#dsmp ndaod god of loss

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

—

“You’re not going to die, okay? It’s only three more days. You’ll be fine,” Tommy had said, locked into the rigid belief that Wilbur would survive another few days until the stabilizer arrived.

But Wilbur died. He was dead. He breathed his last breath some time in the early hours of the morning, and Tommy… He’d been there. What more could he have done?

Nothing.

He tried everything. It didn’t matter how hard he pleaded with the universe. It was over. And he failed.

—

Or: The au of ndaod in which Wilbur is dead, Tubbo and Ranboo try to help, and Tommy…

Read on AO3

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

—

“You’re not going to die, okay? It’s only three more days. You’ll be fine,” Tommy had said, locked into the rigid belief that Wilbur would survive another few days until the stabilizer arrived.

But Wilbur died. He was dead. He breathed his last breath some time in the early hours of the morning, and Tommy… He’d been there. What more could he have done?

Nothing.

He tried everything. It didn’t matter how hard he pleaded with the universe. It was over. And he failed.

—

Or: The au of ndaod in which Wilbur is dead, Tubbo and Ranboo try to help, and Tommy…

Read on AO3

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part One: If It's Small Enough to Carry — Snippet One

Next —>>>

Summary: Tommy woke up to a knock at his door around an hour later. The quick taps in quick succession startled him out of whatever trance he’d been in since—

I love you too.

Goodbye.

“Tommy?” Tubbo called through the door, voice careful and gentle. “We’re here. Can you let us in?”

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit's an Old Design where Karl doesn't show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother's death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit's an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

—

Tommy woke up to a knock at his door around an hour later. The taps in quick succession startled him out of whatever trance he’d been in since—

I love you too.

Goodbye.

“Tommy?” Tubbo called through the door, voice careful and gentle. “We’re here. Can you let us in?”

He couldn’t get up, trapped under a weightless boulder that kept him in place next to his brother. Wilbur’s forehead still pressed against his, an invisible magnet to hold him still. He could still feel the warmth radiating off of his brother; it didn’t leave as quickly as he had thought it would. He curled the blankets around them both, trying by some futile measure to conserve that warmth for as long as possible.

“Tommy, he will phase through the door, and I’m not going to stop him.”

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as shuffle over to face them. His friends could get in on their own.

The door opened, then closed, then two pairs of footsteps came towards him slowly and carefully.

Tommy pressed his face into the pillow, trying hard to avoid their gazes and breathing in the lavender-scented laundry detergent.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Tommy slowly rolled onto his back to face them. He knew he looked awful, eyes red and swollen from crying for nearly an hour. Tubbo stared down at him, eyes wet as he took in Tommy’s current state. His friend pulled him into an embrace, Ranboo quickly joining in from the side.

They didn’t let go. Not as Tommy ruined Tubbo’s school jacket with tears and snot. Not as he tried to push them away to curl back into the blankets next to his brother. Not as he broke, over and over again until he fell to a thousand shattered pieces on the floor next to his bed.

His friends picked up what pieces they could, carefully collecting them to be glued back together when he had the strength. He didn’t know how long it would be until that happened.

Tubbo called Niki, who arrived in less than twenty minutes. She called Puffy, who called someone else to come over to collect the body.

No.

Please, no.

Don’t take him away yet, please no—

Tommy didn’t—

He didn’t want that.

His thoughts were jumbled like a box of razors. He couldn’t even hope to make sense of them before they tore his mind to shreds, and he didn’t want to unpack the countless anxieties and memories that would tear him to pieces if he opened it.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Tubbo and Ranboo sat with him, never leaving him alone for more than a moment. Ranboo kept one arm constantly draped over Tommy’s shoulders, and Tommy found himself leaning into his taller friend. Tubbo handed him a granola bar at some point, and Tommy nibbled on it until Tubbo deemed it enough.

When the people stepped through the door to take his brother away, he stood in front of them for too many seconds until Niki shuffled him out of the way.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

He had never had much to begin with. An asshole of a father, an absent mother, an empty house, a tiny apartment, shoes that he’d outgrown a year ago, a sweater that the dry cleaners gave him back a size too small, two uncomfortable plastic chairs at a table only just big enough to fit two pairs of long legs beneath it.

But he always had Wilbur.

Through every setback and despair.

It wasn’t fair.

Why did he get dealt the shit hand? Why did some people survive to their sixties with their entire families intact, and Tommy’s had crumbled away before he was old enough to drink to dull out the sorrow? Why couldn’t the loss be spread around evenly? Why did he have to be the collector of it all?

Tommy held on to Wilbur’s hand as they left, his brother laying peacefully on a stretcher as they carefully lowered him down the stairs and into the street below. His friends stayed by his side, picking up the broken pieces that Tommy left behind as they walked.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

His rest didn’t last long. Fleeting images of faceless figures looming over him haunted his sleep, followed by the distinct feeling that Wilbur should have been there, but he wasn’t.

Tommy woke up with tears already on his cheeks. He raised his head to look around the room. Only the darkness and the distant sounds of a police siren greeted him.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

—

“You’re not going to die, okay? It’s only three more days. You’ll be fine,” Tommy had said, locked into the rigid belief that Wilbur would survive another few days until the stabilizer arrived.

But Wilbur died. He was dead. He breathed his last breath some time in the early hours of the morning, and Tommy… He’d been there. What more could he have done?

Nothing.

He tried everything. It didn’t matter how hard he pleaded with the universe. It was over. And he failed.

