Chapter Text
It was a cold day on the fourth of October when the body of Theseus Watson-Craft was found with an empty pill bottle and skin pale enough to match the snow L’manburg hadn’t seen in years.
It was jarring to the family of the boy, just 15, that anything like it could happen, even if they hadn’t talked to him in a while, even if they didn't recognize his corpse at first, because his face had just changed so much since he was little.
The most shocking thing by far, however, was the USB around his neck. A little thing filled with letters after letters and words after words that made them want to cry. Things they never expected to hear from the boy who never stopped talking from what they could remember and they definitely never expected to have to read a letter saying goodbye, especially not multiple.
-
He had finally made up his mind.
He had thought about it countless times, held the bottle countless times, sat it by his keyboard as he wrote a new letter, time after time after time.
He would’ve lost track if he didn’t recount the letters after each almost. He didn’t always write a letter for everyone, in fact people got left out more than often but he knew it would be almost as he sat at the comfort and wrote a letter to everyone.
He was so tired, his arms hurt, he couldn’t think of a single reason to stay this time.
Everything almost ended with one less reason to stay and last time he only had one. I don't want to hurt anyone. But truly who could he hurt? No one noticed when he wasn’t there, no one wanted him to stay, no one even noticed he’d been there at all. The only thing that waited for him to get back was the dust on his things and even that would be happier without him to wipe it off every once in a while.
So he’d do it this time. He’d leave the house with the orange bottle in hand and he’d walk to tree he loved, surrounded by purple flowers that made his heart hurt, he’d carry the little things he had left to remember better times when people would yell at him for leaving because they missed him and he’d swallow them all and he’d lay down in a way he could see all the things and maybe, if he was lucky, he’d fall asleep with a smile.
Maybe he’d have a funeral, maybe they’d be kind enough to do that for him. Maybe they’d bury him in a suit he’d never owned so he could have an open casket. Maybe they’d miss him when he would never come back. Maybe they'd never notice he was gone at all.
When he finished the final letters he made sure they were all on the usb and put it back on the thin metal necklace around his neck. He closed the computer and put it away for the final time. He closed the door to the closet for the final time, he realized that everything today would be a final time and found himself mourning for everything he never did, everything he’d never do again, the people he’d never see, the people he’d never see again, these clothes were the last ones he’d ever be conscious of wearing.
He mourned for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t and everything he’d never do again and then moved on, because it was a blessing to never be yelled at or unmissed ever again. To never be lonely or angry or sad, ever again. He was so blessed to die, to never live again, he was so cursed to die, to never live again. A blessing and a curse, living and death, all so separate and all the same.
He walked away from the house and no one looked up, Wilbur and techno and Phil, they didn’t say goodbye and if he were more naive he’d say they didn’t even hear him leave. Maybe if he was deluded enough to believe they just never knew he was there he’d be happier, a reason to never greet him or wish him goodbye, good morning, goodnight.
The road wasn’t long to get to the field. It always felt short when he went there to die. He had a small bag across his shoulders filled with things to say goodbye to instead of the people they reminded him of, that was what the letters were for. There was only one person that he’d say goodbye to with the old phone in there and even then it’d be better to just leave him the letter.
2 disc, a small crown, an old journal with a guitar pick to hold his page, a rubber duck he’d drawn a scar on, a pink hair tie, blue and red glasses, a packet of pictures with old memories and a pressed flower, a toy bomb, a green and white bucket hat, a pair of rounded white sun glasses, an old red lighter he’d never had the chance to use, a sheep plushie and finally a small light blue trident all set in his bag beneath the bottle of pills and the bottle of water.
He just hoped they’d get them.
He sat down against the tree and looked out at all the flowers, he picked one and rolled the stem between his fingers, the last flower he’d ever pick.
He took out his phone and the pills along with the water and before he could hesitate long enough to reconsider he swallowed as many as he could, then again, then again, till the bottle was empty and he set it down. Tears rolled down his face and he looked to where he’d set up every toy and item.
“I’m sorry,”
He pulled up a number on his phone and hit call waiting as it rang out till a soft click was heard,
“Hello?”
His voice was rough and wet with lack of use and grief.
“Hey dad”
“Tommy! Where are you? I thought you were spending the night here?”
“Oh, uh, sorry I don’t think- I don’t think I’ll make it over there.”
“Tommy? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Sam’s voice was frantic, worried.
“It’s fine I’m- I’m so sorry Sam I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry I-“
“Where are you? Tommy, where are you?!”
“It’s too late, I’m sorry I-“
“No! There’s no way I- you- Tommy,”
“I’m sorry dad, I love you, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it,”
“I love you, I love you so much”
“I’ve got to go, I love you, I’m so sorry, I love you, I’ve got to go-“
“No Tommy-!”
He ended the call and leaned back sobbing remembering Sam’s voice, he sounded scared, he sounded mad, things would be better, wouldn’t they? Without Tommy?
He supposed he wouldn’t know, he couldn’t know anything if he was dead.
He felt so tired, he just wanted to lay down. As he did he looked at all the little things, the disc dream, his old brother, always wanted. He never got them especially after dream started talking to techno, they hadn’t talked in a while.
