End Of Days

22: Memories

Tommy had only taken a couple of things from his room when he and Tubbo finally mustered up the courage to leave.

He took his waterproof lacrosse bag, which he carefully tucked his shoe box in before stuffing it away inside his pack. He also took the KK Slider keychain that Techno had won him from the arcade in town on their very first outing. He knew that he didn't need to bring it with him, but he wanted to. He had a feeling that once they left, they would never be coming back.

Tubbo took his bee plushie and his school uniform tie, tucking both wordlessly away into his pack. Tommy didn't comment on it, and Tubbo didn't bring it up either. Keeping a little piece of Montville made it feel less like a distant dream or memory. It was reminding them that they were here, once. They had something. They had a place.

When they left the room, neither of them had the strength to look back.

But they weren't ready to leave -- not yet. They had to check everyone's rooms, just to be sure. They split off, Tommy heading towards Wilbur's room and Tubbo heading towards Ranboo's.

Tommy's breath caught in his throat as he stepped into his older brother's dorm and let the door fall gently closed behind him. There was nobody here, of course. It was an empty room, abandoned when the world ended, just like the rest of civilization. But it smelled like Wilbur, and for a moment Tommy felt like a little kid again.

He stepped gingerly into the room. His brother's bed was still made from when he'd woken up on the last good morning. His charger was still coiled around the leg of his nightstand. His guitar was still resting against his desk.

Tommy sat on the edge of the bed and picked the instrument up, pulling it carefully into his arms. He gave the strings a gentle strum, but the sound that came out lacked all the warmth and life that it had when Wilbur played. He put it down again after that, not wanting to put it out of tune.

Tommy didn't know how to tune a guitar by ear. Wilbur did, but Wilbur wasn't here. If his guitar went out of tune, it would likely stay that way forever. Tommy didn't know how to live with that.

He sat in his brother's room for a little while longer, just looking at the posters on the wall. He didn't have the strength to touch anything because he was somewhat afraid of ruining it. Fundy's notebooks cluttered his desk, and his laptop was still open. Just where he'd left it. Tommy didn't want to touch it. If he didn't touch it, he could pretend that Fundy might come back here some day.

Finally, Tommy let out a sigh. He kicked his shoes off and carefully pulled back Wilbur's covers. He crawled in and pulled them over the top, burying his face in the pillow and curling in on himself like he was a little kid who'd had a bad dream.

He could almost feel Wilbur's arms around him, promising that he was safe, that it was just a nightmare. The warm touch of an older brother's comfort, joking that he was a little gremlin with no malice behind the words. Storming nights made less scary from a hug and the gentle humming of a tune.

For a moment, Tommy was just a scared little kid hiding in his big brother's bed.

He wanted to stay here forever. He would be okay with that. He would be content. This was as good a place to die as any, after all. There were countless bodies on the road, their deaths painful and terrifying. Dying here in Wilbur's bed would be peaceful. It would be easy.

But he knew that Tubbo needed him. He knew that he had people to find. He couldn't rest yet. He wasn't done.

It was the hardest thing in the world to pull himself out of the bed, but he did it. He put his shoes back on and left the covers smoothed out, just as they'd been when he arrived. He stepped out of the dorm room, no longer a scared little kid, but a boy hardened by far too much pain in his sixteen years of life.