Chapter Text
Tommy had finally finished high school after a dumpster fire of a decade. His grades? passing through technicalities. His mental health? Should probably medicated but with his shitty foster family, he’s raw-dogging life like a pro. Hotel? Trivago.
But here he is. Freshly graduated, certificate stuffed into his backpack because honestly no one gives a fuck about it the second after you leave, and a plan to eat his body weight in pizza with his best friends, Tubbo and Ranboo.
It was a fair walk from their high school to Sam’s Pizza but a worthwhile one. It was the cheesiest, crispiest pizza in town, and the choice of toppings? Unbeatable. And best of all, it’s affordable, even on the criminally minimum-wage job Tommy slaves away at on his weekends. Thank Prime he’s out of school now and can get a job that pays more than pocket change.
“Those were the most useless years of my fucking life, ‘cept you guys, of course,” he assures them. Years of cramming the night before a test and then immediately forgetting everything the day after feels like youth wasted, if you asked him. He’s two months away from ageing out of the foster system and he has no idea how to adult. Like how do you pay taxes? How does the Essempi legal system work? When he asked his homeroom teachers the best way to budget for groceries, they said to ask his parents. But oh wait- he doesn’t have any. Thanks a lot, useless schooling system!
Not to mention the ass-o’clock early mornings starts, the borderline inedible lunches and- loathe the thought- the jocks, the natural enemy of the weird kids. “Rest of it was a bit shit.”
He kicked a stray can across the foot path. Nice hard kick, very cathartic. He liked the ratting tinny noises it made as it hit all the cracks in the aging cement. It’s like the sound of his income going down the gurgler since inflation hit.
His shorter friend gave a wry smile.
“But Tommy,” Tubbo said sarcastically, “where else could you learn that mitochondria is the powerhouse the cell?”
Tommy groaned from the very depth of his soul and hid away in his hands. Fucking mitochondria. “Don’t even get me started Tubbo- I didn’t even take biology with you two and I still remember it better than all the other crap they tried to cram in my head.” It has sunk into his brain like black mould in a shitty bathroom. It’s completely useless knowledge apart from giving him the answer to a kahoot. Are mitochondria going to help pay his taxes? No.
Ranboo made a playful jab. “We wouldn’t have guessed.” Which- yeah. He knew Ranboo meant well. His friend was incredibly gentle and caring. He can’t know it stings just a little bit every time someone points how much smarter and gifted his friends are than him if Tommy never tells him. It’s all bullshit in the end, anyway.
Listen, he’s… not the best at school. Maybe it’s because his brain is consumed by TikTok brain rot and has lost the ability to focus for more than three seconds at a time, or it could be that his teachers were genuinely shit and made the most interesting topics about as fun as watching paint dry. Point being- Ranboo and Tubbo smart, Tommy not. But also, English would be a lot easier to pass if potato couldn’t be phonetically spelled as ‘ghoughphtheightteeau’. Absolutely wild.
“Oh, fuck off, mate,” he tried to shove Ranoo but the beanpole hardly moved an inch. Bastard. “See if I pay for your pizza now, nerd.”
“But you never pay anyway?”
Tommy expertly dodged the truth like a world class dodgeball champion. He pulled on his friends’ sleeves and tugged them down the street at bit faster. Tubbo, with his shorter legs, had to start a slow jog while Ranboo slightly increased the speed of his leisurely walk. “Now hurry up, or I’m going to starve, and you’ll all be very sad when I wither away from hunger. I’m a growing boy, you know. Big men like me need their food.”
“You ate most of the snack platters at the graduation ceremony.” Ranboo pointed out. He did. And it was delicious. The half-hearted canapés slapped together by some underpaid sod were left on a table for who knows how long until that marinated to perfect food poisoning roulette temperature. Risk of getting salmonella and spending a shitty (hehe get it?) time on toilet for a few hours aside, it wasn’t that bad. It was free food. Free food is good food.
Tommy shrugged, “Ehhh but that was like an hour ago, and this is now.”
His stomach grumbled unhappily and reminded him that he’s a 17-year-old boy with a black hole where his stomach should be. One food passed the event horizon called him mouth, it was gone forever. Even thinking about the cheesy, greasy pizza is making his mouth water. He bubbled with impatience.
