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Tommy ‘Innit’ craft’s family was to put it simply a wreck. His father Phil was absent most of the time, opting to travel with his oldest brother Technoblade rather than actually parent his children. Techno himself had always been a recluse, he was ether in his room reading some dumb Greek mythology book or traveling with phil. When they were away he was left in the care of his second older brother Wilbur. Wilbur was the best brother anyone could ask for, well he was, until they were both invited to a server known as the DreamSMP. That was when it all finally started to crumble.
At the ripe old age of 16 Tommy was thrown into his first war. It had been a hard battle filled with blood shed, betrayal and death. He still wore the scars of that battle. It had been the beginning of the end, they had won at the expense of their lives and his discs. After that battle Wilbur had appointed himself president of L’manburg and they were happy. And then he wasn't. The election had been what snapped him. His once loving gentle brother lost to the grief of failure. Watching Wilbur descend into madness was the hardest thing Tommy had ever had to witness, even after all of the death and pain, seeing his brother turn into a mean, sometimes abusive mess of a man was just as painful as watching him die.
Wilbur's death wasn't a surprise to anyone. They had all known the man had given up on the life he had. Tommy still remembers that day vividly, every word that was spoken close enough for him to hear echoed in his mind. The fear that rushed through him as the explosion was set off. The pain of not only losing his home, both of his brothers and his left arm was almost too much to take. That night had been the first time he had thought of death not as a terrifying thing to be avoided at all costs but as a way out. He had quickly removed the thought from his mind, deciding he would be better than that, better than Wilbur, he would be the best darn VP the server had ever seen.
Eight months later he was exiled from his country. It had been an honest mistake on his part. He hadn't meant to burn down Georges house he only wanted to scare the new guy. But it had all been blown out of proportion and suddenly he was trapped on a small island with nothing and no one. Well almost no one, gods if only it had been no one. The five years he was trapped in exile had been pure torture. At the start it wasn't so bad, lonely and boring yes but at least he could write to Ranboo and sometimes people, other than the green bastard that put in here in the first place, would visit. The first time Dream hit him was one month in. it was for the most part a normal day in exile, Dream had been trying to get Tommy to drop his stuff in the hole, Tommy of course refused but inserted of the normal argument that followed he was quickly slapped and told again to drop his stuff, he did.
Dream had apologized after the ordeal was done, telling Tommy that he was just having a bad day and couldn't put up with his antics. He understood Wilbur had been the same back in pogtopia. It only got worse from there. On the worst days Dream would beat him so close to death Tommy could swear he could hear the faint noise of a woman calling out to him. On the good days Dream would act like they were best friends, he would allow him to keep his things and sometimes he even gave him some things.
one year into exile Tommy tried to kill himself. He was standing on the nether side of the community portal as Ghostbur, Sapnap and Dream entered the server to get some supplies and a picture of the Christmas tree. Being left alone with nothing but his thoughts and the comforting sound of lava he had stepped closer to the edge. The lava looked so warm and he was just so cold that in that moment he couldn't find a single reason not to just let himself fall. Before he could his right arm had been grabbed harshly and he had been thrown against the obsidian floor. Dream had broken the nether portal.
After four more years of abuse, manipulation and several more attempts his final day in dream’s exile came. He couldn't quite remember exactly what had happened, he remembered greeting Dream as he came through the portal and the next thing he knew he was stood on top of a single block tower. He ended up sitting on his brother's floor a few hours later. The next few months were ‘fuzzy’ for him. It was as if he had lived it all within a cloud of static. When he finally left his fuzzy head space his home was gone. Completely gone this time. And Dream had apparently been locked up. It was over.
Tommy had been finally getting his life back on track, he had started seeing a therapist, his two best friends had gotten married and adopted a child, he himself had adopted a child. Everything was finally looking up. Then because this is Tommy's story it got worse. It was just meant to be one last visit. Then he wouldn't ever have to think about that man again. But someone set off some tnt, it wasn't enough to actually do anything but it was enough for him to be trapped in the small cell for weeks.
The first two weeks were mostly without incident. Then it finally happened. Dream had been off all day and frankly it was starting to piss him off. Why should dream get to sit and glare at him for simply living, if Dream wanted to be pissy than fine Tommy would give him a reason to be pissy. He had only meant to annoy him a little bit. Just enough to make him mad. He could always tell when Dream was mad he had learnt his tells in exile. The mean words he was expecting didn't come instead he was pushed roughly onto the floor. All that he could comprehend after that was pain. The pain was excruciating, he wasn't lucky enough to have been knocked out when he fell instead he was forced to feel every hit, every kick, everything. Even as his vision became blurry and his ears filled with static the pain stayed.
When he finally died the pain didn't stop. The phantom blows haunted him as he walked around the platform. Wilbur had told him that that's just how it worked: the pain you die with stays with you for however long you're in purgatory. Which luckily enough for him that was only 3 months. Well 3 months for him it had only been 2 days for the living.
Being resurrected was strange to put it lightly. One second he was playing cards with MD and schlatt and then he was laying on the ground being shaken roughly. Once his awareness had returned the panic almost immediately set in, he screamed and yelled until Sam had let him out. The sever had changed, not just with the sudden appearance of statues that surrounded his house but the very air of the server felt different like every gust of wind, every breath he took was simply a figment of his imagination.
They all looked at him differently after, he noticed it as he walked the prime path. The eyes that followed him like he was a walking corpse. Even as they assured him they saw him no differently then they had before his death, he saw it in the way they hesitated to touch him ,the way they stared searching for any sign that he was not as human not as living as he claimed to be. It was almost as excruciating as death, almost as cripplingly lonely as exile.
Ghostburs death was a pain he had though he could never experience again. It had been entirely his fault. It was his idea to take him into the prison, his plan that had gotten him killed. He had caused Ghostburs pain, he didn't physically kill him but it was his pathetic idealization of justice that had put him the line of fire that took his soul.
Wilbur’s return was just simply incomparable to the loss of Ghostbur. Tommy knew as soon as he saw him what was going to happen. He would be used for whatever Wilbur wanted him for whenever he needed him and then left when he was no longer of use to him. It was almost laughable, the hope that briefly filled him as he looked at his brother. The hope that maybe by some luck of the gods Wilbur would be as he was before the server, back when he looked at the world as something to make his, something that is full of wonder and opportunities instead of the hollow loveless shell he left it as, that hope died the second he began speaking.
Now looking over the edge of the L’manhole there was nothing akin to hope in his body. the whispers of memories defend him as thought back to the time such emotions were not a rarity back when the streets were filled with laughter and joy, when any L’manberg member could even begin to fathom the idea of harming another without a justified reason was simply unheard of.
Its silent now any remanence of the love that once lived here was long gone. Tommy had one enjoyed the quiet, craved it even, now it mocked him. It laughed at him, at his failure at his deaths, at his revival. Its was almost poetic, L’manberg had been the first place he had felt he had a true family. A place he could feel loved, feel as though his life meant something to someone. And now here he stood alone, unloved, uncared for. Here he stood breathing deeply whispering his apologies to anyone that still believed they cared for him, watching as the sun set. He smiled as he fell, freedom to the boy who only ever wanted to fly.