Tommyinnit Oneshots

Phone Calls (original draft)

A/N - Here is the original version of 'Phone Calls' that I lost. It's pretty similar, but a lot shorter. Hope you enjoy. 

TW: Heavy themes of suicide

"What?" Tubbo whispered. The floor seemed to sway beneath him and the walls didn't have color anymore. It was just Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

"In the river." The voice confirmed. He couldn't feel his feet on the ground or the phone in his hands, he just saw Tommy at the bottom of a river. A strange gushing sound filled his ears, like running water.

"When?"

"Sunday." Sunday. He had streamed with Ranboo on Sunday. Phil and Techno had streamed together and Wilbur and Niki had hung out.

The sound of water went away and was replaced with a loud silence. It hurt his ears so bad he wondered if he was going deaf.

"...Funeral's on Wednesday," Tubbo caught the voice's ending words. He had planned to do a cooking stream that day.

Would Tommy's casket be open or closed? Would he see his face from inside that heavy box, looking like he was sleeping but just a little too pale? Or would he be staring at a wood lid, wondering if his friend was lonely sitting in the dark and tight space? Would he cry or would he feel empty?

Would he ever learn to live without him?

Had he already learned to live without him?

These questions hurt his head, and he was tired. Tubbo didn't really know what do to, but he started with calling a friend.

As he clicked the call button on Discord, he felt regret. He hadn't called Tommy in a month.

"Hey, Tubbo!" Too cheerful. Wilbur was too cheerful and happy.

"Tubbo?" The boy realized he had been sitting there, unresponsive for a solid minute.

"Hello Wilbur," he whispered. He couldn't do anything more than whisper.

"Is everything alright?" There was concern in Wilbur's tone, and Tubbo wasn't sure whether he should be upset at it or be comforted. When was the last time Tommy had heard this caring lilt in the musician's voice?

"Tommy's dead," he said sadly. Then he realized he was sad. He was so sad. Suddenly, that's all there was. Just so much sadness.

It was grey and scary and it was racing towards him. Then it was a calm blue and it was wrapping around him, hiding him from the rest of the world and letting him fade away into even more blue.

Wilbur's voice brought him back.

"What do you mean?" Tubbo didn't know what that question meant.

Well, what did death mean? It meant Tommy was gone. It meant he would never speak or sing or laugh or cry or win or lose or love or hate. It meant he was... Not. He was no longer. It ironically sounded like an unfinished statement.

"Tommy killed himself. In a river. On Sunday. The funeral is on Wednesday." That was all Tubbo knew. That was all that mattered. Tommy had killed himself. In a river. On Sunday. His body would be buried on Wednesday.