Chapter Text
It was one thing to be left alone, it's another to leave of your own accord.
Tommy hadn't thought about that.
He'd been forced to leave so many times, it never occurred to him that he could choose to go.
He'd never wanted to before.
He'd had Tubbo and Wilbur and all his friends!
But all he has now is Dream.
Even the ghost of his stupid dead brother left him.
It's clear they don't want to see him.
He barely thinks about it as he gathers his items in the small tent.
He's managed to scrounge up some wood and hide it from Dream. It's enough to build him a boat.
As much as he doesn't want to come close to the water after waking up nearly drowning, it's the only way he can go without Dream tracking him down.
He sets the crude raft into the tide and turns his back against the sun as he rows away from everything he's ever known.
It's uncomfortably warm against his back.
His clothes are stiff from the salty air and his arms are sore.
He's never been great in the water, but he knows well enough to tell a storm's brewing by the churn of the waves and the darkening sky.
He hopes it'll blow over. That he'll reach land before it does.
When it hits, the storm hits hard.
Tommy tries in vain to row over the waves, which toss him all around.
He's broken an oar and gained a nasty gash on his leg, the salty ocean stinging in the wound is all that reminds him he's even still alive.
It doesn't take long for the storm to take him, a large wave crashing around him as his poorly made boat shatters.
His eyes sting with seawater as his vision goes blurry and vades.
He isn't concerned when the last thing he thinks is a wish that he doesn't wake up.
She hadn't been expecting an eventful day when she took the children to the beach.
It had been quite the storm the night before and they like to find shells that wash up after the tides.
She had most definitely not expected to find a young man, passed out on the sand.
With the wound she can see on his leg, he may even be dead.
Telling the children to look away, she approaches.
A tentative hand placed on his inner wrist lets her know his heart still beats, and she sets to work immediately.
"Harley! Go get the cleric!" She shouts to the oldest boy, he's nearly 14 years old.
She turns her attention back to her new patient.
He's breathing, which is a good sign, but it's fast and uneven.
She gently touches the skin around his wound, it's warm and puffy.
Infection. Her mind supplies.
The cleric and his team arrive and take over, telling her the boy will likely need surgery.
She nods and takes the children back to the cottage.
They wait for any news on the stranger from the sea.
Not much happens in the small coastal town, they only have a festival once a year in the winter.
News of this boy is already widespread, some of cleric Hoff's nurses aren't exactly tight-lipped.
She has to wait until morning for the news.
He's still asleep when she's allowed to come to see him.
His face contorts, she can't tell if he's in pain.
He wakes very soon after she puts her hand on his in an attempt to comfort him.
"Hello there dear…" she says as kindly as she does for the young children.
"Wh-where am I?" His voice is rough, as if he hasn't spoken in weeks.
"You're in a hospital, in Mosshall," she tells him, "My name is Kristen, what about you, hm? Do you have a name?"
He makes a face of confusion.
"I've never heard of Mosshall," He says, seemingly ignoring her request for his name.
"You've had a tough time haven't you?"
Kristin's not sure where the question comes from, maybe it's the scars that litter his arms and hands or the look in his eyes, like the world's lost its color.
The boy doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
"Is there an inn? A hotel?" He asks instead.
"You've no need for that," Kristen says, "you can stay with me. I've got room."
He smiles slightly, but the grin falls before it reaches his eyes.
"Guess I'm stuck here eh?" He says, looking away.
She follows his gaze to the uneven forms under the sheets.
The wound on the boy's leg was too severe, he nearly went septic.
"I'm sorry, they told me it was too infected," Kristen doesn't know what else to say.
The boy's got issues, she can see that in his posture, but he must be needing the support she's giving because he hasn't let go of her hand.
Tommy can't help but stare.
Where the lower half of his left leg should be, just under his knee, is nothing but an empty space.
He barely registers the woman's hand still in his.
Kristen, she said her name was.