Before long they reached a crosswalk. It was surprisingly empty for the time of day, less people and even cars than usual. Tommy would’ve crossed already, red light be damned, if it wasn’t for his friends holding onto his backpack like a toddler leash. They were long used to his antics by now.
“We should go to my house after” Tubbo offered while they waited for the light to change, “Jslatt got me some new games as a graduation gift.”
“Sounds Pog, can’t wait to crush you bitches.”
“Nah, I think Tubbo and I will crush you. Poor single boy doesn’t stand a chance.” Ranboo ruffled his hair, then expertly pulled his hand away as Tommy tried to bite him.
Tommy screeched “Don’t use your marriage against me! Fiends!”, he cried as he tried to refluff his hair into something more ‘handsomely tousled’ instead of ‘I’m homeless’.
“Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you from up here” said the emo spaghetti noodle traitor. Ranboo was an enderman hybrid at nearly seven and a half feet tall, still growing. His stature was like a botched photoshop attempt of making someone taller where you just stretched the image until you get Ranboo. It’s giving… uncanny valley. He’s their scary dog privilege on nights out causing chaos and mayhem. From a distance, anyway. Be afraid of the short ones, they’re closer to hell- like Tubbo. His horns are the least scary thing about him. It’s the vicious and incredibly detailed plots of revenge you should worry about.
“You’re a bitch” Tommy grumbled, “I hope you hit your head on the doorframe.”
The crossing light turned green, finally, and Tommy slipped out the backpack and darted out onto the road in excitement. His friends tried to snatch him back, but he danced out of reach.
“Tommy, wait a moment!”
“No way, let’s fucking go!” Tommy cheered, pumping his fists. He started crossing the road with a bounce in his step, Sam’s pizza is right around the corner and he’s unbelievably excited, “I’ve been looking forward to pizza all-“
It happened in an instant.
One moment he was standing, and the next he was hit by a truck and went flying
The last thing Tommy saw was the horrified faces of his best friends, clutching his backpack.
He hit the asphalt at a bad angle, snapping his neck, and he died. Just like that.
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“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?!”
Throw meditation and breathing techniques out the window- Tommy needs something- anything- strong enough to quell the rising panic, because again, what the fuck.
Tommy died. He knows he did. He remembers being hit by a truck, which fucking hurt by the way, and he remembers the sound of his own neck snapping like a dry tree branch. Traumatising experience, -1000/10, do not recommend. Two orders of therapy and a milkshake please.
He was an idiot who didn’t look before he crossed, and he died for it.
Which begs the question. How was he alive, in the middle of a forest he’s never seen in his life, butt-naked, and a baby! His hands were squishy and small. His legs looked incredibly stubby, which is not poggers, none of this is poggers, and what’s even less poggers is that he’s completely alone.
Tommy hates being alone.
“This is so not poggers,” he says aloud, pudgy hands pulling at his miraculously long blonde hair which curled to just below his shoulders, “I just wanted some pizza!” but it came of as more of a ‘dis isso no’ pogges, I juz wan’ned some pissa!” in high-pitched baby talk. He flushed involuntarily. Stupid baby body couldn’t even talk properly. His tongue felt all wrong in his mouth. It’s hard to coordinate his tongue with his lips and jaw, which is something he hasn’t had to think about in a very, very long time.
Tommy is a hardcore atheist. Or he was. It’s hard to deny the existence of something when you’re alive after a fatal accident, completely unharmed, de-aged, and dropped off who-knows-where. This could be heaven or hell, or even limbo, but truthfully, Tommy’s not getting divine vibes right now.
The forest is gorgeous. It’s greener than anything he’s seen in his entire life. But it’s not paradise.
Tommy might’ve been bad at school, but he was a bloody dedicated manhwa reader. Essay due the next day and its 3am? Who cares, next chapter. And if he’s learned anything, anything, after reading thousands of illegally scanned stories from sketchy websites- is how to spot an Isekai transmigration story from a mile away.
“Twuck-kun, you bish!” he exclaimed tearfully, “Why the fuck am I a toddler?!”
