a blanket over the two of them. He tried to call Fran back, but the stubborn dog refused to go. He groaned and gave up, quietly closing the door.
He walked downstairs to his study, digging up a list of everyone on the server. He sorted them in categories such as traumatized minors (Tubbo, Tommy, Ranboo, Fundy, Purpled), egg cult people (Bad, Punz, Antfrost, Skeppy), rational adults (Puffy and himself, he would think of more later), and people he would need to have a talk with.
He couldn’t protect the kids before, but maybe he could now. Satisfied, he made his way off to bed, keeping a watchful ear out for Tommy and Tubbo.