—

Or: The au of ndaod in which Wilbur is dead, Tubbo and Ranboo try to help, and Tommy…

Read on AO3

One | Two | Three

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet One

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tommy had no fucking clue how his friends had managed to scrap together enough money for a small funeral service.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy had no fucking clue how his friends had managed to scrap together enough money for a small funeral service. He assumed Quackity had something to do with it. Said president stood in the back of the small church as the pastor said a short prayer. Tommy didn’t know what the point of that was. Wilbur had never been religious.

He sat in the front pew, with Ranboo on one side and Tubbo on the other. He hardly listened as the man gave the prayer, barely managing to keep his eyes from watering as they stared at the dark oak coffin to his left. Its silver trimmings reflected the rays of sun that filtered through the high windows near the ceiling.

Niki got up from the row behind him, Puffy close to her side. The couple gathered around the closed coffin, and Niki gently rested her hand on its edge, tears dripping from her eyes as she whispered something that Tommy couldn’t make out.

Tommy stayed in his seat as Niki walked over to stand in front of him. “Hi, Tommy,” she said softly, then sniffed and wiped her nose with the edge of the sleeve of her dress. “How are you feeling?”

He shook his head as a single tear escaped his left eye, and he quickly wiped it away. “Shit,” he mumbled, and Ranboo draped a lanky arm over his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she started off, then lost her voice halfway through the sentence. “Just wanted to say that if you need anything… I’m always here.”

Tommy nodded, then reached up as she bent down for a hug. “Thanks, Niki,” he whispered into her shoulder, breathing in the flowery scent of her perfume.

They left shortly after, leaving Tommy to a mostly empty church. Tubbo and Ranboo sat by his sides; Quackity stood in the back, seemingly waiting for everyone else to leave before making himself known. And an older lady sat on the opposite side, holding a forest green book tightly in her hands.

Tommy vaguely wondered if she had gotten lost. Or if she was one of those weirdos that crashed quiet funerals just to fill out the audience.

He inhaled deeply, nose filling with the smell of incense and melted wax from thrift store candles. Tommy cleared his throat and looked between his two friends. “Can I… can I have a moment? Alone?”

Tubbo reluctantly nodded and got up, Ranboo quickly trailing after him. “You’ll come out when you’re ready?”

“Mhm.”

As soon as they stepped out the front door, Quackity came up the aisle to his side, taking a seat where Tubbo had once been.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” he apologized quietly, fingers picking at the hems of his sharp black suit. “I’m so sorry.”

Tommy sniffed and shrugged weakly. “Not your fault, innit,” he croaked. “You tried.”

Quackity frowned. “But it wasn’t enough.”

No, it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, then stood up, making his way over to the casket to say a goodbye that Tommy didn’t hear.

Tommy stared at a spot on the floor after Quackity left, trying and failing to hold back the tears from spilling over again. He wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his suit jacket, borrowed from Tubbo, and pulled his knees to his chest, shoes on the bench.

He sat there until the tears finally stopped, what could have been hours or minutes later, alone in an empty church.

He looked up when the bench creaked, someone taking a seat beside him. The old lady who was either lost and confused, or just plain weird.

“Do I know you?” he asked, resting his cheek on one knee.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t, no. I just came to give you this.” She held out the book he had seen earlier.

He turned it over and looked at the cover, eyebrows furrowing as he read the title. A geography book?

“I used to be a geography teacher,” she explained. “Your brother and I rode the bus together, and I’ve been lending him my collection for a while now. But I thought you should keep this one.”

Tommy opened the book, eyes scanning over the detailed maps that covered its well-worn pages. “I—thank you,” he whispered.

She nodded. “Of course,” she said quietly. “He thought the world of you, you know.”

Tommy nodded, closing the book as tears threatened to fall again. “I know,” he choked out. “I know.”

The old woman left, leaving the church with the irregular sound of patterned taps as her heels clicked down the aisle to the back.

Tommy got out of his seat then, taking four steps to his left to the casket. He laid a hand on the cold shiny wood, tracing his fingers over the detailing along the edges, carved flowers and leaves.

Cold.

It shouldn’t be cold.

He took a deep breath and stilled his body’s shudders. “I love you,” he whispered, eyes locked on the box. “Please just—I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

The words trailed off as the lump in his throat became too much to speak around. Tommy inhaled a long breath, holding the air in his lungs, and stood there for another minute before crossing his arms over his eyes and laying his head down on top of the casket.

“I’m so sorry, Wil,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

For a thousand different things, for apologies that were too little and too late, for an unreturned goodbye, for not getting the stabilizer in time. He cried the words on repeat until he wore himself out, guilt eating away at his chest.

‘I love you too’, he hadn’t said, too caught up in his own stubbornness to give his brother a proper goodbye.

He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his voice to work properly again. When he felt like he could talk without breaking apart again, he stood up straight and uncrossed his arms, leaving his palms flat on the smooth surface of the wood.

Tommy looked around the church, at faded but intricate stained-glass windows close to the ceiling, at four rows of empty pews, at a small fountain on the other side, and at the image of a god that he didn’t believe in.

“I love you,” he breathed again, “so fucking much. And it’s—it’s not fair. It’s not fair that you—left. It’s not fair.” His voice cracked, and Tommy took a shuddering breath to right it. “We got dealt a shit hand, didn’t we?” he laughed weakly. “I just—I want you to know something, and it’s fucking important, so you better remember it. I know your memory’s kind of shit.”

He let out a long sigh, tapping his fingertips against the wood. “I’m gonna be okay,” he said. “Not for a long fucking time, and maybe not entirely. But mostly, I think. And that’s good enough, right? I’ll take what I can get. And I’m still gonna do shit. I’m still gonna live. I know you wouldn’t want me to just—I dunno—stop doing that. I still have people, and I still have stuff to do. Big man shit, you know how it is.”