"Tommy," he says, still detached, "you asked my name."
"How old are you Tommy?" She asks.
His first instinct is to lie to her, say he's older, maybe 20?
But he doesn't. He tells her the truth, 16 years old and missing a leg.
Pathetic, he thinks, I can't even walk.
"I've asked the woodsmith to make a prosthetic," Kristen says and he briefly entertains the idea that she could read his mind.
"Right after Cleric Hoff told me you'd lost it. Figured you might like to walk again?" She smiles warmly at him and Tommy can't help but try to quell the butterflies in his stomach.
She doesn't even know him, this woman, with kind eyes and a warm voice that makes him think of the vague and foggy images he has of his mother.
She doesn't know him and here she is, offering him a place in her home.
He doesn't want to accept, he doesn't want to bother this nice lady with his issues.
He tries to voice this, that he doesn't want to stay with her, but she insists.
When the cleric returns and tells him he can leave in a few hours, after learning to use his crutches, he isn't sure how to feel.
He'd wanted a new life, a safe life.
Away from the SMP, away from everything, away from Dream.
And he has it here, at least, he has the opportunity for that here.
He learns that Kristen runs the orphanage, a small place, just one cottage with a farm out the back.
He meets the children, Harley the oldest, and Caroline and Gabriel the middle twins.
And the youngest is a little girl around 7 years old, with little wings, named Clementine.
She'd taken a shine to Tommy.
He hesitates to say he likes the little girl's company, but he finds her excitement cute.
She asks him about the ocean, about his life as a "pirate" and he doesn't have the heart to tell her the truth.
So he tells her stories instead, just like he knows his father told him when he asked about his adventures.
Tommy told her of a large ship called L'Manboat and the legendary buried treasure of the disks Melohi and Cat.
Technoblade would chastise him for his hyperbolic tales and Wilbur would have made them more dramatic, but Clementine likes them.
She likes his stories, and over the few months he's been in Mosshall, he's grown to like telling them.
His prosthetic is finished by the third month of his stay in the small coastal village.
It's a beautifully polished oak with a red stain to it.
The ankle joint moves smoothly when he takes a tentative step, Kristen and Harley at his sides to steady him.
He smiles brightly at his newfound freedom.
Walking is a bit different, a bit harder but when has his life ever been easy?
The children seem to be just as excited as he is, asking to play almost as soon as they get back to the cottage.
Tommy still walks with the crutches, in the beginning, Cleric Hoff says he needs to practice on his new leg.
Clementine just says he looks more like a pirate.
"You've got a peg-leg now, Tommy!" She says a month into his practice.
"You call me a pirate one more time and I'll make you walk the plank into the pigpen!" He says, hobbling over to her.
He can walk without the crutches now, and he's even taken to training Harley with a wooden knife.
He'd mentioned it once after dinner.
Slipped up and talked about the war to Kristen, when he'd thought the children had gone to bed.
The boy found that quite interesting, begging Tommy to teach him how to fight.
Much to the concern of Kristen, he agreed.
"How'd you learn this?!" Harley fell to the ground, huffing, "Your dad teach you?"
Tommy shook his head, leaning over to offer a hand and help him up.
"Couldn't have, he wasn't around nearly as much as my brother." He said without thinking.
"Your brother taught you to fight then?" Harley accepted Tommy's hand.
"Nah, a family friend. Wil never was any good with a sword, better with words,"
"Oh," Harley says, "Can we do that one again?"
It was nice to get moving again, Tommy hadn't fought in a long time.
And Harley is a good fighter, a natural.
He gets used to living here, Mosshall is quiet.
Quiet is nice, Tommy thinks.
He doesn't seem to mind how fast time moves here.
It's been 5 months by the time Clementine's birthday arrives.
He smiles at her when she comes bounding towards him in her pretty new dress.
"Do you like it?" She asks, he does.
