Chapter Text
“Go on ahead guys, I'm all good. I just gotta grab something real quick, so leave without me. I'll catch up!”
“You sure you’re okay, Tommy? You’re looking a little pale there.”
“I’m okay, Wilbur. What, do I look like a pussy to you? I reckon I could beat you up right now and not break a fucking sweat!”
Wilbur rolls his eyes in response to Tommy’s unconvincing threat. Good. That means any more questions and unnecessary worrying—in Tommy’s wise opinion—will stop.
“Alright, you little gremlin, but call us if you need anything, okay? You have my number and everyone else’s too.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just go already. I know you’re in a hurry, big man.”
He cracks a weak smile and waves Wilbur and the other two heroes goodbye as his eyes start to lose focus. He doesn’t make an attempt to move until he’s sure they’re out of sight and not a speck in his vision.
Okay, they’re gone.
The blond tries taking a step forward but gets stopped by the searing pain in his side. He settles on leaning against the grimy wall and slowly slides down onto the ground, pressing his left hand on the side of his stomach.
Tommy's face is covered in sweat; his head feels like it’s overheating and he can barely take a breath without getting cut off by his own violent coughing. He can’t see. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He can’t feel anything besides nauseating dizziness and... pain.
Pain .
Where was it coming from again? He tries to focus on it, searching for that burning ache he had felt earlier. Tommy finally remembers he has his hand over his side, and presses hard. In hindsight, a terrible idea. Tommy screams out in agony, feeling the area burn up against his shaky hand. He hisses through his teeth in excruciating pain. It's sticky, it’s hot, and it does not feel nice.
Slowly, the young boy pulls his hand away from his stomach and turns a sweaty palm towards himself. He can barely keep his tired eyes open, so he opts to tilt his head down slightly instead, only for his vision to be greeted by a raging crimson liquid running off his hand.
Blood, Tommy thinks.
My blood, he realises seconds later, eyes widening in shock. Or is it fear? Tommy can’t figure out the differences between his emotions properly right now, nor does he care to.
What is he supposed to do? He can’t call Phil, or Techno, or even Wilbur. He's enough of a burden; he can’t be imposing on them any more than he already does. But Tommy can’t think of anything else to do. So with his non-bloodied hand, pulls out his phone from his right pocket, careful not to drop it with his intense trembling. The sudden movement makes him grit his teeth hard, not wanting to let out another pathetic cry. He can't see the screen very well, but he assumes he pressed Wilbur.
Tommy's thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button for what seems like hours, but ends up quickly switching to messages. He's already bothering Wilbur with his problems that he got himself into—calling would just be even more of a nuisance. That offer to call any of them if Tommy needs them earlier? No way that was genuine.
After all, he’s just an assistant.
However, before Tommy could begin to regret his decision, he hastily types out a message to the hero. As soon as he hits send, Tommy can’t hold the phone anymore. He thinks he probably dropped it onto the ground, but he can’t hear the click of his phone falling on the concrete. His head is buzzing.
Tommy can’t remember what he wrote, but he hopes it wasn’t too much of an annoyance.
He really hopes so.
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“Hey, do you really think we should’ve left Tommy there? He honestly didn’t look that great,” Wilbur asks the two heroes in front of him. “He didn’t even respond to me calling him a little gremlin, and you know how much he hates when I say that.”
Phil glances behind his shoulder at where they had just left their intern, then to his son.
“I don’t know, mate. I didn’t catch his face, but I don’t doubt that he was probably feeling sick or something. He does have a tendency to not tell us when he’s hurt.”
Wilbur bites at his knuckles with a worried expression on his face.
“What if he was feeling sick?” he exclaims, running his hand through the front of his brown hair. “Oh Primes, did we just leave a potentially ill sixteen-year old child on his own?”
“If you’re so worried about him, Wilbur,” Techno cuts in, “just go back and check up on him. Phil and I can cover for you during the meeting.”
“Really? I know this meeting’s quite important, will they really let one of us not attend?”
“Eh,” Techno waves a dismissive hand, “what are they going to do? Punish us? Fire you? We’re far too important for them to even try something.”