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After a well-deserved period of freaking the fuck out, involving shameful tears and screaming at the Truck-Kun of Isekai, Tommy pulled himself up by his non-existent bootstraps. Metaphorically, of course, he tried standing to shout at the sky at bit more dramatically, and he ended up flat on his face. Balancing is not the same as it was at seventeen.
“Right, okay,” Tommy cringed when his voice came out as high pitched and lisped, “I’m a baby alone in a forest because Truck-Kun bitch slapped me with a semi. I was Isekai’ed into a baby and not a super cool warrior who has to fight an army of demons.” Which was unfair. Tommy was the biggest man ever. He would be so cool as an OP warrior. Give him a merchant role, even, he’s read a few where the merchants end up as super skilful and wanted by the whole kingdom for the unique services. Anything but this!
For the last seventeen years, Tommy has been counting the days until he aged out of foster care and could live his life his own way. One careless walk across a road, with a green light mind you, and it’s all gone. Everything. His friends, his savings- even his diploma.
It could be worse, he supposed, he could be an infant… Tommy shuddered at the horror of it.
Tommy shook his head and tried to slap himself back on track. His stupid baby brain is getting distracted so easily by all the bright wildflowers and butterflies. It’s like ADHD is on steroids.
“Focus, Tommy, focus!”
First thing.
He’s a pint-sized blob of a squishy human. What do tiny humans need?
“I need…” he mumbled, sticking his hand in his curls, “… shelter. It’ll get dark soon.”
Suddenly, the tall trees and the abundance of plant life doesn’t seem so inviting anymore. It’s irrational, be he’s imagining big, fanged monsters crawling out the bushes, their eyes glinting terribly in the dark, and gobbling him up in once bite.
Prime, baby-brain sucks.
This would be a lot easier if Tubbo was here. He used to go camping with his dad, Jslatt, before studying took up more and more time. Tubbo could find them shelter.
Once, years ago, Tommy got to go with them with permission from one of his old fosters. After that, Jslatt had patted him on the back and told him that if he was ever lost in the wilderness, he should sit on his hands and do absolutely nothing until help arrives. He was a threat to the survival of all living things around him, apparently. The only survival he should do is in Minecraft.
But this isn’t L’manburg, and he wasn’t on a camping trip with Tubbo. Unless Truck-Kun put the gear into reverse and decided to run over his friends too, he’ll probably never see them again. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he furiously blinked them away.
Tommy hated being alone. This was so much worse.
Tommy swallowed thickly, “… Yeah, shelter. Tubbo would say to find shelter.” He ignored the pang of grief that sat heavy in his chest. He had more important thing to do- he can grieve his loss later.
First step to finding shelter was the finding it part. It’d be a lot easier if he could stand without falling on his butt. Balancing on his chonky, mini legs was no easy feat. Especially since his head took up, like, a third of his body. He was waaay top heavier than he used to be. After what felt like an eternity of trying, Tommy managed to find balance on his little legs.
Now walking… yeah, no.
He toddled.
He’s almost glad Tubbo and Ranboo aren’t here to see this because they would laugh their asses off as Tommy shuffled around like a penguin, his cherubic face scrounged up in sheer determination as it took all his concentration to waddle a mere few meters and not faceplant.
“Dis is so embawasing” he muttered, then flushed bright red. He forgot he sounded like he should be at daycare.
He brushed the feelings aside. No one’s here to hear it, let alone laugh at him, anyway.
Best course of action, he decided, was to follow the sound of a stream. People need water, right? So, follow the water, find the people. His genius cannot be compared.
He doesn’t get very far, to be honest. He trips over more times than his pride can take, and stumbles over the smallest tree roots and rocks. When he skins his knee, he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Because fuck, why does that hurt so much?! It’s like his nerves are raw, and his skin is sensitive like- like a babies. Right. Fucking hell, being a baby is exhausting. It takes so much more effort to even walk, and the pebbles hurt his feet, and he’s cold.
Urgh this sucks!
He fights the urge to start screaming at Truck-Kun again.
He writes an imaginary review:
My Isekai experience has been terribe! Truck-Kun killed me on the day I finished highschool, dumped me in a forest, and now I’m a defenceless wee lad with sensitive feet. -10000/10. Would not recommend to a friend- try Moped-Kun instead.
