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Tommy does a fair bit of wandering in the days after Wilbur leaves for Utah. In a way, it’s like nothing’s changed, right? Tommy is more than used to Wilbur avoiding him for months on end, so really what’s so different? Other than the fact that Tommy knows with certainty Wilbur isn’t coming back. Wilbur is gone and Tommy is left and he doesn’t even have the man’s ghost to fill in the gaps (to make the gaps wider).
He should tell people. He knows he needs to tell people. But maybe they all already know. Maybe Tommy’s the last poor fucker not in on the joke. Maybe Tubbo and Niki and Eret and all those assholes who got an apology good and proper, maybe they’ve known all this time. Whispering about poor, stupid Tommy, all worried Wil’s gonna kill himself, and what is it instead? Fucking Utah.
But is it?
‘Course it is. Wilbur wouldn’t lie about that. Not now. Not again. If Wilbur really wanted to die, he wouldn’t have said shit when… well, when Tommy…
Whatever. Fuck Americans. It’s the first thing Tommy learned on this server. Something Mr. fucking Utah himself taught Tommy. Apparently it holds true.
He hardly knows where he’s going as he wanders. There’s nothing in particular he’s looking for. Well… Wil, maybe. Tommy sees him in practically everything as he goes from place to place, biome to biome. Some bit of the Greater SMP they wore their L'manburg uniforms loud and proud, discussing a better world, discussing better days. Some bit of the Arctic a ghost floated at his side, rambling on about sheep and Technoblade. Every fucking flower and tree and patch of snow because there isn't a place in this universe Tommy hasn't seen at Wilbur's side. So Tommy has as good as found him, really!
Tommy truly doesn’t know how he ends up in the middle of the arctic. As he happens upon the cabins, he knows he should just keep walking. What’s he gonna do? Ask Technoblade for fucking comfort? Maybe Tubbo, but he’s dealing with enough as it is. Full plate with the dead husband, single fatherhood thing he’s got going on but hardly lets Tommy in on. Tommy doesn’t keep walking, anyway. Because there’s something about Techno and Phil, fucked as it is, that Tommy can’t help but see as… not quite safe. Not quite secure. Not since Doomsday, anyway. But something close to it.
He takes the steps to the porch between their cabins, looking back and forth as he wonders who he should even bother. As his nerves start to get the better of him (something that didn’t used to happen with this vicious of a bite) and he contemplates just heading back to his home that is a crater, the door of Phil’s cabin opens. He looks cozy in his nice, thick winter jacket compared to Tommy’s bare, shivering arms.
Phil hardly notices Tommy for a moment, just pats his pockets and mutters something about Gapples, but he lifts his head just enough to take sight of Tommy. There’s a bit of shock, then a smile as warm as the hearth in Technoblade’s cabin. Phil was always good with smiles, even if sometimes they were laced with gunpowder. Tommy almost finds comfort in that. Wilbur’s are too.
Before Phil can get a word in, Tommy begins a tirade of, “Phil, I am so fucking cold. Why do you live in a tundra? To spite me? Because you hate war veterans? Or just orphans? What else do you hate, you heartless prick?”
Phil’s smile becomes just a bit weary. “You here to visit?”
“Maybe,” Tommy answers with a shrug of his crossed arms. He still sort of wants to run. To curb that impulse, Tommy replaces it with another. He pushes past Phil, letting himself into the little cabin. He can’t run away from Phil. Not when Phil is the only fucker in the world who can answer the question Tommy hardly wants to ask but desperately needs to know the answer to. Did Wilbur trick me again?
As Tommy sifts through Phil’s chests, he ignores Phil’s squawk of indignance to ask, “You got bread?” He looks back and Phil has his hands on his hips and levels Tommy with that annoying mad dad stare Tommy got more than e-fucking-nough from Wilbur during L’manburg. Just on the silly side of desperate, Tommy exclaims, “I’m starving, Phil, practically dead already! Walking corpse shambling into your home, begging for a measly piece of bread.” There’s even some truth to it… now that he takes a look at his inventory, it’s mostly truth, actually. He’s got three hearts, five bars of hunger, and not a single piece of food to his name. Not even a bit of zombie flesh. With a nervous laugh, he asks, “Maybe even toss half a stack my way, hm? Old pals and all.”