Tommy whipped his head up as a crow cawed outside, then turned back to Wilbur. “One day, I’m gonna be really fucking happy again, Wil. I want you to know that because that’s what you’d want to know, right? You’d want to know I’m gonna be okay. But anyways, when that one day is here, you’re gonna be right there with me,” he said quietly, eyes quickly filling with new tears. “You’re never gonna stop being with me because I love you. And I don’t care if you’re dead, or if you’ve been dead for years, I’m never going to stop.”

He wiped the tears off his cheeks with his hands. “Do you understand?”

Tommy waited for a response that didn’t come, then softly whispered, “Good.”

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part One: If It's Small Enough to Carry — Snippet Three

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Hours later, Tommy trailed down behind Tubbo and Ranboo to a family dinner. He thought he could do it. He had eaten dinner with Tubbo’s family countless times before with his little siblings who liked to flick food at him sometimes.

This time, he didn’t make it ten minutes in before something set him off.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit's an Old Design where Karl doesn't show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother's death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit's an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Hours later, Tommy trailed down behind Tubbo and Ranboo to a family dinner. He thought he could do it. He had eaten dinner with Tubbo’s family countless times before with his little siblings who liked to flick food at him sometimes.

This time, he didn’t make it ten minutes in before something set him off.

The whole family stayed silent as they ate, understanding of the situation. Tommy ate his food in silence, tears seemingly done for the day, until one of Tubbo’s siblings poked him in the arm to ask for the salt.

It shouldn’t have been that. Maybe it wasn’t.

In seconds, he felt his eyes watering again, and Tommy quickly abandoned dinner to seek shelter in Tubbo’s bedroom. Finally, mercifully, alone to wonder why the fuck Tubbo’s sibling asking for the salt set it off again.

He didn’t stay alone for long.

Ranboo let himself in, settling himself on the couch next to Tommy to rub his shoulders and offer a shoulder to cry on.

Tommy didn’t want a shoulder, though. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to sleep, so his brain, devoid of any coherent thought, could take a break from its suffering and let him rest. He wanted something to eat. He wasn’t hungry. He wanted fresh air. He wanted to stay inside forever. He wanted to go home. He wanted to never go home again.

He wanted Wilbur.

Tommy covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow and cried into the darkness of Tubbo’s bedroom, with Ranboo right beside him, silently picking up the pieces.

—

Nighttime was hard. Tubbo let him sleep in his bed as Ranboo returned to his dorms. Tommy fell asleep almost instantly after changing into some borrowed pyjamas, his mind and body completely drained of energy. His friend pulled him into a hug, letting Tommy rest his head on Tubbo’s shoulder as he slept.

In the middle of the night, he woke up crying from a dream he couldn’t remember. Tubbo gently shushed him, and wrapped the blankets tightly around both of them, holding him close to his chest until he fell asleep again.

Well, Tubbo slept.

Tommy couldn’t find it in himself to rest.

His mind plagued him with visions of a hopeless future. Of being alone, despite knowing that he wouldn’t be. He couldn’t imagine this getting better. They said ‘all things heal with time’, but that’s assuming that there would be something left to heal at the end of this; Tommy was losing pieces by the minute. Tubbo and Ranboo could only collect so many before their arms were full, and Tommy didn’t want to cut them with his sharp and jagged edges.

He had experienced loss—in great quantities. His mother, first; his father, second, along with His home and everything not small enough to carry. And then Wilbur, in a tragedy that was so preventable.

All he’d had to do was use his powers.

Tommy wanted to hate him for that. It was selfish, wasn’t it? Leaving because he refused to use his powers, knowing full well that there were consequences for that? He wanted to hate him. He knew he couldn’t.

Whatever secrets Wilbur had, he had kept them to the grave. Even from Tommy. Even from his only remaining family.

And no, Tommy didn’t care what his power was, or even that it was dangerous. He would let Wilbur burn down the entire fucking city if it meant that his brother survived.

Tommy fiddled with the sleeve of Tubbo’s borrowed pyjamas, pushing the rising tears back down so that he wouldn’t wake his friend. Tubbo needed the sleep.

He closed his eyes and tried to rest.

His mind wouldn’t let him. Over and over again on repeat, like a looped audio recording playing through his ears:

No, you don’t understand. I love you.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet Three

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tommy took a walk. He traced his path to school from Tubbo’s house, then passed the beige brick exterior of the building and kept walking until he reached the beach. It wasn’t a nice beach by any means, not the kind that he had fantasized about when messing about with Wilbur, trying to come up with a dream vacation that would never happen.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy took a walk. He traced his path to school from Tubbo’s house, then passed the beige brick exterior of the building and kept walking until he reached the beach. It wasn’t a nice beach by any means, not the kind that he had fantasized about when messing about with Wilbur, trying to come up with a dream vacation that would never happen.

Trash littered the sand, and the water constantly smelled of shit and whatever chemical waste that came from the warehouse district up the river. Tommy found an empty bench on the seawall, watching pedestrians and cyclists pass by in front of him as he stared out at the polluted water and dirty beach.

The chilled wind brushed his hair, blowing curls in his face as Tommy shivered and pulled his puffer jacket around him tighter.

He was alone.

For the first time in fucking weeks, he had been left alone for more than an hour.

Tubbo had stuck to him like glue, hardly ever letting Tommy out of his sight. Ranboo did the same, and between the two of them, Tommy was never on his own. That was a good thing, he thought. He probably shouldn’t be by himself during all of this.

But Primes, he just needed a break for a little while. A little time to breathe, to organize his thoughts into something a little more coherent than just sad. To think about the future.

The sea is a good place to think of the future, Wilbur would say whenever Tommy got too stressed about some school project or another. Just go there and think for a bit.