“True,” Wilbur laughs, “thanks, Techno. I’m heading back then-”
Wilbur’s sentence gets interrupted by a familiar ringtone. He didn’t realise who it was for a second, until he remembered that his phone was currently on silent. The only other person who’s notifications could go through besides Phil and Techno, is Tommy .
He pauses everything and grabs his phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it. Why did Tommy text him? Was he actually feeling sick like Phil had predicted and just trying to act stronger than a kid needs to be? He furrows his eyebrows as his eyes dart across the screen.
Wilbur’s heart nearly stops when he reads the message Tommy sent. His phone slips out of his hand, with Techno swiftly catching it before it falls on the floor.
“What’s the matter? Did you phase through your own phone?”
Techno chuckles at his joke, but quickly shuts up when seeing his brother’s face devoid of all colour. He looks like someone told him it’s the end of the world, and there’s nothing he could do about it. Out of nowhere, Wilbur tries bolting the opposite direction they were supposed to go. Luckily (or unluckily), Phil grabs onto him before he could disappear.
“Let me go !” he screams, attempting to pull away from the avian’s grip, obviously to no avail. “I have to- I have to go to Tommy!”
“What? Tommy? What happened to him?” Phil questions his son, a worried tone draped over his gentle voice.
He’s not replying. Well, it’s more like he can’t reply. Wilbur’s breathing picks up and starts getting more and more haggard, red knuckles turning white from clutching hard onto the collar of his yellow sweater. It feels like his heart is beating in his throat—yet not beating at the same time.
“Wilbur!”
Hearing his name being called by his father’s stern but comforting voice allows him to slightly lift his head towards Phil.
“You’re alright, son. I’m right here,” the bird hybrid comforts Wilbur as he clasps his rough but warm hands over his shaking son’s. “What’s wrong with Tommy?”
A deep voice interrupts the two.
“Phil.”
It’s Techno, who also went silent the same time Wilbur did. He’s holding out Wilbur’s phone with the screen side facing the other two heroes. As Phil reads the message written on it, his face also drops, letting go of Wilbur.
Three words. Just three simple words, but it’s more than enough to make all three heroes bolt back to where their young assistant was left. Three words.
Help me, Wil.
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No. No, no, no. This is not supposed to happen. Tommy should be safe and happy and not hurt. Maybe that text was a mistake , Wilbur thinks, trying to deny the truth. Maybe it was just an untasteful joke made by Tommy.
He tries to fool himself every way possible, making up unrealistic scenarios to explain what he truly knows inside. It’s not working. Nothing’s working. Dark thoughts start filling Wilbur’s head. What if we’re too late? What if he’s gone, and his last moments were us fucking leaving him, cold and lonely? His thoughts seem to get louder and louder, overwhelming him until he doesn’t realise he stopped breathing.
“Wilbur. Wilbur!”
A warm and worried voice breaks through the silent screams echoing in the hero’s brain, like a dagger that frees him from the ropes of his own mind.
“Breathe, Wil. It’s Phil. I’m right here, mate. You’re safe. You’re here with me. Just listen to my voice and breathe.”
The brown-haired man takes in unsteady gulps of air , chest heaving rapidly. Fast, rhythmic breathing fills the heavy atmosphere. A gentle hand rubs small circles into Wilbur’s back. It’s warm.
He feels like he can breathe again.
“Where is he, Wilbur?”
Wilbur snaps his head up at his brother. Techno’s voice is the colour red, blazing with anger and a heat hotter than the sun.
“Where,” Techno repeats, “is he?” His voice is laced with fury; a fury aimed towards nobody but himself.
Wilbur can’t help the shiver that climbs up his spine.
“I… I think it was near the same street that he and I got into a fender bender in,” grounding himself. “We left him around the front entrance.”
It feels like they’re running out of time; a crack in the hourglass with silky, golden sand pouring out of it. But who’s time are they running out of? Wilbur can’t quite put his finger on it.
The heroes start to approach the last place they saw Tommy. Wilbur squints, scanning the area. To his surprise (and relief), he can make out a body hunched over on the ground. It has blond hair.
Tommy.
The hero nearly trips over while running up to the boy, but comes to a halt when he gets closer to the slouched assistant. Phil rushes behind him, confused as to why his son stopped. His eyes flick over to Tommy.
