Work Text:
it was another day in logstedshire.
another day in this hell called exile. another day of tommy fantasizing about the ocean.
he stood on the shores, early enough in the morning that there was still a hint of the moon somewhere in the sky, early enough that he felt the cold bite deep into his skin and pierce his bones. his teeth were clicking against eachother, his body shaking and jerking as he held himself, desperate to keep warm as he stood on the sand. there was no snow, but the wintertime chill never relented. it was moments like this when he felt truly alive. there were snot and tears running down his face and a cough creeping up in his lungs. he could feel sickness brewing inside his body, and could do nothing but wait.
dream had promised he would bring him a jacket and some gloves today, some of the few personal belongings dream said he could keep. tommy never knew if he meant it or not. he prayed he did.
he was glad there were no mirrors in logstedshire. the only time he regularly faced his reflection nowadays was in the unpredictable, distorted swirling of the nether portal, or the everchanging water of the ocean. sometimes he could see himself in the warped reflection of his precious bell. he acted like he couldnt. tommy knew there was grime on his face, blood caked in his hair and under his nose, mud covering his legs, and countless other things wrong, but he didnt want to see that right now. dream must be a saint for putting up with his lack of self care.
his reflection has always made him uneasy. once he started to grow up, his reflection had began feeling wrong, in a way so woven into his core he could barely understand it. it made him feel queasy on a good day, let alone in this situation. he felt like a stranger in his own body most days, especially lately.
he absentmindedly picked one of the many scabs on his arm through his ripped sleeve as he willed his bones to move, the air around him feeling thick as he walked. he closed his eyes a bit, letting his feet lead him to the campfire uphill. he was just glad wilbur- or, ghostbur- hadnt shown up yet. he was kind, bless his heart, but it was still hard to face him. ghostbur was, in some ways, just like wilbur. he smiled like him, laughed like him, hell, he even spoke like him at times, but he just wasnt him. it was like the universe was playing a cruel joke on everyone, replacing him with ghostbur. he was a parody of the man tommy had looked up to for years. thinking about it made his stomach twist with guilt.
he sat as close to the fire as he could handle. it was so hot it made his skin crawl. his chin rested on his chest as he buried his forehead in his scraped knees, head idly throbbing from the pain of his recently broken horn. as warmth seeped into his bones, it got easier for him to think. he wasnt sure if he wanted to do that right now.
a few minutes (or maybe half an hour? time tended to escape him) had passed before tommy finally heard dreams familiar hoofsteps approach, burying the intense instinct to get up and bolt as far as he could, to do anything to get away. he tried to ignore the dread that was building in his stomach as he smiled up at dream, his only friend, who was holding out a jacket in a scarce act of kindness.
dream said something to him, but the words werent quite making sense. he quickly put the jacket on with a sense of relief as he shivered, only really half listening to whatever dream had begun talking about. maybe it wasnt too bad after all.