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The cut of a blade never suited Tommy well, the impact not nearly as lasting as the burn of flame against his flesh –bubbling and hot as blisters formed hours after, those popping too for a second satisfying rush of agony– or the familiar taste of acid on his tongue after a stomach starved spills bile. These things were comforting when nothing else could be, soothing the ache in his heart for something permanent.
The branding of iron and fire on his skin was akin to the softest touches he used to receive with open arms. It mimicked the caress of a thumb against his knuckles or lips pressed to his temple in a way he's been starved of for years.
Tommy felt that very feeling settle in his mind and bones while laying prone upon the grassy floor. A dip in the earth lay inches away, the scent of gunpowder and smoke itching his nose. His skin ached something fierce after the explosion ran burns up his arms– once crossed over his face to take the most of the blow. A quivering smile pulled at his lips as hysteric giggles filled the air.
Euphoria in the richest sense.
The burns hurt, as all the others burn scars pulling taunt his skin had, but it was drowned out by the twittering of happiness buzzing in his ears– or maybe that was the ringing after-shock of a face first explosion. Regardless, Tommy felt at peace for the first time in a while.
As he lay content in his own suffering, footsteps crunched the grass beyond his head. They neared in a casual yet delicate gait, feet dragging or even nudging with every step as if cautious of the world around them. Tommy catalogued it but refused to move, believing with everything in his soul that he deserved whatever happens to him now.
The shoes stop just above his head as he hears the person's soft gasp and the clacking of clawed nails together. There's a swish against the tall grass too, twitchy and fast not unlike the nervous flicking of a tail.
With an egregious amount of effort, Tommy forced his eyes open. Once vibrant blue long tainted gray with mental decay stare up at the baby blue sky. The trees do nothing to block the sun, allowing the teen full-view of the blinding light. The burn triggers an ache behind his eyes but Tommy can't seem to force himself to look away.
A head breaks the fierce eye contact as a worried Ranboo stares down. His split dyed hair is a mess while his fanged lips turn down– though the angle makes it look like a smile, something Tommy would normally snark about but just can't muster the energy.
Heterochromatic eyes flick across his face before landing on the fresh explosion burns marring the blonde's arms. They widen in surprise, fear, then worry before settling into meek understanding. “Tommy,” the older hybrid starts, fingers twiddling and peeling skin back from the cuticle. “I was, uh, looking for you.”
Tommy hums something noncommittal before sliding his eyes closed again, staring at the blind spots under his eyelids from the sun's impact. He feels more than hears the other's huff of breath before they shimmy down next to him.
They both can smell the burnt flesh in the air that tangles with the typical scents of a recent creeper explosion, hiding the natural floral and earthy tones normally present.
A hand reaches out, gently unlatching Tommy's nails from his arm to relocate the younger's hand in their own. Ranboo's hand swamps his mutilated flesh– scars and burns and stumps of what used to be fingers make an unappealing mess of his once delicate skin. Tommy can't summon the usual disdain and embarrassment being touched nowadays leaves him, instead left aching for a more sensitive affection.
Fingers unmarred by callouses yet equally scarred run carefully over his bruised, achy knuckles. It's a tender affection as fingerpads explore the expanse of Tommy's damaged hand. It's a few minutes of this careful touch that leave the blonde burning in a way the creeper had nothing to do with– soft and demanding for more of this easy, platonic affections.
“I know what you're doing,” Ranboo's eyes never leave the hand within his own even as the once lax muscles pull taunt in what he only assumes is surprise. “Cause I used to do it too.”
Tommy's eyes open, not sharply or frantically, but rather slow and methodical while turning his head slightly to get a better look at his forest-time companion. He hums a curious note, head tilted a tad. Ranboo looks up for a second to look at the bridge of the other teenager's nose, smiling softly yet sad. “Yeah. I'm allergic to water, you know?”
Tommy nods affirmatively, eyebrows scrunching a bit.
“Well, it's easy to feel the need to uh, um, punish yourself when you've done a lot wrong, y'know? So I'd uhm– I'd walk to the nearest body of water and dunk my body in. Sometimes– well, sometimes just my hands, other times my arms. It felt like I deserved it for all the– uh, the bad I ever aided in.”
Tommy looks at the other's eyebrows, taking in the way his pupils shake and hands quiver from his peripheral. There's a feeling growing in his chest, unlike what he's been capable of reacting to in the last– he doesn't even know, months? Years?
Sympathy, compassion, and– Prime forbid, kinship . Something Tommy has lacked since–
Since ash and smoke, bombs and lies and promises broken on wicked tongues.
