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Part 9 of dream SMP fics
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Published:
2021-05-11
Completed:
2021-05-16
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3,176
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6/6
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i need an answer but i'm always one step behind

Summary:

the apologies tommy always needed to hear but never did.
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or: emotional maturity in my dream smp? it's more likely than you think

Notes:

this whole thing was pre-written over the span of about a week and i'll be posting a chapter daily lol. it might not end how you expect, though, so keep an eye out for that :]

beta'd by the lovely quin (@kapuccion)

title from tear up this town by keane

Chapter 1: phil

Summary:

phizlsw minenckraswt

Notes:

philza minecrafttt is so braveee

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Phil offers. “I’m sorry I didn’t find things out for myself. I’m sorry I wasn’t more responsible. You’re one of Wilbur’s friends, at the very least. You deserved better. I should have done better.”

The walls seem to close in a bit on them. It’s claustrophobic, pressuring.

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy responds, even though it most definitely was. He looks to the floor, uncomfortable.

“It is, though,” Phil persists. “I’m an adult, I should’ve… listened better. To Wilbur. To you. To everyone. Sometimes people say things and it’s not what they mean. I should’ve been better.”

“It’s fine, it’s okay,” Tommy steps back. “It’s okay, seriously.”

Phil sighs, “It’s really not okay, but… fine, I guess. I’ll do better, now. I’ll listen more and make sure I do what I can to help.”

He looks out the window at the snow-covered plains, contemplative.

Tommy follows his gaze, at the empty woods in the distance.

“What happened… that wasn’t right,” Phil said.

“Which part?” Tommy asks.

Phil laughs. Tommy does too, even though it wasn’t much of a joke at all.

“That’s the problem, innit. That you even have to ask which part. All of it, mate. None of that should’ve happened. I should’ve… I should’ve taken the time to think. Think critically, and all that. I thought I was doing right, but I should’ve done my own research,” Phil says.

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” Tommy mutters. “Doesn’t change shit.”

“You’re right,” Phil says.

Tommy startles. No one ever tells him he’s right. Half the time they don’t even bother to listen.

“That’s why I’m telling you this,” Phil continues. “If you ever need anything from me, tell me, okay?”

Internally, Tommy doubts that. No one ever puts him first, not when they have better things to do.

“And it’s not like I have better things to do,” Phil says. “I want - I need to be a better person. Wilbur - I should’ve made sure he was okay. That’s - That’s partly my fault, at least. I should’ve been a better father. I’m going to do better now, though.”

“Tommy,” he says, and Tommy flinches a little. “I need your help.”

Wow, Tommy thinks. Haven’t heard that one before.

“If I ever do something, anything, that makes you uncomfortable or seems ill-informed, please, for fuck’s sake, tell me,” Phil says, dead serious. “I’m pretty isolated out here. I don’t go into the main areas all that often. You know a lot more about what’s happening and what’s happened than I do. Please, I can’t make the same mistake again.”

“Talk to someone else,” Tommy says firmly. “I’ll do what I can, but it’s up to you if you want to be better.”

Phil looks disappointed, and a little shocked, even. He clearly wasn’t expecting that.

Did I say something wrong? Tommy wonders. Oh no, I’ve fucked things over again. Oh god, he’s going to… oh god.

And then Phil smiles.

“You’re right.”

Twice in one conversation, ‘m on a role.

“It shouldn’t be your job to make me be a better person.”

“I came up with this whole long speech,” Phil laughs, “about being responsible and well-informed and self-reliant and doing my own research, and then I dump it all on you to do the work for me. That’s not right.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Phil says, holding one of Tommy’s hands in two of his own. “For telling me no. I’ll do my best to talk to more people and spend more time in the main areas so I can stay up-to-date. Thank you.”

This has definitely been a conversation of firsts. Being told he’s right, not once, but twice, being thanked for telling someone no, of all things, and… someone actually caring about him.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tommy says, some of that old bluster seeping into his voice. “Someone’s gotta be in charge here.”

Phil laughs, and that’s that.

Notes:

hope you enjoyed! *bonks c!phil* be a functioning adult, bitch

don't forget to sub so you don't miss the next update, and don't forget that i love you and you deserve the world *hugs you tightly*

Chapter 2: techno

Summary:

mr blade man *jazz hands*

Notes:

tehcnosnbledle, b'loved of many

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Techno says. His eyes flick around the room, but they never reach Tommy’s face.

“I was wrong,” he tells Tommy, and he finally focuses, somewhere over Tommy’s left shoulder.

“You’ve been wrong about a lot of things, asshole,” Tommy says. “Be more specific.”

“The one time I try and be ‘emotionally healthy’ and ‘mature’,” Techno says with air quotes, “I get ridiculed. I do all the things Phil tells me to do, and then I get made fun of by a teenager. A child, even.”

