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Tommy’s breathing was almost synced with that of the ocean, never changing, calm, and steady as if even the wildest of storms couldn’t unnerve it as the morning sun painted the sky in soft pink, blue, and yellows.
He sits peacefully curled up on one of the four big rocks that separates the ocean from the hospital, a gust of wind making his hospital gown whip around and bringing a soft smile to his lips as phantom hands follow with a gentle ruffle of his hair.
He should probably be sad, angry perhaps? Wil had once told him that grief changes people: someone usually quiet and soft-spoken could suddenly lash out with brutal fists and even sharper words. People with even the fiercest of tempers suddenly go silent and stare blankly ahead as if everything they were or had been, had suddenly been sucked out of them, leaving them empty and hollow.
Grief was unpredictable, no one knew how it would affect them, what parts of themselves they would lose or gain on the journey to get out of the black hole that grief's clawed fingers had dragged them down into.
At least that’s what Wil had said, but Tommy wasn’t sure how much of it was true. Or perhaps all of it was and he was just the exception. Wilbur had said it was pure agony: like a thousand needles constantly pricking your skin. Techno had piped up and explained that grief could also cause you to shut down, go numb as he called it.
Grieving people often became rash and reckless, driven purely by their emotions as their brain shut off in an attempt to process something it just couldn’t. Perhaps that’s why they put him on suicide watch, or at least he was pretty sure they had. He hadn’t been alone since they told him, someone always nearby glancing at him, just in case . The only reason he was even able to sneak out was by using Phil’s knowledge of the shift changes and the fire escapes.
He just needed out of the room for a little bit, couldn’t stand staying in their wing of the hospital anymore. The wing they had gotten permission to decorate, Pink, blue, yellow, and red splatters of paint thrown all around the walls. He needed to breathe, needed to get away from the room with four beds, three of which would never again be used.
They had all gone out together, leaving him here alone.
He was told they coded while he was in surgery, but the way they said it he suspected it happened when a nurse had been foolish enough to tell three fragile patients that their fourth had coded twice on the table and that they were still fighting to keep his heart beating.
Wilbur had immediately tried getting out of his bed, screeching that he needed to ‘find his little brother’ Phil had attempted to calm him down, and Techno had just stared at them blankly. His heart was the first that stopped beating, the other two following suit.
Perhaps it was a coincidence, perhaps a chain reaction, or maybe it was the bond that they had created with each other that simply wouldn’t allow one to leave without the others. But in the end, only one out of four woke up again, and Tommy was left to deal with the aftermath.
He hadn’t gotten angry, hadn’t screamed or cried as the nurses and doctors kept reassuring him he could. He didn’t do either of those things, there was nothing to be sad about, his brain didn’t shut down because he had already processed it, he already had a plan and knew what he had to do.
The people that bound him to the earth were gone, and he had promised he would follow them anywhere even if that meant dragging all three of them out of hell to beat their asses for leaving him, he would gladly do that.
One thing was for sure, as Tommy stared out at the sky, painted in soft colors of Pink, blue, and yellows, welcoming him home with open arms. Whoever was on suicide watch would need a new job, he, was going home.