Chapter Text
Tommy Innit had no idea who he was.
He probably meant something to someone once. He was probably loved. Cherished, even. The thought of it was nice. If anyone still cared about him, though, they were probably dead. He hadn't seen anyone for as long as he could remember. That.. also didn't mean much. He didn't remember anything.
He'd been walking through worlds for a long time. Turns out, if you walked far enough, you'd reach the end of one world and the start of another. He'd seen many already, and had been collecting any evidence he could find that there were people that might've known him. Pictures, small items, anything that just.. seemed like his.
A few worlds back, he'd picked up a dusty red mask. It looked like the type of thing a doctor would wear. But, it was familiar, for some reason.. so.. he'd taken it. And in another world, faded, wilted yellow roses that seemed to have some significance. So some crushed up petals ended up in the bag he carried with him.
The many pictures in Tommy's bag had to prove something as well. Every photo he took with him seemed to have him in them, unless some kid with the same shockingly blue eyes existed somewhere. There were also.. a recurring few figures. A man with glasses and brown hair, sometimes a guitar, a tall, strong looking person whose hair was, oddly, bright pink, and a taller, kind looking blonde man. If he found any of these people, maybe they'd know who Tommy is. Or, was.
He'd made it into a different world just a couple days ago. This new (new isn't the best word considering every world has been dead for a long time..) one just.. seemed different. A bit more significant than the rest.
𓅪
The feeling was odd.
It was like a breeze, almost. An nostalgic feeling in the boy's chest. This world might be more significant than the rest.
Tommy shivered it off pretty quickly. He couldn't ever be too confident. Sure, he had pictures. Sure, he'd found them in the past worlds.. but never anything more. Never another being. It wasn't good to get his hopes up.
It was cold in this world. Slightly windy, in a way that makes it feel horribly desolate, and the smell of dust was definitely tangible.
Faintly, in the distance, came the quiet sound of a crow or two. It took a second for Tommy to actually acknowledge it.. he hadn't seen any animals in a long time. But once it sunk in, his head turned pretty quickly. And there, in a dead tree a bit of a ways away, there was in fact a pair of crows.
Weird.
He stood up, intending to try to communicate with the birds.. but he didn't get very far before they abruptly flew off.
“..Not very polite, dickheads.” He scoffed out, his voice a bit hoarse. He hadn't spoken in a while.
When he turned back around, his bag was gone. The little pricks had taken his bag. Now he had to find it. Fucking ridiculous.
So he looked. The area was pretty desolate, and everything around him looked basically the same. So, he walked, and looked around a bit, eventually locating his bag. It was dropped amongst a pile of junk.. some empty papers.. stale wheat.. pieces of dirt and coal.. and a disc?
There was a music disc in the dirty pile. Black with a sharp red center. On it, scribbled in.. kind of awful handwriting: “TOMMY”.
This had belonged to him, evidently. Strangely, Tommy felt a bit of trepidation picking it up. Almost like something bad had happened while this disc was involved. But, who even knows at this point.
But he couldn't really shake the feeling that the crows knew something he didn't.