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The night was dark, and Tommy was cold.
It was nearing the middle of winter, and all the boy wanted was a respite from the dreaded snow, a chance to curl up next to a fire and finally sink into the warmth he imagined it would provide.
After day after day of walking around the bricked streets, praying for someone, anyone, to stop and buy a candle or give him a piece of food, he was losing hope.
He limped across the road, legs frozen to the bone. People passed, going on with their daily lives, no one stopping to look at him. Before he could stop it, a tear dripped down his cheek, stopping halfway and turning to pure ice.
He stepped upon the lamp post’s base, lifting his box of candles into the air.
“Anyone?” He called out, and he could hear his voice cracking slightly. “Anyone, please?”
The people passed in hordes, no one giving him a second glance.
He waved the box back and forth, more and more frantically, his stomach rumbling, but he had become used to the ache. “Please!” He cried out. “Assholes,” he mumbled quietly, slowly lowering his box of candles and the one lighter he carried in his pocket.
The lighter was old--it barely worked, and would flicker in and out. He needed a new one, but even if he could afford it, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to replace it. The lighter had been gifted to him when he was small, maybe six. Just four years ago, but to him, those four years felt like forever.
He remembered laughs that sounded like bells ringing out every night, and a guiding hand always on his shoulder. He remembered food so much he could barely stomach it. He remembered loving, and he remembered being loved.
But now, none of that mattered. They had left him behind, to die, to give up, and as much as Tommy wanted to prove them wrong, his fingers grew more and more numb by the day.
A police man stopped by his perch, and Tommy held his breath. Perhaps this would be his big break, his chance to become more, to keep himself alive until a family came and claimed him like he knew they would.
Instead the police man only reached up and picked him up, setting Tommy down in the snow. Tommy kicked and flailed, but the man’s grip was unfailing. “Run back to your parents,” the policeman told him, fingers digging into Tommy’s side. “Little kids shouldn’t be running around during winter alone.”
“Please!” he begged, but all he heard was his words echoed back to him in response.
The man left, as they all do. His boots dragged holes in the snow, and Tommy followed them, trying his best to keep the snow from melting through his weakly-made shoes.
The night was becoming darker, and Tommy started to run. The ache in his stomach was becoming more and more prominent, and his body began to feel like it was sewed together by a man who had never touched a needle. A minute more and the string would break, the fluff of the creation pushing at the seams and then spilling out all at once.
“Please,” he begged once more, but he knew it was hopeless. The great Tommy Innit crawled to an alleyway, sitting down in the white blanket. “Another night,” he whispered. “Another night. You’re a big man. You can do it.”
He curled up in the corner of the alleyway, imagining that he could feel the faint remnants of the sun's warmth projected upon it.
He let his eyes drift shut.
When he opened them, Tommy couldn’t feel anything. He felt numb in a way he never had before, completely separated from the body that held him. He pulled his flimsy jacket closer around himself, teeth chattering loud enough that he faintly worried he might cause enough of a scene to drag the policeman back to him.
( He ignored how the policeman's touch had burned, providing a warmth he craved so badly )
He attempted to curl his toes, and found he could not. He rocked back and forth slightly. He would be okay. Tommy Innit was always okay. He was a big man--he was ten now, he could do this, he could survive this, he would prove them all wrong
Tommy let out a huff of air and curled his head into the space between his own neck and shoulders. He rubbed his arms back and forth on his sides, attempting to replicate a hug.
He stared at the box of candles and the weight of the lighter in his pocket had never felt heavier.
Slowly, he pulled the top of the box open, staring at what he knew would be his only way of surviving. Just one, he told himself. One and done.
He pulled the stick of wax out, and cleared an area in the snow, digging despite his frozen fingers. He kept scratching at the brick ground for a minute--he couldn't feel when the texture of the thing he was digging had changed.
A single candle was placed in the hole he had dug. He balanced it perfectly, pushing snow around it. With trembling hands, he pushed the trigger of the lighter.
It didn't catch.
He pushed it again, and it flickered, just once.
He held his breath, sheltering the tiny instrument of fire away from the cold, and held it to the candle’s wick.
When it caught, he breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes welling up slightly. He pulled the candle closer to him and stared into the flame, watching it dance back and back. The wax dripped onto his hand, but he didn’t care--he couldn’t feel it.
As his red eyes stared into the candle, he suddenly heard a sound behind him. Tommy turned around and--when had everything become so bright?
No longer was he in the alley, he instead sat on a mattress, light all around him. A man sat next to him, and Tommy noticed absentmindedly that he was tucked into his side.
“Hi,” Tommy said looking up, and the man smiled back at him.
“Hullo.”
Tommy took notice of the fact that the man had bright pink hair. He ran it through his fingers and the man chuckled.
“Would you like a bedtime story, Tommy?” The man asked, bringing an arm around him.