Listen, he hates Karens. They suck. Every time he sees the ‘can I speak to your manager’ haircut at work he wants to do a flip of a bridge. In light of a frankly dreadful Isekai experience, he’ll take a page out their book, just this once, and ask Prime to fire them. Because seriously, who thought this was a good idea?! Make a man tiny and squishy, and drop ‘em off all alone in a forest with who-knows-what lurking in the shadows. What could possibly go wrong.
His knee sting viciously and tears threaten to roll down his cherubic cheeks. It’s been a rough day, so the haters can screw off. He can cry if he wants to. Big Men cry.
Yes, he rationalises, it’s perfectly normal to cry when you’ve been hit by a truck, fucking died, lost all your friends, shrunk into a defenceless baby, and launched into a mysterious, uninhabited forest.
Again, fuck Truck-Kun.
Anyway, back on track. Shelter. He swallows down the nervousness squirming in the pit of his stomach as the shadows grow long. His fairytale Isekai forest is starting to look like the sinister woods where you find the wicked witch from Snow White.
If he’s learned anything from Minecraft, he needs to punch a tree and make a crafting table, make a wooden sword, and watch out for mobs like-
A shadow looms over him. His heart stops.
It’s a very big shadow.
Tommy screams with pure terror.
“Holy fucking shit- SPIDER!”
It’s the biggest, most horrible spider he’s seen in his entire life. Its bigger than any dog ever, and it’s eight spindly legs are enormous, stretching far past its abdomen. Its eyes are void of light and colour, just like the rest of its void black body, and its pincers the size of his head.
And it’s coming right at him.
He’s going to pass out. He’d prefer to pass out. Maybe this can all be a horrible nightmare when he wakes up.
A leg grazes him. He can feel the coarse hair prickling his delicate skin. It rasps like sandpaper.
Tommy blanches, heart in his throat. This is not a dream. Its real.
Holy fuck he’s going to die.
Again.
He got hit by a truck, died, and now he’s going to get eaten by a man-eating spider. Arguably a much, much worse death. When he was little, he’d watch spiders catch a fly. The fly would get stuck in the web, and then spider would wrap them in silk, biute them, and wait for the spider to stop struggling. Turns out the spider liquifies the flies and drinks them up like a smoothie.
Tommy really doesn’t want to be a smoothie. He’d be the worst smoothie ever.
Memory Tubbo gives him some helpful advice. If you’re ever in the ocean and a shark swims up to you, don’t try swim away. It’ll think you’re a seal and eat you. Hit it on the nose and it should leave you alone.
If Memory Tubbo’s advice is true, he should try hit the spider on the nose. Which should be somewhere around it’s eight eyes and giant pincers, if he can get past the legs. He stares in horror.
You know what, fuck it, he’s running. He toddles as fast as he humanly can on his useless fucking baby legs, and thinks that oh hey, maybe he’ll outrun the massive fucking man-eating spider with eight fucking legs, and he’ll live.
But nope.
He trips over a tree branch and hits the ground with a painful thump. Before he even blink, the massive spider skitters over the top of him. He didn’t even see it move. It’s so huge his whole-body easily fits under it.
Tommy thinks maybe he’s going to be sick. It hits him that he’s going to get eaten and there’s not a thing he can do to defend himself. He feels physically ill. He feels worse than he has in his entire life.
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see it lunge, see it breaking his skin open with the terrible sharp pincers, and braces himself for the pain.
He waits. And… nothing happens.
Cautiously, he opens his eyes and half expects to see the spider spinning some horror movie cocoon around him. But the spider just sits there. Staring.
A shudder goes up his spine at the sheer creepiness.
“Nice… spider?” Tommy tries to placate it desperately with his infuriating lispy baby voice, “Please don’t eat me. I promise I taste bad. Humans are stringy.” Although, if he thinks about it, he’s the human equivalent of a spring lamb. Not that he’ll advertise that. He chooses life.
The spider clinks its pincers. Strangely, it doesn’t feel threatening.
Tommy felt encouraged.
“I’d give you indigestion. In fact, I might even be poisonous.” And who knows, maybe he is, being in a whole new world and a whole new body.