“Air quotes are cringe.” Tommy crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. “Go back to apologizing.”

“You’re awful,” Techno says.

Tommy waves his hand circularly. “You were at ‘I was wrong’, bitch. From the top.”

“I hate you,” Techno replies. “Fine. I’m sorry, I was wrong.”

Tommy starts, “What fo - ”

“For everything! I don’t know! For not being someone you could rely on! For not listening to you! Why do you make everything so hard, I’m trying!” Techno bursts out, finally making eye contact for a brief moment.

“There we go,” Tommy says. “So you’re a dickhead. What’re you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to murder a blond, british, supposedly 6’3 child,” Techno mutters. Seeing how Tommy blanches, he hastily amends, “I’m joking, T.”

He doesn’t miss the way Tommy subtly shifts away from him and how his hands twitch towards the sword and shield at his sides.

Tommy doesn’t miss the way the famous, fearless, uncowing Blade takes a step back, and the way Techno’s shoulders hunch in and he ducks his head. It makes him look smaller, and even though Tommy’s shorter by barely an inch, he feels taller. It’s uncomfortable, unfamiliar. Different. New.

“I’m going to do my best to talk first,” Techno tries. “Pen is mightier than the sword, supposedly. I don’t know if it’s better than the axe, but it’s worth a shot. I mean, it didn’t exactly work so well for Wilbur, or at least from what I’ve heard, but Phil told me to try.”

“So I’m going to do that. Try.”

“I appreciate that,” Tommy says, looking a little less trapped and a little less terrified.

Techno hesitantly reaches a hand out, and Tommy flinches.

“Sorry,” he says. “Is it okay if I ruffle your hair?”

“Sure, I guess,” Tommy replies. No one asks before touching him anymore, if they ever did. Techno struggles with that too, he remembers. He’s trying.

Techno musses up his hair quite a bit, but Tommy doesn’t care. It’s been a long time since anyone has gotten close to him for any reason other than out of necessity, or worse, to hurt him, and even though the feeling is foreign Tommy doesn’t entirely hate it.

Techno’s trying.

He’s going to be trying.

Tommy supposes it’s good enough, for now.

Notes:

tommy just cannot resist making fun of technoblade and i support it wholeheartedly

don't forget to drink water, loves, you probably need it

Chapter 3: eret

Summary:

ERET ERET ERET MY BELOVED

Notes:

eret has done nothing wrong ever the final control room was totally valid and girlboss of her

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Eret says. “I was an awful person. I did awful things. I’m doing my best to repay the costs.”

Tommy looks around the museum they stand in, the artwork on the walls, the signs and the books. History lives in the walls. After Ghostbur’s library was blown up, collateral in the making of L’mancrater, this is one of, if not the only place where anything from the past is true and presented unbiased.

“I know,” Tommy finally says. “You’re trying. A lot of people are trying. It’s like, it’s like, when you make cake, or cookies or whatever, and you put too much flour in, and you might’ve messed it up, and then you put more sugar in to balance it, you know? You’re finding the sugar right now.”

“Has anyone ever told you how good you are at analogies?” Eret asks rhetorically, a small smile on their face. “And yeah, that’s exactly how it is. I’m looking for the sugar. And the butter too, and more eggs.”

“Exactly,” Tommy nods. “I - appreciate that you didn’t put messed-up dough in the oven.”

“That’s the problem, though,” they reply. “I think I might’ve, once, twice. A few times, more likely.”

Eret wanders around the museum, tracing fingers over history. “And then, I might’ve left it in the oven for too long. Maybe I should’ve just taken it out before the timer went off.”

“Maybe baking isn’t quite the right analogy,” Tommy offers.

They look up, curious.

“Maybe it’s more of… building. Like when you build a block off from where you were supposed to, or you used the wrong material, and you have to take it all down and rebuild.”

Eret nods, looking up from their reminiscent reverie. “I’m doing my best to start again.”

“Have to clear away the old, wrong parts first, then fill in with the new foundation,” Tommy says, soft. “You have to start over again."

“That’s what I’m trying to do here, I guess,” they laugh. “I’m cataloguing the failed recipes and bad blueprints, so we won’t have to test block palettes next time.”

“Yeah,” Tommy smiles. “Exactly like that.”

Eret grins back.

“I still haven’t forgiven you, you know,” Tommy says, almost sadly. Not quite, though. Like most things about Tommy, there’s some fire behind it.

“I do know,” they say. “But you can go looking for the eggs before you need them in your recipe. You can start rebuilding before all of the old building has been taken down.”

“People don’t give you enough credit for the work you do,” Tommy commends. “But I still don’t forgive you.”

