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Tommy was being split apart.
His head hurt, both from the amount of stress, confusion, and the fact he’d just gotten his head smashed in by Dream. His mouth felt fuzzy, as did his brain. Tommy’s entire body felt like it was being pulled apart at the seams, like the rack , but also like he was being squashed, and it left him wondering if this is how that one guy felt during the Salem Witch Trials.
It was getting harder to breathe. The void was so empty, so suffocating, so…
This was it, he knew.
And his mind broke.
There Tommy was. His eyes opened, and he knew he was sitting on a bench. His bench. But this wasn’t… him . Not fully, at least. His skin was greyer, and the blood that dripped from his head was a different hue; no longer red, but blue.
Tommy hummed along to the song that wouldn’t get out of his head. Mellohi.
Behind him, he heard a gasp, and so he turned his head. His mouth opened as a small breath escaped him.
“Tubbo,” Tommy said. “Join me, will you?”
His best friend’s eyes widened, pupils contracting as he shuddered, and he took a step back.
“You’re dead,” Tubbo spoke. He squeezed the flowers in his hands. The spikes on the stems bit at his palms, but he did not blink. Not even as his eyes watered.
“I am?” the blond—his hair was grey, it was grey, as was his body, besides for the blood that dripped from his head, from his nose, and those eyes that always seemed full of life—boy asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. He did sound confused, though. Both a jest and inquiry.
“You are,” he responded, a short, confused laugh bubbling up his throat.
“Oh. I suppose I am.” The ghost that took the form of his friend interlocked his fingers, then pulled them apart, and locked them again. He looked over to the jukebox that was empty. “Play me something?”
Tubbo shook his head. “I—I don’t have the discs. You do.”
“Oh.” Tommy grinned. Blood stained his teeth and braces. He was meant to get them off soon. “My memory sucks now. But that’s okay. We don’t have to remember all the bad shit.” He stood, brushing off his shorts as he looked away from Tubbo. “See ya, yeah?”
“Wait—”
Tubbo’s hand shot out, finding a hold on Tommy’s cardigan—since when would he wear cardigans? Everything was strange, now—and feeling the soft fabric of wool; but all of that was fleeting, as Tommy turned to smoke, wisps following the wind as he disappeared.
In his other hand, Tubbo’s fingers tightened around the alliums and cornflowers and roses, the last piercing his skin, blood trickling out, as did his tears.
“I don’t understand,” Tubbo spat out, lodging his axe in the side of a tree. Ranboo tilted their head. “He’s dead. Sam told us. I built a grave. We grieved.”
“I know,” Ranboo replied, their ears flicking. “Maybe… it’s like with Ghostbur?”
The ram-hybrid’s brows furrowed as he adjusted the axe in his hands before reeling back and swinging again. “Maybe. It just… feels weird. It’s not right. He shouldn’t be dead, he shouldn’t be a ghost, he should be alive .”
Just then, he heard a giggle. Then a few more.
“Alliums, and cornflowers, and roses, and poppies, and daisies, and lilacs….” Tommy was nearby, occupying a small flower field just outside Snowchester. Ranboo slowly looked over, a small hint of panic entering their gaze.
“That’s it,” they said. “It’s him. I—I didn’t think…”
Ranboo looked down at Tubbo. His brow was furrowed, and they felt him grasp their arm. “We’re saying hi,” he said, tone brooking no argument. The enderian followed.
The snow crunched beneath their feet as the two made their way over. Tommy, who was crouched above the frosted grass and flowers, glanced up, and something warm entered his dead eyes. “Heya!” he greeted, a small bouquet in his arms. “I’m picking flowers. You—you know, I would sing to them. I think. The memory is… it’s really foggy, but I’m getting a bit of it.”
Tommy’s voice was quiet and slightly raspy, and it sounded like he was always on the verge of tears despite his happy grin. The ghost tilted his head at the two’s expressions. They were no doubt some sort of upset.
“Tommy,” Tubbo began, “how…”
“Beats me, big man. But, hey. I’m here now. There’s no more pain. No more agony. No more scars to deal with, outside and in. No more nightmares. No more fear. Here, here, take a flower, take a flower,” the ghost insisted, placing a sunflower in Tubbo’s palm. “They always face towards the sun, no matter what, because that is how they live. I think you could—I think you could be like it. Like the flower. Face towards the sun, okay?”
Tubbo was not crying. Not at all. He took the flower in his hands, turning it over. The stem was slightly bent, and the petals jutted out towards the sun. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Tommy then held out an allium to Ranboo. They could not cry—that would burn their skin, and it was not exactly pleasant—but if they could, they absolutely would. “Thanks, Toms.”
“No problem, Ranboo. Look. It’s so easy to make flower crowns. Would you make some with me, guys?”
“Uh, sure.” Ranboo nodded, responding for the two of them. “We would—I think we’d like to, yeah.”
“Sit, sit,” the ghostly Tommy urged, sitting criss-cross on the ground. Tubbo was hesitant, but seeing as Ranboo followed suit, Tubbo did too. The green grass was more of a grey, the frost chilly. He doubted Tommy could feel as such.
Tubbo inhaled. “How’re you…?”
“I dunno,” Tommy said. “It’s like I’m… me, but not. I’m split.”
“Split?”