Tommy slowly crawls away from the spider. It’s frustrating how much easier crawling feels compared to his penguin style waddling, though he still finds the forest floor hurts his tender skinned knee and the soft flesh of his palms. He really can’t win.
He plonks down on his bottom and looked the spider in its eye. Eyes. Many eyes. He’s not sure which ones to focus on, really, so he picks the middle ones. The dark eyes don’t seem so hungry or malicious, but… curious, maybe? He hopes. It’s hard to tell- a spider doesn’t have facial expression.
He waves at it.
“Now that I’m not dinner, you can go now. Bye-bye!”
It did not, in fact, go bye-bye.
“Um, shoo! Begone! Off thy trot. Farewell.” Tommy waved the spider away a bit more viciously, but the thing. Would. Not. Leave. Just stared. And stared. Tommy’s starting to feel unnerved again. He’s glad he’s not being eaten and all, but having a giant spider stare at him is creepy as hell.
Tommy shuffles away. The spider follows. Tommy goes to the right. The spider also goes to the right. And when Tommy goes left, the spider goes left. Eventually, Tommy gives up and puts his chubby hands on his hips.
“Listen,” he tells it, “I have had a really terrible, horrible, no-good day, and I really need to find shelter or something else will try eat me! Unless you’re going to help me, please let me go.”
It feels a bit silly trying to reason with a giant spider but look at the day he’s had. Magical transmigration and de-aging via truck. Nothing is silly anymore.
The spider seems to consider this and clicks its pincers with sharp click clack clack noise that pieces the silence, the hairs long its head trembling in rhymical patterns.
The spider flattens itself into a pancake.
Tommy stares.
“Sorry, what?”
The spider-pancake shakes invitingly.
“Does this mean… you’re helping?”
The spider shakes again. It’s a very happy shake, that one. Like a belly dancer. Maybe it’ll do the macarena next.
Click click, the pincers say, clack. It’s a convincing argument for spider-pancakes sincerity.
Tommy swallows. Well, here goes nothing.
“Okay… I’ll trust you. But friends don’t eat each other! My name is Tommy, and you are… Shroud. Shroud doesn’t eat Tommy, and Tommy doesn’t eat shroud.” Tommy never could anyway. He sees that exoskeleton.
The spider- no, Shroud, clicks in acknowledgement.
For a moment, Tommy has this surreal feeling where he realises that he’s about to trust a giant spider with his life, a spider that can understand English, and seems weirdly friendly.
He giggles at the absurdity. It sounds musical, like chimes.
Tommy hops on his new bestie Shroud. He holds onto the exoskeleton as the spider spindles forwards, heading downstream. It’s a pretty smooth ride, actually.
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Tommy never thought he’d be besties with a spider, but he also never thought he’d be Isekai’d into another world as a baby either, and here he is.
Shroud turns out to be a pretty good friend. For one thing, there has been no attempts of eating Tommy. That’s high on his list of things he expects of his friends. Shroud lets him ride on his back. They’ve covered an unbelievable amount of ground because those eight legs are good for something, and that something is speed.
It’s also oddly considerate. The spider lets him hold onto its legs for balance as he struggles to get water from the stream. The rocks near the water are slippery, and Tommy is anything but balanced right now. Without Shroud he’d probably fall in and wash away. It takes Tommy to patches of berry bushes so he can eat.
At first, his friend tried to feed him liquified bunnies wrapped in spider silk. It was a nice thought, but it was still one of the most horrifying things Tommy had ever dealt with. Especially when it burst… He took his first bath in the ankle depth shallows after that. It was very cold and very not pog.
Cooked non-liquified Bunny is out too since he can’t light a fire.
Flint and steel. Sharp stone, blunt stone. Stick and tree bark. The oldest tools known to man kind. Except Tommy has stupid baby hands and stupid, weak baby arms, and can bang some rocks together but not hard enough to make sparks. So, berries it is.