Phil simply sighs. He looks out of his open door with a frown. That won’t do. Loudly, Tommy complains, “Oh, I’m Phil, and I hate starving orphans! I let them freeze and starve to death and force them to fend for themselves because I’m so cruel and old and not poggers, and if I had it my way every child in the world would be starving to death because that’s just the kind of guy I-”
“Fucks sake, fine!” Phil interrupts with an incredulous laugh. He closes the door of his cabin and tosses his bag to the ground. Already, Tommy starts to feel a little warmer. “I’ll make you some bread, Tommy.”
“Oh, Phil, you are so kind. So benevolent. I don’t know why they say such mean things about you, you beautiful, generous man.”
“Oh, shut,” Phil instructs, waving a hand toward a seat at his table. “Sit down, it’ll just be a minute. Bread and tea?”
Quickly, Tommy semi-politely insists, “Oh, uh, just bread’ll be fine.” He takes his place at the table and prays on every Prime he has that Phil does not make tea.
“You’re cold, tea will help,” Phil insists as he takes the kettle out. Dread Tommy has not felt since he was 10 and Wilbur was teaching him to inconspicuously poor out scalding hot tea fills him now.
“I'm warm enough," Tommy tries. Phil just shakes his head and keeps on with the threat. "Phil, I worry for my insides. Your tea is not, um… well, good? It’s very bad, actually, and I worry what kind of bio-hazard will make its way through my body. Should be the next fucker we toss in prison for that alone.” The joke falls flat to Tommy’s ears. It makes him feel a bit ill, actually. Phil just rolls his eyes and flicks warm water at Tommy.
“Better to die of a bio-hazard than freeze to death.”
“I disagree, simply.” But before Tommy can fight for his life a second more, Phil tosses him a loaf of bread. Tommy fumbles to catch it with his hands, but luckily his teeth are more than ready. With crumbs falling out of his mouth, Tommy says, “Philza Minecraft, you truly are the only man.” Phil just shakes his head and continues with his tea.
Twenty minutes later, Tommy has eaten his weight in bread and avoids the brim-filled mug of tea set in front of him like it will reach out and take a bite. Because it might. Phil keeps sliding it closer. Tommy takes another bite of bread that might make him ill just to chew with his mouth wide open and keep direct eye contact with Phil who pulls back with a scrunch of his nose, but keeps his eyes on Tommy just the same.
Like a challenge, Phil sips at his shitty tea. Tommy is about to tell him he’s fucked in the head when Phil interrupts their psychological warfare to ask, “So. Dream after you again?” Tommy lets out a nervous little scoff that has him choking on the bread in his mouth. Yes. No. Probably. Always. Dream just hasn’t found him yet. Well… Dream hasn’t taken him yet, anyway.
As he hacks up a lung or two, Tommy says, “No, no, he’s still hiding,” there is a quiver to his voice that he hates, so he rushes to say, “Pussy, he is. Always hidin’ and shit. ‘Cause he knows I’d fuck him up.” He speaks a little too loud, faux-confidence showing his fear more than the quiver did. Phil knows about his fear, a little more than most, but it feels wrong to be afraid right now. Tommy needs to be confident. Tommy needs to be sure. Dream’s a pussy and Tommy’s okay and Wilbur isn’t-
“That’s good,” Phil responds.
It’s not. Fuck you. But it’s not.
Quiet means plans and plans mean Tommy’s in for a world of hurt. Wilbur may think Tommy is safe, but Tommy knows Dream. He knows Dream would never let him go. And you wouldn’t let Wilbur go and then you did and now he’s-
Tommy speaks as loud as he can over his thoughts, “Better than bad, eh?” He lets out a weak little laugh.
“Why’d you look like shit, then?”
“I do not look like shit!” Tommy lies loudly. “Hot as ever. More, even! I’ve got the rugged look the ladies love, Phil, while you’re bitchless as ever and have only your shitty tea to warm you.”
Exasperated, Phil says, “Tommy, I’m literally married.”
Tommy gasps, loud and dramatic, shouting, “Philza Minecraft, did you just call your wife a bitch? That’s fucked. You’re fucked. I would never do that to any of my wives, but I guess I’m just a better person than you. Simple facts, though it breaks my heart to say.” Phil levels him with an unimpressed look which is odd considering Tommy is so damn impressive.