He would, and Wilbur was always right about that. Tommy could think here. About what would happen a few hours from now, a few weeks, a few years—

Prime, he couldn’t imagine missing his brother like this for years.

Because unlike extra shifts and late buses and walking Niki home in the dark, he wouldn’t be coming back. Tommy tried to wrap his head around that. He had been trying to remember that the past few weeks.

Every time he finished dinner with Tubbo’s family, he took a step towards the coat closet. As if his feet had just grown accustomed to going back home after the meal was over. But every time, his mind turned him back around to help clear the table.

He had to go home at some point, Tommy knew. He had to collect the rest of his things—and Wilbur’s things—and sort out shit with the landlord, none of which he could stomach thinking about.

Wilbur’s—well, Tommy’s now—phone had been periodically sending him notifications from their bank. ‘Cheque bounced’ and ‘insufficient funds’ in bright red bolded letters at the top of the screen woke him up almost every morning. He had to sort it all out, eventually, but at the moment, the mere thought about going back to his apartment was too much.

One day.

The phone dinged—not the annoying bank notification, thank fuck—as a message from the Bench Trio group chat lit up the screen. Tommy brought the phone up to his face and opened it.

Where are you?

From Tubbo, who was probably worried as hell that Tommy had just vanished after lunch.

Just on a walk, he typed back, cold air nipping at his fingertips. I’ll be back soon.

The typing bubbles popped up on Tubbo’s end, a second set quickly following as Ranboo typed something as well.

Tubbo’s came first.

When?

You ok?

Tommy let out a long sigh. So much for being alone for a bit.

I’m fine. Walking back now.

He tucked the phone away into his pocket as he got up from the wooden bench and started on his way to Tubbo’s house. The sun glared at him through the grey clouds, and the wind’s teeth bit his nose and ears until they were a light shade of pink. Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets and power walked back.

Tubbo yanked the door open the second that Tommy rang the doorbell, then pulled him into a hug, Ranboo quickly joining from his side. “You scared me,” Tubbo muttered into Tommy’s shoulder. “Please don’t just disappear without telling anyone.”

Tommy awkwardly patted his friend’s back. “I’m fine. I just wanted to be alone for a bit. Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Just—tell someone next time?”

Tommy nodded, breaking away from their embrace. “I will.”

They stepped inside, and Tommy hung up his coat in the closet beside the door. He realized, as he pulled off his slightly muddy shoes, that as scared as Tommy was of losing his friends, they were scared of losing him.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part One: If It's Small Enough to Carry — Snippet Two

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: They went to Tubbo’s house afterwards, Tommy unwilling to go back into the dark apartment that had two of everything. Two chairs, two pillows, two plates, two sets of cutlery, two toothbrushes. He couldn’t go back and imagine all of it slowly turning into one.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit's an Old Design where Karl doesn't show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother's death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit's an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

They went to Tubbo’s house afterwards, Tommy unwilling to go back into the dark apartment that had two of everything. Two chairs, two pillows, two plates, two sets of cutlery, two toothbrushes. He couldn’t go back and imagine all of it slowly turning into one.

Tubbo’s mom came to pick them up in her silver SUV, parked haphazardly on the side of the road. They climbed into the backseat as Tommy winced at the sun shining brightly overhead into his eyes. Tubbo took the left, Ranboo took the right, and Tommy squished between the two of them, still wearing his pyjamas from last night.

He stared at the little screen on the car’s dashboard that showed the name of the songs playing on the muted radio. The letters ran through it like a snake, coming in through one end of the screen, then out the other. The car’s air conditioning ran in the background, a quiet humming noise that threatened to lull him to sleep, along with the car’s pleasant air-freshener.

It took twenty minutes to reach Tubbo’s house from his, going down Oak Street and over the bridge, tracing Tommy’s walk to school until eventually pulling off into Tubbo’s driveway. His friends shuffled him upstairs, and Tommy immediately collapsed into Tubbo’s couch in his room, silently praying the furniture would swallow him whole.

“Do you want to talk?” Tubbo asked quietly, gently taking a seat beside him.

Ranboo took the other side. “Or, if you don’t, that’s fine too. You don’t have to.”

Tommy shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice to talk if he tried.

“Do you want us to talk?” Ranboo tried.

A nod.

“About today?”

No.

He shook his head again.

“About anything else?”

A slight nod as he rested his head onto Tubbo’s shoulder.

Tubbo swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing up and down, before Tommy closed his eyes. His voice came out heavy and thick. “Y’know the spider that the biology teacher keeps as a pet?” He sniffed and wiped stray tears away from his eyes. “It laid eggs yesterday. And then some kid stole the hamster from the Spanish teacher’s room so that it would eat them. But—”

Tubbo kept going, sharing random school stories that Tommy already knew the endings to. His friend’s voice gave out eventually, and Ranboo picked up where he left off, telling tales from his apprenticeship training, where apparently, everyone made fun of Philza Minecraft for being old.

Tommy started crying again halfway through a story about Technoblade scaring some kid half to death with weapons training. He dissolved into sobs by the end of it, falling over into Tubbo’s lap as his friend held his shaking shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tubbo assured, voice thick and full of stifled sobs. “Maybe not now, but it will be.”

Tommy shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “How?” he sobbed, sniffing and wiping tears away from his eyes. His voice came out broken, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his throat and expected him to be able to speak with a crushed windpipe. “How is it going to be fucking okay?”

Ranboo rubbed his shoulders, then wrapped him in a hug from behind. “You’re not alone. We’re gonna be here for everything, okay? We’re never leaving you.”

“Promise,” Tubbo quickly added.

“Promise.”

Tommy sniffed again, desperately trying to get air to his lungs through his closed throat. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can.”

He shook his head against Tubbo’s leg. “He said the same thing.”

