Chapter Text
There is mud so far ingrained into his nails that no amount of scrubbing can ever get it out.
Each night, after Dream has left, finally after Dream leaves, he goes down to the beach.
The moon illuminates his way, the crunch of sand leading him down towards the pull of the ocean.
Tommy gets on his knees, scrapes and bruises mixing with the salty brine beneath him. He lowers his palms into the water, lapping up against him like the tongue of a dog.
He counts each wave as they come. And he scrubs. Sometimes the mud is replaced by blood. It’s difficult to remember if the blood is from his picking at the dirt or if it’s dried from a different wound. Tonight, it is definitely from his wounds. He forgot to gather firewood and Dream was very upset.
“I do everything for you!” Dream barks, pointing his sword to Tommy’s heaving chest. “And what do you do, Tommy? What do you do other than waste oxygen?”
He tries to slow his breathing. The sword is raised for a moment only to trail along Tommy’s cheek and leave a line of blood behind. Dream looks at it with a bored expression.
“You’re useless, Tommy.” Dream spits and kicks his foot onto Tommy’s chest. “No wonder all your friends left you!’ He laughs, a cruel, twisted sound.
“I’m— sorry—” Tommy chokes out, struggling against the pressure on his chest and the bruises that litter his body.
Please, enough. Please. Please. Please. Stop.
“I want it to stop.” Tommy cries to deaf ears. The blood from his cheek, his lip, his nose, every wound he can count, drips into the cold grass below him.
But does it matter?
On some nights, when the weather is comfortable or he’s too numb to notice, counting the waves is enough to put him to sleep and he collapses on the beach, his head occasionally dipping underwater causing him to wake up with a jerk.
Today when he wakes up, Tommy could have sworn he was already dead.
There is no strength in his muscles or food in his stomach. His throat is so scratched and sore he can’t rule out the possibility he swallowed mouthfuls of sand. And the cut on his arm is wet with blood, the ocean keeping it from sealing itself.
Tommy’s spirit isn’t a fragile thing. It is not of glass and paper origin. Once, he thought it was brick and nails.
And then Tubbo exiled him.
And he realised his spirit wasn’t as strong as he thought. When he’d asked Tubbo, one night,
“Who am I without you?” and the answer had been,
“Yourself.” He didn’t realise he was so weak.
Tommy lies on his back. The feeling of sea water drying out his skin makes him feel tight. Sand embeds itself onto his clothes, not that he really cares at this point. He’s made a plan.
Today is the day it ends. If Dream doesn't arrive (Which usually Dream doesn't show up for a few days after punishing Tommy), he is going to either die or run.
Because nobody cares. He had friends before exile. But afterwards, as the months stretched on, people faded away. He has been in exile for a little more than a year and a half now.
Tommy doesn’t blame them. How could he?
He’s awful to be around. But it hurts a little if he’s being honest.
His stomach twists with guilt when he hears a movement from the grass behind him up on the hill where his tent is.
Dream is his— uh, well he’s— Dream is. . .confusing.
Dream is the only one who cares about Tommy. (although deep down, he knows this isn’t what it was like when other people cared about him.)
But even when Dream is doing nice things for him, he can’t— fuck, it’s difficult to explain.
The best way Tommy can describe it is that unsettling feeling that someone is watching you. Whenever he’s allowed to keep his stuff, or Tommy’s given a gift, there is something like that feeling of being watched. This deep rooted paranoia that’s unshakeable.
“Tommy!” Dream calls out, a hand cupped to his face. Tommy sits up and twists around painfully, watching as Dream slides down the side of the hill, knocking sand out of place. “You’re never in your tent these days.”
Dream holds a hand out and Tommy gives him his stone axe. Dreams eyebrows furrow.
“That’s it?”
“Yep.” Tommy pops the p and looks over at the horizon lazily. There’s a long pause while Dream looks over Tommy analytically before nodding and cracking a smile.
“It’s a shame your fight was broken on the day of my special night.”
Tommy perks up at that, a spring of anxiety bouncing inside him. “Special night?”
Dream nods and grabs Tommy around the shoulder. He hates how much he loves the contact. There’s a connection. He clings to it like a lifetime.
If he’s dying later, he might as well.
“Well…” Dream clicks his tongue and squeezes Tommy slightly. “I’ve been thinking for a while. And admittedly, I hoped for a little bit of a lash back but I can tell you’re having a bad day so I’ll just celebrate for the both of us.”
Tommy can feel his insides being wrung dry like a wet cloth. “And?”
“We’re moving!” Dream laughs, “I spoke to Techno and I think it’s about time I settle down somewhere and build a house. But it needs to be somewhere nobody will think to look but close enough where I can still look after you.”
Dream hums, staring at Tommy with those damning green eyes that glow with a toxicity. “So I came to the conclusion that I’ll move far away to somewhere secret and just take you with me!”
“What?” Tommy whispers, looking at Dream in horror.
