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- How far must Dream have fallen to be jealous of a child? Tommy has only just moved out of his father’s house and he’s the ”savior” of their band, Dream shouldn’t have any ill will. But Dream is the multi talented one, the songwriter and he was the person leading when they got big, so why does everyone love Tommy so much?!
- When Karl, Sapnap and Quackity were all in the band together, everything was perfect. Then, Quackity had to quit and the three of them started growing apart. Sapnap and Karl are trying to keep them all together, but without Quackity around they're realizing they might be more than just friends.
- Quackity's best friends (and crushes) have become distant. He doesn't want to be bitter, it just hurts, all the inside jokes he's not apart of anymore. It seems like at this point they're not even trying to include him. Simply letting it happen is dangerous, but would calling them out on it fix things or make everything worse?
- Phil's son just moved out of the house and he doesn't know what to do. He knows he can't follow Tommy everywhere, but he doesn't have his wife anymore either and is so afraid of being alone. He'd picked up some music from Tommy, Tubbo amd Ranboo's band practice (before they broke up), so when an old friend approaches him, he decides why not join his group? He didn't expect to become rivals with his own son.
- After Tommy's falling out with his best friends, he thought he'd never be able to make a record, until Dream’s band is desperate for a fourth member and able to move their lead to bass so he can sing. They've already got a fan base so Tommy is getting scouted, getting fans, news friends and a new start. Suddenly, it feels like there are eyes on his back and a new band has popped up, threatening to take his record deal. Is everything going to fall apart again?
Dream wouldn’t try to pretend that he wasn’t a jealous person. He knew he was. He felt it and he acknowledged it and he (sometimes) tried not to be. George said he looked like he wanted to murder someone whenever he got jealous. Not that he ever would—he’s not crazy.
Tommy was like a little brother to Dream, not to mention barely an adult (which he was adamant about whenever they called him a child) and Tommy was the only reason his band was able to play as a band now, so it was awful for Dream to get so angry when Tommy was finally getting his dream. Both blondes had been known to act on such emotions as jealousy, but he vowed he never would this time, however hot the flame in his gut burned or however much his hands itched for sabotage. Tommy was his brother, in every way but blood, so when the boy showed up to practice with his usual hyperactive volume when greeting Sapnap and Karl, Dream plastered on a grin and pulled him into a noogie, like always.
The blonde shrieked in outrage, batting ineffectively at the older man’s arms with a wide smile on his face. Dream laughed, though it sounded forced, even to him. No one seemed to notice though. Strange. Couldn't they tell? Couldn't they see how unfair this was?! Couldn't they see that Dream shouldn't be in the position of backup singer, e shouldn't have to pretend to like it!?
No one noticed. "Great!" Sapnap said. Karl sipped a coffee beside him, probably his third or fourth today. "Now that everyone's here, I wanted to go over the bridge for A Day in the Life. Then, I think we should mess with the instrumental composition of Blah Blah Blah," Sapanp continued, but Dream felt a stab of indignance.
"Wait, hang on, what's wrong with Blah Blah Blah?" He demanded.
Sapnap frowned. "I told you last time, the drums and the guitar don't blend together well. But remember we were also saying it might work for the song to have them be purposefully discordant." Ok, and? I still don't see the problem with what I wrote, it sounds good! "If we're gonna do that it just needs to be...better. Like I said, I just think we should mess with it. Then we can all decide what we like."
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"You want me to sing?" Phil used to love singing, but it had been so long. He had barely sung a single note since his wife died. Before that, the Watson house was always filled with music. Early in the morning, singing with the songbirds outside the window while making breakfast, midday, when they would put CDs in the old radio and CD player on the counter and belt the lyrics at the top of their lungs, and late in the evenings, when his dear Kristen would sit down at the piano and Phil would serenade his family with sweet love songs; when Tommy developed his voice one of the first things he did was sing with him, a little off key and still learning, but fearlessly, with the same natural talent Phil always had.
Back in highschool, he wouldn't have met Kristen without his music. In college, he confessed to her after a big joint piano and choir concert. Techno used to call him Orpheus, saying (without as many words) that his voice was beautiful enough to move the gods.
If only, Phil thought bitterly.
Technoblade nodded and stared at him as if he knew Phil had stopped singing after her death. Literary parallels, he would call it. The man didn't push, but his eyes spoke volumes in the way only Technoblade's could. This could be your chance to chase that old dream. You have so much of your life left to live, don't waste it.
Well, it's not like I've got anything else planned. "Fuck it," Phil decides, slamming his hand down on the cafe table. "I'm in."