“Split,” confirmed the ghost with a nod. “I’m here, but also in the afterlife. I can feel the other part of me. I’m… upset. Scared. Angry.” He shut his eyes, peace filling his countenance. “I’m glad I don’t feel that anymore. Let’s forget about it. Here, see? It’s easy.”
In just a minute or two, Tommy had weaved together the stems of a few dandelions, and created a flower crown. He reached over, setting the crown on Tubbo’s head, and adjusted it so it would not interfere with the horns.
He does the same for Ranboo, although this time with red tulips. “Isn’t that better?” asked the ghost, and the two mourners nodded.
“It’s perfect,” said Tubbo. “You’re perfect, Tommy.”
“No, I’m not. But you sure as hell are.” He smiled and stood, holding two ghostly hands out for the duo to grab. “Up. Up we go.”
Once they were on their feet, Tommy took out a torch and led them through the fog, towards Snowchester, like a guiding light, or a guardian angel. As he did so, he talked. Talked of any good memories, like the discs, the flowers, the songs, the pets, the friends.
“I never said this, I think,” he spoke as he pulled a peony from the ground, “but I love you both, so very much. I would’ve been dead much earlier.”
“What?” Tubbo asked, voice quiet. “Tommy, don’t…. Look, you’re here, even if it’s not fully you. That’s what counts, right?”
He stared at the ram for a moment, squinting. His blue eyes looked like deep oceans in a storm. Then, the ghost looked away. “Sure.”
Technoblade peered out his window. Phil stood nearby, wings closed tightly against his back. “Mate, I don’t think he’s—”
BANG!
A window snapped shut, followed by a small giggle.
“There he is,” said Techno, walking over to the window. “What’re you doing outside my house, Tommy?”
The boy giggled, opening the window back up. Deep blue eyes met red ones. “Haunting.”
Phil raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “You’re doing a very good job at haunting, Toms. Maybe next time don’t announce it.”
“Thanks, Dadza.”
“I know who you should haunt,” the piglin started, eyes drifting over to the Axe of Peace. Tommy had previously had it in his possession, but since his death, Techno had taken it back.
Blood for the blood god!!
is it just me or is ghostinnit kind of adorable
yes. Protect him
OH MY GODD DREAM NEEDS TO DIE TOMMY IS A SWEETHEART
i thought we hated tommy
yea arent we gonna brek out dream
not anymore bitch get with the program
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!!!
YES BLOOD FOR TH BLOOD GOD
The voices hungered for revenge.
He turned back to Tommy. “Have you visited Dream yet?”
“No,” said the ghost, climbing up and sitting on the windowsill. “I’m not ready.”
“That’s okay,” Phil assured. “When you’re ready, I think he deserves a few nightmares.”
“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “A few. Are your flowers still alive? Or do you need more?”
Flowers were stuffed into any pot they could find, even corners and random buckets, all thanks to ‘Ghostinnit,’ as Chat dubbed Tommy. Techno glanced at the pink tulips that invaded his deskspace. “I think we’re alright, Tommy.”
“Okay,” the boy said, swinging his legs over the sill, “g’bye.”
“Bye, Tommy,” Phil chirped with a wave. They watched him go, blowing away with the wind.
His ghostly form easily passed through the lava, not a lick of flame hurting him, and not a single spark causing him pain. Holed up in a corner was Dream, and across the room from him was Tommy’s corpse.
The ghost stared at the dead body, then slowly looked over at Dream.
“You did this,” said he, dragging his feet as he slowly, slowly stalked towards the prisoner.
The masked prisoner said nothing.
“You killed me.”
Silence.
Tommy felt a smile etch itself into his face. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted this? You killed a sixteen-year-old. Congratu-fucking-lations, Dream! That’s going on your grave! Dream Wastaken, killed a kid for no reason!”
A step forward.
“You’re going to die.”
Stomp.
“You’re going to the deepest pits of hell.”
Step.
“I’ve crafted the perfect purgatory for you. Limbo will not be so kind.”
Stomp.
“Not a train, not a void. Just torture.”
Step.
He ripped the mask off of the smiling bastard. Tears ran down a scarred face. Tommy’s smile grew wider as he gripped the sides of Dream’s head.
“Take a fuckin’ bow, bitch. ”
CRACK
Tommy sat on the bench, and soon, someone joined him. The ghost quietly stroked the head of the sheep that stood aside the wooden seat.
“Hey, Tubbo,” said the ghost. “You won’t have to worry anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s dead.”
“No… You’re kidding,” Tubbo replied in disbelief, a corner of his mouth lifting.
“I’m not. But that means my business is over.”
“What?” Any bit of joy is lost. Tubbo leaned closer, gripping Tommy's hand. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Tommy looked back at him, tears burning his cheeks. A smile was plastered on his face. Content. Happy.
“I have the discs,” he said, handing them over. “You should play them, okay?”
“Wait, Tommy—”
“Don’t be sad. Look. I know I wasn't perfect. But you were, man. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for, and playing on this world with you has changed my life. Even through all the wars, through everything , having you by my side made life so god damn amazing. Thank you, jerk.”
He stood.
“Tell the others I love ‘em, okay? Bye, bye, Bee Boy!”
“Goodbye, Tommy.”
And with that, Tommyinnit was dead.