Tommy & Tubbo || Platonic Oneshots

Blood On My Ukulele Strings

Just Take My Wallet - Jack Stauber
This is similar to the 'Gone' oneshot in the sense that it's short and is basically a kind of headcanon of how Tubbo handles Tommy's death. Also, I got this idea from one of Ranboo's recent streams where Tubbo played different songs on his baritone ukulele.

Tubbo

It was almost dusk. I walked along the Prime Path, passing Tommy's hotel and the small 'inn' I was making with Ranboo as competition. I hadn't gone back to it since Sam had told us what happened.

I walked past Tommy's house and stopped, taking in the silence. Usually, there would be the faint sound of people chattering or Tommy causing problems for anyone around, but now all I could hear was the sound of the gentle wind blowing through the unkempt grass and rustling the leaves on nearby trees. It was unsettling.

The sun was getting closer and closer to the horizon as I stepped off of the path and sat down on the oakwood bench that Tommy had made. The jukebox remained empty, along with the space beside me where my best friend should've been sitting.

I lifted my ukulele from my lap and held it against my chest, pressing my bruised fingertips into the strings and readying my other hand to begin strumming. My voice had been tortured and my throat was hoarse from the previous nights when I'd cried myself to sleep; I couldn't sing for him. He probably wouldn't have wanted me to, anyway.

Once the sun was halfway lost beyond the trees ahead, I began playing the song I'd chosen for the day, singing the lyrics to myself in my mind.

Your mama's crying.
Your mama's crying for you.
Oh, what you're trying to do,
To you.

I hummed softly in place of the words, tapping my foot on the grass in time with my strumming.

Good times are singing.
They sang, they sang.
Those times are echoing through me,
Through me.

My vision was getting more and more blurry as I continued to play the song. I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes.

Despite the scratchy pain that came from my throat whenever I attempted to make a sound, I knew that it would only hurt me even more if I stayed silent. So, as I neared the end of the song, I opened my mouth and began to sing.

"What's the softest way to say,
You took away my friend, my buddy?
What's the kindest way to say,
You took away my friend?
What's the kindest way to say,
You took away my friend, my buddy?
What's the kindest way to say,
The end?"

I pulled my thumb along the strings for the last time that day, letting the final chord of the song resonate in the silent air around me. Laying the ukulele back on my lap, I tilted my head up to look at the stars; the sun had disappeared from sight, taking its warmth and brightness with it.

I simply sat there, tears slowly escaping my eyes and racing down my cheeks.

It was a cold, quiet night, and there was blood on my ukulele strings.

Total Word Count: 536