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Tommy was pretty sure whoever invented the phrase ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ was stupid. Or crazy. Both, probably.
He’s lived through far too much – and seen even more than that – to even consider believing in its truth. He had gone through two doomsdays; neither of them left him feeling stronger than before, just exhausted and hurt. He made it through two exiles as well, and that just left him with scars, memories, and a shit-ton of trauma. Hell– Tommy had literally died! Lost his third life, had his head bashed in with a potato of all things, wound up in limbo for three months, and all he had to show for it was a white streak in his hair and, as Puffy had put it, ‘ghosts in his eyes’.
…Well, maybe that last one didn't count, since it did end up with him dying. The dumbass philosopher who made the saying gets a pass for that, but not for anything else. Tommy was a firm believer that what killed you just fucked you up, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.
Especially given the current crime he’s been made victim to: kidnapping.
How on earth was that supposed to make him stronger? And when was it supposed to happen, because he’s been stuck in the middle of the arctic for who knows how long, and he still can’t manage to slip past Phil and Techno. Not far, at least. Maybe he’d get to the treeline, but never far beyond because, between the traps, dogs, and crows, he had no shot. And Techno and Phil knew that, he was sure. Every time he actually managed a break for it, they just dragged him back before continuing on with the day like nothing happened.
The two weren’t even worried about his broody silence anymore– they were too busy arguing about hashbrowns. Did they even think Tommy was still planning his escape attempts?
“Mate, I don’t even think the pan is big enough for that,” Phil said exasperatedly, looking at the mountain of shredded potato on Techno’s cutting board. So the answer was a firm ‘no’ , then. “Even if it was, none of us could realistically eat that much.”
“It’ll cook down,” Techno argued back, not backing down in the slightest. This type of argument happened every time Phil made the mistake of making breakfast later, since Techno was usually done with his morning chores by then and could interject with his own requests. Like five pounds of hash browns.
“It’ll take forever, though,” Phil pointed out, letting go of the pan handle to turn and face Techno fully. “And I’m not going to cook nothing but potatoes for an hour.”
“Then move over and let me do it,” Techno said back, taking a step forward and reaching for the pan so that he could take over cooking. Before he could, Phil snapped his hand out and pulled the pan out of Techno’s reach.
“No– you always end up burning half of it to the pan, and I’m not going to spend an hour over the sink trying to clean a pan either,” Phil told him, angling himself to be in front of the pan so that Techno couldn’t get to it.
“I don’t burn half of it,” Techno protested, though Phil challenged his words with a knowing look. “...It’s more like a fourth. And either way, the burned layer makes sure the rest of it doesn’t burn. Besides, they're supposed to be a little crispy.”
“Not like that–" Phil cut himself off with a sigh, plopping the pan back onto the stove once he was sure Techno wouldn’t make a grab at it. “Honestly mate, I think I trust Tommy more than you with cooking sometimes.”
Tommy sat up a bit straighter at the mention of his name, automatically being pulled out of his sulking thoughts.
Techno just scoffed, though. “Theseus? You mean the guy who burned dinner to a crisp the one time you tried to teach him to cook?” Tommy’s brow furrowed in indignation at that– the recipe Phil had given him was hard! If it had just been normal shit, he would've done great!
Of course, Techno just waved off Tommy’s unsaid arguments with a “No offense.” Techno knew him well enough to know that the comment would annoy him, but his preemptive damage control just made Tommy more frustrated.
“I’m right fuckin’ here,” he muttered, the hand he was leaning on shifting up to mess with the earring Phil and Techno had insisted upon giving him– even going as far as to pierce his ear for it. That just got him a half disappointed, half warning look from Techno.
“I told you to stop tugging on it,” he sighed. It was a first warning, Tommy knew; the one Techno would give him before stepping in and fixing the problem himself. “I don’t want to have a repeat of what happened last month.”
Tommy grimaced at the mention of his most recent ‘incident’, his hand immediately stopping its light pulls on the emerald hanging on his ear. Back when he’d first gotten it, he tried for days to pull it out since they wouldn't tell him what kinds of enchantments they'd put on it. Turns out, one of them was binding, so that only ended in Tommy nearly tearing his own earlobe off before Phil splashed him with a weakness potion.
Techno nodded at his compliance, expression softening into its usual neutral state. Phil, on the other hand, looked more worried than before, brows knitted in thought.
“You look pretty tired mate,” he said, a note of mild concern in his tone as he surveyed Tommy’s body language. His head was tilted. A bit like a crow, Tommy thought, but that was kind of to be expected given he was a crow avian. “Any reason why?”
