absence | bench trio (lore)

one

Tubbo wasn't crying.

Why wasn't he crying?

Tubbo sat on the bench, his best friend dead, his father dead, his brother figure dead and his home blown to smithereens. Why wasn't he crying? Tommy had been brutally killed the day before, but it felt almost as though he were still there. Sitting next to him, his golden hair glowing in the orange light and his soft blue eyes happy and contorted with laughter. It felt like he were right there, calling him clingy, yet still willingly letting him fall asleep on his shoulder, Cat playing in the background as the sun went down.

Tommy was just a kid...

What happened? A few months ago, everything was fine. He, Ranboo and Tommy would walk along the Prime Path and admire the beautiful houses and the incredible view. They were together, and they were happy. Happy. When was the last time Tubbo had felt real happiness? Tubbo couldn't remember too clearly. Probably sometime when Tommy was around. Now, the houses were simply ashes, memories scattered on the ground. Rubble dispersed in the dirt that was now walked over. And the Prime Path was on the verge of withering away completely. It made him a little angry, because everyone had simply gone their separate ways and forgotten all about everything. About L'Manburg. About Tommy.

Then again, could he blame them? Everything was gone anyway. There was nothing left.

There was no more laughter or chanting of drunken songs, there was no more being dragged off to be shown something that had been built or concocted or achieved. There was no one to grab Tubbo's shoulder and pull him along, no one to chant improvised anthems with, no one. 

There was nothing left. 

Even worse, what had started the road downhill was Tubbo winning the election. That's when all went to hell. It had started out as a group of friends, living together all in one place- now, it felt like nothing more than a corrupted government system. In the end, no matter what conclusion he came to, no matter what dots he tried to connect, it seemed to always end up being Tubbo's fault. All of the tragedy was his fault. He had little to live for now- in fact, he only had one person left that he truly cared about- and Tubbo, for some reason, couldn't look at him without feeling guilty.

Tommy was Tubbo's best friend. The OG. The Big T. And replacing someone who's dead is not a good feeling inside.

He couldn't stand to think about how much he cared about Ranboo, even though he knew Tommy would have wanted him to get better once he were gone. He would've wanted Ranboo to comfort and care for him, he really would've. He knew this wasn't what Tommy would have wanted- but no part of him seemed to care. It was selfish.

He pulled out Tommy's sword, which had been given to him after his death, and looked at it for a moment. Gazed at the glowing Netherite blade and the scratched twine wrapped around the handle. At his reflection. His eyes were turning dark and dull, sleepless. The once lively eyes were now bloodshot and had gray bags beneath them.

For a moment, he saw a reflection of Tommy in his exhausted eyes, bleeding out on the floor of the prison- but Tommy was everywhere now. Everywhere Tubbo looked, he was reminded of how he had stood and watched as Tommy walked into the prison, literally waving him off, smiling. He had waved him off to his death.

 Tubbo's face was scarred and there was the faint remnants of his horns, which Tommy had always drilled off for him (with the horns came trauma)- Ranboo had done it once after Tommy passed, but it wasn't the same. He covered them with his fluffy mass of curly hair. He noticed something around his neck, in the reflection of his best friend's sword, and pulled it out from underneath his shirt- it was his compass. This is when tears slowly and silently dripped down his cheeks. It was better than nothing, better than no feeling at all. He held the compass up.