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Techno told Phil that he'd meet the other band members later. It's a bit of a mismatched group, he had said, telling him that one had already been in a very successful band, as well as already having released some of his own songs. The other two were rather young, but multi-talented, eager to learn and quite good despite their lack of experience. He and Techno would make up the middle ground, Phil with an unused minor in music and having a lifetime of choir, a bit of instrument learning and some musical theater from back in school and Techno, also with musical theater experience well past school and extensive band and orchestra time. (Phil still has those videos of him struggling to learn to play violin and giving a truly Shakespearean lament about how their highschool refused to produce any "actually good" plays or musicals like A Midsummer Night's Dream or Assassins.)
The last people Phil had expected to see when he walked into their first practice were Tubbo Underscore and Ranboo Beloved, Tommy's old best friends.
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As it turned out, being a singer/songwriter was a lot more difficult than imagining being one. When Tubbo finally, sheepishly showed the group the inside of his notebook, there were several album names, a couple of cover art designs and one and a half complete songs, the rest still firmly in the idea phase of their existence. Wilbur only laughed and told him, "Yeah, that's pretty much how it goes. Song writing is fucking hard, man! Let's see what you've got, we can work on them together."
Everyone ended up being quite impressed. Phil certainly was--he and Techno broke down laughing at one point remembering Phil's rather delusional and mortifying attempts at songwriting from highschool (adamantly assuring Tubbo that they weren't laughing at him, they would never, fuck the poor kid looked like he was holding back tears. Ranboo looked like he might kill them).
Watching the way the brunette boy flipped considerably faster through pages filled with angry scribbles, only vaguely resembling song lyrics, it suddenly struck Phil how little he actually knew about Tubbo. It was hard to notice with his bold exterior, especially when he was with the other boys, but Tubbo didn't talk about himself or his family hardly at all. It was well established (until the fight) that he and Ranboo were basically Watsons, but Phil had never really parented either of them. He never wanted to assume, nor could he ever replace Tommy, but perhaps it was time Phil actually built a relationship with these two.
After some fine tuning and full band run throughs, Homecoming Court Jester was officially added to the Sleepy Bois Inc. discography in one of Tubbo's albums, Pumpkin Head.
It sounded pretty cool, but Wilbuir said that he was happy to take backup vocals for this one, it wouldn't sound quite right coming from an adult. They were on the last repeat of the chorus, when backup joined and Wilbur and Tubbo started shredding on the second word. Phil really needed to re-learn his instruments. He should have made Tommy learn some too.
I never should have come tonight
It's too much--all these flashing lights
You're too much
I'm not enough
Can't someone please just take me home?!
As everyone was leaving practice, Phil spotted Tubbo sitting on the curb outside, plucking out a couple melodies while staring into his notebook. When Phil sat down beside him, he closed it hastily with a slight blush. That's ok, sharing things you create is nerve racking. "Hey."
"Hey. If you don't mind me asking, mate, was that song based off a real story?"
Shock flitted across Tubbo's face. He chewed his lip in thought before answering. "Well...I haven't really told anyone. Even Tommy and Boo..."
"Oh! I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want too."
"No. I think it'll be nice to finally tell someone. I'm over it, really. Besides, you're different." I am? I guess I am, that makes sense, but why wouldn't he want to tell his best friends? "Uh, so back in junior year of highschool I had a partner who I was absolutely over the moon about, but...we broke up pretty bad right before homecoming." Right, he remembered that. "It didn't affect my friends the same way, even knowing what he did, so they kept being friends with him--except Ranboo, but he's loyal to a fault. It got me all fucked up about how upset I thought I should be versus how upset I actually was about it, so I kept most of the whole thing to myself, especially this 'cause I didn't wanna ruin everyone's night when the dance came around.
"Anyway, at homecoming I had gone with my friends, but he was always there with his new partner, acting like everything was just perfect but deliberately avoiding even looking at me. The rest of the night had also just been shit besides that-- someone had spilled their food on me, I was dressed differently than everyone else even though what I was wearing was totally ok, it felt like everyone knew about the break up and I couldn't even hang out with my friends. I ended up having a panic attack, which was why I called you to pick me up so early."
Oh, yeah I remember that. What a miserable and stressful sounding experience. "I'm so sorry Tubbo, that's awful that that happened to you." Phil put a hand on the boy's back and rubbed gently. Fuck, he always hated comforting people. He had been told he was really good at it, but most of the time he had no idea what to say. Instead, he just pulled him into a hug. The words came easier after that. "It must have felt like nobody cared enough, didn't it? I promise I'll always be here to listen and help if you need me, no matter what."