Tommy just shrugged. “Just having some issues sleeping, y’know?”
“Ah… That’s understandable,” Phil said, tone almost reassuring. It both frustrated Tommy and soothed the part of him that constantly worried about saying or doing something stupid. “It’s because we’re getting close to the one year anniversary of bringing you home, right?”
‘Bringing you home’. Such a nice way of putting dragging him away from his life and faking his running away so that none of his friends questioned his disappearance. None of them questioned it. That fact still hurts to think about. He wondered if they thought he was dead, if they would've held a funeral. He kind of hoped so, even if the thought was morbid.
Someone ruffled his hair, bringing him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Techno was the culprit.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” he told Tommy, letting his hand fall back to his side. “It’s a day to celebrate, not one to dread.”
“Mhm,” Phil agreed, giving Tommy a sympathetic smile. “We’ll go ahead and have your favorite dinner and just spend time together on Saturday, yeah?”
And, as much as Tommy hated to admit it, the idea sounded nice to him. Like, really nice.
When they'd first dragged him out here, he was under round-the-clock surveillance. Unless he was changing or in the bathroom, one of the two would be hovering around him. As weeks passed and he fell into a rhythm for his new situation, he'd get more and more privacy; and the only times that was taken away were when he planned or attempted to escape.
A simple cause-effect relationship. One that reminded him a bit of how it was during exile with Dream, though there were plenty of obvious differences between the two. The biggest being that, no matter what he did, Phil and Techno never got physical. Or even yelled at him, surprisingly enough. He had expected at least a screaming match, even tried to initiate it to get it over with, due to him siding with L’manburg. But instead of snapping at him, Techno just…walked away. And Phil did the same when Tommy pushed him too far. It almost made him feel guilty, but he pushed the feeling down.
Another big difference was that Phil and Techno’s kindness seemed genuine. It was a weird idea to Tommy; but, between the easy conversations and the countless nights one of them would stay up with him when he had nightmares, it was one that was starting to seem true.
So, the idea of a day where they just hung out? That made him more excited than he’d been in a while, though he'd never admit it.
“Can I choose what we do?” Tommy asked, deciding to test the waters just to be safe.
“Uh–” Phil blinked a few times before a vaguely relieved smile grew on his face. “Sure- sure. What'd you have in mind mate?”
Tommy grinned. “I want to ride Carl, practice with the good swords, make some shit to redecorate my room, go on a walk outside the fence, and–”
“That's going to take forever,” Techno complained, a hopefully exaggerated scowl on his face. “And you know you’re not allowed beyond the fence line–”
“But you’ll both be there!” Tommy insisted. “And it’s not like I’m stupid enough to run when The Blade and Angel of Death are standing right there.”
Instead of the small nods of begrudging agreement he wanted from that statement though, Tommy got a knowing look from the both of them.
“Wh– I'm not!” Tommy said defensively, bristling at their doubt. “Have some fucking faith in me- Prime…”
“It's not that we think you're stupid, mate,” Phil said in some attempt at reassurance. “It's just that you're stubborn. Very, very stubborn. It's both one of your best and worst traits.”
“Leaning towards worst,” Techno added offhandedly. At Tommy’s indignant scoff, he continued. “I mean, how many times have you gotten hurt because you couldn't back down from a fight? Why did you go into a war over discs?”
“It was for the principle–” Tommy argued, scowling. This was bullshit– he wasn’t stubborn! He was- was loyal, smart, strong–
Phil snorted, and it quickly devolved into a small laughing fit. Tommy shot him a death glare, annoyed that the man wasn't defending him, and Techno looked at his friend with mild concern, eyebrow raised.
“Sorry- sorry,” Phil finally said between chuckles. “It's just- gods, you're just like Techno.”
That immediately prompted a simultaneous ‘heh?!’ and ‘what?!’ from the other two.
“You're comparing me to him?!” Techno asked Phil incredulously, looking between him and Tommy a few times, as if the comparison had personally offended him. Which, rude, by the way.
“Please,” Tommy scoffed defensively. “It’s a fuckin’ honor to be compared to me, Tech-no-blade. I'm the coolest, biggest man in this server. Second only to the Philza Minecraft.”
“Certainly not the most humble,” Techno commented, folding his arms. Phil just smiled fondly at the interaction.
“Oh, this is humble,” Tommy said back, feigning cockiness. “If I was actually being honest, I'd have to go on and on because–”
Techno groaned, interrupting Tommy’s rant before it even began and rubbing his temples. “Why did we pick you..?”
