Chapter Text
Tommy was… confused to say the least.
Last thing he remembered was… was…
It had been a Wednesday, or possibly a Tuesday, but he knew it had definitely not been a Saturday that his communicator showed.
His memories are all sort of blurry.
Did Dream visit him? No, no that didn't seem right, Dream didn't know where he lived. He made sure of that.
Unless Tubbo or Ranboo told him.
No, they didn't make sense either. While he had done enough stuff to warrant that (he wouldn't even be mad at them, he wouldn't! It was more than justified - he deserved it.) they would never do that to him.
And no one else knows, so that means Dream doesn't know.
No, Niki also knows. And Ghostb-
Niki promised to never tell Dream, though, and while Tommy was convinced that Niki could, he wasn't convinced that she'd go back on a promise.
So Dream doesn't know.
But is he out of prison?
He heard the alarms.
Sam came to talk to him but frankly, he was completely out of it.
Either way, Dream didn't know where he was, and he never left his house. It didn't matter.
Okay, so. Okay. So, so- he was safe? Right?
Right?
Akin to the memories, his vision sort of faded out as well, leaving Tommy as something like a human shell, sort of a passenger in his own body, but unaware throughout.
When he came into full lucidity, he looked up at the huge tower building all the way up to the height limit, and a pool of dread filled his stomach, reminding him too much of his time in Logsted.
The only difference now, he realised when he went to go shower, as he didn't know how long he'd been out there or what happened, was the new patch of white hair by his left ear, and the blood crusted on his forehead, dripping down his face.
Odd.
Weeks passed, and Tommy would estimate that this thing was happening a lot. His clothes singed by a lava pool, lying face down in a pond, another fresh scar adorning his abdomen.
(When Tommy looked in a mirror after waking up with scratches and scars littering his body, he stared up at his haggard reflection in a nearby body of water, and swore he could see a flash of green in his now grey eyes.)
Tommy was smarter than people gave him credit for, and logically, he knew that he was dying. Over and over and over again.
He also knew that he was on his last life, so if he'd died several times over in the space of a few weeks, he could deduce that the revive book was involved somehow. That means Dream is involved.
As this realisation dawned on him, he sighed, tired. He thought by leaving the Esempii, by only allowing Tubbo and Ranboo and a select few others to visit him, he'd be safe.
He'd never be safe with that monster still alive.
Tommy was dying. He was dying and being brought back to life.
The scariest part about this was that… Tommy didn't care.
Dream cut all of his attachments on purpose to gain power, he pushed away his friends, his horse, anything that mattered to him for control.
Tommy thinks, sickened, that maybe him and Dream had something in common. After all, he also ended up with no attachments. His house, which even being in forced a panic attack into his lungs and tears to his eyes from the amount of times it had been blown up. His discs were in his ender chest, but he didn't have one with him at this house, and everyone knew that the discs spent more time out of Tommy's hands than in them.
He slowly lost all of his friends too, if not by the multitude of wars, then from him dying in the prison.
Not even his life was his own, apparently.
And… Tubbo and Ranboo, with their adorable son, Micheal. Tubbo was his best friend, but he'd been busy, and Tommy didn't blame him, not really. Tubbo immediately got a new best friend, and Ranboo was too nice, so Tommy quickly found he couldn't insult him the way he used to.
He's grateful that Tubbo and Ranboo visit occasionally, but it's been so long - he knew it wouldn't last. He knew they'd get sick of him eventually.
That's fine.
(As he pondered this, sitting on his sofa, eyes glassy, he couldn't hear the front door open, and a girl with pink hair and round glasses enter the house. She placed the things she had in her hand on the kitchen island and walked over to the boy, concern in her eyes. She couldn't pull him out of his thoughts, which etched a frown onto her face, so she went back to the kitchen silently, and once she was finished, she left with a quiet sentence for Tommy, one that he did not hear.)
When Tommy's mind eased back into lucidity, he tugged his cardigan tighter around himself. It was April, and usually the month brought the start of warmth and spring, but this year, it was just cold. He tightened his bandana around his head as it sat behind his horns. He always wore Tubbo's bandana, but recently he'd been using it to hide the now fully white mop of hair he had.
Something in the kitchen caught his eye, and he got up, almost falling over on his tingly legs (how long had he been sitting there?) and made his way over to it.
On the island, was a lovely cake. White with a red icing border and on the top, Niki's handwriting was unmistakable as he read the words 'Happy Birthday Tom'. The candles, spelling out his new age, 18, were lit, dripping wax all over the top.
He looked over to where his communicator sat on the table, blaring the date as April 10th. He'd missed his own birthday. Tubbo had missed his birthday. He waited for any sort of negative feeling to well up in him. For anger, or sadness, or maybe even grief for a friendship that was once so different to what it was now. He expected to smash the cake, or throw it against the wall, or throw it away.
Those feelings never came, and Tommy did nothing but stare at it, numb.
He sighed and blew out the candles, before making his way outside to watch the bees.
He wished that things had gone differently in his life. That L'Manburg had been a successful nation and not one he had to lose his innocence over. That he never burned George's House. That maybe if he'd been a little more respectful in exile, Dream wouldn't be locked in prison.
This wasn't a birthday wish, though. He'd been wishing this everyday since the first L'Manburg war.
-
When he came to again, he was met with the worried faces of Tubbo and Ranboo staring down at him. He didn't try to deflect their worried gazes with crude humour. He didn't smile and pretend he was fine. He didn't get up and ignore everything that happened.
This time, he stayed silent, for there was nothing to say.
Tubbo took his bandana off his head, and ran his fingers through Tommy's hair. Ranboo took his hand, and held it gently, yet securely. And for the first time in months, he breathed.
"Are you okay?" Tubbo whispered, pulling their foreheads together like they did when they were little.
And those words stirred something in Tommy. For the first time, he allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of his best friends. He cried.
"I don't know what to do," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face, flowers blooming around his horns in mere stress.
Tubbo and Ranboo held the youngest, whispering soft reassurances to him and sharing worried looks.
Tommy didn't know what to do, and they didn't, either.