Tommy and Tubbo's Survival Guide to the End of The World

Black Valley

Previously on, Tommy & Tubbo's Survival Guide to the End of the World bc its been that fcking long:

Tommy is angsty and sad so hurts wilburs feelings after being saved by him after skeppy left him to die and is now tubbo-less

Tubbo is also not having a good time and was mauled by dogs, but then ate it like the feral beast he is and is continuing to be sad without tommy. Man its almost like leaving was a bad idea and only for plot convenience

~~~

Wilbur POV

I looked down upon the lanky child laying down from where I crouched besides him. His soft snores and peaceful features were such a stark contrast to when Tommy was awake, save for the occasional unconscious wince of pain that disturbed his usually tranquil rest. Faintly singing the lyrics to one of my songs as I'd grown used to while caring for Tommy, I gently pressed the back of my hand against his forehead. He shifted slightly at the movement.

I let the melody taper off when the brief contact left my skin uncomfortably warm. Letting loose a quick sigh, I reached for the leaking bowl, dunking the dirty towel in it to soak it entirely. I pursed my lips as I brushed back Tommy's bangs, the boy huffing heavier than usual as I did so, placing the towel gently atop his stifling head so as to not wake him. He grumbled something in his sleep, but just as soon as he shifted, he fell back into his peaceful sleep.

I sat there in silence for a while, staring at the plethora of scars on his exposed skin, pushing back my sleeve and lifting my arm next to his to compare. His flesh was like a grotesque, bloodied mural next to my relatively unscathed one.

Biting my lip, I quickly let my sleeve fall back over my tanned skin, standing up as quietly as I could against the crumbled concrete of the makeshift ground. Tommy continued breathing, in and out. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but he seemed to breathe easier when I was near. Or perhaps that was just because I wanted to believe I still meant something to him.

"Fucking hell," I grumbled to myself, running a hand through my tangled hair with a grunt. The boy below looked just like Tommy, but I found myself wishing, grasping for anything to indicate that he was still the friend I once had. Unlikely, given the current situation, but I still couldn't leave him alone, even if his words kept mulling in my chest like my ribs were tightening inside me.

He whispered something in his sleep, hand squeezing the air. I chuckled softly, noting how my stomach rumbled terribly loudly, loud enough to cause him to whisper in the silence of the room's remains once again before finally stilling. I once again brought my hand to my hair, twirling a small lock as my thoughts wandered to the last time I'd eaten. But most importantly, the last time Tommy had eaten.

He'd been under my care for nearly two days now. In that small time, we'd barely spoken much, whether it be because he was sleeping for abnormally long or because he was being a total jackass. The little conversation I'd manage to pry from him I'd carried, although he had whispered something to me about a book of his, a very special one he called his Survival Guide. Clearly very helpful, if his current state was any indication. I didn't say that part aloud though.

In any case, the lingering longing that he tried to hide in his tone didn't go unnoticed by me, and I'd made sure to leave him a notebook and pen by his deathbe- No, bedside for him. The pages had all been soaked and sullied, but unfortunately it had been all I could manage for him. He was like my brother after all. I just wished I could do a little better.

When I first realized he'd been using it I'd been enthralled, thinking we could begin to mend our relationship once again, to have the comfort and reassurance I craved from a family I would never again have. I really shouldn't have been so surprised when he ripped out the page he'd written on tossed it into the swampy murk. The things he wrote couldn't have been too important then, I assumed.