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Thantophobia

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Tubbo knelt by the bedside, fear settled in his heart. It used to be a meadow where people laughed and he sang, but now his best friend lay on death bed.

He looked so peaceful, his chest rising up and down slowly with fresh bandages and soft snores. It’d be a nice and cute sight if not for the monitor beeping and white walls of the hospital.

After the war, what was short of it, they built everything on stilts as planned. The problem was when Tommy went to sleep early the sixteenth, he never woke up. He seemed fine, a little groggy, sure, but fine when listening to discs together with his buddy.

So why wouldn’t he wake up? Every day, Tubbo, the new found President, would wake up, pick flowers from the bee farm, pick a disc, and visit Tommy. It was his routine. He brought him food daily, just in case.

Ponk knocked on the door, his doctor skin being once more adorned. The clipboard in his hand was for the day’s vitals and visitors. Tubbo had already signed in, as well as surveyed the results of the night.

Wilbur hadn’t logged on again, but Philza was there for Tubbo and Tommy. Techno blade tried hard to not care, but this was one of his brothers laying in life support.

Oh yes. Tommy was on life support although it had only been a week. His heart had a hard time beating and apparently his chest had caved in from rubble.

If Wilbur did log in, Tubbo wasn’t sure how he would feel. If he’d be angry or not.

Vitals were as normal, perhaps a little lower. Ponk looked worried, which made Tubbo worried. Even more. What was wrong with what was wrong? How could it get worse?

“Ponk—“

“Tubbo, I have bad news…”

“What?”

Ponk clicked his pen repeatedly. “He isn’t breathing.”

Tubbo stood from the metal chair abruptly, a glance at his friend's monitor. He had tuned out the dull tone.

“Well? What are you doing? Ponk! Save him! Fucking— Save Tommy, Ponk.”

“We don’t have that equipment, Tubbo—“

“So get it!”

Tubbo sobbed, a mixture of rage and regret flowing through him. They should’ve just ran away. Why didn’t Tommy go with him? They could’ve been happy.

“Save him,” Tubbo whimpered, feeling pathetic being so helpless.

“I’m sorry, Tubb, I can’t.” Pink put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, which was lightly shrugged away with little effort.

“I don’t want to be president without him. I don’t want to live without him.”

“Tubbo…”

Tubbo wiped at his wet face, eyes painfully thrumming. “Ponk. Leave me.”

“Yes s—… Okay.” Ponk turned solemnly, leaving the clipboard with empty spaces.

Tubbo wept, silently grasping his friend’s hand, clutching his friend’s bandana around his neck. Phil was waiting outside, watching his son be held like a dead dog. Wh… why?

“This is Wilbur’s fault…” Tubbo whispered under his breath, “He won’t get away with this…”

“My son?”

“Phil?”

“Tubbo— what…?”

Tubbo looked up at him leaning in the doorway.

“Wilbur killed Tommy.”

“That’s impossible, Tubbo. I had my eyes on Wilbur the entire time and—“

“Indirectly or not! He did it! And he will pay, Philza! Are you on his side, or mine?”

Philza looked at the sword in his hotbar that Wilbur had been slain with. That he had slain Wilbur with.

“Yours.” He lied, clueless to the truth.

“The walls go back up. Wilbur will never! Be let back in this sacred land for what he has done! He is a criminal, now. Anyone affiliated with him is in the same stream. Tell everyone you know, Philza Minecraft, that Wilbur is banished for crimes against his own brother and my nation. He is a terrorist, and a murderer!”

“Tubbo, are you sure?”

“You yourself said you could never be proud of a terrorist. So don’t stick up for him now.”

“Yes, Tubbo.”

Tubbo ran his hair into the old style, the slicked back hair to show off two tiny horns. A hairstyle enforced by a tyrant.

“Call me sir.”