It's a dark blue color with red and white lace trimmings and golden yellow embroidered patterns.
It reminds him of the L'Manburg flag.
He's surprised to feel a bittersweet feeling in his chest when he thinks of what he'd once called home.
If you'd asked him now, what home is, he wouldn't hesitate to say the little cottage in Mosshall Village, with the creaking fence gate and the one window that nobody admits to breaking.
"It's beautiful, Clem," he says, "Don't get it dirty by steppin' in the pen okay?"
Tommy's taken a role in helping with some farm work.
He's currently in the pigpen, picking out the rocks that are too big so the pigs don't eat them.
"Miss Kristen says we get to have cake today! Are you excited? You've never had cake with us before!"
He is excited, he hasn't had cake since Niki made it for him, back during the first revolution.
"Well I reckon it's a special day for two reasons then, innit?" He asks, tossing the last rock out of the pen and climbs over the fence.
"My first cake," he picks her up, careful of his muddy boots, and spins her around once, her wings flitting about, before letting her down, "and your birthday!"
She laughs brightly and runs inside, calling for Tommy to follow.
He promises her he will, he just needs to clean up first.
Kristen meets him inside, her face is one he never could read.
She reminds him so much of someone, he can't place it.
He supposes it doesn't matter much, he loves her just as well.
She's cared for him in his stay here.
And he'd do just about anything for her.
"Kristen," he starts, she cuts him off.
"I know you want to go." Tommy gives her a surprised face.
"I've seen the way you look at the sea and the woods beyond the town. If you want to go-"
It's Tommy's turn to cut her off.
"I won't, I like it here," He smiles slightly, "And I can't exactly leave Clem."
"You got attached?" Kristin laughs at his confirmation.
"You're welcome to stay, maybe I can get Mr. Southgate to build you a house of your own?"
Tommy declines that offer, if he wants a house he'll build it himself.
Not that Mr. Southgate is a bad architect but it's more… personal.
He likes living in the cottage, where Clementine often crawls up into his bed when she has a bad dream, or Gabe and Harley ask him to fight right when he wakes up.
Caroline doesn't talk, deaf, Kristen told him.
She's kind to him, teaching him to sign when she'd learned of his poor hearing.
At least something good came from the explosions.
He tells his stories to her through sign, though she says she prefers fairy tales.
Clementine interrupts his thoughts by barreling into his legs.
"Ayup, Clem," he huffs out, knocked to the floor by the 8-year-old, "Watch the leg!"
"Sorry Tommy!" She says, seemingly not sorry.
"Miss Kristen!" Her attention turns to the woman, "Is the cake ready? Tommy hasn't had cake in a long time! He told me!"
Kristen just nods, confirming that the cake is, in fact, ready to eat.
Clementine hops off of Tommy and bounces off to sit at the head of the table, her special seat for birthdays and special occasions.
Tommy figures they'll make him sit there on his birthday or his anniversary of coming to Mosshall.
Tommy pulls himself up and goes to join her.
"She hasn't been this excited for her birthday in a while," Gabe says as he sits down.
"Hasn't she? You only turn 8 once," Tommy returns.
"She gets all sad," Gabe says like he can't seem to understand the 8-year-old.
"Sad?"
"Miss Kristen said it's because her parents left her here, but between you and me," he leans over to whisper in Tommy's ear, "I think Miss Kristen is Clem's mom."
"What makes you think that?"
Tommy doesn't want to pry, but he is a bit curious.
"I'm only a year older than her, but she's been here as long as I can remember, and she kind of looks like her, apart from the blonde hair. And the wings."
Kristen takes this moment to walk in and Tommy can kind of see what Gabe means.
Clementine has the same dark brown eyes and slightly tanned skin, they even have the same nose.
She looks like a blonde version of Kristen, with little grey wings.
It's startling to him that he'd never noticed it before.
He lets the thought leave his mind as he focuses on the cake and the little girl at the head of the table.