“I know,” they repeat again. “And I don’t blame you.”

“After all, I’m still rebuilding,” Eret says.

Tommy offers them a small smile. “So am I.”

Notes:

damn tommy construction worker arc?

kudos/comments much appreciated 💞💞

EDIT 6/27/21: THERE WAS A TYPO THE WHOLE TIME THAT NO ONE METIONED?? HALF A SENTENCE WAS MISSING AUGH

Chapter 4: sam

Summary:

c!sam is a bit of a dick ngl

Notes:

so i am very strongly in the c!sam shouldn't be warden camp

like dude jfc get some help

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Sam says. He keeps his eyes to the floor, head down. Clearly, he’s uncomfortable. He’s shaking, a bit. Tommy always thought of Sam as statuesque, steadfast and firm. It’s disconcerting to see him like this. “I said I’d protect you, and I failed, over and over. Just… you don’t have to say anything. I’m not expecting forgiveness. I... I don’t know. I’ll do better.”

“You fucked me over quite a bit, Sam,” Tommy bites. “I don’t think you deserve my forgiveness.”

“I know,” Sam says. “And I wouldn’t want it unless I deserved it.”

Tommy glares.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says again, wobbling on unsteady legs. “It’s my fault you got killed. I said awful, awful things to you and plenty of other people, and I lost myself in the Warden and my job. I - I don’t deserve my position. I don’t deserve anything. I’m sorry.”

“Fucking hell, man,” Tommy says. “Get over yourself. Start doing what you can to be better.”

Sam falls to his knees at Tommy’s feet, shaking. At this point, he’s full-on crying, tears streaming out from under his helmet and dripping onto the ground. “Fuck, I - yeah, I will, I’ll do whatever I can so you’ll forgive me.”

“I think,” Tommy decides, “you need to do whatever it is you need to do to forgive yourself first. I’m not going to be the person that’s responsible for your well-being. I’m not going to be your fucking protector, and you’re sure as hell not going to be mine until you figure out what you’re doing. Till the soil before you start planting, asshole. I’m not taking a plow to your fields for you.”

“Right, right, you’re right,” Sam says, standing up straighter and wiping his tears on the back of his forearms. “Sorry - about that. How, exactly, though, am I supposed to do that?”

Tommy steps back a little from the creeper hybrid, giving him space. “You’re the one who has to figure that out. Come back to me when you can look in the mirror without crying from guilt. Make reparations, or whatever. Or don’t come back at all, that’s fine too,” He flings the words out there like a catapult, messy and brutal. “You’re not the kind of person I want around me.”

“I did a lot of awful things,” Sam spills out. “And it’s all my fault, and I don’t know what to do about it, and I’m trying so hard to do the best I can but I keep fucking up, over and over again, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t keep myself together anymore and I can’t - ”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Tommy cuts him off. “I’m not your therapist, but you obviously need one. Start with that.”

Sam pauses, unsure what to say, if anything.

“Honestly, truly - I don’t want to talk to you,” Tommy says. “You’re - you were an awful person. I want to believe you’ve changed, I really do, but I won’t trust you an inch unless you figure your shit out. You need to prove it.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says again. “I’ll - I’ll do my best to be the type of person who you’d let protect you, like I told you I would. And I’ll - leave now.”

Tommy watches Sam trudge down the Prime Path, and gives himself a mental pat on the back.

Saying no and setting boundaries hasn’t gotten much easier, but he’s doing the best he can to better himself.

And maybe someday, Sam will have bettered himself too.

Notes:

hell yeah tommy self-care shit you love to see it

Chapter 5: tubbo

Summary:

big t and other big t work some shit out

Notes:

has c!tubbo ever like. apologized to c!tommy?? for exiling him??

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tubbo turns towards him on the bench. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Tommy says, startled out of his daydreaming.

Tubbo gives a long sigh, looking directly at him, although not making eye contact. Tommy appreciates it immensely.

“Everything,” he finally says. “I was a shit friend for a while, then a shit president, and then a shit friend again. I can’t fucking do anything right. And goddammit, now I’ve just put that onto you to deal with. Fuck me, man!”

“I - ” Tommy pauses. “This is all rather out of the blue, man, you got any reason for this?”

“I don’t know,” Tubbo says. “I just… I feel like a shit person, and I am a shit person, and I need to stop being shitty. I guess the best first step is being a better friend.”

“For the most part, you’ve been a good friend,” Tommy offers. “You’re my best friend. You stood by me when no one else did. You did so much for me in L’manberg, and later, too. We did everything together.”

“Past tense,” Tubbo points out. “And I didn’t stand with you all the time. I didn’t stand with you in plenty of the times that mattered. I let myself be pushed around, pushed away from you.”

