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“I didn’t actually care about L’Manberg.”
The words still haunted Tommy hours later, ringing in his ears and soaking themselves in his now cold porridge that he was supposed to be saving but had become too hungry to resist. The words made him feel sick, left his stomach aching as he shoved a spoonful of porridge past his chapped lips and swallowed. His head ached with the effort it was taking not to have a full breakdown in his own bedroom, back pressed against the dirt wall that he had dug out himself so many months and years ago. His hands shook as he dropped the spoon back into his handmade bowl, tears prickling at the backs of his eyes but never falling.
How could Wilbur say such a thing? How could he possibly mean something like that? He had used to care so deeply about the nation that they had built together, Tommy remembers it. He remembers sitting beside his older brother on top of the walls that once surrounded their small piece of land, staring at his big brother with sparkling eyes as Wilbur stared at L’Manberg with pride and love in his eyes, a big smile on his lips as they took it in. Tommy could remember the way Wilbur had fought so desperately for their independence, how many lives were lost that day to the cause. Tommy himself had lost two of his lives that day.
He had fought beside Wilbur so desperately to get L’Manberg back when they had been lost, when the beautiful land and buildings that they had built and cherished had been stolen from them by Wilbur’s old friend and enemy. He remembers listening to Wilbur go on for hours and hours with plans to get L’Manberg back to them, to have their nation back in their own hands again so they could fix everything.
He also remembers Wilbur pleading with him and his idea to destroy L’Manberg, late at night a week before they would get it back in a war, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks and hands grasping at messy brown curls. He had begged Tommy to just agree to the plan, to support him in finally freeing their nation because nobody deserved her. Not a single one of them deserved the beautiful land that had once flourished and grew and been so filled with genuine love and care that Tommy had cried one night when he had snuck over and saw how empty it looked.
L’Manberg had been their shared reason for fighting at one point. Then it had been Tommy and Tubbo’s, then it had been Tommy’s. It still was his reason for fighting, even if it was destroyed beyond repair, even if it was covered in glass to preserve the land that he had grown up on. He had loved that nation more than anybody, had held it close to his heart and cherished every inch of land that it belonged to. This was the nation that had built up with his previously dead brother, the nation that he had put his teenage years into, that he had lost two lives for, that his big brother had died for.
L’Manberg was a land that his best friend had once ruled, that his best friend loved almost as much as he did. This was a nation that he had bled for, cried for, grieved for.
So how could it’s maker just turn around and say that he had never cared about it, with a mocking smirk on his lips?
Tommy dropped his half full bowl of porridge onto the bed next to him and pulled his knees up to his chest, hands delving into his blonde hair and pulling on the freshly cleaned locks. He didn’t know how to handle the confession, the words that had fallen from Wilbur’s mouth all day, and the week prior. He hated that Wilbur was clinging to him more than he ever had. He always appeared at Tommy’s front door first thing in the morning, smiling and carefree, as if he wasn’t torturing Tommy with every moment in his presence. He would follow Tommy around all day, as if he were a lost puppy hoping to find his owner somewhere along the way.
Tommy had expressed time and time again that he wanted to be alone, that he didn’t want to live in Wilbur’s shadow anymore. He had worked so hard to prove that he was nothing like Wilbur, fought tooth and nail to erase any resemblance between himself and one of his abusers.
He still loved Wilbur to death, he would admit that to nobody but himself. Wilbur was still his big brother, was still the person who had snatched him out of the lonely streets and brought him up, gave him a guardian, gave him someone he could look up to and idolize. And he had, for a very long time, idolized Wilbur. He looked to him for all the answers, for praise and approval. He had grown up in the image of Wilbur, had the same ideals and values.
Until they hadn’t. Until suddenly Wilbur was losing himself, was losing his nation. Suddenly, Wilbur was the complete opposite of Tommy, was ready to sacrifice friends and family, had stopped writing to his dad, had stopped wanting private time with his little brother, had started plotting behind Tommy’s back. Wilbur had joined their longest enemy, the person who had brought them to their first war, who had taken almost all of Tommy’s lives, would eventually take his third almost a year later.