They both understood who he was talking about, and neither had a response of assurance for him.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

—

"You’re not going to die, okay? It’s only three more days. You’ll be fine,” Tommy had said, locked into the rigid belief that Wilbur would survive another few days until the stabilizer arrived.

But Wilbur died. He was dead. He breathed his last breath some time in the early hours of the morning, and Tommy… He’d been there. What more could he have done?

Nothing.

He tried everything. It didn’t matter how hard he pleaded with the universe. It was over. And he failed.

—

Or: The au of ndaod in which Wilbur is dead, Tubbo and Ranboo try to help, and Tommy...

Read on AO3

One | Two

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet Two

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tubbo was shaken awake by what had to be Tommy pulling on his arm. “Tommy?” he asked, voice still slurred with sleep. He blinked his eyes open, staring into Tommy’s wide blue orbs that scanned over his face, searching for something. “What’s wrong?”

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tubbo was shaken awake by what had to be Tommy pulling on his arm. “Tommy?” he asked, voice still slurred with sleep. He blinked his eyes open, staring into Tommy’s wide blue orbs that scanned over his face, searching for something. “What’s wrong?”

His friend shook his head, then settled back down, rolling over to his side of the bed and taking half of Tubbo’s blankets with him. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

Tubbo rolled onto his side to face him, gently placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Nightmares again?”

He hummed, but kept facing the wall.

“Wanna talk about it? Might be good for you,” he suggested lightly.

Tommy shrugged and pulled the blankets tighter around him. “It’s stupid shit, anyways. My brain’s just being an asshole.” He sniffed and pressed his face into the pillow.

“I don’t mind,” Tubbo said, shifting closer. “And it can’t be stupid if it’s bothering you.”

Tommy didn’t move, just took a long, deep breath. “I keep—it’s stupid, I know—I keep thinking you’re dead.” The air came out shakily in a shuddered gasp. “He was just sleeping, y’know? And then—and then he was dead. And I just have to—have to make sure.”

Make sure that you’re not, he didn’t finish the sentence with.

Tubbo squinted through the darkness of the bedroom into the back of Tommy’s golden curls. “I’m not going to die, boss man. I’m fine. Promise.”

“Told you it was stupid.”

He shook his head. “No, you said it better. Your brain’s just being an asshole right now.”

“Is it gonna stop?”

“One day, I’m sure.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

Tommy rolled over, stifling a sob with his palm, and Tubbo could make out the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. “It’s only been a week, Tubbo. How the fuck am I supposed to go the rest of my life like this?”

Tubbo pulled him over until Tommy’s head rested on his shoulder, face pressed against his pyjama shirt as tears dripped down onto the fabric. “You won’t. It’s gonna get better. It’ll be okay.” He rubbed his shoulders with the tips of his fingers. “And we’ll be here the entire time. Me and Ranboo both. We’re not leaving you.”

Tommy sniffed and wiped at his face with his palm. “I know that. I just—it’s just hard. I don’t know how else to—it’s such a fucking understatement to say that ‘it’s just hard’, but…”

“You don’t know how to say the other things?”

“I’m not very good with words, Tubso,” he explained quietly. “Or maybe it’s that the words don’t fucking exist yet. Like, nobody who could understand this had the strength to come up with them. And I wish I could, but—I… I’m not very good with words.”

“That’s all right. I know what you mean.”

“And every time I try to say what I’m feeling, it just—it doesn’t come out right? It sounds weak, like some PG version of my brain that’s been through a million fucking filters until it’s just me being sad. But even that’s not right, Tubbo. I don’t—” He cut himself off with a frustrated growl in his throat, shoulders tensing with the sound.

“Just breathe,” he soothed, rubbing at the tension between his shoulders. “Just breathe. Take your time.”

Tommy nodded against him and draped an arm over Tubbo’s chest to pull himself closer. “It’s hard, Tubbo.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate this, and I miss him, and I’m sad all the fucking time.”

Tubbo nodded, swallowing the lump that lodged itself in his throat. “I know,” he managed to choke out before a quiet cry.

“They’re all fucking understatements, Tubbo. Every one of them.”

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Three: You and I Can Call It Home — Snippet Two

<<<—Prev

Summary: “You lied to me, you fucker,” Tommy accused, pointing a finger at the stone as he sat down and crossed his legs, sliding his backpack off into the slightly damp ground beside him.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

“You lied to me, you fucker,” Tommy accused, pointing a finger at the stone as he sat down and crossed his legs, sliding his backpack off into the slightly damp ground beside him. He unzipped the top and pulled out the thermos, then a wrapped metal spoon. As he twisted the lid off, the smell of curry filled the chilly air, and Tommy inhaled a long breath of the familiar smell.

“Ah, that’s better,” he sighed, dipping the spoon into the hot food. “Tubbo was probably getting tired of me forcing him to make curry every other day.” His friend had let it happen though, every time, even if it was with an increasingly reluctant groan as he walked into the kitchen. “But that’s not the point. You told me you came up with this yourself, but no—” Tommy drawled out the last syllable, waving the spoon around in the air, “—an old lady on the bus gave this to you. You lying asshole.”

Tommy took a bite of curry, then leaned back until his head rested on the grass next to the stone. He set the thermos aside by his bag so that he wouldn’t accidentally knock it over.

“I went to the apartment yesterday,” he said, staring up at the grey clouds, the midday sun poking through the gaps in little threads of light. “I got all the stuff. Well, all the important stuff. Prime knows you would be happy to never see those fucking plastic chairs again.” He let out a short huff of a laugh.

“I got all the clothes, and the deck of cards, and the plates and your mug.” He paused to weave his fingers together on top of his stomach. “And I found the chocolate chips you hid under the sink, dickhead. I knew you hadn’t eaten them all.”

