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“The class doesn’t dismiss you… I do.” Tubbo leans to the side of his desk and cocks his head to glare at his teacher at the front of the class. “Just kidding. See you kids tomorrow. And for those of you walking home, watch out for the ice patches! I don’t want to see any of you coming in sore tomorrow.”
Slowly, the kids flood out of the class. All of them were equally anxious to get out of the school building as soon as possible, except for one, who was waiting patiently for his bodyguard-- friend to show up.
“Tubbo,” the teacher starts, picking him out of his trance, “Come here a second?”
Tubbo nods, shoving the rest of his belongings into his backpack. “Is this gonna take long, Mr. Sam?” Tubbo asks, slinging it over his shoulder. “You know Ranboo gets anxious without me.”
“He can come in too,” Mr. Sam dismisses, waving his hand. On cue, the backdoor slides open, and Ranboo nervously peeks his head through. He drags his feet and keeps his anxious speedwalk at the same time until he’s sandwiched next to Tubbo on top of a desk. He hops up next to Tubbo and looks meekly up at him. “Hey, Ranboo.”
“Hi, Mr. Sam,” Ranboo says, waving his hand. “Is Tubbo in trouble?”
His face falls but not for long. He struggles with his expression before finally reaching a sad, wry smile. “How…” He breaks off his train of thought.
Tubbo and Ranboo exchange glances.
“How’s…You know, it’s… I’m--”
Something kin to realization settles upon Tubbo. “Oh,” he starts, something sad, something happy, something lost in between. He reaches his hand out - an awkward and out of place movement, but he doesn’t draw back.
He reaches forward until he finds what he needs. He grabs Sam’s hand.
It falls silent in the class.
The door creaks open. A student pokes xer head, stopping to look at the absolute trainwreck at the front of the class. Xe drops xer head in apology before forcing xerself to look away. Xe spares them one last scowl before slipping away into the hallway.
Sam and Tubbo aren’t really friends. He never felt the connection to the teacher like some of the others do. He gets along better with teachers in a class that’s not literature, which is what Mr. Sam teaches.
Still, in the classroom on this hallowed day, Tubbo grabs his arm, and he can’t find it in him to let go.
Speaking has always been a strong suit for Tubbo, but he can’t even muster a single word. He opens his mouth only for nothing to fall out. His heart hangs heavy on his tongue, and he swallows it down out of fear of what’s to come.
He sinks his nails into the teacher’s sleeve even tighter.
He inhales. He counts the breath, just like how he was taught. He holds it in him before letting it go, letting his shoulders relax. He tries not to shake with the fate of both of their world’s in the palm of his hand.
Ranboo, confused, presses into his side. He grabs his other hand and squeezes it.
“He--” He starts, and he can not stop. He lets go of Ranboo and jumps off the desk. “He would like to see you!” he says, grabbing both of Sam’s shoulders. The teacher towers over him with a decent two feet height difference, but right now, Tubbo has the higher ground. Sam stands below him. “He would. I know it - I know it would mean a lot…”
Despite Sam’s face always being covered with a mask, he’s highly expressive. Tubbo couldn’t tell at first - not until his eyes were pointed out.
Now, it’s all he notices.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he dismisses. “It’s a delicate time for him and the family. It wouldn’t be--”
“He’d like to see you,” he repeats, venom dripping from his tone. “Please, at least, just once before he--” The fire burns out, and in its wake, ashes remain. Tubbo dips his head.
He knows what snow becomes after springtime comes.
When the clouds disappear and the sun comes out, he will cry.
“Tonight,” he insists. “Come for dinner, and you can see him.”
“I--”
“You can’t say no,” he says, letting go of his arm. “If you don’t see him, you’re a spineless, fucking coward.”
Sam bristles, straightening up. “You are my student.”
“And you’re a pathetic piece of shit,” he counters. “Come over for dinner tonight. I’ll tell Phil.” He doesn’t have to spare a glance over his shoulder to make sure Ranboo is following him. “See you later, Mr. Sam.”