“Oh come on, Tommy. That’s your best reaction? What ?” Dream mocks with a chuckle. “You’ll be stuck with me for as long as you live starting tonight and your only reaction is What ?”
A cold numbness sets in. A piercing spike pokes his stomach. He would be stuck with Dream forever. No opportunity to run, to opportunity to hide. Tommy’s eyelashes flutter as he struggles to stay in focus.
Moving. Forever. Dream. Tonight.
“Well?” Dream glares at him.
Tommy’s entire body shakes but he manages a fragile smile. “Thank you.” He croaks out, jerking when Dream's hand finds its way into his hair.
“Of course, Tommy. Anything for my little brother.” Dream tugs his hand through Tommy’s hair in a way that’s just too uncomfortable to be natural. It is not reminiscent of how he was treated the night before. The line of blood on his cheek and bruises along all his arms and legs are evident enough. Even his torso is littered with cuts and bruises.
He wants to scream at Dream for calling him a brother. They are many things.
Brothers is not one of them. Brothers will never be one of them.
“No.” Tommy mutters and again, his heart jumps in fear.
The hand in his hair freezes and Tommy has to focus on his breathing. He’s made a mistake. He’s an idiot.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
“No?” Dream grabs onto Tommy’s hair and twists his face around with a painful yank.
“I’m sorry! Dream, I’m sorry.” Tommy begs, a hand gripping Dream's arm trying to reduce the tension in his grip. Dream is quiet for a long time, staring with a flat face and a hidden anger. “Please.”
Dream shoves him away and Tommy lands against the sand with a thud. The cut on his face splits open a little bit and he clutches it with one hand.
“I’ll find you later today. I have things to do.” And Dream stands and leaves.
It’s about mid day before Tommy decides he needs to do something. Eventually, he crafts himself a new axe and gathers firewood for tonight.
There is a daunting realization that hits him like a kick in the face. This is the last time he will need to gather firewood. It is both a relief and a burden.
If Tommy cried each time his axe hit a tree as though he himself was being axed in the back, he’d never admit it.
Tommy gathers as many logs as he can. All whilst tears stain his face. He continues deeper into the forest, determined to only head back once he has as many logs as he can carry.
He wants to take his time getting logs. Tommy wants his bones to crack and ache in the morning. For his mind to be nothing but mining logs.
He doesn’t want to be himself.
And maybe if he works himself to the bone, for a moment he can feel like someone else.
His boots thump against the carpeted forest floor. A blanket of moss beneath his shoes, leaves being peppered onto the ground from above of every shape and size. His eyes catch on a fine white coat on the ground.
Snow.
He never realised the forest led into a snowy biome.
From the perimeters of the grass he stands on, he can almost see where the forest ends. Through a sea of blackened trees, highlighted by the white crystal snow that settles all around, there is an opening of pure white.
And for a moment, as he continues taking down trees, Tommy thinks about running. Unthinkingly, he takes a step into the snow. The forest continues on for quite a while in snow. He walks in a moment longer, allowing himself to feel the cold brush against his skin. The biting ice against the soles of his feet.
His eyes focus on one tree in particular, thin yet tall amongst the others. An easy source of wood. Tommy walks over further into the snow.
Does Dream have a rule about walking this far out?
His eyes drift to another tree, this one more perfect than the prior. It’s further away, leading him away from Logstedshire. But he needs firewood for tonight. Tommy wouldn’t want to upset Dream.
Tommy reaches the new tree and spots a better one. And then another better tree. And then he’s sprinting. Each tree leads him further away. The only warmth he can feel at this point is the fiery defiance burning inside him and the tears in his eyes.
If he’s going to die, it will be on his own terms. It will not be after being locked up with Dreams once his soul is torn from him until he’s unrecognisable.
A manic laugh sounds and he almost doesn’t realise it's his own. Tommy is laughing as he runs. He has not laughed since the beginning of exile. He has been here in this fucking hell hole! For a year and a half.
And now, as he runs for fun, not fear, he feels that bubble of excitement.
He is rebelling. Tommy will die how he wants. It will not be to the hands of Dream.
Part of him fights the rebellion. Telling him that Dream cares. That Dream will be upset and he needs to turn back because Dream loves him and needs him.
The other half is a flickering firelight, igniting as it used to roar in a burn against the night. Maybe if Tommy can kindle the light, throw more onto the fire and get it to grown bi—
CLICK!
Tommy smacks against the snowy floor, the air leaving his lungs. A rope tangles itself around his foot, pulling him against the floor and then dragging him upside down, hanging by the foot on a tree.
The blood rushes to his head, his face quickly growing red.
Oh, shit.
His axe is strewn across the floor beneath him, having been knocked out of his grip when he was hung. Tommy swings, attempting to grapple with the rope but fails to find the strength.
Maybe if he had mined less trees he’d be able to set himself free. Or if he weren’t still bloodied and bruised from disobeying Dream the night before.