A bird chirped in the tree overhead, and Tommy caught a flash of orange as it took flight.

“I found some other things too,” Tommy added, eyes flicking to his left and right. “Things that I don’t think you wanted me to know about. I don’t—I don’t know why there was a gun under the bed. I don’t think I want to know. Or maybe I do. I’m sure you had a good reason, right? You must’ve.”

To protect me, Tommy thought and settled on that as answer enough.

It’s not safe for you to know.

He could live with those answers. Wilbur would have told him if he thought Tommy should know.

“I mean, you didn’t even like movies with a lot of shooting and shit, so I’m sure there was a reason for… that. I threw it in the river, by the way. I didn’t think you needed it anymore, and I sure as fuck don’t want it.

“There was something else too, from… before. A bunch of identification papers and shit. I know you don’t like to talk about that, and I don’t either, to be honest. But it might be a good idea, I think. I might start doing that when I come here, just saying little pieces that I remember.”

Tommy pulled himself into a sitting position as he rambled on about other things as he finished off the rest of the curry. He wanted to go back to school in a few days. Tubbo and Ranboo were going to take him ice skating when the rink opened up downtown. Ranboo got a new favourite Pokémon, and Tommy was going to make him a patch of it for his birthday in the spring.

“I miss you,” he sighed, when he had said all he could think of. “I love you. And I’ll be back soon, yeah?” Tommy put away the food and picked his backpack off the ground, starting back to the parking lot where Tubbo and Ranboo were waiting for him.

As he stepped off the grass into the paved driveway area, he caught a familiar figure leaning against an old oak tree. He squinted at them until he made out the purple of their hoodie and the familiar wave sent his way.

“Hi Karl.”

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part One: If It's Small Enough to Carry — Snippet Four

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tommy woke up to a missing Tubbo and an open window that let sunlight stream down onto his face. The door to the bedroom was left slightly ajar, leaking in noise from the kitchen below, quiet talking and the clatter of dishes. He pressed his face back into the pillow and went back to sleep, unwilling to think about anything at all.

But life didn’t work that way.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit's an Old Design where Karl doesn't show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother's death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit's an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy woke up to a missing Tubbo and an open window that let sunlight stream down onto his face. The door to the bedroom was left slightly ajar, leaking in noise from the kitchen below, quiet talking and the clatter of dishes. He pressed his face back into the pillow and went back to sleep, unwilling to think about anything at all.

But life didn’t work that way.

A few minutes later, Tubbo appeared in the doorway still in pyjamas, entering the room and digging through his closet. He brought a yellow hoodie to his nose and smelled it before tossing it to Tommy, then pulled a pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer.

“For you,” he said with a slight smile, sliding out the door again with only his eyes poking around the edge. “I’ll leave so you can change.” The door softly closed behind him.

Tommy reluctantly pulled himself out of the warm covers to change out of his—well, Tubbo’s—pyjamas. He pulled the hoodie over his head, drawing the strings tightly so that it left a single opening for his face, then opened the door to find Tubbo in the hall on his phone.

“Hey, Bossman,” he greeted quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Tommy lightly shrugged his shoulders. “Like shit.”

He nodded. “Understandable. Breakfast?”

“Have you eaten yet?”

Tubbo shook his head. “Wanted to eat with you.”

The thought of going downstairs and talking to people sent a wave of nausea through his stomach that almost made him refuse breakfast entirely. “Can we—” Tommy swallowed, voice thick and throat aching, “—can we eat up here?”

“Sure thing.”

Tubbo darted back downstairs as Tommy took a seat on the couch, pulling one of the spare blankets from the bed to wrap around his shoulders. His friend returned in less than a few minutes with two plates of pancakes, drizzled over with maple syrup and sliced strawberries.

Tommy took his plate with shaking hands. Pancakes were only for Christmas and Tommy’s birthday. Wilbur wasn’t a fan of them, but he’d let Tommy have the sweet breakfast treat a couple of times a year.

He pried his thoughts away from his brother and picked up the fork, quickly digging in and devouring the warm meal in less than five minutes. Primes, he was starving after hardly eating anything for a whole day.

Tubbo ate slower, taking his time with cutting the pancakes into little squares and matching each piece with a sliver of strawberry. “We should probably get some of your stuff,” he said through a bite.

“From my place?”

“Unless you have clothes elsewhere?”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Sometime this afternoon?” Tubbo suggested. “I mean, it’s already noon, so maybe in an hour or two?”

Tommy shrugged. “Sure. That works.”

—

He couldn’t do this.

Tommy had spent the entire car journey here giving himself a very long pep talk. And yet, standing outside the door of his building, he found himself panicking. He shook his head at the door when Tubbo waited there for him to take out his key.

“Can’t—” he got out before his voice broke.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t… why don’t you give me the keys, and I’ll grab some clothes and shit for you?”

Tommy nodded, sinking to a crouch on the disgusting pavement of the alleyway outside that always smelled like piss. “Okay.” He rested his forehead on his crossed arms on top of his legs.

“Okay. What do I need to get?”

Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat that had sealed his air pipes. “In the closet—the left shelf is mine and the right one is—is Wil’s.” (Was, his traitorous mind reminded him). He took a deep, shuddering breath. “My backpack’s on one of the chairs, I think. Or the floor. Probably the floor, actually.”

“Anything else?”

“Phone’s on the counter, and…” he trailed off, thinking about what else was in their apartment. “Water bottle’s in the kitchen. Top cabinet above the sink. The purple toothbrush is mine, and there’s a small sewing kit on the windowsill.”

Tubbo nodded, eyes trailing off as he repeated the list. “Left shelf, backpack, phone, water bottle is in the cabinet above the sink, purple toothbrush, and sewing kit by the window.”