“Nothing happened, then?” Phil questions, sounding like he has the audacity to not believe Tommy. “Just felt like a walk through the arctic with no coat, no food, not even armor?” Well, armor’s not fucking allowed. Tommy scratches at the wood of Phil’s table. It’s none of Phil’s fucking business. Yes it is. But if Tommy tells him, then Tommy has to ask, and if Tommy asks, then he’ll know for sure. Tommy doesn’t want to know that Wilbur’s dead. Worse, he doesn’t want to know Wilbur chose to leave. Chose to leave Tommy. He just wants Wilbur here making fun of Phil with him.
“You talk to Wil, lately?” He asks so, so fucking normally. It’s actually impressive how normal he asked that. He should get an award or something. Maybe Tommy will throw the SMP’s first festival that doesn’t end in death to present himself with an award for just how fucking normally he got that sentence out.
Phil does something strange then. Something that Tommy does not know if he’s ever done before. The sympathetic smile on his face, not unlike Phil, actually seems understanding. Like he knows exactly what Tommy’s referring to. Like he knows exactly what Tommy’s about to fucking ask. Except Tommy isn’t ready to ask, Tommy isn’t ready to knows the answer, so in a panic, he tosses his mug of shitty tea to the ground. It shatters. The sympathy turns to annoyance.
“Tommy-”
“What?” Tommy complains. “I didn’t want your tea! Prime forbid a man sets boundaries, do you hate boundaries, Phil? You’re disrespecting my boundaries with your tea, and now-” Tommy stands, chair clattering behind him. “I’ve got- I’ve got to go, got to write my call-out doc, for this and- and I don’t know, I’ll throw in some shit about Doomsday, and you’re gonna have a lot more crows nippin’ you in the ass, Phil, you’ve- you’ll-”
As Tommy’s hand finds the door handle, Phil asks, “I’m guessing Wil left, then.” Tommy sighs, letting his head fall against the door with a thunk rather than continue his escape.
“So he talked to you?” Tommy asks, voice quieter than he would like. “Did he- did he apologize to you?” Wilbur never said anything about apologizing to Phil. It never crossed Tommy’s mind that he would. When you kill your son, Tommy doesn’t really think you’re owed the apology.
“No, no, he just- he wanted to say goodbye. Let me know he was going.”
Voice a little dead, Tommy just says, “Oh.” He turns around. Phil is half-turned in his chair, still sipping at that shit fucking tea. “You apologize to him?” Phil just huffs and shakes his head, like Tommy’s being a bit silly. Maybe he is. Whatever. He has every right to be a bit fucking silly right now. “He- so he actually left?” Phil tilts his head like he doesn’t understand the question.
“Yeah, I don’t know why he wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know why he wouldn’t?” Of course Phil doesn’t dissuade his fears. Of course Phil just makes them a bit more fucking confusing. Tommy decides to just nip it in the bud. If he was gonna keep ignoring this, he would have left by now. “Your son’s an American, then?”
“American?” Phil asks. It’s like Tommy has just been thrown into the cold, unforgiving ocean. Of course Wilbur lied to him. Of fucking course he lied to Tommy and now Wilbur’s dead and Tommy could have stopped it, could have stopped him, could have done anything but watched and cried as Wilbur sailed off to fucking die, all because Tommy was stupid enough to fucking believe Wilbur. “This- wait, is this about fucking Utah?” Phil sounds dumbfounded. Tommy breaks the surface of the water and lets himself breathe.
“Yeah. Yeah, this is about fucking Utah.” Tommy rights his chair, flopping back down onto it. “You’re from fucking Utah?” The only home Tommy knows Phil and Wilbur had was on a single-player world blessed by Phil's wife to make room for more, and that was certainly not a fucking desert called Utah. No gas stations either, as far as Tommy knows.
“No, Wil is.”
“You’re his dad,” Tommy says with a furrow to his brow. “Like, proper, yeah?”
Phil laughs, “Proper?”
“You know what I fucking mean! You and that fridge, yeah?”
“Yeah, Tommy,” Phil says, still laughing a little. “I’m Wil’s dad proper. It’s all a bit… complicated?” He shrugs. “Time shenanigans. Dimension shenanigans. Wilbur wasn’t meant to be here, man wasn’t meant to be with refrigerator. You know how it is.” This is a firm reminder that Wilbur learned how to explain things to other people from his father.
“I really, really don’t, actually, Phil. In fact, you’re talking so much nonsense I think even Techno would take my side here.”