As much as techno hated the government he was a sucker for pretty things and crowns weren’t an exception. He refused to buy one for himself but Tommy always saw him looking at them on his phone, never getting but always wanting. He figured if he bought it for him maybe he’d take it. Maybe he hated him so much he wouldn’t want anything to do with it but it was worth a shot.
When Wilbur was younger he’d write day and night, song after song after song and when Tommy was a kid he’d beg Wilbur to play for him. Before Wilbur stopped talking to him he would always say yes and Tommy would sit next to him on the bed and he’d play till he fell asleep. Lately Wilbur hadn’t been writing or playing as much. Maybe the journal and pick would help with that.
Quackity loved Tommy and hated Wilbur and it seemed Tommy forgetting to tell him they were brothers was the downfall of the love Quackity had for him. He’d never forget Quackity sitting with him and making stupid jokes for hours, just talking about anything and making it somehow the funniest thing Tommy had ever heard. He didn’t remember exactly how but in Tommy’s mind Quackity was always associated with a duck and so it only made sense that he had a rubber duck with the same eye scar his friend had. He hoped he would like it, but wouldn't take it away.
He wasn’t sure why Niki hated him, all he remembered was when she was his sister. Maybe he was cursed to never have family last, it’d make sense. When he and Niki were still close enough for Tommy to call her Sis she’d let him dye her hair pink. It was so pretty on her, matched her so well but she’d complained that when her hair was natural she’d always been able to find hair tied to match it so easily but that now she couldn’t find a pink hair tie that wasn’t so neon you could see it from a million miles away and she always liked to put her hair up. Tommy spent hours working out the perfect way to dye a hair tie the same as her hair and he never got the chance to give it to her. The dye was fading but he hoped she might use it at least once.
Jack was one of Tommy’s best friends for a while before he became friends with Niki and before he hated him. Tommy had actually introduced the two, he’d been planning on giving them both a surprise before they left him. Jack had a strange and special love for mixing the colors blue and red in his outfits but complained he didn’t have any accessories that fit that and tomm spent a long week searching till he found the perfect sunglasses to pair with the colorful things Jack wore. He didn’t wear red and blue as much anymore. He hoped he’d wear them once, maybe just keep them without wearing them even.
Ranboo always complained about having a bad memory, they’d go out to an arcade one day and ranboo would ask why he had arcade tokens on their nightstand the very next morning. It had become such a problem that Tommy had sworn to ranboo he’d make them a photo book to remind them of everything they did together. He compiled all the photos and then tubbo swept them away and he rarely ever saw them after that. He kept the photos regardless after that along with an allium flower that always reminded him of ranboo. Maybe they’d remind them of why he ever liked tommy in the first place.
Tubbo for the longest while was Tommy’s one and only best friend. He got him through so much without ever knowing. He was smart as a whip and did better in school then Tommy could ever even hope to. He didn't know exactly what he did but he apologized in the letter so maybe he’d take the small toy bomb. He’d always been interested in how they worked after all.
He missed when his dad loved him, when he’d pick him up and toss him around laughing, when he’d explain math problems and read to him. When Phil was younger he had a weird green and white striped Bucky hat that he never took off till Tommy accidentally got it stained while playing with it outside in the mud. Phil hadn’t gotten on to him, just looked at it sadly and sighed while tomm apologized. Maybe that’s where he went wrong with everything. Maybe this would fix, having a new one.
Tommy didn’t know George and Sapnap as well as he knew dream but they were all friends with dreams around the same time. George was always tired and if he could, he’d sleep everywhere. Maybe the sunglasses would help with that, make him smile, make him miss Tommy. He never had a real use for the old lighter he bought at a convenience store because he liked the color red and one more item got him a discount worth more than the lighter cost him. Sapnap loved fire, and thought it was beautiful. Beautiful things always made him happy and maybe it’d make Sapnap happy enough to forgive Tommy for whatever he did. Maybe.
Puffy was like his mom for a while, she was a dream mom and even after dream left him puffy still talked to him occasionally, he’d miss her. He always joked about how her puffy white hair looked like a soft sheep and he liked to draw sheep and hide them around the house for her to find. He hoped she liked the plushie, it took him a while to find one he thought was good enough for her.
Sam was everything, the only one he had left that he truly had. He was his dad, he was the best thing that ever happened and he was, perhaps, the only one that would miss him. He left him a small blue trident. An old inside joke he couldn’t quite remember the Origin of. He’d miss him so much.
He hoped they’d read the letters, the ones he spent so long on. And as his eyes began to grow heavy and he was so tired he whispered one last thing. He was so tired, he hadn’t slept in so long. He’d never wake up again. He found that thought to be comforting in a way he knew it shouldn’t have been. His final thoughts to the world, for everything he’d done, for everything he’d never do, for everything he had and hadn’t said,
“I’m sorry,”
It was a cold day on the first of October when Theseus Watson-Craft died with an empty pill bottle and skin pale enough to match the snow L’manburg hadn’t seen in years.