That was when everything between them fell apart. No longer did Tommy turn to his brother for help, or words of advice. No longer did Tommy tell his brother his secrets or plans. No longer did Tommy agree with a single word that fell from his big brother's lips.
No longer did Tommy have his big brother.
Instead, he had turned to Tubbo. He trusted his best friend, his second brother, with everything. They became inseparable, more so than they already were. They conspired, whispered secrets in the dark of the ravine that was Pogtopia. They trusted each other to not be the traitor, they trusted each other with the presidency, with giving L’Manberg the safety that she deserved.
And then Wilbur was gone. Tommy’s big brother was gone and he had a small funeral for him, in which Tommy was the only attendant. He remembered missing Wilbur deeply, Tubbo finding him most nights at the area of his brothers death, sobbing against the blown apart rocks and dirt, hands grasping at the ground as he called for his big brother.
He had kept Dream alive because he could bring Wilbur back, and god had Tommy wanted his brother back, had hoped that he could bring back the man that he was before he was exiled and went insane, gave into the whispers in his head that told him he needed to rid the Dream SMP of L’Manberg, of the people who had lived in it. He prayed that when he eventually got Dream to bring his brother back, he would be okay, he would be Tommy’s big brother that he looked up to and cherished more than anything.
But standing in front of him that day, seeing that white streak in his hair, hearing that voice that had haunted him for so fucking long; he had felt broken. He forgot how to breathe, and the tears had pushed themselves past his lashes before he could stop them. Because he knew the moment that he had left that prison that he was never going to get the old Wilbur back, knew that he was never going to have his one piece of family back. And it had proven itself the longer Wilbur spent with him, the more Wilbur got into his head and fucked with his feelings.
A tear finally slid down his cheek, stopping at the edge of his jaw and settling there, more following immediately after. They slid down fast and hot, leaving Tommy’s face wet and warm in seconds, his hands tightening in his hair and his face pressing into his boney knees. He hated thinking about Wilbur, hated thinking about the man he used to be compared to the man that he was now. He hated thinking about how Wilbur used to be the only person Tommy could go to to feel genuinely safe and happy, but now he ran from him, hid away in the remains of L’Manberg in order to avoid the older.
Why couldn’t he have had a normal family? An older brother that would always put him first, who loved him with his entire being and did everything in his power to keep Tommy happy and safe. A father who actually chose his kids and loved them equally, who didn’t run away with old friends that Tommy had used to view as another brother, who Tommy wasn’t completely mad at anymore even though he should be. A mother who was alive long enough for Tommy to meet when Wilbur had dragged Tommy home one Christmas to introduce to the rest of his family.
Why couldn’t he have been raised normally? What had he done wrong in his life to have been raised on war and violence, to never know the difference between happiness and suffering? What had he fucked up in his past life that left him only knowing how to cause problems? What had he done in this life that meant he could only cope by fucking up, by ruining everything and causing more problems for himself because it meant that he could forget about the past things he had done and move on?
Tommy knew that he was the reason for almost every problem that had been thrown at himself and his friends over the past year. He knew that he was the reason for their suffering, for their constant unhappiness and problems. He knew that he should be blamed for every bad thing that had ever happened on their land, for every bad thing that had happened to any of his friends' lives. He had apologized over and over again, would probably never stop apologizing for the wars and pain he has put his friends and people through, but they always pushed it aside.
A harsh sob fell from his lips, ruining the silence that had surrounded him the moment he had pushed through his door and left Wilbur to himself. His fingers hurt where they were grabbing at his hair, and his scalp burned with the force of him pulling against his locks. He curled into himself, more sobs echoing in the air as he finally let everything out, tears leaking freely down his red cheeks and falling down his neck, leaving sticky trails behind in their wake.