It feels wrong. To connect to someone else through their shared means of self retribution. Especially to someone who he had only viewed as a hindrance and replacement to himself since the guy landed in this forsaken place. Relating himself to someone previously seen as– not to be naive or blunt, but pure in all the ways you can be on this server –brews something sour in his chest.
He forces his body to sit up, pulling his hand away from the comforting hold and shifting to sit. The movement sparks pain along his burns but it's followed by relief that quickly negates his body's painful reaction, a grin nearly pulling at his lips.
“Listen, I understand you have this bullshit ‘holier than thou’ shtick going on, but you can cut the shit.” Tommy snarks, anger rising as familiar as an old friend. “You don't know me. You're not like me. And you don't fuckin understand what I'm going through–”
“Hey, no! That's not–!” Ranboo held his hands up, alarm painted across his features as his eyes widened. “I didn't mean it like that, okay? I just meant…”
The ender hybrid brushes a hand shakily through his hair while averting his eyes to the grass gently swaying. There's a pinch to his eyebrows as his mouth flattens. “I don't understand what you're going through, I won't pretend to, but I know what it feels like to want to hurt because of it.”
Their voice is gentle, a hush that gets taken by the breeze and threatened to be drowned out by the ambiance. Ranboo's eyes close as a heavy breath moves his whole body. When they open again, his eyes meet Tommy's for a second. Just a second, but it feels like the teen's been cut open and every ounce of sickly tar that makes up his innards is spilling for the world to see.
He feels seen and it's unnerving, hating every ounce of vulnerability that comes with the reflection.
“I’m sorry you feel like you need to hurt, but I also know that you need to feel something. Know you have an army behind you–”
“Yeah, sure, what army?”
Ranboo looks hurt for a millisecond before schooling their expression to neutrality. It's an odd one, on someone normally so expressive and open naturally; it's uncanny. “Us. Tubbo and I, especially, but you've got more people willing to help you than you think.”
They don't name who, but a few names filter through Tommy's head regardless. Names of people who have done him wrong but he's done equally as such. People he misses more than he's willing to admit– even to himself.
“Alright.” Tommy finds himself admitting, hands once gripping grass blades as an anchor now relaxing again as the comfort of pain begins to wane. “I get what you're saying.”
The burns start to ache with something more than bliss, pain setting in in a way he hasn't experienced since his revival. It hurts . Prickling with it as Tommy moves his hands to his lap to stare at the blisters forming along his forearms. They're ugly, stretching across the already scarred and bubbled skin in tapestries of mottled flesh. He feels self conscious now in a manner Tommy hasn't had the luxury of before.
There's fingers reaching across to grab his own, black as night with a sheen across the sharpened claw. It's delicate, they way they pry open his fingers to slide between.
A thigh moves to press to his own as Ranboo shifts to side side by side. They face each other, avoiding eye contact. Gently, scarred fingers brush over his knuckles again in a careful back and forth motion. Something blocks Tommy's throat at the measly comfort, the sudden urge to press forward into the safe embrace of the other overwhelming.
With a keen, he pitches forward to rest his aching head against Ranboo's shoulders. Without missing a beat, the enderian reaches his other hand up and places it against the nape of Tommy's neck. There's no tears, but the hiccuping motion of his chest reveals the emotional release his body's been begging for– for years .
There's no comforting words muttered in his ear because nothing could be said right then to make the boy feel any better. Rather, a low droning hum similar to a purr begins to start in the other's throat. The hand against his neck scratches passively against the hairs along his nape, petting him as the hum turns into a melody.
The hold and comfort is painfully familiar. Tommy can almost taste the nostalgia of smoke and honey on the tip of his tongue, reminding him of times before it all when he had a brother in more than just arms to comfort him. The tune gently whispered is unknown to him but reminds Tommy of a lullaby sung to him.
Still, no tears fall, but he feels a sense of catharsis upon his body's gentle return to peace. The burns hurt but it's an ache he can live with, an ache Tommy wants to remember for the next time he feels like this because this time, this burn, became the first time in years he found someone to hold him.
Someone to caress the tender feelings of betrayal and heartbreak til they feel less like a hurricane of pain and more a wave of sadness. Found comfort in someone who experienced nothing similar to him, yet sought the same retribution and had come out the other side better.
And maybe, as he's held so softly, Tommy can find it in himself to accept the kind hand he's being given. Seek the help he's being offered, cradled against someone's shoulder and caressed as if treasured in a way few have bothered. Seen for someone more than what he projects and sought after for the kinder side of himself.
Tommy feels like this is a step toward something, even as the ground is marred by his pain, his body aches with mistreatment, and his head is throbbing with emotion. The hands holding him are sweet and the friend– cause that's what they are, even without labels –willing to move mountains for his happiness means more to the faultingly loyal kid than any action could.