A bright red stain is seeping out from just above the side of his stomach. It’s only growing in size.
Wilbur drops to his knees and grabs onto Tommy, pressing as hard as his shaking hands will allow against the wounded area to prevent any more of the crimson fluid from leaving the young assistant’s body. He tries not to throw up as Tommy’s blood coats his hand, almost burning to the touch. It feels like the red is searing into his skin, like there will be burns covering his hands by the end of this. Tommy’s blood. This is Tommy’s blood, and I am touching it , Wilbur repeats in his head, holding back tears from pouring out of his eyes. They flood his vision but he remains as still as possible. His mind goes blank.
The brown haired hero can feel another pair of hands over his, pressing even harder than he was.
“Techno. Call the ambulance.”
“Already on it.”
It’s Phil again. He’s always there for Wilbur, regardless of the situation. He wishes he could appreciate the avian’s kindness but he can only focus on the young boy in front of him right now. Wilbur has to do what Phil does for him.
Suddenly, Tommy starts coughing; blood dripping down his chin and onto the white part of his shirt. He’s alive. Their Tommy’s alive.
“Tommy!”
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Did someone just call his name? Tommy can’t tell anymore, ears ringing like thunder reverberating against the walls. His throat feels like it’s been coated with tar, sticky and thick. There’s a metallic taste in his mouth. A forceful pressure is weighted against the excruciating and agonising ache coming from the left side of his body. Tommy hears his name being called once again. The blond—with what little strength he has left—lifts his heavy eyelids to look at where the voice is coming from.
“Stay with me, c’mon. It’s me, Wil. Wilbur. Ghostbur. Whatever you want to call me. Just stay awake, please.”
Wilbur. He’s here? He really came? For somebody like Tommy?
Tommy opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by another intense cough. Warm liquid flows out of his mouth. Ah. I was stabbed. Right.
He shifts his weary eyes over to the person kneeling next to Wilbur.
“Hey Tommy,” he hears them say.
Phil’s voice.
“Keep your eyes open for me, alright?”
Philza Minecraft, the only man ever, came too? Tommy can see a smudge of pink slightly further away. Even the Blade? But he only texted Wilbur. Why were they here, too? He tries speaking again, this time being slower and enunciating each syllable. All three heroes snap their attention on him, leaning closer to hear what he has to say.
“What is it, Tommy?!”
“What’s wrong, mate?”
“Take your time, kid, we’re all here for you.”
Three kind and concerned voices for three words on a screen. He doesn’t know if he deserves it—if he deserves anything at all. Tommy chokes on the blood quickly rising in his throat again, but swallows it down. No amount of blood can stop him from doing what he wants.
“Why,” he starts, barely managing to push down more fluid from surging up. “Why did you all come?”
He can make out a confused look on Wilbur’s face. Was that a bad question? Tommy doesn’t know, but it’s better to apologise than not, he determines.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles through cracked lips.
Out of nowhere, Tommy can feel a different warmth dripping onto his hand. It’s a lot more liquidy than the viscous blood flowing out of him. The young boy struggles to concentrate on the location it comes from. As the buzzing in his head fades to some extent, he can finally make out a sobbing noise to his left.
“Why are you apologising?! You didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy!”
It’s Wilbur’s voice again, but this time he sounds like he’s crying; a song of sorrow spun with silver thread.
“Of course we would come. You said you needed help. You’re our...”
Tommy didn’t catch that last part.
“Techno, how long till the ambulance arrives?” Phil’s voice seems frantic. Tommy had never heard the avian lose his cool before. He wonders what could be so important?
“They said fifteen minutes, at least.”
“Fifteen?! I could get there faster by flying! What the fuck are they even doing?!”
Techno raises his phone back to his ear, asking the operator at the other end the reason behind the abnormally long wait. His face contorts under his skull mask, gripping his phone hard enough to create cracks on the screen. He turns towards Phil, voice darkened and bitter like ashes.
“Traffic, apparently.”
“Fucking hell. What good is an ambulance if they can’t even arrive on time?”
Wilbur’s still focused on keeping direct pressure on Tommy’s wound, salty tears running down his cheeks like rivers carved against his skin. He can feel heat radiating under his hand. Phil has elevated Tommy’s legs above his heart, as taught by the Watchtower for basic first aid. He takes off his coat and rips a long strip from it, folding it until it's decently thick.