Phil snickered at that, lightly smacking Techno’s shoulder. “Oh c’mon– stop being dramatic, mate.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” Techno said, defensive as he let his hands drop to his sides again. “I’m just saying– Ranboo wouldn’t have been this frustrating to deal with.”
At Phil’s eye roll, Techno continued. “You know I’m right. Ranboo would’ve been easier to handle, and so would Fundy. I’m honestly convinced that Tubbo would be less of a challenge than him!”
“But we didn’t bring any of them home, now did we?” Phil reminded him lightly, leaning against the counter. Techno huffed, but shook his head, so Phil continued. “Right. We have Tommy, so stop complaining.”
Techno huffed but didn’t comment, and Phil glanced over at Tommy after a moment of quiet. Upon seeing Tommy’s blank expression, Phil walked over and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“You’re alright mate,” Phil told him, a soft smile on his face as he squeezed Tommy’s shoulder gently. “Techno’s just joking, yeah? We wouldn't replace you just because you're a bit difficult sometimes.”
“Mhm…” Tommy forced himself to nod in response, automatically defaulting to shooting Techno a glare next. “You’re a bitch, Techno.”
Again, Techno huffed, reaching out a hand and ruffling Tommy’s hair again. “Yeah, yeah. So you’ve told me.”
“Now,” he continued, pulling his hand away and walking back towards the stove. “Back to breakfast–”
“No,” Phil said quickly, hand darting back to the pan left on the stove.
The rest of the argument was lost on Tommy, though. All he could hear was the echoes in his head from Techno's words.
‘Why did we pick you?’
The rest of the day passed in flashes for Tommy.
One moment he was sitting in the kitchen, poking at breakfast, and the next he was trudging through the snow, helping Techno with some errand he needed to do. After that, he was inside, just staring at a book, not really reading what was on the page.
At some point, he did try to anchor himself in reality again using the only method he knew: pain. He picked at his skin until it bled, but Techno caught him before he truly brought himself back. When he blinked again, he had bandages covering both his arms. A safety precaution, he assumed. They'd done similar things before.
Tommy gave up on trying after that and just let himself drift, blinking through the day. He knew from experience that he'd eventually be spat back up from his mind; it was just a matter of when.
But that didn't mean it didn't suck to be trapped in-between the conflicting currents of his thoughts. It was confusing to only see flashes, to say the least, but it also left him feeling helpless. Unable to really do anything about it – trapped in his own head.
It felt almost pathetic. He couldn't even beat himself? No wonder Dream was able to fuck with his head so much, or why Wil yelled at him when he was still alive. Fuck– it's no wonder Wil didn’t stick around for him. Why would he?
“Why did we pick you?”
Blinking, Tommy found himself poking at a different meal. From the darkening sky he could see through a window, it was probably evening. Dinner, then.
Phil said something about having a bad feeling. His bad wing always acted up when a blizzard was coming, and it was worse than usual tonight. He wanted to do some extra preparations, just in case.
Techno called him old, and Tommy managed an agreement that apparently seemed normal to them. The piglin agreed to fortify the cabins, though. The clouds were looking a little off.
When conversation lulled back into casual topics, Tommy shut his eyes again.
And, when he opened them, he was standing at the door. Techno was out fixing up the cabins for the blizzard, and Phil was making preparations inside. Tommy didn't have shoes. Just boots that the other two brought out from who-knows-where whenever they needed to. He had a coat, but he didn't bother to put it on. A hand – probably his – reached out and tested the door handle.
It was unlocked.
Tommy blinked.
The first thing he registered when he finally got back to his body was that he was shaking. Vicious tremors rattled his frame as the haze fizzled from his head.
It was only a moment or two after that that he realized he was cold. His feet felt fine, if stiff and numb, but the rest of him was freezing.
By the time he fully came to his senses, he realized why that was.
A strong gust of wind knocked into him, trying to shove him to the ground as a fast flurry of snow pellets shot like bullets into his back. He just had to brace himself where he was standing and shove his hands under his armpits, mourning the fact that his long-soaked shirt didn't soften the sting of the snow.
He was in the middle of the blizzard.
He had no coat, no shoes, and absolutely no clue where he was. That knowledge was in his head somewhere, probably, but fuck knows he couldn't get to it through the muddled mess that was his memories of the past couple hours.