The classroom door slams shut.
-
The front door to the Minecraft household was left unlocked. Tubbo and Ranboo slip in without a moment of hesitance. Both of them kick off their shoes and leave them next to the door.
“Hey,” Tubbo calls, searching for any sign of life.
He steps into the living room only to feel a weight against his throat. He jumps out of his skin, bristling under the touch of a toy lightsaber.
“Hello, Technoblade,” he greets.
“Hi, intruder,” he greets back. He lowers the lightsaber. “Lock the door behind you. I don’t want Phil to be able to get in.”
“He has to cook tonight, though,” Tubbo says, following Techno into the living room. He sinks down in his recliner and picks up his book. He slips his reading glasses back on and gets comfortable, decidingly ignoring the newcomers.
“No, he doesn’t,” he says, voice quieter than before. “Wilbur’s cooking tonight.”
Tubbo falls back on the couch. A loud yelp follows, and he jumps up in the air.
“Now look at what you’ve done,” Techno mumbles.
Tubbo pales dramatically. He steps back away, but it’s too late for him. He can’t escape the damage that’s already been done.
Slowly, the figure on the couch sits up. The blanket falls to the side, and a mess of brown curls emerges from the wreckage.
“I am… so sorry,” Tubbo apologizes, holding his hands together. Wilbur’s puffy, red eyes stare at him, unfocused. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Wilbur stares at him.
“I wouldn’t get too close,” Techno warns. “Wilbur’s close to craving brains at this point.”
Ranboo keeps a safe distance between themself and the monster resting on the couch. They lower themselves behind Techno’s recliner and peeks around the side to look at Wilbur. “He does look a little rough,” they whisper. “Did he get any sleep?”
“Are you asking about last night or this week?”
They frown.
“My answer’s the same either way,” Techno says. “No. This is the first time I’ve gotten him to lay down.”
Tubbo shakes his hand in front of his face. “Is he awake right now?” He hesitates. “Or, alive…?”
“Probably not,” he replies.
Wilbur blinks. Once, twice.
Then, he charges forward. Tubbo lets out a mangled scream as Wilbur tackles him. “What happened--? Where’s--”
Techno sighs, slipping off his glasses to set them on the bedside table. He keeps a straight face as he grabs Wilbur by the collar and yanks him up off of Tubbo. “Wilbur, you scared the shit out of me,” Tubbo hisses, hiding behind Techno.
Wilbur’s breath events out from his sudden panic. “You scared Wilbur,” Techno retorts. “There goes my peace and quiet.” He lets go off Wilbur and plops down on his recliner, where Ranboo has scooped up his book. They sit down on the arm next to him.
“Peace and --” Dread courses through him. “How long have I been out?”
“Not even an hour,” Techno replies. “Go lay down before--”
“An hour?” he exclaims, dragging his hair out of his face. “You let me sleep for an hour?”
“I’m so terrible,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry I let you get your first sleep in weeks.”
He scoffs, taken back. “I sleep, ” he retorts. “I don’t know why you’re worried about me when it’s very clear you should be worried about--”
There’s a loud thump from upstairs.
Wilbur’s legs almost give out from under him.
Tommy.
This time Techno doesn’t get to manage a witty remark before his older brother darts up the stairs. Ranboo shifts beside him. “Stay.”
“You don’t think we should go stop him?” Tubbo asks. “I can go help Tommy--”
“Stay,” Techno repeats, voice harsher this time. “Nobody wants you upstairs near him.”
“I haven’t seen him since Thursday!” he argues, stomping his foot. “I’m sure he misses me, and, and I bet he’s sick of you and Wil’s ugly ass mugs.”
“Tommy,” he interjects, venom dripping from his tone, “might not even realize it’s been two days since he’s seen you.”
The living room drops ten degrees.
“What…” Tubbo’s throat runs dry. “What do you mean?”