“Move your hand for just a second, Wilbur. This will be better than only your hands.”
“I can’t!” he yells unexpectedly, surprising Phil. “I’m supposed to apply direct pressure on the wound so it can clot, like the handbook said. I can’t remove my hand. He’ll bleed out more. He’ll lose more blood, and we don’t even know how much he’s lost already! I can’t, Phil, I just can’t.” Wilbur repeats over and over again like a broken record player.
Phil grabs his son’s shoulder firmly.
“Do you trust me?”
Wilbur blinks, face clearly confused.
“Do you trust me, Wil?” the winged hero says again, staring straight into his son’s eyes.
The younger doesn't respond, but slowly removes his bloodstained hands from Tommy’s abdomen. Phil lifts the boy’s shirt and bunches it above his ribs, placing the green-coloured cloth over the wound as swiftly as possible. Wilbur’s hands find their way back to putting weight on Tommy, pressing even harder than before. The blond teenager groans in pain from the sudden sting at his side again, tears welling up in his fading blue eyes.
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“Tommy! Can you hear me? Can you still hear my voice?”
The boy raises his head to look at Wilbur and barely manages to nod. Tommy gazes at the three heroes surrounding him. They sound so… concerned for him. Heart heavy, he finally realises what these three men are to him—far too late.
Oh.
Oh.
Family.
His face is wet with tears, the liquid streaming down his chin. He can hear Phil ask what’s wrong.
They’re my family, and I won’t even get another hour with them.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My fault, it’s all my fault again,” Tommy cries out, straining his voice to apologise.
He grabs onto Wilbur’s sleeves and buries his head in his brother’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Wilby! I’m sorry, Techie! I’m sorry, Dad!” he screams at the top of his tired lungs. If he’s going to die, he might as well do it as loud as he can.
“Why- Why are you apologising, you idiot?! I just said you didn’t do anything wrong! Why don’t you believe me?” His voice breaks pathetically at the end—the desperation to get the young blond to understand.
If only Wilbur knew , Tommy thinks. If only he knew what he had taken from them.
Long strands of hair suddenly brush against his face, tickling Tommy’s ears. He catches a bright shade of pink from the corner of his eye. Techno?
He hears a deep whisper by his right side.
“You weren’t supposed to die young, Theseus. You haven’t even slayed your minotaur yet.”
Theseus.
Techno called him Theseus. Tommy isn’t too sure on the “minotaur” part, but he knows. Technoblade knows he is Theseus. His mind grows frantic, eyes opening wide at the hero. Did Wilbur and Phil know as well? Were his efforts at hiding his vigilante identity all futile and pointless?
“Don’t worry, kid. The other two don’t know, it’s just me. I’m the one who gave you that name anyways. What kind of hero would I be to not recognise the same vigilante I named as the assistant who constantly shows up to work with injuries?”
Tommy can see the corners of Techno’s mouth move up slightly. The young boy laughs—or, the best he can with a stab wound; he supposes there aren’t many reasons as to why a sixteen-year old would show up consistently with majour wounds. He returns the smile to the pink-haired hero.
“Thank you,” he whispers back.
Tommy’s glad that it’s Techno who figures out his secret identity. The person who learned sign language for him despite having no previous experience. The person who pitched the making of Theseus’ suit. The person he would also consider his older brother.
He turns his head back towards Wilbur and Phil. They’ve been staring at him with worried eyes, tear-stains on their tired faces. He has so much more to say to them. So much.
“Can,” Tommy’s voice cracks weakly, blood rushing up his throat once more, “can we have movie night again sometime?”
A broken sob escapes out of Wilbur. Phil’s squeezing his fist so tight that he breaks skin. Techno looks away. For the first time in a long time, he feels fear. He feels hopelessness. He feels so useless and incapable. What’s the point of being a hero if he can’t even save one of the most important people to him?
“Of course we can, Toms. We can have movie night every night if you want. Starting today. We’ll watch any movie you want, okay?”
Wilbur sounds so desperate, his voice almost begging. Tommy’s body is losing warmth by the second, and he doesn’t have many seconds left.
The hourglass continues to spill.