Tommy hated crying, even if it was in the privacy of his own house and room. It made him feel weak and alone, scared and confused. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be strong and someone who could be leaned on, looked up to. He hadn’t really cried all that much during his exile, and the tears only really fell when he was around Tubbo, the one person here that he genuinely trusted and loved.
So why was he crying now? Wilbur didn’t deserve his tears. Wilbur was the person least likely to deserve Tommy’s tears. He had caused so much damage, had ruined Tommy to the point of breaking and back again, had made it look like he cared one second just to turn around and ruin everything the next. He was still doing it, had done it over and over again within the past week that he had been alive and Tommy felt like he was going to lose it.
It was so hard keeping up his strong facade, pretending like it was okay and that the words Wilbur uttered in his direction didn’t affect him. He could deal with the constant slander, with the reminders of his past mistakes and troubles, of the people who had hurt him that he had forgiven. He could ignore the constant praise towards Dream that dug under Tommy’s skin, ad he could look past the occasional frustrated ramblings about the people that Wilbur had been trying to apologize to.
But there was something about the place that Tommy held so dear to his heart, the place that he had grown up in, had met Wilbur in and loved Wilbur in, that Tommy could never really let go. Wilbur said that he didn’t care about it, that he didn’t care about the memories that they had formed there, that he didn’t care about the family they had formed there. It broke something in Tommy, broke something deep down in his core and unleashed waves of tears that were now soaking into his pillow after he had slumped to the side, dropping down onto his stiff sheets and curling around his single pillow.
His lungs hurt behind his ribs, and his throat ached as he continued to sob. He was so tired of crying, had done it time and time again over the past year. It had gotten worse after Wilbur’s death, and only worsened again when he was revived. His emotions were out of control, and he supposes that it could be blamed on the fact that he went months and months without really feeling anything. His months of exile had been filled with endless staring out into the ocean, eyes glazed over and emotions suppressed behind his lungs until he was bolting awake, gasping from a nightmare.
But Wilbur did not deserve these emotions. He did not deserve the tears that Tommy was shedding for him and their dead nation. Wilbur did not deserve one of Tommy’s not so special breakdowns, and he most certainly did not deserve the love that still ebbed at Tomm’s heart like a drum.
What he deserved was a punch to the face, right into that smug smile he was almost always wearing. He deserved to have Tommy’s sword held to his throat, deserved to have the scared look on his face that Tommy used to wear like a mask, deserved to feel scared and ruined and unrepairable, the same way Tommy had felt for months and weeks and days. He wanted Wilbur to feel the way that he had for the last year, he wanted Wilbur to feel the heartache and the loss and the confusion and pain and the unbearable betrayal that constantly gripped him by the shoulders and guided his every move. He wanted Wilbur to know what it felt like to be betrayed by his brother figures, by his adoptive father. He wanted Wilbur to not feel wanted, to not feel appreciated or liked and hated beyond anything else.
What Wilbur deserved was every inch of pain that Tommy had felt during his last year. He deserved to be looked down upon for trying to save his friends and nation. He deserved to be banished from the land that he had helped build and forced to team up with his enemy just to fail. He deserved to look into the face of his best friend and tell him that he was worthless, and see the words that he didn’t mean break everything that they had ever built. He deserved to sit in the middle of the nation that had helped him build up his family and watch it all be destroyed.
Anger coursed through his veins at the thoughts, and he sat up abruptly, tears now hot and angry as they raced down his pale cheeks, faster than before and full of so much rage and hate that he didn’t know what to do with it.
Maybe he ought to give Wilbur a taste of his own medicine. Maybe he ought to go and destroy something that Wilbur loves and state that he never cared about it, that Wilbur was the only one who cared. Maybe he ought to break his big brother's heart the very same way that he broke Tommy’s own all those months ago, all that time that they had both been dead, all that time that Wilbur had taunted him in his dreams and made him suffer day in and day out.
Maybe he ought to ruin his big brother the same way he had ruined Tommy.