Techno hesitates. “...The cold, maybe, we’re not really sure. He was fine Thursday night until he fell asleep… He got worse in the night. Ever since then, he hasn’t really been moving. And Wilbur…”
“Won’t leave his side,” Tubbo finishes. “But he’s gonna wear himself out. Lucky for you - Ranboo and I are here to help!”
“Kid,” he sighs. “You don’t need to be around him like that.”
“I haven’t left his side once! I told him I’d be right there with him, and I meant it,” Tubbo insists, heart hanging on his words. “I can help him!”
He waves him off. “Not a single person in this house wants you to see Tommy like that,” he interjects, stern and harsh.
“What, you don’t--” Tubbo’s voice breaks off into a wry laugh, void of any humor or joy. “You don’t want me to see him at, what, his worst?”
Techno is silent, lips pressed firmly together.
“You say that like I was the first to know him - before any of you,” he snarls. His entire body begins to tremble, but he stands on his own. “I knew Tommy at his worst and his best. If you think you’re gonna protect me from some version of Tommy, you’re a fucking cunt.”
The living room is silent, for a moment.
“I’m gonna go check up on him,” Tubbo says without looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Oh, and Techno, heads up - I invited Mr. Sam over for dinner. And some others.”
Techno’s brain short circuits. “What--”
Tubbo’s already long gone.
Tubbo stomps up the stairs and barrels into the hallway. His hands are ready to throw open his door but a stifled sob cuts him off guard.
His feet track against the carpet and he forces himself to stop. Face smushed against the wall, he grips ahold of it and listens in.
The sniffle catches him off guard, but it’s not Tommy’s. There’s no way it’s--
“I’m so, so sorry, Toms,” the voice sobs.
A cold chill runs down Tubbo’s spine. He inches towards the downstairs, but he can’t bring himself to step away from his room. Despite the moral consequences, he can’t help but listen in.
“It’s fine, Wilbur,” and that is not his Tommy. There’s no way his Tommy would ever sound so broken down, so beat up. There’s no way that would ever be him. Nothing but strong, Big Man Tommy… Surely. “You look awful.”
“Says you, ” Wilbur hisses back, and there’s a playful snort that erupts into a mixture of wheezes and laughter. Tubbo holds his hands over his eyes only for his fingers to return wet, slick with his growing tears.
“I at least have been sleeping, you smelly bastard,” Tommy says, letting out a long yawn. “Why’d you come n’ wake me up, anyways?”
“Oh…! You have some friends over for dinner.” Tubbo fidgets on his feet at the mention of his presence. He itches to jump in there and wrap his arms around his friend, but even he is aware he’s not ready for the ghost sitting on top of the bed. “Is that okay? Want me to go tell them to fuck off and go home?”
Tommy whines, “Who is it? It’s not the neighbor again, is it?”
“Tubbo and Ranboo.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Tommy sighs. “Just, uh, get me to the shower real quick?”
“Mhm, let me grab some, uh, towels.” The door flies open, and Tubbo isn’t quick enough to scramble away. He steps back just as Wilbur emerges from the bedroom. “You should go back downstairs.”
Tubbo nods eagerly. “So, so sorry,” he mumbles hastily, sprinting back down the stairs to join the others. This time, the living room is empty. He follows the voices to the kitchen where Ranboo, Techno, and Phil are stood around the kitchen aisle. A pot of water stands boiling over on the stove.
“Oh, so Wilbur isn’t cooking,” Tubbo quips, knocking his knuckles against the wall. “Hey, Phil.”
“Hey, mate,” he murmurs. “I would’ve liked a heads up you were inviting a guest over. Seeing as it’s my house.”
Tubbo sheepishly drags his feet up to Phil. “Yeah, I know--”
“Deal with it, old man,” Techno bites. “You know it’d make Tommy happy.”
“You see me making the spaghetti, don’t you?” Phil says, shoulders dragging. Tubbo winces at the sight. Phil looks ten times as older since the last time he’s seen him.
