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And even though there’s no one to sell to, everyone retired to their own little edges of a blown-up world (or just gone), Tubbo raises the bees and their honey like he’s making a life of it. Maybe across a little pond (filtered and man-made, trying its best to avoid the lingering ash) his best friend lives. Maybe he waves to him every morning, most mornings, except for Tommy’s occasional strays from his pastures.
His best friend is gone today. He doesn’t know where, and the fear that might’ve rattled in him before, like old bolts long since rusted, is dormant.
—
“You like to be a gambler? Over an incompetent fight loser?” Tommy says drily.
He pauses.
“Well, I guess they’re not great options, are they,” Tommy concedes. “Sorry. That was harsh. I don’t see many people. Also, hey, you blew up my hotel.”
“And me,” he adds, like an afterthought. “That too.”
It takes Jack a moment, before he remembers. “Oh yeah, I did. I think I blew everything up, actually. My fault.”
“Hmph. Luckily, I’ve still got my one life—“
“—I mean, no one else is here anymore to complain about it, are they—“
“—And I intend to use it the best way I can.”
Tommy bursts out cackling at the annoyed look on Jack’s face. It’s a loud, short burst. Jack grimaces and lets out a snort, and then it’s quiet — a nice sort of quiet. Tommy knows the two apart. He likes this sort of silence a lot more.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says, after the moment’s passed. “But how do you want to use it?”
“Y’know,” Tommy muses, “I’ve got not a clue.”
There’s a peace in that. He used to hate the uncertainty, when the consequences of a wrong meant losing his best friend or his brother or himself. But now all that’s — all that’s buried. It’s buried beneath a thin, snowy layer of ash that lingers even on the fringes of their broken-down world, and it’s not going to come back.
He smiles softly. “But I’ll figure that out later.”
Because he has that now — a later. A future. He’s not just the bombs or the beach. He’s not just a boy anymore — Prime, he’s all grown, isn’t he? And he’s got one normal little life to live. Just one.
“Okay.”
The silence is nice, now, when it’s not sprinkled with fear. The silence is nice once the last bomb’s blown up and he can finally feel safe.
“You could come gamble with me,” Jack offers. He’s a bit lonely all by himself, but he’s got the big win ahead of him, Tommy knows. And he knows that Jack offers it as consolation, because Jack knows Tommy is settled. He’s done gambling — with his life, with others’ lives. And even if he were to go, simply for companionship, the smell would remind him of Wilbur, because most everything does. Techno too — even if their relationship was a bit rocky. Tommy wants to leave the past in the past, for once. A sort of healing.
“For now, I’ve got my cottage. My new pet! Awh,” Tommy sighs, “she’s adorable. Mareep. She’s a little sheep I caught.”
He pauses.
“I don’t want to gamble, Jack.”
It goes back to his brother, as all things do. It goes back to the lives he can’t have back now, the boys (now men!) that he could’ve been.
“Oh..” Jack mumbles, almost disappointed. Not really. Tommy knows real disappointment, the kind that stings; the kind that hurts. “Okay. More for me!”
Then they talk, for a little, and it’s nice. Jack wishes him well, which is something Tommy never really imagined. It’s all so new, this future, and he doesn’t really know how he got here. He doesn’t know how to handle peace, not after a life of war — but he’s learning, and it’s nice. That’s all there is to it. It’s nice, to just live.
“I might not see you again,” Tommy says, once their conversation’s died a little.
Jack sort-of smiles. Tommy — Tommy’s not quite sure how to interpret it. It’s something nice, he thinks. Something good. “That’s okay,” Jack replies.
Tommy adds, almost an afterthought: “But I hope to hear about it if you win big.”
Their final silence isn’t the type that comes before an explosion (which is the type Tommy knows best). It’s nice. And that’s what it comes back to, at the end of the day: it’s nice.
“So long, J Money,” Tommy mumbles.
Jack scoffs at the name, but he likes the confidence. Even if it’s not how Tommy means it — he’s going to win big. He deserves a big win, after everything.
“Bye bye, Big T.”
—
Tommy returns before sundown with the Arctic snow barely melted off his coat. Tubbo’s waiting for him on the porch.
“I fed Mareep for you. I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”
Tommy smiles. “Thanks, man. Good to know you appreciate a true goddess.”
Tubbo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me one, Big T. A big fat one.”
“For feeding my sheep?”
“Absolutely,” Tubbo says. Tommy knows he owes him more than that. He’s known it since the day Tubbo took a firework to the face and any hope of normalcy was killed, though it might’ve been before that. That’s what solidified it.
The scars aren’t as visible now.
“Yeah, well, anyways, you know I’ll always be back. Thanks, though.”
Tubbo gives him a mocking two-fingered salute, and it’s nice that it doesn’t hurt to see it anymore.
“‘Night, Tubs.”
“‘Night.”