Tommy can feel consciousness begin to drift away. He fights it, struggling but only winding himself from where he swings upside down. His vision begins to blur and he fights. All he seems to do is fight.
A few feet away, a figure appears, almost blending in with the snow.
Dream, he thinks.
“I’m sorry.” Tommy shakes his head as the blurry person comes closer. “I’m so sorry.” He mutters. At least Dream will save him. God, what the fuck did he think he was doing? Of course Dream cares about him.
And then Tommy’s eyes slip shut and he loses the ability to open them.
Technoblade is a bit surprised when Ghostbur phases through the door in a panicked mess. He wasn’t expecting him for another few hours.
“Ghostbur? What’s wrong?” Techno asks quickly. You see, the problem with ghostbur is he can’t retain unhappy memories for very long. It’s because of his blue. They’re his memories.
It starts of light and grows darker and darker, like an ink stain.
Right now, the blue in Ghostbur’s hand grows darker by the second, darker than Technoblade has seen in a long time.
“Tommy!” Ghostbur manages to get out, his eyes wide with panic. “He’s tangled in one of your traps!”
Ghostburs form flickers, as though he’s shaking and everywhere snow has touched him, there's patches of blue.
“Stay here, Ghostbur.” Techno commands, gathering his coat and boots.
Ghostbur nods and wraps his arms around himself. Technoblade swings the door open and goes towards the traps he set, leaving the armour he was polishing behind.
“Where is he?” Technoblade calls from outside. He can’t waste time with Ghostburs' fading memory. But he has questions.
“Follow the blue!” Ghostbur smiles from through the window and Techno gives a grunt of acknowledgement, seeing the blue stained snow.
He hasn’t seen Tommy in a very long time. There’s a sour taste on his tongue when he realises the last time they saw each other was the crater that Wilbur left behind in L’manberg.
But for whatever reason, Tommy is here. Techno thinks (or more so the voices tell him) that Tommy got exiled by Tubbo but he thought that was more of a childish fight than anything.
So why on earth is Tommy strolling around, miles away from home, by his house?
Techno pulls his cape over his shoulders, shielding himself from the blizzard that's beginning to roll in. The snow reaches past his ankles, crunching beneath his foot. It won’t be long before the snow is up to his knees at this rate.
He brushes through the open snowy plains, following the trail until it reaches the forest. Inside the forest, it’s more erratic, making it clear that Ghostbur was panicking.
Techno can see where Ghostbur phased straight through trees and where he spun around going every direction trying to find his way to Techno.
It makes something inside Techno reel with worry. Like a pit forming inside his stomach for Tommy that wasn’t there before.
Of course he was worried about his brother before, who wouldn’t be? But this was Tommy. Strong, independent Tommy who most likely already cut himself down and went running off back to his friends. Seeing Ghostburs blue, strewn about like someone had set off a blue firework is enough to set him on edge.
He increases his gait, speeding up just a bit to find Tommy sooner. If Tommy was still hanging, he’s probably been stuck upside down for about 20 minutes now? 30? It’s a fair way to walk and Techno forgot to ask how long Ghostbur thinks he’s been there.
Techno’s heart plummets when he starts to see more red than blue amongst the snow. His heart drops to his stomach with a thud.
The voices yell out to him and he has to fight the urge to respond.
Stay focused. Techno just needs to remind himself.
He follows the blue and red drips with unease. And now, as he squints through the trees, he sees a form hanging by his foot.
“Tommy!” Techno yells, cupping a hand to his face and running through the piles of snow, trudging forward.
There’s no response. The figure hangs limp, swaying slightly. The cold breeze bites against his skin.
Techno rushes forward ungracefully. He knocks the snow away. “Tommy!”
The blood dripping down onto the ground is enough to make Techno’s throat close with a deadly tightness.
Techno pulls his axe out and throws it at the rope going up the tree where Tommy hangs. It hits, bang on and the rope loosens, dropping Tommy into the snow.
“Theseus?” Techno slows down, unclipping his cape immediately as he sees Tommy.
He shivers against the snow, eyes closed and skin pale, clammy to touch. The only colour in Tommy’s skin are the bruises that litter his entire body like a connect the dots.
It’s almost impossible for Techno to believe that this is Tommy. Bloodied and covered in grime. His skin is closer to the colour of snow than the white of Techno’s shirt.
Techno thumbs the blood on Tommy’s cheek, the cut isn’t brand new but still it drips. What the hell happened to his baby brother?
Techno can barely process what he’s seeing. He wraps the cape around the sleeping boy and picks him up, holding him against his chest like Tommy used to demand he do when Techno was a teenager.
Unthinkingly, he carries the boy back to his cabin. The wind roars against Technoblade, whipping his back in a way he didn’t notice with the cape. But Tommy needs it more than him.
It looks like Tommy needs a lot of things more than him.