“Is Tommy awake?” Techno asks, ignoring Phil’s sharp retort.
Tubbo snaps out of his trance of staring at Phil’s tired expression to gape at Techno. “Huh? Oh, yeah, he’s getting in the shower.”
“Oh, he’s showering. Good news for you, then, hm?” Phil says.
What’s happening upstairs could hardly be defined as showering, but it’s still the cleanest Tommy’s been in days.
“Isn’t this too fancy?” Tommy sighs, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He casts his eyes down, unable to look at the pale face staring back at him. Wilbur steps in front of him and messes with the bowtie.
“Mhm, nope, I was told we are dressing up tonight,” he says, finishing off the last touches of the bow. “I hear we have a very important guest coming over.”
Tommy throws his head back in defeat. “I thought you said the neighbors weren’t gonna come over tonight?”
“Nope,” Wilbur says, grabbing his hands and tugging him forward. “It’s better than crusty old Mr. Smith.”
“Ugh, fine,” he huffs. “But, seriously, it better be the fucking president if I have to wear this stupid suit. You look like shit, too, so-- oh. Oh…”
Wilbur frowns. “Oh no.”
“Yes, you have to wear one too,” Tommy decides. He points an accusatory finger at Wilbur and backs him out of the bathroom. “If we suffer tonight, we suffer together.”
Wilbur grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. “Don’t we always, Tommy?”
And, oh, how true was it that when Tommy got sick, Wilbur got sick with him?
“I guess so,” Tommy whispers, giving into Wilbur’s weight. He leans against him and allows himself to be dragged back into Wilbur’s room. He spends most of his time in his bed or the downstairs couch nowadays. His own bedroom has hardly been touched aside from his designated quiet time, which he can’t stand more than fifteen minutes before he and Wilbur are itching to hold onto one another.
Tonight, Wilbur sits Tommy on his bed and walts up to his closet.
“I don’t really have that many suits,” he confesses. Chin resting in his open palm, he uses his other hand to comb through his hangers. “What do you think about--”
He cuts himself short once he spins around. Tommy’s collapsed against the bed. His damp hair is spilled out over the blanket. He hadn’t even managed to grab the pillow before conking out.
“You look like Phil in that ugly tie!” Tommy had said, back at the wedding. Wilbur had groaned in defense because hey, he liked that tie! “Wear the red one - red’s pog.”
Wilbur picks his red tie. He slips on a white blouse donned with his red tie and a pair of red slacks. Then, he slips on a black blazer before gently kneeling on the bed beside him. “Hey, Tommy… You awake?”
Tommy hums non-commitably. Wilbur swipes some of the wet strands away from his face and admires the way Tommy’s chest hitches as he exhales.
Admiration turns into a red-hot anger of which Wilbur is not strong enough to handle. His fingers twitch with the urge to yank Tommy away from his slumber and dig his nails into his skin hard enough so that no one - not Phil, not the paramedics, not motherfucking god herself can ruin for them. He wants to hold his brother tightly in his hands back like a baby in the nursery. Nothing, nothing, nothing, the two of them could be.
Wilbur used to daydream of graduating college, getting married, or landing a hit gig with a band that doesn’t exist. He used to talk about it lots to the point where he didn’t care about anything else. He used to tell Tommy all about it, too.
Now, Wilbur tells no one of the dreams he used to have. Instead, he holds Tommy in his arms and doesn’t tell him the hopeless dreams that now plague his existence.
“I want to have you here forever,” he dreams.
“You and me, Tommy, against the motherfucking world,” he dreams.
To hold a graduation diploma in one hand is meaningless if not to hold his younger brother’s hand in his next.
Living, Wilbur decided, is death without Tommy.
“I want to die with you Tommy,” he dreams but knows he won’t have, can’t have.
So instead, he tucks a strand of his wet hair behind his ear and whispers a small, “Come on, Tommy, it’s time for dinner.”