“How do you know my name?” Tommy asked, his eyes widening.
“I know you,” The man said, and although Tommy didn’t quite understand, he went with it.
“Well then it’s only fair I know yours.” Tommy said, turning his nose up slightly.
The man smiled slightly. “Technoblade.”
“That's not your name, ” Tommy said, wriggling under the sheets. “It can’t be. Who names their child Technoblade ?”
Technoblade simply stared.
“I’m gonna call you Techno!” Tommy said delightedly, a grin breaking across his face for what felt like the first time in years.
He surveyed the room around him, letting his eyes catch on the bright colors. There was a fireplace in the corner, and he imagined what life with that would be like--never being cold ever again.
Technoblade felt safe, so he let himself relax and curl into him, feeling content.
“Okay kid,” Techno said, and he opened the book. “Once upon a time there lived a great hero named Theseus…”
Tommy came back to the alleyway slowly, still reeling from the dream. Was it a dream?
He shivered slightly and wondered if he would ever get to hear the rest of the story. Techno’s voice was calming, and he was a sure presence, and he didn’t shy away from Tommy the way so many others did. Instead, he pressed Tommy into his side and read him a story, the same way he was sure his mother did all those years ago. He missed Techno. Although he knew they had only just met, it also managed to feel like more than that.
Memories of pink hair and smiles and sarcastic jabs came to him, and he stared at the box of candles. He only had four left, with the wick having melted while he was in the dream world. He picked up the box. Hugged it to his chest. “Just one more,” he murmured to himself. “Just one more.”
He drew the candle from the red box and sat it down where the old one had gone. He fidgeted with the lighter, snapping it on several times before the flame finally stayed long enough to catch. The light came back, swallowing him whole, and he let himself fade into it.
This time, he was not with Techno, but instead a mysterious man. The mystery man looked down at him, mischief gracing his face.
“My name’s Wilbur!” he said, “But you can call me Wil.” He booped Tommy on the nose and Tommy giggled. Wilbur reached a hand around Tommy’s waist and pulled him closer. “See this? This is our kingdom.”
“Our Pogtopia.”
Wilbur looked very confused for a moment, but his face smoothed out. “Sure Toms,” he said, his voice soft. “Our Pogtopia.”
Tommy looked at the city below him, watching the cars drift past each other and the lights flicker off one by one. He sat down on a bench placed conveniently near, dragging Wilbur down with him.
“What are we up to Wil?” Tommy asked, fiddling with a loose string on Wilbur’s trench coat. Wilbur noticed and lifted the coat of his own shoulders to wrap Tommy with it.
“We’re gonna play a prank,” Wilbur said, a mischievous smile accompanying his words. Tommy giggled and clapped his hands together. He hadn’t had time to play a prank in years.
“What kind of prank?”
“The best one.” Wilbur leaned his head on Tommy’s head, despite the fact that he had to lean down to do so. “And, just to make it better, we’re gonna play it on Technoblade.”
Tommy gasped. “You know Techno?”
Wilbur grinned, perhaps a little sadly. “Yeah little gremlin, I know Techno.”
Tommy’s face scrunched up a little. “I didn’t think the Blade would associate with the likes of you,” he said, but he kept his voice playful.
A careful hand weaved into his hair, and Tommy melted . It had been too long since someone had meant to touch him without the intent of hurting him, and although the touch burned, the warmth felt good.
“Tell me about the prank,” Tommy said. He laid down in Wilbur’s lap, dragging his fingers back to his hair when the other stopped playing with it.
“Well,” Wilbur said, “It’s gotta be a big one. Big enough to scare The Technoblade.” Wilbur said the whole name like it was a title, emphasizing it with gusto.
“But we won’t hurt him, right?” Tommy asked, fiddling with Wilbur’s left hand as the right softly tugged through his golden curls.
Wilbur smiled. “No bud, we won’t hurt him.”
“Okay,” Tommy pushed the skin of Wilbur's hand around, bunching it up just to let it go smooth again. “I knew that of course,” he amends. “I know everything.”
“Sure you do,” Wilbur said, and his voice had the joking quality again. “My idea is this--we replace his precious hair-dye shampoo with bleach.”
Tommy let out a wheeze. “He might actually kill us,” Tommy said, and he was met with the odd feeling that he had done this before, somewhere, somehow.
“He might,” Wilbur said, and Tommy felt the weight of his hand fade from his hair and he was left alone again.
The light faded slowly, being replaced by the cold snow. The white blanket no longer seemed so comforting, and Tommy curled in on himself. Wilbur was nice. Both of them were so nice, and seemed like they actually cared for him, and Tommy wanted nothing more than to curl up in their arms and be safe. For the next hour he sat, knees to chest. The winds howled in the distance. He heard jangling bells and raucous laughter, and the tell-tale click of the policeman talking on his walkie.