Tommy handed him his key ring, a small Pokémon charm hanging off the side to identify it as his. Wil’s had a little globe in sepia colours, a gift from Niki for his birthday last year.

Tubbo disappeared into the building after gently shoving at the back door.

He came back a few minutes later with Tommy’s backpack slung over one shoulder and a black duffle bag over the other.

“Got everything?” Tommy asked, standing on cramped legs.

Tubbo hummed. “I’ve got you.” He handed off the duffle bag to Tommy. “This shit’s really heavy, so if you could just—”

Tommy took the bags from him.

Tubbo sighed in relief, stretching out his shoulders. “Thank you.”

He lightly snorted at him. “That was only two flights of stairs, Tubbo. And going down.”

“Yes, yes,” his friend waved him off. “I know. I have the stamina of a paper straw, or whatever.”

“It’s a pretty flimsy paper straw, Tubso. Just saying,” he teased lightly.

“Thank you,” he said dryly, ignoring the way that a small smile crept in at the edges of Tommy’s face, the first he’d seen of his friend in days.

Tommy didn’t mention it either, but he felt a tiny, singular, piece slide back into place.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Three: You and I Can Call It Home — Snippet Two

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tommy opened the backdoor to his apartment building, a bunch of flattened cardboard boxes and bubble wrap tucked under his armpit. He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar fluorescent lighting and the sharp smell of cheap cleaning agents.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy opened the backdoor to his apartment building, a bunch of flattened cardboard boxes and bubble wrap tucked under his armpit. He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar fluorescent lighting and the sharp smell of cheap cleaning agents. Instead of going right up the stairs, Tommy slowly walked to the main lobby that held all the mailboxes. He pulled out the key to open his and wasn’t surprised by the tidal wave of paper that threw itself at his feet.

He crouched down to pick it up, neatly organizing the papers into a pile that he shuffled through as he walked back to the stairwell.

Bills, sorry for your loss, bills, bills, sorry for your—

Tommy stopped flipping through when he got to the top of the stairs and saw the notice taped to his front door. Bright red in all caps letters read, ‘Eviction’. He pulled it off, folded the paper in half, and added it to the pile. The keys jingled around as he opened the door, and he left them in as he pushed it open, immediately taking in the dusty smell.

Of course. The window had been closed for over a month, and nobody had been inside in around the same amount of time.

He closed the creaky door behind him and flipped on the lights. Nothing happened.

Fuck, they turned off the electricity.

Tommy gave up on the lights and went over to the blinds, leaning over the table and tugging the string to open them. Light filled the room, illuminating the thin sheet of dust that covered the surface of, well, everything. Tommy ran a finger over the dust on the table, leaving a clean line through it, then brushed his hands together to get it off.

He looked around the room, taking in the sheer emptiness of the place. It was supposed to be bright in here, but not in the lighting way. It was supposed to be warm here, but not the temperature kind of warmth. It was supposed to be home, and instead it just looked empty. Abandoned.

Which, to be fair, he did kind of do.

Dust lined every surface, undisturbed except for where Tommy’s feet had stepped and the single trail he’d run through it on the table. The only source of light came from the small window beside the table, sunlight filtering through an overcast sky into an empty apartment.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. There was a lot of work to do.

Tommy opened the fridge, then immediately closed it.

That last, he decided, wafting away the smell.

He pulled out the bucket of cleaning supplies from the closet and got to work.

Floors, counters, table and chairs.

Vacuuming, scrubbing, wiping.

Laundry next.

He pulled all the sheets off the bed and carried them to the ground floor where the laundry room sat adjacent to the lobby. He put them in along with a splash of lavender-scented detergent, set the timer on his phone for forty-five minutes, then went back up to deal with the other shit.

He took a black plastic garbage bag with red pull-strings from under the sink and put everything in. There wasn’t much; they had been running low on food for days before Wilbur—

But there were still a few condiments and whatnot that straggled behind. All of it went into the bag, and Tommy brought it out the backdoor to the dumpster behind the building. Rain began to pour down on him the second he stepped outside, and by the time he got back in, droplets of water had gathered on the fringes of his curls.

He moved the laundry to the dryer on his way up, then took the stairs two at a time before going to the closet next.

He turned on the flashlight on his phone for a light source in the dark room. There, by the blue glow of the flashlight, he lay his eyes on an empty left shelf and a right one with three piles of clothes. One for sweaters and T-shirts, one for pants, and one for pyjamas.

Tommy picked up the yellow sweater on top of the first pile and pressed his nose into the fabric, inhaling the scent of the laundry detergent and a lingering smell of his brother. His back hit the opposite wall of the closet, and he slid down to the floor with the sweater clutched tightly to his chest. His eyes clenched shut, lips pressed firmly together as he tried to stifle a sob behind his hand.

He could still imagine him here. Still imagine arms wrapping around him and pulling him close. A bright, warm place that always meant safety and home. But Wilbur was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

Tommy sat on the floor until his back ached, and his legs were sore, then folded the sweater and set it back on the top of its pile.

He left the closet, then the room, then descended the stairs into the laundry room to collect the dry sheets. Bundling them all into a pile, he carried them up to the apartment and messily made the bed. He could never get the sheets to line up right; they always sat crooked whenever he tried to fold them under the mattress. Wilbur always had to help him with that part.

Making the bed isn’t supposed to be done alone, he thought as he struggled with the elastic fitted sheet. He tugged one corner over the mattress and the opposite one popped off. He got it eventually, awkwardly positioning his foot to keep it in place.

With cleaning finished, he started packing.