So, they spend their days spindling across the ground, looking for berries and hopefully a sign of human civilisation. Nothing so far. Which is not great, it’s really not very warm when you’re a small human without access to clothes or fire. He’s lucky that the underside of Shroud is warm. Good to cuddle at night. Toasty. And nothing can get past Shroud’s eight motion detecting legs, he’s seen him sense bunnies from over fifty feet away, from behind! It’s no wonder he was found so easy. Sleep tucked under Shroud’s belly is probably the safest pace he can be at night.
Shroud is the poggest spider that ever did spider. He’s a luxury, all inclusive, shock absorbing cruise.
They learned very fast that Tommy does not have the strength to hold on if Shroud tries to climb a tree with Tommy on his back. Shroud could’ve ditched Tommy long ago. He’s practically dead weight. And it’d be safer for Shroud if it could sleep in trees away from danger.
It never does.
The Shroud-Express seamlessly crawls over the ground at speeds far beyond what Tommy is capable of.
There’s not much for Tommy to do while they search apart from hang on.
So, Tommy does what Tommy does best.
He talks. Anything, everything- something to fill the silence and the hole where his friends should be.
“- And that’s why pink sourpatch kids are the best flavour, and everyone else can fight me.” He finished his hours long rant on the superiority of the pink gummy lolly.
Clack clack says Shroud. Tommy took at as an agreement.
“Right?! I knew there was a reason I liked you. You’re the best.”
He gives the giant spider and affectionate pat on one of its many legs.
Tommy paused.
“How do you feel about space operas? I feel like you’re an Obi-Wan kind of spider.”
Whatever mystical forest Truck-Kun dumped him into, it’s a terrible one.
It’s endless. They’ve scuttered across the ground for days, and days, and nothing. Nada. Zilch.
There hasn’t been a single sign that humans exist anywhere. No roads, no bridges. No missing socks, or worn signs. Maybe it’s worse case scenario where there are no humans in this new world, and Tommy will have to grow up all over again with only a giant spider as company. Maybe he’ll forget how to speak English and talk in clicks and clacks, assuming he doesn’t die of starvation by then.
He pictures joyfully reuniting with his friends and telling them click click, clack. Click. Click clack clack! Then Ranboo’s arachnophobia will flare up and he’ll get a face full of bug spray as his friend screams in a corner, helplessly clutching a can of Raid. Clack clack! He’ll desperately try to explain himself, Click! But Tubbo and Ranboo are married, and part of their marriage vows would be protecting Ranboo from spiders. It’ll be death by fireworks, knowing Tubbo. Alas, Tommy the Spider Speaker would be no more.
But then it happens.
He smells it.
The glorious, mouthwatering smell of cooked meat.
He’s practically dripping saliva onto Shroud with how hungry he is.
“Follow that smell,” he instructs his friend, pointedly ignoring the lisp, “Whoever- or whatever- is cooking that meat. We’re going to steal some. Be sneaky.”
Shroud shivers in agreement.
The spider is on a hunt. It crawls near silently through the forest, not a twig snapping under its precise movements. Shroud stays low to the ground and sticks to the shadows, never straying too far from a bush to hide in. Neither of them knows if the creatures cooking the meat are friends, or child eating monsters who are roasting humans over a campfire at this very moment.
Tommy hopes they aren’t child eating monsters. It’d be disappointing to get this far only to be cannibalised. Lame.
He hears them before he sees them.
Two men, both adults. Two horses. A campfire. A tent.
One blonde, the other with the most luscious pink hair Tommy has seen in his entire life. It ripples down the man’s back like a pink waterfall. He might’ve thought pinkie was a girl if it wasn’t for the fact that the man looked like a double door refrigerator and then some. He’s an absolute unit.
He can’t see their faces or make out what they were talking about. Just the low murmur of comfortable conversation.
And the smell.
Oh, the smell, it was delicious.
Luckily, the men don’t seem to be roasting a human over the fire, but what looks like meat cubes on sticks.
Fuck, that smells good.
He’s tempted to run over and give them his cutest toddler smile. Surely, they’d feed him, right? They’d have to be evil to ignore his cherubic cuteness, he’s seen his reflection in the water. Tommy can say with absolute certainty that he’s an easy 10 on the scale of cuteness.
