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Tommy was so cold. Freezing, in fact. His teeth mercilessly chattered in his gums as he held his phone in hand, listening to the voice on the other end. It was like a deafening buzz in his ear, but he understood. He knew what it wanted. Yet, still - Tommy couldn’t help but let his feet shuffle, his body desperately trying to fight off the biting of the cold, the fact that he was only wearing socks not making this any easier than it was previously.
He wanted everyone to stay away from him.
That was why he had scared them off earlier. The stunt during apple bobbing. There wasn’t much to it, really. He was well accustomed to holding his breath underwater, yet he couldn’t shake off the fact that there was something special about the way water enters a body when it attempts to make it drown. Going in through the nose, the ears; swirling around the throat before doubling down and splashing into the lungs, twisting around them until the victim’s face went red or blue, coughing violently as they let in more water and let the cycle continue. It was a wonderful thought; to him anyway.
It was something he had been hesitating on carrying out, before he knew it, he had been yanked away from the tank, sprawled across the concrete with his wet hair dripping water onto his shirt, nails gripping the ground all when everyone stared. Eyebrows furrowed, lips bit, it was the whole lot, really. Nobody asked what had happened, but Tommy knew they all wanted to. But no. They were too afraid. Too uncomfortable. Just what he wanted. Right?
Before Tommy could hear what the phone had to say next, he was interrupted. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Freddie, opening the back door and letting the light shine outside, something he was not supposed to interact with right now. The light. The warmth of the inside. He could hear him mumbling something about leaving the door open, but there was no time. No time to listen, retort - anything.
“NO!” Tommy’s voice was shrill, his body slamming against the nearest window with the most light coming from it, his cold hands slamming against it in a panic. Tommy’s eyes widened as he saw everyone inside look his way, alerting them to his position. Surely they knew he was outside, but revealing himself this soon? What was he thinking? Was he trying to get himself killed?
His eyes shot over to Freddie, who was now halfway outside, having stopped as soon as he had heard him yell. They exchanged a stare, while Tommy could hear the others conversing inside about him. He felt sick. He clutched his shirt, wishing he had brought his hoodie out with him. It was so cold. Probably didn’t help the sickness he was feeling rise from the build up of anxiety the entire situation was giving him.
“I’m just...unlocking the door, Tom. We just locked it for a bit-“ Freddie tried to explain the situation Tommy, but was only met with more panicked hostility. He watched as Tommy breathed on the window, looking as if he was about to draw something before he stood back, his balance gone as well as his expression. He was void of any and all emotion.
“C-CLOSE IT! KEEP IT LOCKED.” Tommy huffed out his words, his nails pressing against the glass as he ran at it again, hitting it so hard as if he was about to shatter through the window before he finally pushed, using the strength of the motion to dash off up the garden. “GO BACK INSIDE.” Once again, a shrill yell slipped out of his throat before he ran forward, not looking back once. He skidded on the grass until he was at the other side of the house, met with what had been previously described.
That was… definitely a body. A dead one. A rotting, dead body. Tommy was a couple feet away from it and - god. He could smell it from here. The smell of rotting flesh was one that he had never smelt before, but it would be one he would now never forget. He stood there, staring at the features of the corpse like it was an art exhibit. The way the face has been mashed to be totally unrecognisable, fingers being cracked and shattered beyond repair, blood splattering everything and everywhere; it was too much.
Tommy held a hand up to his mouth, feeling vomit crawl up his throat. Then the phone spoke again, almost on cue. Humming instructions in his ear like a wasp, it told him to swallow it. Just like he’d have to swallow his guilt.
Reluctantly, Tommy did as he was told.
He grimaced, feeling the warmth in his throat fade, as the sick feeling collected once again in his stomach and nestled there to stay, while his body heaved forward. He had instructions to follow. Horrible, awful instructions, but instructions nonetheless.
Tommy stepped across the cold grass, once again wishing he had been allowed to wear his shoes. He hadn’t been allowed earlier, either. And of course, he had no choice but to comply. His hands bite the cold, carelessly jittering before they reach the shovel left next to the body, which had blood steadily pooling out of its nose. Tommy almost wanted to whack it with the tool to see if it would do anything, but he stopped himself. Even the phone agreed; it was too much. Too far, even for him. All he had to do after all, was finish the job.
Tommy got to work, rather unwillingly at first. He really didn’t want to do this. Of course, he hadn’t been told what exactly he would be doing until just this moment, but the threats had been so desperate, it was too late now. He had been told to distance himself. To make himself an outcast of the stream. Yet at the same time, not make it too obvious. He felt as though he had failed, in that regard. He could only hope Freddie wasn’t going to come back outside to see where he had gone.
A part of him wished for it to be true. So he could feel the warmth of the room again. But he knew all too well that it wasn’t that simple. Someone would get hurt, if he didn’t do what he was told.
His shivering hands gripped the handle of the shovel, using all of the strength he had left to dig. A four foot deep hole. How long was that going to take? Frankly, Tommy didn’t even know how to measure in feet, let alone dig properly in an efficient manner. He heaved and huffed, trying to drown out the laughter from the house nearby, but it was so hard.
He knew that they were having so much fun. Laughing and joking around, while poor Tubbo was left, waiting for him to return so they could discuss what shape to make on their pumpkin. That’s what they were doing, right? Tommy wasn’t sure. The cold might be starting to get to him.
Thinking about Tubbo appeared to put a pep in his step, making his digs full of more strength while his mind continued to think about his best friend. He can only hope that nobody had hit him with the tripod yet. The metal one, specifically. Cold to the touch.