He wakes slowly, but it isn’t without effort. The fire behind his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by Wilbur, who was ready and attentive at his side.
“I know,” Wilbur hushes and wraps an arm around Tommy. He helps him to his feet and guides him towards the stairwell. “I can still tell them to fuck off and leave by the way.”
Tommy smiles, a weak and rare special little thing. He hides it away against Wilbur’s shoulder. “You can’t hide me forever.”
“Oh, but can’t I?” Wilbur teases. “In fact… I might just take you away.”
“And take me where?” Tommy asks, voice rising in something Wilbur hasn’t heard in a long, long time.
Hope.
Wilbur almost falls to his knees. His legs buckle underneath his weight as he takes both of Tommy’s hands into his own.
“Tommy,” he gushes in the last breath he could ever take and be fine with dying on, “I will take you anywhere.”
Tommy’s baby blue eyes fill with a twinkle of yellow before they squint shut to will away the growing tears. “At least take me to dinner first,” he jokes, laughing along even as the sentiment shakes him down.
Wilbur laughs with him. “Yeah, okay. You ready?” Tommy nods before they begin to tackle the long stairway down.
At the base, it isn’t long before he’s called to.
“Yo, Tommy!” Tubbo roars, waving his hand frantically. Wilbur and Tommy peer around the corner into the dining room where Tubbo and Ranboo are already seated. Phil and two adults Wilbur doesn’t recognize stand in the archway from the kitchen. “Looking dapper!”
The green haired adult turns from his conversation. “Tommy,” he greets, smiling. His face is littered with scars, the first giveaway of Tommy’s favorite teacher from school. “Looking great!”
“Sam, if I had known we were supposed to dress up, I wouldn’t have worn this,” the adult beside him hisses. “Hi, I’m Ponk, Sam’s partner. It’s nice to meet you, Tommy.”
“Oh, I know allll about you, Ponk,” Tommy cackles, grabbing her hand and shaking it frantically. “Nice to meet you! You have a funny name.”
“Tommy,” Phil grumbles, low in warning.
“Ponk,” Tommy lists. “It’s fun to say. Ponk. Ponk.”
“Anyways,” Wilbur interjects, waving Tommy off. He helps him to the chair next to Tubbo and Ranboo. “No need to feel overdressed. That was my special touch.”
Tubbo bursts from his chair. “I want to be fancy too!”
“No time for that now. The food’ll get cold before you get back.” Phil grabs a pot from the kitchen and places it on the center of the table. “Come on, let’s eat.”
With that, dinner begins.
Tommy barely makes it through.
By the end of the meal, Tommy’s face is pressed against the table. The loud “thump” of Tommy’s head against the wood doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. Techno miraculously avoided another question about college with it, thank god, but no one continued speaking afterwards.
Everyone at the table awkwardly stills at Tommy’s slumbering figure over his plate of untouched food.
Quietly, Sam stirs in his seat. “I, uh, think we can be going now.”
Ranboo gets up from the table and darts out of the room. Tubbo gently prods at Tommy’s side. “Sam’s gonna go soon, Tommy,” he whispers, but Tommy does little more than hum in response.
“Huh?” Tommy warbles, sitting up. “What?”
Sam gulps. “I’m gonna head home now.”
If Tommy noticed he fell asleep, he doesn’t show it. “Oh, okay,” he says. “Gonna go do boring married stuff?”
“Yup,” he says, voice strained. “It was a pleasure, Tommy. I really…” He sucks in a deep breath. “It was a real pleasure having you in class.”
“It was a real pleasure having you, me me me, that’s what you sound like,” Tommy cackles. Stunned, Phil covers his face in embarrassment before Tommy staggers out from his chair to throw Sam in a tight hug. “I love you, Big Man. Coolest teacher ever.” He looses his grip. “Now go do boring married things. With Ponk! Ponk, hey--”
Ponk pauses in swinging his purse over his shoulder. “Yeah? Are you speaking to me, or just saying my name?”