“ Fuck… ” The cuss slipped out of him like second nature. In a way, it was. He remembered how Puffy had told him it was a ‘defense mechanism’ (whatever that was) along with his loudness for when he was losing control over a situation. He’d argued that it was not until the end of their session. If only she could see him now…
Another gust slammed into his back, making him stumble forward a few shaky steps. This time, though, he continued walking, using the momentum the wind had given him to trudge onward in hopes of finding shelter. All the while, he kept his hands shoved between his underarms and torso, trying to keep them warm since he couldn’t do the same for his poor feet, which were now starting to ache distantly.
But, despite every bone in his body and act of nature pushing him to just lie down in the snow, Tommy kept going. He may not know where he was going, but to stop meant to die. That he knew for sure, and he didn't want that. He wanted to go back to the cabin– sit in front of the big ass fireplace, fall asleep on the couch and wake up tomorrow with feeling in his fingers. Step one was getting back, though...
His gait was slow and wobbly; if he looked back, he’d only be able to see his past few footprints, as the snow was covering them within the minute. On multiple occasions, he had to pause for a few precious moments after being pushed around like a ragdoll by the flurries around him. Everything ached, and he was struggling to focus, but he couldn’t stop.
Things looked up slightly when the shivering stopped, letting Tommy wobble on without that as a barrier to his journey. That change was accompanied by several ones that weren’t so great, though. Like the sheen of fog covering his mind growing thicker and more draining, pulling him down further and further into unconsciousness with every step. Oh the joys of hypothermia…
By the time his muscles were seizing up, Tommy had lost any hope he had of living through this storm. He was exhausted, cold, wet, dying, and unable to form a coherent thought. Much less a plan on how to survive.
Nothing sounded as appealing as sleep, but some deep-seated part of him was still too scared to just lie down and die. It was a good thing earlier, but now? Now he didn’t give half a shit that this was his last life. He didn’t care that he’d go back to limbo.
He just wanted rest.
Tommy’s feet came to an abrupt halt, though it took him a moment to realize that it was because he’d reached a cliff.
The visibility was so low, he couldn’t even see the ground below– only fast vortexes of snowflakes greeted him when he peered over the edge. It could’ve opened out into a rocky shoreline, a cave, or even just a flat plain; it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have been able to hear waves over the wind, anyway. And whatever was at the bottom didn't change the fact that he'd be dead in minutes, if not moments, if he fell over the edge.
Maybe this was a blessing, Tommy considered.
After blindly walking all this way, unknowingly sealing his fate at the hands of the elements, maybe letting himself fall would be a better mercy than slowly freezing to death. At least it had the chance of being quick, and his fear would only last as long as the fall while waiting for death in the snow would feel like torture.
His foot edged closer to the ledge, closing the minuscule gap as he weighed the pros and cons in his head. Going out this way also had the chance of being long and painful, he supposed. In the end though, death from hypothermia was guaranteed to be those things, at least mentally, while falling only had the chance of it.
It wasn’t much of a debate then, was it?
Now he just had to take a step. He’d done it plenty of times before, just not into a vast nothingness like he was now. Memories of Logsted and the pillar flashed through his head, but he didn’t linger too long on them. After all, he’d had the option to choose life on the pillar.
Here he was just picking the easier death.
Once those memories were gone, his head felt empty. Clear. It was like his skull was full of the wind– like it was whistling through his ears and blowing away whatever remained of his thoughts. The cold gave way to slight warmth at his extremities, the last stage of frostbite setting in. He'd be screwed either way.
So, without any further qualms, Tommy tipped forward and let himself fall.
“Tommy–!”
The sound split through the wind, but Tommy only caught a glimpse of the familiar figures mere feet behind him before he was in freefall.
Oh. So someone had come for him.
That was nice.
Too bad he was falling to his death already. If he had known they were there, he'd probably try and go to them for help.
Unless it was Dream. Then he'd do a damn swan dive to get away from the bastard, because he was not going back to exile.
If he thought the wind was bad while walking, this was unfathomable. Without his feet to anchor him on the ground, he was left being thrown around like a puppet without strings. He couldn’t hear anything over the air whizzing past him, not even his own heartbeat, though he didn’t know if it was still there honestly.
His eyes were stinging, too, so he shut them. It helped on multiple levels to not be able to see the darkness he was falling through, he found. Made it much more manageable for his mind as seconds passed like hours and a deep-set feeling of dread started setting in.
Something smacked into him, and Tommy figured that was that. He’d hit the floor too hard. He was dead and on the way to limbo with express shipping. At least he’d have Wil there to ramble and keep away the silence..?
