Chapter Text
Tommy couldn’t tell how long he had lived in exile. He remembered Dream taunting him in the Nether. Essentially dangling his old life above him. So close to L’manburg and their Christmas celebrations, that he could almost taste the pine in the air.
Yet, with Dream’s hand on his shoulder reminding Tommy that nobody wanted him, he turned away. Back to the cold dark tent he lived in.
Tommy supposed that was months ago. The days were becoming longer but he still woke up with frost covering himself.
Time was meaningless in exile.
Life had been lonely. But big man Tommy still had Dream. Right?
How long has it been since Dream visited last?
The last time he was here Tommy had fucked up badly.
Tommy realized something in that moment. He could leave. If Dream was gone, the only thing keeping him here was himself.
No Dream. No Tubbo. No Wilbur.
Tommy took what he had (and could carry) and left. Leaving his discs. Not the discs, but ‘Far,’ ‘Chirp,’ ‘Wait,’ and ‘Pigstep' given and hidden for him by friends who never returned to him.
They never cared about me, no one ever did, I should just leave these to the elements like they did to me.
But despite his internal protests, he emptied his ender chest and placed the discs into the dark.
Maybe he would reach into the seemingly empty void to hear their songs one day.
Maybe.
Turning away from the rising sun Tommy set out on his journey to nowhere. He didn’t look back once, the whole world was in the palm of his hand.
Tommy was sixteen and he felt like he was flying.
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The first few months Tommy hunted and fished when he could, sleeping under the stars in places he knew mobs couldn’t reach him. Occasionally passing through a village when he found one. Not trading anything, but soaking in the warmth and culture of the village.
In the autumn, he would help bring in the harvest at the villages he found. Earning their food and board then leaving when the work was done.
He knew nobody would find him.
When the nights became too cold for him to sleep in the open, Tommy went underground.
He slept next to lava pools, living off of things he found in the caves, bathing in vast underground lakes, and leaving the occasional “TOMMY WAS HERE” message in almost impossible places to find.
The compass that once led him to Tubbo now guided him away from the person that he once considered a brother.
Tommy ignored that it was the only thing that he forgot to stick into the ender chest and didn’t have the heart to toss it.
At least it was useful.
Only when pockets weighed down with precious gems and diamond sword strapped to his back did Tommy leave the caves.
Tommy hadn’t changed much since he started to explore the world he was born into, (other than his old clothes looking very worn out) the only thing added to his figure was a mask he found on a pile of dynamite. He used it to filter potentially deadly air of the depths. It only covered the bottom of his face, leaving his vision unimpaired.
The first thing after adjusting to the bright sun of the overworld, was to seek out a village to trade what he had mined for new clothes.
His pants were up to his ankles and the old red and white tee was rags at this point. Not to mention the one shoe he still had.
It was only when he had a new shirt, shoes, socks, coat, and pants did Tommy realize that it was spring.
One year had passed.
Tommy was seventeen.
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Tommy’s life settled into a relatively simple, yet long, routine. Go mining in the cold months and resupply in the warm ones.
That was his life. Before he knew it, his shoes had changed into boots, his coat looked vaguely like Wilbur’s, and he somehow acquired a violin through a poker game.
Seven years had passed, Tommy was now twenty-three.
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