“Ponk,” Tommy says, grabbing his shirt roughly. Phil hisses at the contact, but no one stops the lazy grip from happening. “Hey, you watch over Sam, yeah? He’s gonna be really sad when I’m gone.”
“Of - of course, Tommy,” Ponk says.
His grip tightens. “Promise me.”
“I… I promise.”
He lets go with a smile. “Okay, that’s… pog.”
“And of course he ruins the moment with that,” Techno murmurs beside Wilbur.
Wilbur smiles, watching the scene unfold. “I dunno, Techno, I don’t think it couldn’t have been any more of a Tommy way to say goodbye.”
After dinner, Tommy falls back asleep fairly quickly. Tubbo and Ranboo crash on the couch, and Wilbur takes it upon himself to bring Tommy back up into the bedroom. He helps him change into one of Wilbur’s old sweatshirts and a pair of his most comfortable pajama pants.
Exhausted himself, Wilbur slips into the bed at his side. He wraps his arms around his younger brother and drifts off to sleep with Tommy comfortably resting against his chest.
-
The clock reads 3:23 a.m. when Wilbur is awoken by a loud thump. He flies to attention quicker than any trained soldier ever would. Immedietly he spots Tommy on the floor with his hands wrapped around his stomach.
“Tommy?” he asks, voice hoarse. “Tommy, you okay?”
Slowly, Tommy throws his head back to reveal a shit-eating grin.
“What the hell?” he hisses as Tommy lets out a loud cackle. “Shh,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it, doesn’t even try to sound like he means it. He doesn’t care if the loud sound wakes up the entire world because it’s Tommy, his baby brother, and he’s laughing. He wants to hear it forever.
He wishes that he could.
“You farted Wilbur, and I thought you shit your pants,” he cackles. “And I fell trying to get away.”
“Blame Phil’s spaghetti,” Wilbur huffs. “Come on, back to bed.” He gently pulls on his shoulders only for Tommy to climb back to his feet.
“No!”
Wilbur pauses. “No…?”
“You said,” Tommy growls, “you’d take me anywhere.”
Wilbur nods slowly. “Yeah…?”
“Then do it, pussy,” Tommy challenges. “Take me somewhere nice.”
Wilbur’s only so terribly strong.
He only knows to say yes, to indulge Tommy even when he knows he shouldn’t.
Wilbur throws on a pair of socks and drags Tommy downstairs. His feet move quickly behind him, and it’s the most he’s moved in a year.
Downstairs, they sneak past a snoring Tubbo and cuddly Ranboo before slipping out the front door. They pack into Wilbur’s car before roaring out a victorious laughter and leaning against one another.
Wilbur starts the car. Tommy turns on the music. Wilbur grabs the stick and reverses it out onto the road. Tommy roars. Wilbur drives.
Together, they share the crisp, autumn air at the late night’s expense, and they are alive.
“Where are we gonna go?” Tommy asks, hand outstretched through the window.
“Everywhere,” Wilbur says, and it’s a promise. “I’m taking you to see the goddamn world, Tommy.”
His car screeches against the dark road. There’s no sign of life out on the town, like the world truly is composed of only the two of them.
“I don’t think I need the world,” Tommy confesses, lazily flopping his head to the side as he hums along to the song. “I think this could be enough.”
“It’s what you deserve.”
Then, Tommy says, “Well, what about the park?”
The tires hiss against the coarse gravel. Wilbur changes his course.
To the park, they go.
They pass a cop car along the way, and Tommy shouts something along the lines of “drugs” and other illegal activities. Wilbur parks the car before snagging him out by his hand and leading him down the path they used to play as kids.
When they were not too much younger than they are now, Phil and Kristin would take them to the park. Techno would sit under the tree with a book glued to his face while Wilbur and Tommy roughhoused on the playground.