… but he can’t take chances. Not while pinkie could squash him with one giant hand. He can see their weapons from here. A sword, a bow, and an axe bigger than he is that undoubtedly belongs to pinkie. Unfortunately, a baby deer might win a fight with him right now, let alone a man with a Tommy sized axe. He hates it- he’s so hungry he could eat all the skewers himself. He hates that he was to wait.
But good things come to those who wait. Like not dying. That’s a good thing. The bar has been set to the floor.
“We’ll steal their leftover when they sleep,” he whispers to Shroud. The spider clinks.
-----------------------
After a very, very, very long wait, with Tommy’s tummy doing its best whale impression and singing the song of its people, the men pack up and turn in for the night. The fire is nothing but coals.
Shroud delivered him into the heart of their camp safely atop its back. He’s so hungry he could eat a horse. He’s so ready to dig into some juicy steak. It’s all he could think about for the last few agonising hours of waiting and waiting and waiting while he smelled that delicious aroma.
But when he looks around the camp…
Those bitches ate all the meat!
He doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. A strangled laugh slips out beyond his control. Of fucking course, they ate all the meat. Leaving it out would probably attract pests or some shit. He pointedly refuses to acknowledge that by this logic, he and Shroud are pests by default.
But this will not stop Tommy Innit. No sir.
He refuses to leave empty handed. He’s had only berries and water for days.
As if reading his thoughts, Shroud scours the camp. There’s the fire pit. The tent- which is to be avoided at all times on the basis of possible death. The horses, tied to a tree. Pair of shoes, a cup, pile of kindling, a box…
Hold up.
“There,” he whispers to Shroud, pointing at the box. Its sealed well. There are no large latches that an animal could easy flip open. But Tommy and Shroud are no mere animals. A bit of fumbling from his clumsy baby hands and a well-placed nip from Shrouds’ pincers, they’re in.
It’s full of crackers, nuts, dried fruits, jerky, and grains. Tommy grins, feeling a flutter of giddy joy in his stomach. Tonight, he feasts.
He takes half of everything that you can eat without cooking first.
Listen, he knows it’s a risk. If he took one or two crackers, and a handful of nuts, it’d be like he was never there. But he’s hungry, and he’s been hungry like this before in the foster system many times. If you can take food, keep it, hide it, then you do it. It’s simply survival for him. These guys? They look like they’d have no problem hunting some more food, they’ll be fine. But he won’t be if he doesn’t eat. He doesn’t know what the weather is like around here. Maybe this is winter, and in summer it’ll be scorching hot. Or maybe this temperate coolness is as warm as it gets, and he’ll have to survive snow and ice as a naked toddler with only a spider as his companion.
Rustling from the tent makes Tommy freeze. He desperately hopes its just blondie rolling over, but luck is not on his side.
But he’s Tommy Innit, and he’s not dying today. The box shuts, locks, and is abandoned. By the time a pink haired man is cautiously surveying the camp, sword in hand, Tommy and Shroud are vanished into the shadows.
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It took days for Tommy to stop checking over his shoulders. He half expects pinkie or blondie to pop out a bush and shout ‘surprise, bitch!’ and skewer him for stealing their food.
The food was worth the anxiety. He almost cried when he ate the jerky. It was salty and spicy with a strange fruity sweetness unlike anything he’d ever tasted. He tried to ration it, but it didn’t last long.
Luckily, Shroud was clever enough for both. Then men had moved their camp, probably trying to get away from suspected pests. Unfortunately for them, Shroud was fucking fast. He’d compared him to the size of a large dog before, but he wouldn’t be wrong to compare their speed either.
When Shroud ran at full speed, the forest blurred.
Shroud is keeping up with horses.
It terrifying to know that a giant spider, one that runs as fast as horses, exists in this world. One spider implies the existence of more- unless Shroud is a freak of nature. He’s in Australian Isekai with supernaturally fast giant spiders. Great.
Tommy thanked his lucky star that Shroud is his friend, not an enemy. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
--------------------
The whole process repeated that night. The men caught some small game, roasted it, ate it all (he’s still mad about that), and turned into their shared tent.
He waited an hour or so. He’s been eyeing the box for hours, he’s so hungry. They were more careful tonight, the food storage box closer to the tent than last time. And it wasn’t locked properly- not that they could anyway, after Shroud snipped it. Still, they made a valiant effort with some rope. Suckers.