He continues to ramble as long as he can, saying anything and everything as his vision turns spotty and fades in and out of black. He needs to let them know before it’s too late. Before there’s no more sand left to spill. He has to.
“Y’know, when this all started, I was really happy you guys worried about me so much. Truly! I would have never thought in my whole fucking life that I would be working with my idols. Isn’t that crazy?” Tommy babbles incessantly, trying to keep himself conscious.
Wilbur yells a response but he can’t quite catch it.
“I’m gonna miss you guys. I really will. I’m not gonna cry because I’m a big man, a man with many wives! My roommate can vouch for that, just ask him.” As Tommy ends his sentence, he remembers something—someone , who should have been the first person he thought of.
Ranboo. His kind and caring roommate with a worried expression on his face whenever he leaves their apartment. Who’s going to take care of him when Tommy’s gone? He is all Ranboo has, and now he’s leaving him. He’s leaving him all alone. Tommy nearly breaks down in tears; he didn’t even think of his lonely roommate once during this entire situation. The heroes may be his family, but he is Ranboo’s. And now he’s ripping the last person Ranboo loves away from him.
Guilt envelopes his mind, screaming at the blond about how selfish he is. How he always takes but never gives.
“Tell my roommate ‘m sorry, and that he really did know what was best for me,” he manages to murmur out. “He’s a genuinely good guy, I can swear on it. Don’t let him be too sad when… when I’m gone.” Those last three words are so much harder to say than he thought.
Wilbur sobs out a reply again, this time Tommy’s able to hear what he says.
“Don’t start spewing these words out, thinking that this is gonna be your last moments! You have so much more life to you, Tommy. You have so many more people to meet that will love you! Stay alive to see them. Stay alive to see us . Stay alive, Toms.” The hero is breathing heavily as he squeezes their young assistant’s limp hands. He raises them to his forehead, crying.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave! I don’t want to go to work and sit in my dumb fucking office doing dumb fucking papers if I turn around and see you’re not there anymore. I can’t imagine not picking you up every morning and seeing your bright face to start my day. I don’t think I can handle that, Tommy. I can’t. So please, keep breathing. We love you. We’re proud of you. We need you here with us.”
The grieving Phil and the quiet Techno both have tears dripping down their red-bitten cheeks as Wilbur speaks his fear.
Tommy’s expression softens and his chest grows warm as his head spins like the earth in orbit; he shudders as metallic taste fills his mouth, even stronger than before. He thinks he can feel his blood continuously flow out and down his mouth. The young boy feels lightheaded as he chalks up the last few words, his blurry eyes draining itself of warm tears. He said he wouldn’t cry. Tommy exhales shakily, tears streaming down his face. He’ll remain a liar till the end.
Time’s up.
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Tommy can hear the cries of his first—and last family as his eyelids flicker, akin to the last burning flame in a put-out fireplace; but they sound so far away. He feels so cold, hands stiff and clammy. His heart is beating against his chest so fast, but so weak. He can’t hear anything anymore. Tommy can’t tell if it’s because it’s gone silent, or because everything is too loud. The sounds of Wilbur’s weeping are no longer audible. The gentle hands that were once grasping onto him aren’t there anymore. Did… did everyone leave him?
Right. Just because they’re his family, doesn’t mean he’s part of their family. He chuckles pathetically to himself—or was it out loud? It doesn’t matter anymore, does it. He’s all alone again, isn’t he?
Tommy didn’t get to say goodbye. Maybe he didn’t deserve to have a happy ending with them. No matter how much they mean to him, he still is simply just an assistant.
In the distance, there are sirens blaring, but Tommy can’t hear them either. Everything fades to black, like the credits at the end of a movie. If this was a movie, there would be a silly little extras scene at the very end of it. It’s a shame that life doesn't actually imitate art.
One last tear rolls down Tommy’s cheek. He never got to say what he wanted to say in the end, even after all his desperate attempts. But even if no one is there, he wants to let the universe know of three important words for three important people. He smiles at his family in his head, with the same radiance as the lonely moon during the sunlit day.
Wil, Techno, Phil. He whispers his three last words into the world, as if to prove that they’re real—that he’s real.
Just three words.
I love you.
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Roll credits.