Watcher's Apprentice

Left Behind

Tommy was doing as Tommy does. Walking around the server, taking in the sights, occasionally causing trouble, but that's just Tommy. Nothing was wrong, which was what Tommy was after. Nothing wrong at all.

But there is something wrong, isn't there?

He couldn't help but wonder where the yellow-wearing ghost had gone. Its not like Tommy cared, of course not! He's a big man and he doesn't give a shit.

Or he keeps telling himself that.

He shakes the thought out of his head as he continues his mindless wandering, definitely not because he's searching for Ghostbur.

Tommy never cared, because Tommy is a big man who doesn't need his brother. Or that's what he tells himself. Regardless, he's not feeling frantic at all. He's not afraid, no not at all, especially not when nobody's seen Ghostbur around. Its not like he could have just vanished, yes? His pacing led him to the crater left where L'manburg once was.

Ah, L'manburg. This place was his home. He couldn't help the smile forming on his face as he stared off in middle distance at the chunk error that was all that remained of the once great nation. Its all that bastard, Dream's, fault.

Its Dream's fault, certainly. Everything was his fault.

Then why did it feel so heavy on his chest, as though the guilt belonged to him...?

He tried his best, didn't he? Why is it still his fault?

Tubbo certainly thought so.

If Tubbo didn't think so, then Tubbo would be here. Not with Ranboo.

There he goes again, jealous of another man. His best friend isn't his private property. How dare he claim he is? He moved his gaze down to stare at the mass expanse of emptiness below the layer of glass above. His heart felt heavy with the weight of his faults, the years building up to this moment of clarity.

He hated it.

He hated that emptiness. He hated Dream's words echoing in his head. He hated Tubbo's husband. He hated the discs. He hated L'manburg. He hated the server. He hated that glass layer below him. He hated the face that stared back at him, when he stared into a mirror.

Tommy spoke a word, maybe three, but even he would never admit to saying something so weak. He hated being weak. He hated how Wilbur knew how to control him. He hated that Dream knew how to control him. He promised he'd never be weak, yet here he was, standing alone above his broken home, tears starting to prick in the corners of his eyes.

He hated how Wilbur's face was as clear as day in his memories, clearer than the blue stained, gray face of the ghost who replaced him. He hated how he wanted to replace Wilbur with the playful and messy ghost, who reminded Tommy so much of the childlike wonder his brother used to give him.

And there it was. Brother. He hated that man, so much. He hated how he blew up the world he made for them. He hated how he became mad and abandoned Tommy when he wished for his death. He hated him.

And as tears flooded his eyes, he fell to his knees above the glass over the void and cried into his hands, those three words on the tip of his tongue yet never spoken. In reality, he could only ever hate one thing about that man he called "Brother."

He hated how much he missed him.