However, as the night became later, the sounds faded. Tommy was faced with how incredibly alone he was. His thin fingers clicked the lighter, trying to divulge warmth, but the light never stayed long enough for him to imagine another world.
“I’m tired,” Tommy said, even though he knew that there was no one there to hear it. Some things needed to be said simply to allow the world the opportunity to understand. He listened as his words echoed slightly back towards him. He stared at the off-white candles. He knew he shouldn’t--there were only three left. If he didn’t sell some tomorrow, he wouldn’t be able to eat anything. His stomach growled, but Tommy didn’t care. His fingertips were slowly losing their saturation, and he studied them, his head feeling fuzzier by the second. The candles seemed to taunt him, sticks of comfort going unused. He reached a hand towards them--stopped himself--then kept going, picking one up in his frail hand.
Clutching it tightly, he stared at it. He could get away with it, maybe, if he was careful. He would be careful. It’s not like anyone’s gonna buy them anyways, he thought, then scratched it from his mind. He would be okay. He always was.
Carefully, he shielded the candle from the flame. He lit it, watched as the wax began dripping down, then let himself be pulled away into a dream.
The smell of baking bread nearly overwhelmed him, and Tommy was almost positive he would have fallen down if not for the fact he was already seated.
He was sat down in a chair with a plump cushion, and he melted into it, kicking his legs softly. He looked up as someone walked into the dinning room.
“Hello Tommy,” the person said, holding a steaming bowl of bread in his hands.
This person was different from the other two--he looked younger, about the age of a teenager if Tommy had to guess.
“Hello,” he greeted, squinting his eyes. “You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the wooden table.
“No!” The person sat down across from Tommy. “I would never, Tommy. Why would you even think that?”
“I dunno.” Tommy shrugged. “People your age don't seem to like me. They call me small.” Tommy huffed. “Which is obviously wrong because I’m a big man who is strong!” he tacked on, just in case this person didn’t believe him.
“I’m not quite sure you’re tall enough to qualify as a ‘big man,’” The person said, but his tone was teasing. “I’m Ranboo.”
“The fuck kinda name is that?”
Ranboo started back. “Tommy! You’re ten! How on earth do you know that word?”
Tommy crossed his arms. “How do you know my age? Are you a stalker?’ He asked.
Ranboo spluttered. “No--no, I’m not, I just--”
Tommy watched with amusement as Ranboo continued. Unfortunately, he had to interrupt him. “Can we eat?” Tommy asked, eyeing the food greedily. It had been so long since he had been given the pleasure that was a homemade meal.
“Yes, Tommy,” Ranboo said, “you don't have to ask. Take it.”
Tommy didn't wait another second. He began stuffing his mouth with every food on the table, and Ranboo chuckled behind him, but the sound seemed almost sad.
Tommy revelled in the taste and sensation of all the food. He started slowing down slightly, just taking in everything. Ranboo kept his eyes focused on the table.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Ranboo asked finally, twiddling with his fingers.
“...because I'm awesome and want food?” Tommy asked, speaking around the turkey stuffed in his ten-year-old mouth.
Ranboo smiled, the gesture not reaching his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that's why you’re here Tommy.”
The room faded from view.
Tommy hated Ranboo, one hundred percent. He didn’t mention how the older boy’s presence had calmed him. He kicked his leg out. The food was pretty good though. The bread was nice and warm, and it tasted like heaven had somehow crashed into earth, and the turkey had filled him up like no other sustenance had ever been able to. He ignored how odd it was that despite eating it in a dream world, the hunger had not returned when he left it.
He came to the realization that he didn’t want to stay here, in this alley--in this life, to be more precise. He wanted to be able to stay where it was warm. Where he was with people who would talk to him, and hold him and feed him and cradle him gently against their chest.
Every time he was brought back, it was like he got whiplash. The colors seemed desaturated now, harsh blues and grays opposing the flame-world’s soft hues.
He knew it could only be dreams he was living in, but it still felt like so much more .
Tommy looked down at the box. The decision to light the next candle was made before he even realized it.
The first thing Tommy noticed in the flame-world was the fact that there was someone else curled up next to him. Like Ranboo, he seemed older, in that odd age range where your face wasn’t completely proportionate and limbs were awkward.
“Hi,” Tommy said, not bothering to whisper.
The boy clutched to Tommy’s see-through shirt.
“Hi.”
The boy looked up at him. “Tubbo,” he said. “I already know your name is Tommy.”
Tommy had stopped trying to question it.
Instead, he snuggled closer, chasing the burning warmth. He felt Tubbo push his head back against his chest despite the fact that Tommy was shorter.
“I don’t want to leave again,” Tommy confessed. Tubbo smiled, an odd look on his face.
“Don’t worry Tommy. You’ll be with us soon.”
