Dream SMP Oneshots

drabbles about things that ended up too short to be used as oneshots :'(

just going to update this randomly whenever I feel like it :)

whatever you do don't imagine tommy all alone in the dark void, and don't imagine him reaching out for tubbo's hand because that's when he does when he's scared. don't imagine his hand closing around nothing.

Wilbur and Schlatt sat at the edge of everything, feet dangling over the vast nothingness below them.

Wilbur spoke.

"Do you- do you think they'll remember us?"

Schlatt scoffed.

"Of course. Phil literally killed you, and you were Tommy's brother, I doubt they'll forge-"

"No, I mean like, will we be a part of history?"

WIlbur tilted his head to the everything above him as if searching for answers.

"Will we have meant something?"

Schlatt chuckled.

"They'll remember me. I was literally the antagonist of their little spiel."

"You kind of brought that upon yourself. But honestly, I was asking about me. How will I be remembered?" Wilbur responded.

Schlatt full on laughed, leaning over and clutching his stomach.

"How do you think you'll be remembered? As a hero?" He wiped a tear from his eyes and sat up, smirking at Wilbur.

"Nah, you're a villain through and through." He paused, his smirk growing.

"You brought that upon yourself."

Wilbur looked disappointed. He tried his best when he was alive, tried to make L'manberg great until he couldn't anymore, and then some.

A strange feeling was growing inside of him. It might have been sadness, but Wilbur hadn't felt things in so long that he wasn't sure.

He didn't want to be the villain anymore. He was supposed to be president.

He was supposed to be a hero.

But history didn't care about what you wanted to be. History didn't care that L'manberg should have stayed strong or that Dream shouldn't have been able to have all the power or that Phil should have said no on that fateful day. 

Because history was written by the victors, and neither him nor Schlatt were victors in this situation.

And when Wilbur looked again to everything above him and the nothingness below, he wondered if history would hear him fall. 

And if he fell, he wondered if history would tell his story. 

Tubbo found himself at the bench.

They always met there, always, and not once had Tommy ever been late.

But Tubbo sat there, tears rolling down his face and two music discs clutched to his chest.

Because maybe, if he waited long enough, Tommy would come back. He had to.

Hours went by, until the sun had dipped below the horizons me the moon rose into the sky. Tubbo still sat, waiting for his friend to return.

Something shifted inside of him and he doubled over, wrapping his arms around himself because it was too much to carry on his own, because there was no way he was really gone, because he was his Tommy and he needed him to be here.

But he wasn't.

Tubbo turned his face to the sky, searching the stars as though if he looked hard enough he would be able to find him hidden amongst the constellations.

In a shaking, heartbroken voice, Tubbo spoke.

"What am I without you?"