He folded the first sheet of cardboard into a box and went to the bathroom first, boxing the half-used shampoo bottles and bright red towels, and throwing out most of the rest of the used toiletries. Tommy went to the kitchen next, opening the cabinets and pulling out an old mug that he had gotten Wilbur for his birthday a few years ago. He held it in both hands, thumb running over the printed map along the side.

After wrapping the mug in a generous amount of bubble wrap, Tommy set it in a box.

He brought out the plates next, a pair of sturdy burgundy ones that Wilbur had bought from a thrift store for a dollar each because he thought Tommy would like the colour. He ran the pads of his fingers over the numerous scratches along the top of one of the plates. He wrapped those in bubble wrap too.

The cabinet door closed, and something inside fell over with a thud that echoed through the room.

Tommy opened it again, and stepped on his toes to look inside, spotting a thick textbook in the back. He pulled it out and blew off the dust on the cover. Geography.

Tommy scoffed at the book, but opened the first page to find a handwritten note at the beginning in fading pencil.

I think you’ll enjoy chapter 4 ;)

—Hisako

He flipped through the worn pages until he reached chapter four, and a small paper fell out and landed at his feet, one side jagged from where it had been ripped out of a notebook. He picked up the paper and read the title at the top.

Homemade Curry Recipe

Below it sprawled a list of ingredients and instructions written in fancy cursive.

Tommy smiled at the paper before returning it to its home at the beginning of chapter four, then tucked the textbook away at the bottom of the box.

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

Part Three: You and I Can Call It Home — Snippet One

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: “Anyways,” he said, turning back to the stone. “The point is that your last words should’ve been how to make your fucking curry, dickhead. This craving has been around for a month, and it is not going away any time soon, Big Dubs.”

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy twisted the lid off the thermos, fingers sliding along the navy blue cylinder. The smell of curry filled the chilled air as he watched the steam rise from the hot food inside. He crossed his legs on the slightly damp grass, water getting on his jeans and the bottom of his backpack that he’d dropped beside him. Tommy pulled a metal spoon out of the side pocket of his backpack, the tip wrapped in a half-sheet of paper towel. He took a bite of curry, then frowned.

“It’s not exactly the same,” he said to the small grey headstone in front of him, eyes flickering over the silver letters on the front. “Not quite yet. Tubbo’s a good cook, though,” Tommy added, dipping the spoon in again, then talking with his mouth full. “We’ll get it right one day. Pretty sure this is at least partly my fault. I’m pretty shit at explaining stuff. You know that.”

A chickadee chirped in the tree above him, and Tommy looked up at the cloudy grey sky to try to spot it. He caught a rustle of leaves, but missed the bird itself.

“Anyways,” he said, turning back to the stone. “The point is that your last words should’ve been how to make your fucking curry, dickhead. This craving has been around for a month, and it is not going away any time soon, Big Dubs.”

Tommy finished off the rest of his lunch in relative silence as a family passed by his spot, their youngest carrying a small bundle of purple flowers that Tommy mentally tried to name. He couldn’t come up with it, though, and returned his eyes to their original spot.

“Oh!” he exclaimed through a mouthful of curry. “I almost forgot.” He wrapped the spoon back in the paper towel and twisted the lid back onto the thermos, returning both to their pockets in his backpack. Out of the bottom, he pulled out a small yellow dandelion that miraculously hadn’t been crushed by all the other shit in his bag. He held it out by the stem and placed it in front of the stone. “Got you something. They’re coming out again, even though it’s, like, fucking zero degrees out here. Persistent little fuckers, I tell you.

“Tubbo’s mom doesn’t like them in the garden, so I’ve been helping her pick them all out. It’s good, I think. Distraction is good.”

His phone dinged in the pocket of his puffer jacket, the stupid annoying shrill of the bank app again.

Tommy rolled his eyes and pulled it out. “Not that kind of distraction,” he groaned, looking at the notification. He had been ignoring that problem for a month, and he didn’t plan on stopping now. Tommy opened the app to find that the most recent notification was about the rent payment. Attached to the bottom stuck a short note, a little reminder that he had ten days to get the rest of his stuff out of the apartment before he got evicted. “Fuck,” Tommy muttered to himself. “That’s… not good.”

He shoved it back into the pocket of his puffer jacket as the cold nipped at his fingertips. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, picking at his nails. “It’s just the bank shit I told you about before. I’m going back soon. I will. I can do it. It’s just… it’s a lot.

“And I tried a couple of weeks ago, you know. I even got all the way inside the building that time. But—well. You know how I get when something bad happens. I don’t—I can’t go back there. It’s just really hard, Wil.

“I talked about this shit with Tubbo, and I said that everything I say feels like an understatement. I just—don’t have the words to say what I’m feeling. They exist somewhere, I’m sure. He helped me try to find some, opened up a thesaurus and everything, that fucking nerd. But they’re just words, Wil. And I don’t think that’s enough.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and the lower half of his vision blurred. Tommy sniffed and wiped his runny nose—definitely that way because of the cold. Only the cold. Nothing else.

Tommy took a deep, shuddering breath as he wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I miss you. I need you,” he whispered shakily, voice breaking as he tried to get the words out, “I love you. That’s an understatement too.”

[tiny-cacti-magnet]

God of Loss

—

“You’re not going to die, okay? It’s only three more days. You’ll be fine,” Tommy had said, locked into the rigid belief that Wilbur would survive another few days until the stabilizer arrived.

But Wilbur died. He was dead. He breathed his last breath some time in the early hours of the morning, and Tommy… He’d been there. What more could he have done?

Nothing.

He tried everything. It didn’t matter how hard he pleaded with the universe. It was over. And he failed.

—

Or: The au of ndaod in which Wilbur is dead, Tubbo and Ranboo try to help, and Tommy…

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