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God of Loss

Part Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet One

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

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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 Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet Two

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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.”