“Not with all this orphan talk, he wouldn’t,” Phil jokes. Tommy laughs but it comes out a bit disjointed. “Look, Kristin brought Wilbur from another dimension to be my son is the easiest way I can explain it. And he is. Can’t imagine why he’d go back, though.” He frowns. Tommy shifts in his seat, paying attention to the shattered tea on the floor so he doesn’t have to look at Phil’s face. Because it makes sense why Wilbur went to Utah. It all makes fucking sense when Tommy looks at the bones, and Tommy’s just a selfish asshole who wanted Wilbur to keep being a selfish asshole too. but Wilbur was selfish in a different way, in a way that was trying to be better, and Tommy fucking hates him for it.
“‘Cause he’s a prick?” Tommy says instead of all that. “Said- said he’s made all his apologies, got all his shit in order, and now-” Tommy shoots up in his seat, proper annoyed, leaning against the table. “He thinks the shit with Dream is over, you know. Fucking ridiculous. It’ll never be over, and this dumbass thought he fixed it by- by what, burning a couple discs?” Tommy leans back in his chair with a huff.
“Tommy, be honest,” Phil says kindly, though there is a layer of judgment that Tommy does not appreciate. “Do you seriously think Wilbur could help you with Dream? Because I love the kid, but his best laid plans are… well, they don’t exactly pack a punch.”
“He blew up a country, Phil.”
“He blew up part of a country. Me, Techno, and Dream did the heavy lifting.” He says it like a joke. Tommy sort of wants to vault the table and choke him out. “And that’s why you’d be better off asking me. I mean, Tubbo’s out in the yard right now. Hell, ask Techno and he’d probably be willing to help.”
“Fuck Techno,” Tommy spits, but it doesn’t carry any of the heat he wants it to. Things with Technoblade are still… complicated. The closest he got to Techno in the past year was the day Wilbur apologized to him. Apologized to him, but not to Tommy, and now he knows why but it’s all so fucked up and frustrating and- “I don’t give a shit that Wilbur can’t help, I just needed him to stay! Just that one little thing! And he couldn’t even do that!”
With that warm, gunpowder smile, Phil says, “He was doing what he thought was best, Tommy.”
“Wil thinks wrong.”
“Maybe.”
“No, definitely.”
“Tommy-”
“No, but, seriously, Phil,” Tommy leans forward again, arms splayed on the table. “You think it’s a good idea? It doesn’t feel a bit fucking… hat on a hat? Limbo to Utah?”
“He’s not dead. That’s a better start than last time.” Tommy sort of wants to point out why Wilbur was dead, but he can recognize that Phil is trying even though he's really pissing Tommy off.
“But he’s alone. He- what’s different? At least in limbo he had Mexican Dream. At least here he had- he had us.”
“Mate, you don’t know who he has in Utah. I don’t even know who he has. For all we know, he’s loved there too. That’s a whole lot nicer to think about than that he might be alone.” For Phil, maybe. Tommy hopes they all blow up and die. Okay, that’s not true, he just sort of hopes they’re all boring as shit and Wilbur realizes he made a mistake by the next storm. And then they all blow up and die.
“I just- why did he-” Tommy slumps against the table, letting his chin hit it. He has to look up at Phil when he asks, “Why did he leave me?” He knows he sounds like a child. He fucking feels like one. He feels like he’s still on that beach, small and useless as Wilbur told him he was going to leave, wishing there was anything he could do to make Wilbur stay. There never has been. Tommy couldn’t stop Wilbur from dying. Tommy couldn’t stop Wilbur from pulling away. Tommy couldn’t stop Wilbur from riding a boat a universe away, more excited and happier than Tommy has heard him in ages, as Tommy sobbed his eyes out for what felt like the first time in years. Or... he could've. But it wouldn't have been a very happy ending for Wilbur.
“I told you, he thought it was best he go.”
“But why did he leave me? Why didn’t he- why couldn’t I go with him? Maybe I want to leave this bitch of a server too.” Phil quirks a smile, though Tommy does not feel very amusing. “Seriously, Phil.”
“He didn’t tell me everything, Tommy.”
“But what did he tell you?” Phil sighs, taking a pull of tea. Tommy thinks that’s maybe not as important as his question.
“That he needed to go, for a lot of reasons, and that he wasn’t taking you with him.”
“Because?” Tommy prompts. Phil rolls his eyes. Tommy does not think this is very eye-roll worthy.
