Chapter Text
The boy slowly walks through the snow. Cold, lethargic. Hands sliced and scratched and numb to the point that he can’t move his fingers. Legs aching. Yellowing bruises littering his skin. Torn clothes holding the undeniable scent of smoke and gunpowder; of disaster. Yet the physical pain can never compare to the shattered remains of his heart. Friends don’t blow up homes, do they? They don’t manipulate, terrorize, abuse.
He was never my friend.
Tommy misses Tubbo. He misses the warmth of his home - even just the small amount of comfort Logstedshire brought him. He misses seeing people. He had come so close to ending everything. To plummeting through the air, waiting for the impact that would gently take him away to a peaceful place. He could drift slowly into nothingness. But he couldn’t give up. For Tubbo, he thinks.
Hang in there for Tubbo.
The stars shine bright above him, mocking him. He remembers sitting on the bench with Tubbo, looking at those same stars. He remembers long nights with Wilbur in Pogtopia. He remembers being happy. Thinking back, he can’t remember the last time he was happy. Truly happy. Not since Wilbur blew up L’manberg and died. Not since Dream blew up Logstedshire. History repeats itself. Tommy knows this by now.
And now, if everything works out fairly, Dream should die.
But he won’t. Tommy knows this.
He spits at the ground bitterly.
Life isn’t fair.
Immediately, guilt sets in. He just wished death upon the closest thing he had to a friend. Tommy looks around nervously, half expecting Dream to pop out from behind a tree and berate him for his traitorous thoughts. To punish him for them. Maybe he’d beat Tommy until he was on the brink of death, and then heal him. Maybe he’d hold Tommy under the water until his lungs burned, ached, split in half. Maybe he’d tie Tommy up over a roaring fire and listen to the boy whimpering as his skin slowly blistered, blackened, crisped. Tommy shakes his head.
Dream’s not here. I’m alone.
The wind shifts around him, whistling through the towering spruce trees. A rabbit bounds through the snow.
Oh, what I’d give to be carefree like that again, he thinks. He doesn’t know where he’s going, what he planned to do after his escape.
I can’t go back now.
He searches through his salvaged items - pictures of him and Tubbo, and of course, his compass. My Tubbo, it reads. The cold weight in his hand is enough to bring his muddled brain into a more logical state.
Food, Tommy thinks.
I need food.
But the landscape is bare, apart from the many spruce trees surrounding him. No farms, no villages, not even a shred of man-made light. Tommy is screwed. “Fuck,” he whispers shakily. Hot tears threaten to spill from his eyes, and he blinks them away.
I’m lost. I’m lost in this fucking snow and I have no food, weapons, anything. If a zombie comes along I’m dead meat. I’m going to die out here.
Nevertheless, he keeps trudging along. He doesn’t know how, but a small flicker of hope still lives within him; just enough to keep his heart warm, even in the freezing snow.
He reaches the end of the spruce forest, feeling the small spark of hope grow larger and larger. Surely there must be something, someone, here to help him. And he’s right. He can hardly see it in the faint light of the stars, but it’s there regardless. A footprint in the snow. Followed by another, and another. His heart races. His excitement means he fails to see the second pair of footprints, the arrows scattered on the ground, the hostile eyes watching him from the darkness of a cave.
This is finally it! Someone is here to help me! I can eat, and sleep, and get warm!
He picks up the pace as he follows the trail of footprints, forgetting about his previous tiredness completely. The trail leads him across the snowy field, and then abruptly stops in front of a cave.
There has to be someone living in this cave…
Not quite as carefully as he should, Tommy creeps into the cave and calls out. “Hello?” His voice echoes. “Anybody here?” He ventures deeper into the cave, hoping for somebody, anybody, who can help him.
It’s pitch black. Tommy has no torch and is forced to squint in the inky darkness to catch a glimpse of the surrounding cave. He hears a creaking sound in front of him, but disregards it and continues walking forwards. He doesn’t need to strain his eyes for long, though, since the room was suddenly flooding with deceivingly warm light. Tommy blinks furiously and spots a torch standing alone in the middle of the cave.
What the…
He hears the creaking again.
What is that sound? A cold feeling of foreboding rolls over him. He shouldn’t be here. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to turn around and leave. But it’s too late. A harsh, raspy laugh echoes around the boy. He whips around and sees a crossbow, loaded and aimed directly at his chest.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck.
He’s unarmed, weak. His trembling legs can barely hold him up. He’s hardly fit for a fight. And especially not with the creature in front of him.
The aforementioned creature has dusty-looking skin, in an awful shade of grey. Its dull eyes are cruel and unforgiving. They shine with a cold hunger for blood. Its mouth is set in a firm line. Tommy stumbles backwards desperately, forced to look up at the thing that seems to tower above him. Another laugh sounds, this time from behind him. He swivels again, only to be faced by another of the same creature (also with a loaded crossbow). Tommy can’t move. He’s rooted to the spot and absolutely terrified.
Pain. A hot spike of it. It bites through the cold, through the numbness holding him to his spot on the floor. He cries out, falls to his knees on the cold stone floor. His fingers tremble as he reaches back towards his shoulder. Feeling the shaft of the arrow buried deep inside his shoulder makes him want to gag. He rips it out of his shoulder, yelling in pure agony.
Mother trucker dude, that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick! [Sorry, I had to do it]
Tears start to trickle from his eyes as he looks down at his bloodied hands, at the arrow tip dripping a deep red. Tommy can only imagine what the mess on his shoulder looks like.
He scrambles to get up, only to be shot down again, the arrow landing in his upper thigh this time. He screams again. “Please…” He whispers hoarsely, truly crying now. Another arrow, embedded in his hip. He writhes on the floor.
This is my punishment for leaving Dream, isn’t it? I’m going to die here, alone.
He sniffles, winces silently as another arrow lodges itself near his collarbone.
I should never have left him.
He was all I had.