…That’d probably feel a lot more comforting if the man hadn’t spent the better part of a month telling him what hemorrhoids were.
But then, he felt a pair of arms loop around him and squeeze him tightly to someone’s chest. Something else curled around his back, but he hardly had the time to figure out what it was.
Because, a moment later, the both of them actually hit the ground.
And it was rough.
Tommy felt the air get knocked out of him, and he had no doubt that several of his ribs were either broken or fractured. The bandages on his arm were also torn after scraping against whatever they’d landed on (gravel, something in the back of his mind supplied), so he probably has a nasty gash there, too.
But he wasn’t dead, and that surprised him once he realized it.
Whoever had caught him must’ve taken a hell of a lot of damage, but they’d managed to save his life. He was alive, and while he was still cold, the other person’s faint body heat was keeping the reaper at his heels instead of readying its scythe.
Tommy felt his head getting pushed firmly under the person’s chin and being held there, their grip not giving him any leeway to flinch or struggle. Not that he had the energy (or the will) to, anyway. He couldn’t do anything much other than accept this new position, even as they pressed their face into his soaked, matted curls, short breaths puffing out and heating his scalp ever so slightly.
Then, his loopy mind finally suggested that he open his eyes. Maybe thank whoever saved him, if his tongue could cooperate long enough to do that. When he lifted his heavy eyelids, though, all he was met with was a familiar slit heart clasp.
“‘hil?” Tommy mumbled questioningly, the word slurred due to the unnatural weight his tongue suddenly seemed to have. The avian pulled him impossibly closer at that, wing curling even tighter around Tommy’s back, insulating him from the weather and keeping him in a little cocoon of relative safety.
Wait– how had he caught him?
Phil had wings of course, but they were badly damaged after he’d shielded Wilbur from the explosion of L’manburg – burned and scarred to hell and back. Tommy remembered Phil telling him that, with the state of his wings, he’d never really be able to fly again. Even gliding was a struggle on his best days, and one he’d rarely risk out of fear of hurting his wings further. Surely Phil hadn’t tried to fly in a blizzard to get to him!
But, as Tommy slowly craned his head to look back at Phil’s wing, he realized that that was exactly what the avian had done.
His wings were a bloody mess– borderline shredded from the impact. Long healed scars and burns had reopened, dark blood clots flowing over the black feathers that hadn’t been torn off during impact. If he craned his head further, Tommy could see Phil's other wing, the one that wasn't wrapped around him, was strewn crookedly to the side, a dark stain forming on the snow under it. There was no way it wasn't broken– Tommy could tell from the way it was weakly twitching that Phil couldn't move it properly.
“Y’r w’ngs…” was all Tommy could think to say at the sight, unable to pull his eyes away from Phil’s broken wing. He probably wouldn’t ever be able to use it again. The realization hit him slowly, but rang true to even the limited logical reasoning he had; that wing was already worse off than the other! Some part of his mind told him that he had to tell Phil– let the avian know that he had to get medical attention, or- or something! He couldn’t just sit here!
When Tommy tried to lift his head to say something though, Phil pushed Tommy’s head right back under his chin, letting out an incoherent strangled sound and burying his face in the younger’s hair. Phil’s good wing curled impossibly tighter around him, and he could feel a damningly warm liquid seep through the back of his soaked shirt.
Tommy frowned at that, a vague feeling of frustration overcoming him. What was Phil doing? He needed to get back to the cabin and- and down five healing and regen potions while the injury was fresh! Or else he wouldn’t be able to save it, and it would heal all crooked–
A sniffle, only audible to him because of how close they were, stopped him in his tracks before he could try another bid for Phil’s attention.
“No…”
The mutter hardly reached Tommy’s ears, so quiet that he thought it was a hallucination brought on by his condition. But it was followed up by a hand latching onto his upper left arm, holding it in a bruising grip; as well as a shuddering exhale.
“No, no, no, no, no, no–” Phil repeated, like the word was the one thing keeping him afloat; his mantra only paused when he had to take a breath, and even those were short, sobbing gasps. For the longest time, Tommy didn’t know what to do. He could hardly move, and he just plain couldn’t think – the haze was still clinging to his thoughts.
So, he settled on the only thing that came to his slowed mind. Phil tensed even further when Tommy started to move and shift, the hand in his hair tightening to a painful degree before faltering when Tommy roped his arms around him.
