Chapter Text
Tommy sat on the makeshift tower he built, the sun rising on the horizon. The veiw was beautiful, and Tommy didn't know whether he wanted to immortalize it, or wretch from the thoughts he knew, subconsciously, he shouldn't be thinking.
The veiw was beautiful, and it would be such a lovely place to put a gravestone.
Tommy had given up on people visiting him, and while he wanted to believe that Dream cared, he knew that the thought was unreasonable.
Who could care about someone like him? Someone who only knew violence and explosions, yelling and fighting and screaming and-
Who could care about a child soldier?
Tommy knew it wasn't healthy. He wasn't stupid, just reckless, guilt-ridden...He knew he was no ones first choice, no ones second...
His dad, Philza, had adopted two kids, but he didn't raise either. Technoblade held his father's attention, Phils love, and his older brother was dead.
Tommy supposed this was why he didn't truely believe Dream and his 'concern'. The man drove Tommy's only support insane.
God, he wished he had Tubbo.
He wished L'Manburg saw the meaning of the disks, why they were so important, what they truely meant-but he knew it was hopeless.
Life was hopeless.
The boy, because that was all he was, stared unblinking onto the ground, and wondered how it would feel to die properly. Would he come back like Wilbur? Full of happiness, and good memories? If so, what would he remember?
Tommy hoped he'd remember Tubbo.
He knew it wasn't his friends fault anymore. He supposed they couldn't be called best friends at all, because then the love he held for the child president would be mutual, and Tommy knew Tubbo didn't care for him. It didn't matter in the long run though, Tommy was a liability, a menace. He knew all he did was dissapoint people. He'd come to terms with that early on in his exile.
Tommy stood up, and let a smile grace his face, shadowed by sad grey eyes. He let his eyes leave the ground, and although no one was there, he put a hand up in a salute, and muttered the words in raspy, breathy tone, words that haunted him at night.
"It was never meant to be."
And then he let himself fall, relief flooding his body as the wind soured past his ears, pounding in his head. He closed his eyes.
Finally.
He came to a stop, gentle and small hands catching him in the air, the familiar flapping of wings drowning his thoughts as he pleaded to be let go.
And then he lost consciousness.