Tommy reaches over Tubbo’s shoulder and swaps the disc in the jukebox.

Tubbo tilts his head questioningly.

“It was the wrong vibe for this,” Tommy mutters.

Tubbo nods, and continues. “I didn’t listen to you. I wasn’t there for you. That’s not friendship. That’s not even close to it.”

“You were trying,” Tommy said. “You had more important stuff to deal with.”

“More important than you?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy might just start crying then and there. “Nothing should be above the people I care about.”

“When the fuck did you grow up?” Tommy asks. “When the hell did we get like this?”

Tubbo smiles sadly. “When the hell did you grow up, Toms?”

The thought is sobering.

Mellohi plays in the background, dissonant and clashing.

“I don’t know,” Tommy whispers. “I don’t know.”

The sun is going down, slowly, over L’mancrater.

“You do know,” Tubbo says. “And it all leads back to me. My fault.”

“Can’t change the past, Big T,” Tommy says, slouching forwards. “That stuff’s done with. Gotta move forward.”

“You sound like W - Sorry, like an old man,” Tubbo laughs. “But yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry anyway.”

“Thank you,” Tommy whispers. “I - I appreciate that. A lot.”

“It needed to be said,” Tubbo responds in kind. “It needed to be said.”

Notes:

i am firmly of the belief that c!tubbo blames himself for every bad thing that's ever happened but i haven't watched a lore stream in ten months what do i know

Chapter 6: wilbur

Summary:

:)))))

Notes:

oh baby, we're in for it now

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tommy lights one of the many candles littering his desk.

He pulls out his worn, stained old chair with a screech against the floor and carefully eases it back under the table. Opening one of the many drawers, he pulls out paper, a quill, and a small inkpot. Pens are few and far between, and most of them get broken or lost, much to Tommy’s disdain.

“This is stupid,” Tommy says out loud, like the complaint will make it so he doesn’t have to do it.

Puffy said I should write what I want to hear and what I want to say, he remembers. I don’t fucking know. You did good, Tommy? It wasn’t all for nothing? Fucking hell, an ‘I’m sorry,’ for once?

He sighs and picks up the quill.

“‘I’m sorry,’ Wilbur said,” Tommy narrates as he writes. “'It wasn’t your fault, Tommy. You did wha - '”


“ - t you could,” Wilbur consoles. “My death wasn’t your fault. No, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t.”

“I should’ve, though, I should’ve - '' Tommy starts and stops. “I could’ve - ”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Wilbur looks off into the distance. “I had my mind set on what needed to happen.”

“You didn’t fucking need to die, Will!” Tommy bursts out. “I didn’t want you to go!”

“I didn’t want to go either,” Wilbur whispers. In that moment, he looks the most defeated he’s ever seemed. Tommy realizes suddenly that the Wilbur he used to imagine hasn’t existed for months. Maybe he never existed at all.

“Then why did you.”

“I had to!” Wilbur yells. “I had to die! I couldn’t - I couldn’t be anymore!”

“I needed you, goddammit!” Tommy yells back. He’s crying now. He wishes he wasn’t, wiping the tears away angrily. “You mattered to me!”

Wilbur is crying too now, slow but no less fiercely. “No. I didn’t. You didn’t want me. You wanted your ideal, your perfect idol and your perfect brother. You wanted what didn’t exist, Toms.”

“Maybe I did,” Tommy’s voice cracks. “Maybe I did, Will. You never bothered to show me the real you, only the golden figure you thought you could be. Gold paint isn’t gold leaf, and gold leaf is just a coat, General Soot, and I don’t see your coat now, gold or otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Wilbur spits. “You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never - ”

“What, do you think I never thought I wasn’t worth it? You think I never hid myself, my problems, my ideals, for you? For my allies? For my cause? Maybe you were so focused on what you pretended that you never bothered to wipe that gold shine off of everything you saw and touched,” Tommy accuses. “Take some time to figure out your own shit before you make it everyone else’s problem.”

Wilbur pauses, taken aback.

“What happened to you?” he whispers.

“A lot of things,” Tommy says.


“A lot of things,” Tommy whispers, and puts down his quill. He leans back in his chair, head in hands, and cries. He does his best to keep the drips off of the paper, but he can’t stop them all. Through the tears, he watches the word Wilbur distort and the ink spread.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I was too trusting.”

“That I shoved people away.”

“That I didn’t work harder.”

“That I break my promises.”

“That I let myself be pushed around.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy cries. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

Notes:

and that's it! i hope you enjoyed and that it wasn't too ooc. thank you all for sticking with this fic, and make sure to user sub to me because i have a oneshot (my longest one yet, in fact) ready to post tomorrow :D it's a fantasy au and you won't want to miss it!

thank you all for reading and don’t forget to brush your teeth :)

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