“‘m s’rry,” Tommy mumbled, pressing himself closer and hugging the avian with all the strength he could muster up. Not much, given his current condition, but it was enough to crinkle the other’s clothes, at least.
A moment passed, and Tommy almost thought he’d spoken too quietly for Phil to hear him, but then Phil took a hiccuping breath and quietly sobbed it out. More followed it, and before Tommy’s brain could manage to catch up, Phil’s still mobile wing had fully enveloped them both, leaving just his legs still exposed to the blizzard’s wrath. He could try and pull them closer to himself, but that would take a mountain of energy he just didn’t have anymore, so he just left them where they were, relishing in the faint warmth that he did have for most of his body.
The wind was unforgiving though, even at the bottom of the cliff. It was a decent bit slower, but Tommy could practically taste the salt in the air. They were definitely on a beach of some sort, and the wind was picking up the saltwater from the ocean as it went every which way.
A hiss escaped Tommy as another gust of wind bashed into them, making his injured arm push along the fabric of Phil’s clothes and undeniably staining it a darker shade than even the black it was before. With the ocean air being whipped around around them, it was no surprise that it blew right across Tommy’s injuries as well, the salt in it stinging like fire.
Phil didn’t seem to be doing much better, a pained wheeze leaving him as the gust flew past. Tommy could hear him trying to catch his breath, but it kept being interrupted by struggling gasps and strangled cries. Moments passed, and he was able to regulate his breathing well enough again, but it didn’t matter. The wind was relentless. A wall of it would barrel into them, and just as they were stabilizing again, another would follow it. For what felt like hours, he and Phil were stuck in an endless, unforgiving cycle where they could only hope to cling to basic survival.
Until the droning struggle was interrupted by Phil suddenly tugging Tommy closer, making him fall into a small coughing fit with how it jostled his broken ribs.
“Phil–” a relieved voice, Techno’s, said above them, his footsteps crunching quickly in the snow as he hurried over. Phil’s grip didn’t loosen, though. If anything, it tightened, but that didn’t deter Techno in the slightest. “You’re okay– you’ve got him?”
Phil didn’t respond past a distressed hum, wing pressed up against Tommy’s back. Tommy heard another footstep come closer to them, and Phil reacted immediately by pushing backward.
There was a second where nothing but the wind could be heard before Techno spoke again, voice low and softened, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “I’m not a threat, Phil.”
The avian’s breathing was still rapid, though, and his grip on Tommy didn’t loosen in the slightest. Techno didn’t back off, however.
“Easy,” he said quietly, and Tommy heard him take another step forward. This time, Phil didn’t pull back, so he kept taking little baby steps forward. “You know me. You’re hurt right now, I get that, and I know Tommy’s not doing much better, right?”
Phil’s hold faltered slightly when Techno hit the nail on the head, though he didn’t dare to unfold his wing just yet. That much Tommy was thankful for, as it kept him in a little pocket of warmth and he didn't want to go back to the cold.
“If you let me,” Techno continued, tone softening even further. “I can help. Get you both back home safe, okay?”
A long few seconds passed, but Phil still didn’t relax.
“Please,” Techno pleaded, the desperation in his voice sounding alien to Tommy’s ears even with the condition his brain was in. “You’ll both die out here, and I can’t lose you both.”
It was only after that that Phil slowly and hesitantly pulled his wing back. Just enough to where Techno could see Tommy’s battered and bruised form, curled up in a bloody, soaked display. Coincidentally, it was also just enough to reintroduce Tommy to the chill, which made him start to shiver slightly, warmed up just enough to feel the cold again.
There were another few quick footsteps, and Tommy felt someone’s hand lightly ghosting over him, pausing on the gash in his arm and his head for a moment before moving on when Tommy flinched from the pain. Eventually, it settled on his neck, right on his jugular. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not painful, and it eventually disappeared.
“He’s alive, but his pulse is weak,” Techno muttered before going quiet. Tommy pulled himself closer to Phil, though, seeking warmth again.
Then, the hand came back to his shoulder and started pulling him.
Pulling him away from Phil.
Tommy immediately protested by both tightening his arms around Phil and grumbling. Not the most effective or comprehensible response he could’ve given, but it worked, and Phil returned the sentiment, wing coming back up to cocoon Tommy.
“I– Phil–” Techno sounded both frustrated and worried “–I need to get you on Carl before I can pick Tommy up; he can’t carry you both.”
“No,” Phil told him, though he hardly sounded as threatening and unyielding with the shake in his voice. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to respond, but if he could, he’d share the same sentiment. Probably with a fair bit of colorful language tossed in to get the point across even better, because he did not want to be exposed to the cold ever again after this.