It's something he can ask Kristen about later, Clementine's birthday is more pressing.
He gets his opportunity to ask that night.
He says goodnight to Clementine, wishing her one last 'happy birthday' before he walks back out to the kitchen.
Kristen is waiting for him at the table, with a pot of tea and two cups.
"I guess you overheard Gabe, then?" He says as she gestures for him to sit.
He obliges and takes a cup, it's warm and comforting.
Chamomile and lavender.
She's stressed, she always has lavender tea when she's stressed.
"He's such a smart boy, too smart for his own good sometimes." She says.
"So it's true? Clem's your daughter?" Kristin nods and takes a sip of her own cup.
"I came here when I was pregnant, her father…" she smiles, "I love him, I do. But-"
"But he wasn't ready for kids?"
She shakes her head.
"Not that," she says, "He already had two boys, and I loved them like my own sons," she pauses.
"Did he know? About…?" She shakes her head again.
"His youngest, he was a handful. 10 years old I think," she stops to sip again, "he wasn't ready for another."
Tommy doesn't want to come off rude, she clearly made a difficult choice, but to leave? To not even tell him that he'd have another child?
It makes him a little angry.
He'd loved to have had a little sibling growing up. If his own parents did that…
He takes a deep breath before speaking.
"Do you regret it? Coming to Mosshall?"
She makes a face, a cross between sad and content.
"Not really, I can't assume I'd be happier there," she says, "but if I hadn't, there wouldn't be anyone here for these kids."
"Or for you." She says after a moment.
Tommy can't help but feel like she's met him before he washed up on the sand near her home.
She looks at him like she knows for all the world that he's a good kid, not some traumatized child soldier.
"Thank you," he blurts out, "for everything."
She just nods at him with a warm smile.
The two sit there, embracing the silence for a while.
Tommy's noticed that the ringing in his ear has calmed since he's come to Mosshall, replaced by the ever-present crashing of the waves onto the shore.
He likes it.
-L'Manburg, several months ago-
"What do you mean, gone?" His voice is rougher than he'd expected it to be.
"I mean, I went to see him, to… talk to him, and he was gone. His stuff too, this is all I found."
He holds out a dirty piece of cloth, torn and frayed, but still recognizable.
The bandana he'd given him when they were little.
Tears prick up in his eyes at the sight of it.
"But you didn't find him? His-" the word 'body' refuses to come up from his throat.
The di-colored boy in front of him shakes his head.
"Just this."
"Thank you, Ranboo." He says.
"You know I'm here for you, right? Tubbo?"
His eyes catch on the glinting gold of the ring placed on his left horn.
"Yeah," he says, taking his hand into his own, "I know."
It's determined that he left by sea, remains of what must have been his boat washed up a little farther down the beach.
He doesn't want to believe that his best friend- his brother- is gone, but all the evidence is pointing to it.
He's on the eve of a new war, he doesn't want to have to be the one to tell Phil.
But he is, he's the one who sent him away, it's his responsibility.
It's raining the day he goes, fitting, he thinks.
Phil opens the door after the first knock.
"Hey, Tubbo mate, what brings you here? Come on in, it's pourin' out there," He moves to let the young president in and out of the rain.
He seems to notice the sullen look on Tubbo's face as he offers him tea.
"What's wrong? Is it Dream again?" His wings puff up protectively.
Tubbo attempts to swallow the lump forming in his throat.
"Tommy's gone," he says, cutting to the point.
"Gone? He's in exile, isn't he s'posed to be gone?"
Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block his tears.
"No, Phil he's-" He swallows again, only succeeding in breaking his voice, "He took a raft out."
Phil's face of confusion doesn't change.
"His boat came back, he didn't," Tubbo waits for Phil to realize it.
"Oh…"
"You're sure he's- He's not just missing?"
Tubbo shrugs, not trusting himself to speak again without crying.
He holds out the tattered bandana to Phil.