There was a small moment of silence before a small patch of wetness began to soak through Phil's shirt. Neither of them mentioned it, Tubbo just whispered, "okay" and gripped him tighter.
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"Mr. Wats- er, Phil, why did you join our band," Tubbo asked.
"Hm?" Phil looked up from his keyboard. "Well, Techno's a very close friend of mine. We've known each other since elementary school, if you can believe it. We used to dream about starting a band together, but it was so unrealistic back then.
"Now you, Ranboo and Tommy are all going off to college and for those of us who don't have other kids, well, it gets really lonely without you." Tubbo scoffed silently. "Tommy- " Should he even tell him this? He still didn't know what their fight was about.
"Tommy...?" Ranboo prodded, frowning.
"Ah, Tommy went to be the lead singer of a new band and it seems like they're pretty successful. I'm very proud of him, but he already doesn't have the time for me anymore." The blonde cringed internally, well aware of how that sounded. "Anyway, if I'm just sustaining myself, then I don't need to work as much. I didn't know what to do with myself. I'm very glad for this opportunity."
Across from him, Tubbo and Ranboo made scrunched faces. "Wow, you have never seemed so old."
"You sound like my grandma," Ranboo added.
Wilbur and Techno both let out barks of laughter, Techno wheezing harder than Phil had almost ever seen him. "Oldza! You're a fucking grandfather Philza!" Wilbur cackled.
"Yeah, Techno you didn't tell us that our lead singer was gonna be a senior citizen. Think you'll be able to keep up old man?"
"Oi! Shut the fuck up you little shits! I am not old!" They only laughed harder and Phil grinned. He couldn't help it, he was one of those people who would always smile if he saw someone else happy. "Techno is just as old as I am!!"
"Yeah, but I'm not drowning in empty nest syndrome."
"Does anyone know where he keeps his hard candies?"
"Oh, fuck all of you."
later: "Hey Phil, when's the retirement home music night? We need a first gig."
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“I’m sure that you’ll find my resume for the band to be very impressive, good sirs,” Ranboo declared, in a pompous accent, even going so far as to bow. “I am well versed in air guitar, as well as imaginary drum set. I’ve also dabbled in the pretend violin, though it could have been a fiddle, I don’t remember.”
Tommy stroked a make believe beard. “I see…how much exactly have you “dabbled”?”
“One song, sir. And I can’t whistle.” Tubbo snorted and giggled from beside the blonde.
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Ever since Tommy had officially, completely left his house, Phil has had no idea what he was doing.
Now, seeing Tommy laying lifeless in the hospital bed, he still has no idea what to do.
He doesn’t think he can wing this one.
He must still be in denial, because even feeling the floor heavy under his feet and staring at his son’s pallid face, eyebrows furrowed just the tiniest bit in the memory fear and pain, already dulling curls mussed, he doesn’t feel anything but a tingling numbness. His mind is completely blank, chest almost empty except for the deceiving feeling of static and fluff stuffed inside, preventing him from properly acknowledging that he hasn’t acknowledged this. He heard death was supposed to be peaceful. Why didn’t it look that way? Why, out of everyone, didn’t his son get the gentle end he deserved?
His son.
Oh, f-
His son.
Then the tears come. Everything hits him all at once. Boiling hot tears stream down his face in torrents, he’s gasping, sobbing, choking on screams until his throat is torn and raw and his lungs feel like they're about to explode and he can’t stop.
“TOMMY!!” The scream tears itself from his chest, completely unfiltered and furious. Mournful and frantic. All encompassing, yet it could never come close to expressing the pure emptiness he felt.
Something precious had been stolen from him--from his son--and he was never getting it back.
Technically, theoretically and physically, nothing had changed except the beating of Tommy heart. (And the bruises painting his arms and ribs and the split in his lip and the gaping head wound that Tubbo knew was there somewhere despite how completely the doctors had cleaned it up.) Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different.
His hair wasn’t as soft as it used to be. It still felt like silk under his touch. It didn’t shine the same way either. That was easier to distinguish: it used to be like a piece of the sun had permanently embedded itself in Tommy and was shining from there. Not just his golden hair--his everything. His smile, his energy, his pure unfiltered reactions, even when he was trying to hide things. It was like it had given some warm glow to him.
That wasn’t there now. Tubbo had never seen anything colder. He had half a mind to go outside and throw a lasso around the sun and pull it down here and force it back inside his best friend because he didn’t know what he would do without him. (The other half was the part of him that would have actually done it if he knew it was even remotely, ideally, miraculously possible.)
Nothing had changed; in the back of his mind he had always known he would lose his best friend. He had just never thought it would be this soon. Not like this.