“You two are dying, Phil,” Techno told Phil, the softness in his voice briefly being overpowered by the same panicked firmness from earlier. “And Carl can’t carry the both of you all the way back, so you’re stuck with my plan, and that’s you going on Carl while I carry Tommy– and so help me I will knock you out if I need to, because I’m not losing you.”
The words weren’t directed at Tommy – that much was obvious to him – but they didn’t quite seem to be only for Phil, either. That wouldn’t make much sense, though, right? Techno talked to himself just like anyone else on the server, but this…wasn’t how he sounded when he did it. There was no referring to some invisible outside observer– just an apparent declaration or promise to himself.
And, to Tommy’s dismay, that was enough for Phil to let go of him.
Techno acted quickly as soon as Phil’s hold on Tommy loosened, carefully pushing Phil’s wing to the side and coaxing his hands out of the death grip they had on Tommy’s arm and hair. Tommy shivered and held on to the best of his ability, but he soon felt his arms being pried away from Phil, completely unable to fight back now since his body was back to focusing on shivering weakly.
With that, he was laid down onto the snow like a forgotten doll. The blood that had seeped through the back of his shirt quickly went from warm to frozen, sticking heavy to his back like tar. He could feel the wind gusting overtop his abandoned body, flinging snow, gravel, and salty air into his face in bullet-like waves. Cheek pressed into the cold below him, Tommy forced his eyes open again, even as the flakes flew into them, and saw two silhouettes staggering away, obscured by snow. If he looked beyond them, he could see a third, larger shadow, clearly cast by an animal– probably Carl, Techno's horse.
The pair hobbled towards the horse, one with his cape blowing aside with the wind, and the other with what looked like the tattered remains of a cape dragging behind him. The second left a bloody trail in the snow, a line marker that inked its way through the fallen flakes. After a couple more steps, the first started the process of hauling the second up, and Tommy was struck with the idea that he was being left behind. The thought had finally made it to his semi-conscious mind, prodding his waking mind with the ‘what-if’ of him still dying out here. Techno had said that he’d save them both, but what if he couldn’t? Or what if he was mad at Tommy for running off like he did and putting Phil in danger?
Or, the little voice that always lingered in his brain asked, what if they were just tired of him?
It would make sense– as much as it hurt to admit it. It seemed like everyone, at one point or another, got tired of him or gave up on him. The same thing happened with Tubbo and Wilbur – why would he think this was what would last? A– a fucking kidnapping? Of course they’d just toss him when he wasn’t convenient anymore; Techno had even said earlier that–
“Theseus.” The nickname brought Tommy back out of his mind, and he looked up to see a familiar pair of red eyes and a brow creased in undeniable worry. Techno glanced over Tommy’s form again, jaw setting into a rigid, tense state before he looked him in the eyes again. “Stay with me, alright?”
A shaky breath left Tommy, the only confirmation or acknowledgement he could manage as he kept staring, shellshocked, at Techno. Techno gave him a curt nod after, reaching out and pressing his hand gently yet firmly over Tommy’s broken ribcage. The aching pain shot up to splitting at the action, and Tommy wheezed out a wordless complaint. Techno didn’t stop until after a few more calculated, careful presses, though.
When he eventually let his hands rest lightly over Tommy’s stomach, he finally spoke. “You’ve got broken ribs– maybe four or five? And I wouldn’t be surprised if some more have cracked or fractured…”
Techno trailed off with a sigh, looking down in thought for a moment. It didn’t last long, though, as soon after, he moved his hands again, pushing them into the snow and under Tommy’s back and knees. Once his palm was aligned between Tommy’s shoulder blades, he looked at him and said, “This is going to hurt, Tommy. Just– brace yourself, alright? And don’t fall asleep yet.”
The command had just barely settled into his mind before Techno scooped him up bridal style, keeping his back supported as he hauled him up. Tommy wheezed and coughed, the jerky movement rattling his injuries as his hands automatically reached up to grab Techno’s sleeve for some promise of balance.
“Okay– okay,” Techno muttered to himself, straightening out his stance before shifting Tommy over to one arm, a position that Tommy was not happy with. If nothing else, it just felt plain unsteady! But, before he could take a deep enough breath to complain, Techno used his newly freed hand to tug his cape so that it was covering them both. The thing was surprisingly weather-proof, Tommy thought, slowly relaxing despite his reservations as it formed a barricade against him and the cold.