Tonight, at sixteen years old, Tommy is lifted up into the air. His twenty four year old brother holds him tightly against the top of a slide.
“Wilbur!” Tommy chants, walking down the slide. He stumbles on his feet, but he doesn’t stop there. Once he catches sight of the geese in the distance, he takes off running.
“Wait! You’re not-- hey, Tommy!” Wilbur chases after him all the way to the lake. The police car drives around the corner but doesn’t come any closer. “Tommy, get back here!”
Tommy stops suddenly at the edge of the lake. He raises his arms out to his side almost like he’s about to go into a free-fall before Wilbur finally catches up to him with a grab from behind.
“What’re you doing, Tommy? You can’t just run off like that,” he huffs, yanking him back from the small ledge.
“Wilbur.”
He lets go off him in a flash.
Tommy walks back to the ledge and soaks in the cold, night air as if it’s his fuel.
“I haven’t felt so good in ages,” he says. His cheeks are flushed red from the cold, and his lips are chapped.
“Your lips are all dry from running,” Wilbur scolds. “You think that McDonald’s is still open?”
Tommy scoffs, tossing him a mean look over his shoulder. “Wil, who cares?” he says, raising his head up high. “I could touch the sky right now.”
Wilbur clicks his tongue.
“I mean it, Wil,” he says, dancing along the small ledge. “I could just jump up there - return on home.”
“What, to the sky?”
Tommy tilts his head. “No, dumbass,” he says, grinning. “I’ll be one of the stars.”
High above their heads, the stars are nowhere in sight.
“You already are, sunshine,” Wilbur teases. “Now come on down.”
“Hm…” he hums. “No, I don’t think so.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Phil’s gonna be pissed enough when he finds out I took you out in the middle night. He’d never forgive me if I let you drown in the lake.”
“This water isn’t even deep enough to drown in, Wilbur,” he huffs.
“Oh, yeah?” Tommy tests, teetering on the edge.
Wilbur realizes his mistake far too late. “Tommy…”
“Oh, oh, gonna fall…..” He waves his hands dramatically.
Wilbur can’t stand to look any longer than he has to. “You’re so stupid.”
“Hah, gotcha,” Tommy says, sticking both feet to the ground only to step on a wet spot. “Oh, fuck--!”
Wilbur darts up only for Tommy to fall backwards into the lake. He climbs in after him only for him to trip in the effort. Both of them collide into the shallow water.
“Oh.”
Wilbur pushes his hands against the frigid cold water. “Tommy…!”
Tommy grins. “Hey… Wilbur.”
“It’s so fucking cold,” he seethes. “Why did you do this? Come on, get out.”
“Hell no!” Tommy roars, swimming deeper into the lake.
“We’re not doing this,” he orders.
“Tough shit.”
Wilbur has two options here.
In the back of his mind, he knows he doesn’t have many of these left. Every day with Tommy used to be something special, some grand adventure. Most days, Tommy was the only reason he got out of bed.
Today, Tommy is the reason Wilbur’s standing crotch-deep in a frigid lake, and he can only love him for it.
So, Wilbur chooses the wiser.
He swims after Tommy.
In the middle of the lake, Tommy floats over on his back.
“Seriously, Tommy?”
“Shh, Wil, don’t be such a hater,” he says. “Come on. Play goose with me.”
“Goose?” he asks, even though he’s already getting in the same position. He lays down to float in the dirty ass water. “Tommy, I think we really should’ve been in bed.”
“Really, Wilbur?” he says, stretching his hand up against the sky. “I think this is where I was meant to be.”
“In a lake?”
Tommy closes his eyes. He hums.
“With you,” he says. “When I die, I want my body to become the Earth.”
“Techno been talking too much about decomposition with you?”
“No, no, it’s… it’s what I came from. I remember it, you know? Being a part of the Earth. I’m gonna miss you, but… I think I’m ready to go back. To be a flower.”
“In the stars?”
“No, Wilbur, you don’t understand!”
