Tommyinnit Oneshots

Phone Calls (River Bed part 2)

A few people asked for a part two of River Bed and I'm kicking myself because I wrote one a little while ago that I was really proud of, but I didn't post it and ended up deleting it. I didn't want to try to rewrite it exactly, so I wrote this instead. I'm still pretty happy with this one though! By the way, I changed Tommy's last name to Stewart.

I'm pretty sure I said this would be out by Tuesday, so, uh... sorry! I lied :/

Just a heads up, it seems like Tommy comes back as a ghost in the end and you can interpret that however you want, but in Tubbo's part, it isn't Tommy as a ghost, it's just Tubbo getting a bit overwhelmed by memories.

TW: Suicide, anxiety/panic attack, swearing

Tubbo

"...In the river."

I remember asking where they found his body, but I wasn't able to focus on what they were saying until the very end. Everything was muffled and there was a pressure behind my eyes telling me to cry, so I did. The tears were hot and painful as they dripped off the bridge of my nose. 

"When?" I hear myself asking.

"Wednesday. The funeral is on Sunday."

Tommy is dead. He had died in a river on Wednesday. The funeral is on Sunday.

What day is it? I think it's Friday.

Tommy died two days ago.

I streamed with Ranboo that day. Does that mean it was my fault? Was it my fault he died?

The clock said I had been sitting here crying on the floor with the phone pressed against my ear for twenty minutes. Only then did it occur to me that they had disconnected long ago and I should probably do something to distract myself from the thoughts flying through my head because these questions were scary and I didn't want to be thinking them anymore.

So I got up and dusted off my overalls with the intention of planning the trip that I would be taking to Tommy's funeral on Sunday.

Then I started thinking again. What would the funeral be like? Would I cry or just feel empty? Would they have an open casket or was the damage to his body too gruesome to cover up? If I saw his face, would he look sleeping or dead?

How was I ever going to look at my dead friend? I didn't think I was capable of it but decided it was better than the alternative. I didn't want to have to look at the shiny wooden box all closed up tight with Tommy inside, having to imagine how lonely and dark it must be in there.

What was death like? Was Tommy at peace? Was he troubled? Was he in a nice place or somewhere so scary you can't imagine what it must be like? Was he just... gone? Nothingness?

Was he watching me right now?

Suddenly it was Tommy. Just Tommy. He wasn't here, but he was in my head. I could see him, laughing at some stupid meme or his own joke, I could see him calling me late at night when he's all soft and tired, and I could see his pale, limp body being carried along in a river somewhere.

I tried to focus from under the cacophony of different memories of Tommy's voice, but it was so, so loud. I could barely see the phone in my hands from behind my tears and the images of Tommy flashing in front of me, but somehow I was able to call Wilbur.

"Hello?"

"He's dead," I sobbed. "He's dead. He's dead."

"Tubbo, who's dead?!"