“You’re alright…” Techno said quietly, voice muffled even further by the cape enveloping Tommy. He said something else too, but Tommy was distracted by the warmth. Not only were Techno’s clothes mostly dry, protected by the cape and a nice change from Tommy’s soaked set, but the piglin ran warm. All piglin did, and Tommy had often considered it an annoyance when he was younger, but now? Now it was a fucking godsend.
They were moving now, Tommy figured out after feeling the faint lift and dip of walking. He didn’t know where to, but they were going somewhere. Hopefully somewhere warm…
As it turned out, though, they stopped after a mere dozen steps. Nothing was that close, but he wouldn’t complain so long as he wasn’t exposed to the cold again.
Techno must've heard his thoughts somehow, because he then moved his free hand outside of the cape, leaving a narrow slit that allowed the cold back into Tommy’s little sanctuary. It wasn’t much, but Tommy wasn’t ready to be cold again after all that had happened. He quietly grumbled and pushed closer to Techno, who held him just a bit tighter. Tommy took that as a silent apology and settled again, cracking his eyes open and peering through his window to the outside.
It was dark, and the onslaught of snowflakes obscured even the little sliver of sight he had, but he could see Techno’s hand holding a lead. Once his lazy eyes had wandered up the length of the tether, he could see that it was looped through a metal ring on Carl’s bridle. The horse didn't cast him a glance, eyes set in front of him, looking to wherever Techno was leading him. Tommy couldn't see much of who was on Carl's back – only a hand knotted in his mane, the bottom of a face that was slumped over against his neck, and some of a black wing that hung limply over the guy's shoulder. It was Phil, he knew. That was obvious enough from what he could see– it only took him half a minute of staring to figure it out.
Phil's hand moved from Carl's mane, shaking, and drifted down towards the slit in the cape Tommy was peering out of. Techno caught it before Phil could reach through, taking his hand and putting it back on Carl's mane while saying something about not wanting him to fall off the horse. His hand only stayed there for a moment before he tried again though, and Techno had to return his hand back to the horse.
Techno sighed, and Tommy saw him pull at his cape, making the slit Tommy could see out of larger. It also gave the cold more room to flow over him, but Tommy didn’t linger on that fact long enough to do anything but wince. When he looked up again, he was met with a pair of blue eyes staring straight at him.
Phil was worse for wear, to say the least. His blond hair was soaked with snow and blood from some cut on his head Tommy couldn’t see, sticking to his cheeks. Meanwhile, his face had a multitude of small tears and gashes. If he looked closely, there were little bits of gravel and dirt still trapped in a few of them. His wing was slung limply over his shoulder, obscuring the rest of his torso from sight and hiding any other injuries he probably had.
All that Tommy could focus on though were his eyes, somehow plainly visible to him despite the lack of light. Phil’s pupils were dilated, but that could be because of anything from the dark to a concussion to even his instincts poking at his consciousness. Hell– it could be from all of those things! But even with the undeniable pain and stress he was going through, there was the equally inarguable presence of concern and even relief in Phil’s eyes. Tommy watched as the avian practically sagged against Carl’s crest, eyelids drooping but eyes staying fixed on him.
“He’s okay,” Techno said softly, pulling his cape so that Tommy was better covered again. Phil didn’t say anything in return, but it wasn’t like either he or Techno expected anything like that from him right now. Techno repeated the sentiment to himself and continued walking, hand back to holding Carl’s lead as they trudged on.
And Tommy just stared, right at the spot where he saw Phil before Techno pulled the cape back around him. He knew he couldn’t see Phil through the fabric, but the picture in his mind’s eye made it feel like he could. It was almost like he could still see the faint puffs of his breath being sent off into the night– and if he focused even more, he could see a pair of red eyes in the crinkles and waves of the cape’s fabric. It wasn’t anything more than a self-induced hallucination at best, but he didn’t want to let go of them.
Just like how they didn’t want to let go of him, he supposed.
It was the first time a thought like that had passed through his head, and he let it stay for a while. Something in his chest burned with a new fire at the idea of being wanted, and he let it grow all the way out to the tips of his fingers. He curled closer to Techno for something other than warmth and relaxed fully when the piglin’s hand lightly squeezed his good arm.
While this nearly killed him, and he sure as hell didn’t feel stronger, Tommy felt safe. Content. They cared about him and, even though their methods were absolutely fucked, Tommy cared about them. The slight sway of walking, cold, and rushing wind fell to the back of his mind as he fell into a half-sleep, waiting to go home.