It doesn't take long after that for the father to break into painful sobbing.
Both his children, gone.
-Mosshall Village, Present Day-
Tommy's conversation with Kristen brings the two closer, he helps her more now.
She insists on teaching him to cook and clean properly.
They have those late-night conversations more often, Tommy talks about the wars he's been a part of and Kristen tells him stories about the children from before he arrived.
"You'd be a good president, Tommy."
"Now maybe, but not then," he says, staring into the tea she'd made him after a nightmare, "I thought too much about myself, then. Made them all hate me for it."
"I don't think I could ever hate you," she says.
He scoffs slightly.
"Kristen, do you… do you ever want to go back to Clementine's father? I mean, like, if he showed up and asked you to come with him again, would you go?"
She sets her tea down.
"I really don't know, I love him, but if it was him or these children, my life here? I don't think I could give it up," she tells him.
"I understand that I guess," Tommy says in response.
"And what about you?"
"Pardon?"
"What if Tubbo came looking for you? Asked you to come home?" She asks.
"I am home," he says without hesitation, "and Tubbo's the one who sent me away. He wouldn't ask me to come back."
Kristen sighs, setting her tea down for the last time that night.
"You should go back to sleep, Tommy."
He doesn't ask what her mood change is about, he only nods quietly and heads back to his room.
He spends the next 4 months like that, playing with the kids, and doing farm work in the day, gentle talks, and warm tea with Kristen at night.
He's happy, finally truly happy.
So of course, something has to come by and ruin it.
Mosshall is a small village, everyone knows everybody, so when there's someone new?
You know.
The soldiers come in on a sunny day, he's outside in the back garden, sitting on the stone steps fiddling with his wooden leg when he hears it.
Someone's screaming.
He jumps up, nearly tripping over his own leg.
He sees Kristen in the front doorway of the cottage, hiding the children behind her.
"Kristen!" He shouts, "Kristen what's going on?!"
He reaches her, only to be hit with a familiar stench.
There's no mistaking its metallic tang, there's a lot of blood somewhere close.
He follows Kristen's gaze to the village courtyard.
A large wooden pole is sticking up out of the soft dirt, it's ugly and out of place.
What's worse is the man tied to it, clearly a hybrid, if his curling horns and pointed ears are anything to go by.
He's tied with his arms around the pole, his back is marked with crisscrossing wounds, oozing deep red blood.
It makes Tommy's stomach churn, blood does not fit into this little town.
Before he can think, he's grabbed a sickle from the shelves above the coat rack.
Running toward the man, he can hear Kristin shout for him to come back, but he's too focused on cutting the man's binds.
He's cut them all through when he's pulled back roughly, a large hand on his shoulder and one wrestling the sickle out of his hand.
"What are you doing, boy?!"
"You've nearly killed him!" He shouts back.
"A hybrid is not permitted to use his abilities!" Tommy's still trying to fight the man off.
"What kind of fuckin' rule is that?! Who's the bastard that said that?!"
"His Highness, The Admin," the soldier says as he pushes Tommy down.
He can't keep in the pained shout when his arm lands just slightly wrong.
Someone shouts his name, but he can't tell who.
All he focuses on is the little girl running to him, her wings on full display.
"Clem! No! Go back inside!" He tries to tell her, but she doesn't listen.
She keeps running until another soldier grabs her.
"CLEMENTINE!"
"Please!" Kristen runs up to the soldier holding Clementine's arm so tightly it's making her cry, "please, she's just a child!"
"The law is clear. The Admin will decide what to do with her."
"NO!" He tries again in vain to push him off.
Kristen continues to beg for her daughter.
The soldier says something to his partner, something about a stasis chamber, and before Tommy can even register that the man holding him down has stood up, they're gone.
And so is Clementine.
"Kristen, I'm going to find her," he says to the sobbing woman.
Like hell, he'd let that bastard hurt his family again.