“I guess I don’t.”
Maybe he wouldn’t ever.
“I will return to the earth because that’s where I’m meant to be,” Tommy says. “I will be the sun, the moon, and her stars. I will be the flowers underneath your feet.”
“Since when were you a poet?”
“This is a promise.”
And so, Tommy crossed his heart.
“I’ll make a promise then, too,” Wilbur says. “I won’t take you where you want to go.”
Tommy is silent.
“I will follow you, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and it’s a promise. “To the ends of the universe, whether you’re a sun, a moon, a star, or a flower at my feet.”
“Swear on it?”
Wilbur lays his hand out, and somehow, he finds Tommy’s. Their hands interlock and he squeezes him with all his might.
“I promise.”
“I promise.”
These moments are all Wilbur will have once he’s gone.
He hates to think about what life will be like when Tommy’s not there. He hates to think of what’ll become of his life when Tommy’s life runs out.
To his mother, to his father, to his older brother, to the Arts teacher, to the best friend and his sworn enemy, to the bulliest at his school - what would become of them, then? If Tommy wasn’t around?
Would the sun still rise?
Would the world go round?
Would anything remain?
“I think we’re gonna think ourselves to death. Or freeze,” Wilbur says, sighing. He sits up in the water. “Let’s go home, Tommy.”
Tommy doesn’t budge.
“No more floating; I’m serious. Time to go home--” He touches Tommy only for him to begin to sway.
Tommy doesn’t fall underneath the water like he should.
“Tommy--!” Wilbur seethes, snatching him up in his arms. He heaves under the overwhelming weight of his baby brother. “Tommy, we’re going home, okay?”
He paddles through the water until he can lift themselves back over the ledge. “Tommy? Tommy, sunshine,” he pants, cradling the sopping wet mess of hair. “Tommy, are you with -- Tommy?”
With trembling fingers, Wilbur presses against his throat.
He waits to count his pulse, but a heartbeat never comes.
“We’re--” Wilbur drops his shoulders. “Tommy, we’re going home. We’re going home now, okay?” The limp body falls out of his arms, but he falls limp against it. “Tommy, I’m gonna - I’m gonna take you home.”
-
4:30 a.m.
Tubbo groans in his sleep. “Ranboo,” he whines, slapping the sleeping body next to him. “Turn off your alarm.” He only groans, so Tubbo reluctantly pulls himself off the couch.
He rubs at his eyes and reaches for the culprit: a black iPhone on the living room table. It’s not his or Ranboo’s.
It’s also… not an alarm.
It’s a phone call.
“Ranboo, do I pick it up?”
Ranboo huffs, sitting up. “What?”
“Someone’s calling!”
On the recliner, Technoblade stirs. “Be quiet or get out.”
Tubbo shoves the phone in his face. “Phone call.”
“That’s Phil’s,” he grumbles, snatching it out of his hand. He clicks answer and puts it on speaker. “Hello?”
“This is Officer Johnson; am I speaking to Phil Minecraft?”
Techno almost drops the phone. “What’s this - what’s this about?”
At 4:31 a.m. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Techno receive the news that Tommy Innit Craft’s heart was not beating. And it hadn’t been since 4:29 a.m.
-
At 6:54 am, the sun rises above Wilbur’s head.
“You made it easy for me to follow my promise, huh, sunshine?” he asks, tilting his head up towards the sky.
Two years later, Wilbur gets his diploma, and it rains.
When he gets married to a girl he met in music theory, flowers grow underneath his feet.
They paint sunflowers underneath the moon in Phil’s first grandkid’s nursery.
For the rest of his life, Wilbur keeps his promise. He wakes up, pays his morning dues. Under the sunlight, the moonlight, or pressed against the comforting itch of the wet grass - Wilbur keeps his promise.
Wilbur follows his sunshine.
Wilbur follows his baby brother.
All the way, even to his end.
“I will follow you, Tommy, to the ends of the earth.”