Their hands grabbed each other, fingers entangling.
“I don’t want to leave at all,” Tommy said, and he was sobbing now. “I just want a family. I just want to stay with you, Tubbo, and Tech and Wil and even Ranboo, that gangly bastard. I just want a family.”
Tubbo pushed himself up and kissed the crown of Tommy’s head. “Cheer up Tommy. It’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.” Tommy tried to ignore the unsaid context that he wasn't fine right now.
Tommy kicked Tubbo lightly in the stomach. “Bitch boy.”
“You piece of shit,” Tubbo said in return, a faraway look in his eyes. He snuggled even closer to Tommy, wrapping a blanket around their legs as he leaned down upon Tommy's shoulder. “You’ll be okay,” Tubbo repeated. “I promise.”
When the darkness came back it stung like alcohol applied to an open wound.
The alleyway was empty. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, providing less than optimal light when it wasn’t covered in clouds. Tommy pushed his hands under his flimsy shirt, searching for some amount of warmth from his body.
As much as he had appreciated his time with Tubbo, it only hurt that much more when he came back to reality. Tubbo wasn’t real or was he? and he couldn’t help Tommy, not here, not now.
He stared longingly at the final candle in his box. It would be too easy. Just a couple of flicks from his lighter and he could go back, even if it was only for a bit.
Tommy heard something muffled behind him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head. He cradled the candle to his body, like it was the one precious thing left to him (perhaps because it was). His eyes drifted shut for a minute and he slammed them open. At this point, he knew what was happening.
He was a lost cause.
He would allow himself one last moment of comfort then.
The lighter flicked on without issue, and he lit the candle, watching the fire catch it. Tommy didn’t care as it burned his hand, or as the light blinded him. He would be okay. Maybe not now, but in another life.
Tommy awoke in a bed, pillow cool and perfect, sheets pulled up to his chin. A knock sounded at the door. “Tommy?” a voice asked from behind the spruce, muffled. “Can I come in?”
With an ache in his chest Tommy came to realize that this was the first time he had woken up feeling safe in four years.
“Yeah!” he yelled, his voice hoarse. “Yeah.”
The door swung open, revealing a man with a green and white striped bucket hat.
“Hey mate,” The man said. “I’m Phil.”
“Hi Phil,” Tommy said, inhaling sharply. He tumbled into the man's arms.
“Hey!” Phil said worriedly. “What’s happening? Tommy?”
“I don’t feel so good,” Tommy said. It felt as if the blood was draining slowly from his body, or perhaps freezing all at once, becoming sluggish.
“I know Tommy. I know.”
Tommy let Phil wrap his arms around him. He let his memories flash past him, of a house full of laughter turned to a house full of fighting to a house haunted by what could have been.
“I just wanted a family,” Tommy said, his lip quivering. “I just wanted to be loved,” he said, quieter.
The scene faded, ignoring his desperate attempts to stay where he was warm and cared for. He was ripped away from the comfortable bed and toasty blankets, instead beginning to feel the wind nip at his red nose. However, he comes to the odd realization that there are still arms wrapped around him. Tommy blinks himself awake and takes in the same two brick walls he’d taken refuge between tonight. Why was he still warm?
“Phil?” he asked groggily. Phil tightened his grip.
From behind him, Tommy heard another voice. “Hey Toms.” It was Wilbur.
“Wil.” Tommy said, his arms slowly losing their mobility.
“Tommy.” Technoblade stepped into the alley, his pink hair vibrant, contrasting the dull background. He knelt down next to Tommy, looking him straight in the eyes. “You’ll be okay,” he said gruffly, but Tommy could catch a hint of sympathy in his words.
“Hi Tommy.” Ranboo appeared next to him, although Tommy could not tell you how he had gotten there.
“Tommy!” It was Tubbo, bouncing on his toes, looking close to throwing his arms around Tommy’s middle.
Tommy sat there for a minute, surrounded by a group of people he had somehow both just met and had known for eons.
He felt things get blurrier and blurrier, words fading into each other.
“Jus’ wanted a fam’ly,” Tommy slurred. “Jus’ wanted someone to love me.” He repeated his statement from earlier.
“We can be your family,” Phil said, his voice becoming clearer and clearer.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Tubbo said, and Ranboo placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“We can love you,” Wilbur said, and Tommy felt everything become simultaneously clear and unsure.
For a moment time froze around him, lights blurring as he came to the realization that he was loved again. He thought about it for only seconds. He already knew what his answer would be.
“Okay.” He said, curling his fingers around Techno’s hand. “I can do that.”
Light appeared from behind him, an explosion in his vision, and Tommy felt himself get up. He shook off the feeling of grogginess, gripped Techno’s hand in his.
“I’m ready,” Tommy said, surrounded by his family.
He stepped into the light.