Chapter Text
The wind whipped past his face, hair billowing in the dark sky as he stood stronger than he ever had on top of the pillar. He clenched and unclenched his fists over and over again until there were stinging red moons burned into his palms. He was sure of it. He was going to finish this.
He took a minute to enjoy the view though. He crouched down with little caution and swung his legs out over the edge of the dirt tower. Taking a minute to examine himself, he could finally see how bad he looked.
He vaguely recognised that he couldn’t feel his right foot – the one missing the shoe. It was covered with black and deep burns running up the side of his ankle, the entirety of his foot raw and bleeding. It pulsated with a dull throb the more he looked at it. His other foot beheld some stained, tatty remains of a trainer. It was torn in most places and the fabric was water-damaged from the number of times he’d woken up drowning.
His legs were thin, and his knees looked like sharp sticks from where they stuck out of his once-pants. He’d cut them a while ago and fashioned them into shorts with a blunt knife. He can’t say it’s the epitome of fashion, but it worked. Similar to his foot, there were stark red burns moving all up his right thigh. Reaching an end somewhere near his hips.
From there he only looked worse. His ribs stuck out of his skin, and he could feel the bruising lining them. His body from where his scraps of clothes had been ruined looked like a skeleton instead of a human. He didn’t feel very human at all, if he were being honest. His chest was lined with white scars and burn marks. His collarbone jutted out awkwardly from where it had previously been broken and healed haphazardly.
Then he looked at his arms.
And all of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe again.
Angry streaks and lines covered them all the way up to his shoulders. They were caked in blood and dirt and grime from before but all he could see were the lines littering them. They weren’t methodical, or kind. All purposefully deep and painful. The fact is, he barely remembered doing it. He barely remembered anything at all. The past few weeks had finally thawed out the constant blur of exile. He thought he was going to make it this time. He had his hiding spot, his pictures of his friends, his weapons and armour. He was going to make it.
Until he didn’t.
His hair felt greasy, and it separated in clumps around his neck. He could feel it tickling his ears as the wind blew by.
He looked back out into the distance. He was facing the beach, the entirety of Logstedshire behind him, out of view. From up here he could see almost the entire island in its depressing vicinity. There were no animals left; some of the trees had caught fire and the flames painted the sky in a magnificent display of orange and red. It was then that a dull realisation seemed to hang in the air.
He missed his last sunset.
He was too busy having betrayed Dream. Having finalised the real intention of his exile – for his permanent removal.
In truth, he knew. He knew it the entire time that he wasn’t going back home. That Tubbo had sent Tommy away for good this time. After all, there was one common factor throughout the entire downfall of L’Manburg: Tommy.
He must have brought suffering wherever he went. The moment he entered that house he doomed Wilbur’s family. The moment he followed his brother and brought Tubbo with him, he sealed both of their fates. It was as if he had some horrible Midas touch to him. An invisible force that hurt the people around him whenever he got too close.
He felt rather ill from up above the earth, just looking down. He wondered if this is how Wilbur felt. If this is what he saw when in that crater, looking out at the world around him and realising there was nothing left for him there. He wondered if Wilbur would’ve built a tower if he hadn’t have blown up L’Manburg; leaving Tommy to stand at the bottom and hear the way his body hit the ground. Tommy wondered if it would’ve made a difference if Wilbur had made it more obvious.
He used to hate Phil for what he did. But he understood now. Philza took one look at Wilbur and realised that he wasn’t his son anymore. That the son he once had, had died the day Phil and Techno left for a bit too long. After all, a father would surely do anything for his son. Even if that very thing was killing him.
Then he thought again. If it were him and Tubbo, would he ask Tubbo to kill him?
The frightening fact is that he doesn’t really know.
Tubbo might as well be Phil already come. With the fact that he exiled Tommy – leaving him for dead, however unintentional it may be. He wondered if Tubbo was asleep, if he was dreaming of him. He knew Tubbo would find him once he went. Maybe he would hold a funeral for him. Maybe Tubbo wouldn’t care. Tommy didn’t think he knew anymore.
He hated Tubbo.
He missed Tubbo.
Tubbo wouldn’t want to see him like this. He’d see the way the tower loomed and cast a shadow over the land beneath him. He’d stand in the strip of the shadow, looking so small, and wonder when the world got so big. Big enough that it killed his best friend.
No. That’s wrong. He’s not Tubbo’s best friend. He isn’t anyone. He’s nothing.
