Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tubbo stepped out of the nether portal and was met with a white sand beach and dead grass. He had decided to finally visit Tommy in his exile; he missed Tommy. He missed him badly. It was dark out, maybe he should’ve picked a better time to visit. Tommy was probably asleep, but there was no time like the present. He looked around, it felt.. Oddly empty. He could smell smoke in the air. He headed for the heart of Logsteadshire and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the state of it. It was in ruin. What the fuck happened? There was a crater in the ground where Tommy’s things should be. This isn’t right. 

He shuffled back and then turned on his heel, speed walking to Tommy’s tent, or– what was left of his tent. There was a crater there, too, with no sign of Tommy. Shit. Fuck. He took a step back, only to trip over something and fall flat on his arse. “Ah, huh?” He blinked and looked down at what he tripped over. It was a book. He leaned forward, picked it up, and dusted off the gunpowder and dew from the grass. The book was leather-bound, it looked expensive. It had a disc charm and a feather hanging from cords, and a smiley face was engraved into the front. It made Tubbo feel uneasy, the same way Dream’s mask did. He could take a pretty good guess at who gave Tommy this book. 

He opened the book. A few pages had been ripped out, and the first page he saw was blank. He looked through it, there were a few doodles. Tommy drew himself a lot; one of the doodles was of him and Tubbo together. It made Tubbo’s heart clench. One of the drawings was of him, Tubbo and Ranboo, and then Tommy started drawing himself alone again. Some of the drawings felt… strange, in a way. Simple drawings of Tommy looking out to sea, looking down from a tower, a drawing of Wilbur, and one of Tommy lying face down on the ground. And then the tone of the drawings changed again. Tommy only drew himself with Dream. Dream was very crudely drawn, a green stick figure with a big smile. It made Tubbo’s skin crawl. 

He continued flipping through the pages, the drawings stopped, and he thought that was the end of the book, but then he found a piece of writing. 

‘I don’t like the dark.’ 

It was so simple, but it made something in Tubbo’s chest hurt. He regrets exiling Tommy every day since he did it, fuck Dream; he hopes Dream disappears for making him betray his best friend. He continued flipping through the book. 

‘I don’t like being alone.’

‘I don’t like it when it rains. My tent is made of wool. It gets wet, and then I’m cold. I don’t like the cold.’

‘I don’t like having nightmares.’

‘I don’t like Jack Manifold. He’s a wrongen. I hurt him, and it makes me guilty. I don’t like him.’ 

‘I don’t like seeing anyone.’ 

‘I don’t like Tubbo. I’m sorry. I know you were hurt.’

Tubbo wanted to scream. His hands were shaking, he could barely hold the book.

‘I don’t like Ghostbur. He reminds me of Wilbur, and I don’t want to think about Wilbur.’ 

‘I don’t like dreaming of Nov. 16th.’

‘I hate the nightmares where I see Dream’s mask.’

‘I don’t like Dream. He takes my things, and he upsets me. Sorry. Dream said that was mean. I’m not allowed to write ‘negative’ things anymore.’ 

‘I like Dream. He visits me and gives me food sometimes.’

‘I like the sun, it makes me feel warm.’

‘I like the dreams where Wilbur’s still alive and everything is okay.’

‘I like Ghostbur. He visits sometimes and gives me hugs that feel like Wilbur’s hugs but less suffocating.’ 

‘I like Ranboo’s letters.’

‘I like the dreams where I’m not in exile anymore.’

‘I like Dream. He was the only one who came to my beach party.’

‘I hate everyone. (Dream said I was allowed to write that one)’

‘/..’

‘I hate Dream.’

‘I don’t want to be around anymore.’

‘I’m going to build a tower out of cobblestone because I like cobblestone, and then I’m going to jump off.’  

Tubbo dropped the book with a shaky gasp. What? No. Tubbo grabbed the book and stuffed it in his bag before shakily standing up and running back to the remains of Logsteadshire. “Tommy? Tommy!” He tried shouting for him, but he wasn’t around. He doesn’t think Tommy’s been around for a while. He kept searching. He looked everywhere. Behind the treeline, down at the beach, his terrifyingly empty storage shack. He was just.. Gone. He thought that Dream was supposed to be watching him, and Gods, if that thought didn’t make him nauseous. He stumbled back over to Logsteadshire, looking one more time. He looked up at the skyline and put a hand up to shield his eyes from the rain. Tubbo’s mouth fell open. 

There was a tower. High in the sky. Made of cobblestone.

“No..” Tubbo gasped, stumbling back. He felt sick. “Surely not..” There was no mistaking it. Tommy even wrote it in the journal, he– he killed himself. Tommy’s.. Tommy’s dead. He had been struggling alone in exile for so long, and now he’s taken his own life. Tubbo didn’t even know, he didn’t get to say goodbye or anything– this was– this was all his fault…

He felt lightheaded and dizzy. He took another step back before his vision swam and his legs gave out under him. His vision went dark.