Once it feels safe enough, Tommy toddles into the camp as quietly as he can, his trusted spider at his side. Shroud had flattened himself into a Shroud-Cake again. He’s a matt black so the campfire doesn’t reflect on his exoskeleton. Unless you were looking, you’d never know he was there. He’s almost like a black cloak smoothly gliding along the ground.
Same as last time, he opens the box, this time a helpful Shroud snipping the rope. Grabs handfuls of whatever is in reach. He grabs the jerky, the nuts, some crackers- He’s so absorbed in his task that he doesn’t notice the man behind him.
A shocked gasp shatters the silence.
Fuck.
Tommy whips around with his heart in his throat. Fuck fuck fuck, not good. Not good!
It’s blondie. His jaw is on the floor, and he chokes out a shocked- “A baby?!”. He’s fully armoured, sword in hand- like he never took it off. Like he was expecting his stash to be get robbed tonight. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting Tommy. Probably this worlds equivalent to a racoon or a bear, maybe some human thieves that aren’t, you know, toddler.
He’s only a few feet away from the man. This close, Tommy can see the vivid ice blue of his eyes. He can see the shock, confusion, and- and the hunger?! Dang, he joked about cannibalism, but he really doesn’t want to be eaten! Not by this guy. He looks way too pretty to be real with his platinum hair and high boned, regal features. His armour is artful, every inch covered in careful inscriptions and jewels. And sticking out his silky hair is pointed ears, a single emerald hanging from each. He kind of looks like a Lord of the Rings cosplayer-
Wait. Hold up.
… is he in Isekai Australia… cross Middle Earth? With Elf cannibals?!
Tommy is so rocked with his revelation about where the actual fuck did Truck-Kun dump him, that he almost didn’t register when the man lunged at him.
Tommy screamed, high pitched and childish, and moved just enough that the man’s hands passed mere inches from his body.
“I’m not going to hurt you, little one!” the man tried to lie, he sees the knife on his belt. Fat fucking chance that will Tommy listen to this man- elf (?!?!) And he’s not sticking around for pinkie to get his mitts on him either- he’s massive! Tommy is way too squishable for those hands to go anywhere near him.
Then, his saviour enters right stage.
Shroud sprung from the shadows and scared the shit out of them both. His best arachnid bud reared up on his hind legs, furiously clack clack clacking at the elf. His legs reach beyond the height of blondie. If he didn’t feel so relieved, he’d be terrified.
“What the- it’s an Ungoliant!” the man looks absolutely horrified, and- concerned? He unsheathes his sword and readies himself for battle. He tried to coax Tommy behind him like he’s a real child. Blondie blocks his escape with his body, tries to separate him from Shroud. Tommy, however, is hardly bigger than his knee, and easily ducks away to his friend.
“Little one, behind me, now!” Blondie says urgently. He sounds scared. Scared that Shroud will steal his juicy meal away, maybe. No way is he gonna be their prime steak tonight wen he has an eight legged monster protecting him.
In a practiced move, Tommy jumped aboard his friend, clung onto the exoskeleton for grim death, and Shroud ran, heedless to the shouts of the man behind them.
Shroud ran and ran, far away from the cannibal elves.
They dove into a nook below a tree, Shroud squishing itself on top of Tommy. They were effectively invisible with his matt body for cover.
They hid for hours. Tommy was so terrified he couldn’t even cry. His heart raced. He was breathing though a straw. He was trembling so hard his teeth chattered. He was so scared that they would find him and hurt him for stealing from them.
Dawn broke, and they still weren’t found. Maybe they were safe. Tommy still felt sick and miserable, right down to his bones. The shock was too much for his body.
He was so tired. And so, so hungry. He wanted to go home. He doesn’t like this place. Tommy cried silent tears, hitching sobs catching in his chest. He feels like a child, a real child, for the first time since he was shoved into this body. He desperately wants someone to come save him, to hold him, to wipe away his tears and tell him that it will all be okay.
But he is alone.
And there, naked, in a strange world and a strange body, a spider as his only friend, did Tommy grieve for all that he had lost.