And with a sudden, grim resolve, Tommy steadied his shaky legs and closed his eyes. He didn’t imagine Tubbo, or Wilbur, or anyone else he knew. He pushed all those images away. He imagined himself, sat that day underneath a cardboard box to shield himself from the rain hammering down on the earth. Sat on the streets with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the occasional chewed core of an apple. He imagined an outstretched hand from a different person. He imagined that he never took Wilbur’s offer. He imagined that, somewhere in another place in time, the only thing that mattered was living instead of surviving. He let himself float off into his own head, picturing all the things that could have been different. He closed his eyes, and with a final breath,
Tommy smiled.
Tommy jumped.
***
It’s dark. Like, really dark.
If he were being honest, he didn’t expect to still be here after jumping, wherever here is. He supposed that that would be it, that it would all be over once he hit the ground.
But no. It was as if he’d been transported to a sky with no stars. A galaxy with no sun. As though he were orbiting something that was no longer there, a place that didn’t exist except within his own imagination.
He tried to move, only to be met with no response from his limbs. It was as though he were catatonic; unable to do anything. He tried to scream but still, he couldn’t hear anything.
That was, until the music started.
It was a soft song, almost dance-like. But the kind of dancing you did by yourself in a locked room; when you were careful not to move too much as not to alert others of your private waltz, but enough to feel alive within your feet. He began to feel a sensation in his body. Electric running through his veins and surging beneath his skin as if a firework had exploded in his stomach and hit every nerve in his body. But then, a moment of hope turned into excruciating pain as he hit somewhat of a floor. He lay there shaking on the not-so-floor until his body ceased the pain and left him.
A couple minutes went by of Tommy curled inward on himself, clutching his stomach tightly. He pressed himself further into the floor as though it would swallow him whole. The half of his body exposed to the air felt oddly warm, almost like a small flame had been held up to him, a palmful of light hitting the bumps of his skin.
When he finally felt he was able to, he moved one palm to the floor and pushed his body against it. Staggering to wobbly stance, he looked to his surroundings for any information on his whereabouts. He was faced with endless darkness, bits of matter orbiting bits of matter perpetually, all clumping together to form one massive black hole. It felt suffocating.
His assumption was correct however, as he circled himself to find a soft light pulsating in the distance. Taking a large gulp of air into his lungs, he began stumbling towards the light, some sudden sense of determination surging through him. He still didn’t know what this was but found that dwelling on it would do no good. It was only after a good ten minutes of walking that he realised his right foot didn’t hurt anymore. He looked down to examine it, then, stood on one leg and held the injured foot in his hand. The burns were still there. He traced a delicate finger over the rough surface but felt nothing still. He ultimately decided not to think on it anymore and continued walking aimlessly.
Tommy reckons that he would’ve died from boredom if it weren’t for the soft music resonating through the expansiveness. It almost seemed to ricochet off of, well, he didn’t really know what. He’d been walking for a long time now, the light still pulsating in the darkness in a rhythmical manner.
He found himself almost… nervous. What if he didn’t find anything here? It has been so long already and still; he seemed no closer to the light than he was before. His legs felt numb and weak all at the same time – as though there were ghost limbs attached to his body, trailing on, somehow still going despite the rest of him screaming in protest.
He found his feet dragging on the floor, he was no longer looking at the light. Its distance from him became depressing after a while, so instead he found it nicer to stare at his feet, humming distantly into the void. That’s what he had decided to call it.
He stopped after what seemed to be an even longer period of time than before, suddenly warm. He looked up for the first time in a while, the light almost blinding in-front of him. Tentatively, he took a small step forward, his torso leaning backwards. What if this took him back? The thought made him shiver. But, another part of his mind cried, what if it takes you away? He nodded quietly to himself, clenching his fists and holding his breath. As he stepped into the light, he found himself almost consumed by heat – burning. A pained cry ripped its way from his throat. It felt like dying all over again, his body being burnt and torn; his limbs separated and distanced from each other – everything detached.
He found himself unable to breathe, he could no longer feel anything – he wasn’t sure if he was breathing at all. And then suddenly, everything quietened.
Fleeting seconds of silence passed, then the music reached its crescendo before bursting into a cacophony of indistinguishable noise before him. Blood seeped from his ears and dribbled down the sides of his jaw delicately as he pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Everything felt painful, everything was building up before something plummeted into his chest as though trying to rip his heart out.
He was on fire, like he was burning alive, or dead - burning anyway. Exploding from inside out, his own bones were contorting and reshaping themselves, old scars throbbing where they used to lay dormant and still, once trying to remain unnoticed. He’d never felt anything like this before. A guttural scream clawed its way out of the remnants of his body as he was thrown to the ground.
The life drained – everything seemed cold again.
The music stopped.
Silence took its cue.