Back home. Pogtopia. Tommy walked slowly back into the ravine, still clutching his brother's coat in his arms. It smelled like smoke and gunpowder still, and somehow that was comforting. His face still stained with cold tears, he looked around the abandoned, empty place. It filled him with a strange feeling, being back in their makeshift home where they'd been exiled to. It was almost haunting. He wandered slowly in, softly smiling, with a strange light behind his eyes, and sat down on the cold, hard ground. Tommy looked around at himself, past the diamond blocks Wilbur told him off for placing, past places he'd sat and talked with Wilbur and Techno and Tubbo, past the cobblestone entrance to the tunnels, past the spot where they'd trapped him as a joke, past the pit where he'd fought Techno after the festival. So much had happened here in so little time. He looked back down at the stone ground beneath him for a moment, then spoke aloud, staring down at the trench coat in his arms, even though there was no one to hear him.
"Y'know, so much has happened. So much. I was just a kid. I am just a kid. But I'm not really, I can't be anymore. God, who could at this point? Been through enough for a lifetime. I've died twice, I've been through wars, my country got destroyed after I got thrown out of it. I can't really be a kid anymore, can I?"
He tilted his head back a bit and looked up at the high, rocky ceilings above him, listening to his own thoughts. Two familiar voices echoed back at him in his head.
You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one.
Let's be the bad guys, Tommy.
Tommy sat for a while, letting the two thoughts go back and forth with each other, fighting, fading into static.
"... I don't want to be a hero anymore. I can't keep this up, I can't keep doing it. It's fucking exhausting and honestly- ... honestly Wilbur was right the whole time. He was always right. We never were the good guys. Heroes don't do what we did. Fuck this. I'm done. I'm done trying to fix everything, done trying to be good when I'm not."
Tommy looked down at the coat in his hands once more and stood up with a purpose in his step. He threw the coat over his shoulders gracefully and pulled it down over himself. It felt comfortable, though a little big for his size. But more than anything, it felt right. He pulled his hands down the edges of the coat, taking in a deep breath of the cold ravine air. His twisted smirk returned to his face again, as he stared into the distance of his ravine. He imagined his brother there with him, in the distance of Pogtopia, looking down at him. He could almost see him there as he took another breath in, laughed to himself a little, and told him,
"Let's be the bad guys, Wilbur."
YOU ARE READING
Come And Get Me
FanfictionWilbur built a nation with his little brother, destroyed it, and got himself killed. How is Tommy meant to cope with the death of his older brother and keep his own sanity? Maybe Wilbur was right, it was never meant to be. ---- Updating on Fridays :]