“Best I can put it, he was…” Phil clinks his talons against the mug. “He was just tired of fucking up, Tommy.”
“That’s so stupid. That’s so fucking-” Tommy lifts his head from the table, waving his arms wildly. “He could’ve fucked up a hundred times, Phil, a thousand, fucking- fucking forever, as long as he was here, he just-” Tommy cuts himself off with an aggravated groan. Phil’s face is one of pity. Tommy does not fucking like it.
Almost gently, Phil asks, “And you don’t see a problem with that?”
“I- what, so Wil just- should just give up on him now?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Tommy.”
“I mean, you fucking killed him! We forgave you!”
“This isn’t about-” Phil cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “You’re not listening to me!”
“Say something worth listening, then!”
“Tommy, you just- he just-” Phil sighs. He shrugs. “He’s just gone, Tommy, and it sucks. I’m sad about it too, but it’s what he thought was best, and I think it’ll be good for him. For you too.” If Phil thinks it’s a good idea, maybe it is. Or maybe Wilbur should be even more embarrassed for thinking it. Tommy doesn’t know. He just feels shit.
“I just…” Tommy doesn’t know what else to say. That he doesn’t want what’s good for him? That Wilbur should’ve just stayed, hurt be damned? That Tommy has been hurt a Hell of a lot these past three years, and Wilbur is part of that but not the worst of it, and Tommy is so fucking tired of his things being taken away? But Wilbur’s not a thing. And Tommy tried his hand at taking the things he loves back by force, the way Dream would, and found the fear in Wilbur’s voice was not fucking worth it. “I miss him.”
“I do too.” Tommy looks at Phil, his kind smile that meets his crinkly eyes. His shitty tea and warm bread. His sympathy that hardly ever borders understanding. Tommy doesn’t think Phil gets this one either. Phil has Technoblade and all those Syndicate fucks and his wife at the end of the day. Tommy has Tubbo, who is not quite estranged but is certainly not there like he used to be, and Wilbur, who has booked it to another fucking dimension, and two discs he can’t even enjoy with the people he loves anymore. He can’t even enjoy them alone. No more sitting on a bench, watching the sunset, knowing that it’s going to be okay if only for a few minutes.
“Right, well,” Tommy slaps the top of the table. “Guess I should be off. Got a lot of- lot of people to talk to, to tell and all.” If Tommy thinks about it, though, practically everyone knew that Wilbur was gonna be off soon. The only person Tommy can even think he may need to tell is Quackity who never showed up for his apology, but Tommy thinks Quackity will probably be fine if he never hears about Wilbur again. None of them really need to know about Utah, and Tommy really doesn't want to have to be the one to tell them even if they did. Tommy pushes up from the table. “Thanks for- yeah.”
“‘Course, mate,” Phil says, standing as well. He tosses Tommy a stack of bread and a few cookies. It makes Tommy’s eyes burn a little, but it also makes him smile. Tommy salutes Phil, about to head out, when Phil says, “And come by soon, yeah? You’re always welcome here.”
“Thanks, Phil.” The words come out a bit rough. Tommy does not want to seem ungrateful, not when he’s not even got half a handful of people left, but he is. He is ungrateful that yet another place is just to visit. Yet another home is someone else’s, Tommy having to crash through the window and make himself a place there. He doesn’t even have the right to his actual home anymore, not with Dream’s fucking essence tainting it. Nothing will be L’manburg. No one will be Wilbur.
“Want me to tell Techno you say hi?” It’s asked like a tease. Tommy doesn’t know why it makes him feel scared.
“Oh, that’s alright, just, uh-” Tommy lets out a little laugh. “I’ll do it, yeah? When I come by next and all.” Phil smiles, taking the words without question. Maybe Wilbur was onto something with that lying to Phil shit. “Bye bye, Phil.”
“See ya later, Tommy.”
As Tommy closes the door behind him, he feels relief with Phil’s eyes off of him. He got his answer, and it’s better than it could have been, but it doesn’t soothe the strain in Tommy’s heart. Wilbur’s gone. He’s just gone and Tommy has to fucking deal with that. There is no next adventure, there is no moment of relief when he sees Wilbur’s name pop up on his communicator, there is just… Tommy.
Tommy and Dream, actually, because Prime knows that man will never let it just be him again. At least Tommy has that to focus on. Keeping Dream the fuck away from him. As Tommy makes his way through the arctic yet again, he begins to plan.