Tommy tries to focus on anything but the body, but after a while the smell is too much. He thinks about it too much. Who was this? Did they deserve it? Why was he, of all people, being tasked to do this? The phone didn’t offer much of an insight, instead only telling him to keep going. He was so close. Surprisingly, it was right.
It didn’t take long for Tommy to finish the hole once he had stopped thinking about how much time it would take. He stared down at his work, expression hollow as the phone congratulated him, clapping coming from the other end. He didn’t care. He wished the phone would die already. How the fuck was it lasting this long?
Tommy anxiously picked at the clothes of the body before finally giving up on such precision, picking the entire body up with slight ease before he dropped it into the hole, blinking instinctively as he heard it thump. He stared down at his work, the horror beginning to settle in. He hadn’t killed someone, but he had just buried them. Himself. In his best friend’s garden.
Before Tommy had time to contemplate vomiting again, more instructions were given. No shovel. He has to bury them with his hands. Tommy knew he couldn’t protest, but in his head, he wanted to so badly. He wanted to run back inside and hug literally anyone, digging his head into their chest for affectionate comfort over what he had just done. He could imagine himself crying, eyes closed as he trembled and clutched onto their clothes, trying to pathetically explain what he had done.
But that hadn’t happened. And it wasn’t going to anytime soon.
The dirt was so cold. Tommy winced as it went under his fingernails, his teeth being gritted as he shoved as much of it into the hole as possible, just so he could get this over and done with. His hands were filthy. If not already from the blood, they were now littered with mud and dirt, which might even be a step up from before. Mud is a lot less suspicious than flat out blood being all over his hands. It must be sticking so well because of the blood underneath.
The dirt admittedly took longer to do than the initial shovelling. Maybe it was just the fact that he was only able to do it with his hands, but something about the coldness of it made him work slower. As much as he wanted to be over with this already, he couldn’t speed up. If he tried to go faster, he only got more uncomfortable.
His body shivered, as he finally stared down at his work. The ground was almost completely flat, while his hands were stained to hell and back. So much dirt. Filth. All of it, on his hands. His fault. Tommy continued staring down at the ground, listening to the phone congratulate him again. He didn’t care. He really didn’t. He just wanted to go back.
The phone, thankfully, mentioned just that. He was free to go back whenever he pleased, but should be aware that he might get a similar phone call within the next few days, with much similar tasks to do, as well as the same deadly consequences. Tommy, as defiant as he was, complied. He didn’t have a choice. He listened, staring down at the ground still, all the way up until his phone finally shut up.
His thoughts, for a second, told him that he was free. But he knew there was no time to celebrate. No time to do anything else, but go back. Go… ‘home.’ He trudged through the grass, eyes unblinking as leaves from above flew down and nestled in his curly hair, which he couldn’t honestly give much of a shit about. He could have a bird in his hair, for all he cared. It wouldn’t matter. He was particularly unfeeling right now.
Tommy didn’t dare look down at his hands, keeping his eyes set straight ahead as he walked on, the door seeming further away than it had during his sudden departure. After turning a corner, he spotted something red on the ground, shining in the light coming from the back door, which had been ever so slightly left ajar. Squinting as he got closer, Tommy had identified it as the hoodie that Tubbo had tried to get him to wear earlier.
Normally, a smile would have cracked onto Tommy’s face, but there was nothing. No smile, no laugh - nothing. He felt like a husk. At the very least, he went over to it, only deciding to put it on to try and battle the temperature that was threatening to make him freeze. Why was it so cold? He didn’t understand.
Tommy jumps in place, hearing Aimsey shout his name as she spots him putting the hoodie on. One by one, he can feel everyone’s eyes turn to him, though he knew all too well they wouldn’t be able to see him too well from the window. He reacts blankly before stepping inside, the warmth of the room almost being too overwhelming for him to endure. For a second, he wanted to bolt and leave.
“What the hell have you done?” Aimsey asks Tommy this jokingly, but their words send a shiver down his spine, even though she had laughed while saying them. Tommy remained mute as he walked into the shot, eyes unblinking as he stared into the lens of the camera, trying to ignore Freddie picking the leaves out of his hair.
He swipes him away, barely being able to concentrate on what Tubbo is saying as he sits down next to him, eyes still staring straight ahead. He feels like he’s losing his mind. He just buried someone. He is so, so cold. And there’s nothing he can do about it.
Tommy tries to sit still for a while, not responding to a single question or jab, the dirt on his face beginning to go dry as time ticks by. He seriously just did that. He buried someone. In Tubbo’s fucking garden. With a shovel. A shovel that he had left his fingerprints on, like a fucking idiot.
Tommy felt his heart ache. Or had it stopped? He couldn’t tell. His hands gripped the table, his ears blocking out Tubbo’s words as he tried to scramble over him, which in hindsight was a pretty bad decision on his part. Tubbo grabbed him, keeping him in place while he panicked, all while the camera was still trained on him, like the phone from before. The phone. The shovel. The dirt. Tommy couldn’t take it anymore.
Ruthlessly, he slammed his head against the table, emotionless as everyone scrambled to try and stop him. So many of them were shouting, but Tommy was far too dizzy now to comprehend anything that they were doing. His body felt weaker and weaker until finally, it slumped down from Tubbo’s lap.
Tommy’s consciousness was so close to slipping now. He was so tired. He heard people yelling his name, but it was so muffled now, it hardly mattered. Maybe, just maybe - he’d wake up from this, and it’d all be some silly dream. Just… something his mind made up for the Halloween season. That’d be fitting.
The first thing he was going to do when he woke up was check his phone for the records of those phone calls. If they were still there - then he would wish he had gotten the opportunity to bury himself, rather than live with this burden for the rest of his life.