Chapter Text
There was salt on his tongue again. His lungs were screaming for air and his vision swam with brine, but Tommy couldn’t focus on anything but the salt. It made his throat burn and his tongue feel numb, his teeth feel chalky.
He hated it.
He hated it almost as much as he hated waking up every morning in the process of drowning himself.
Thrashing, Tommy dragged himself to the surface, gasping for air as his head broke the waves. There was a struggle to stay afloat, exhaustion dragging him down like an anchor despite having just woken up. He attempted to clear the fog from his head and the nightmares of the previous night from his mind, making a break for the shore.
A poor imitation of a crawl stroke later, Tommy lay panting on the sand, skin tight with salt and hair damp and gritty. The sky above was clear for once, the sun beating down on his pale skin, warming it, drying his stiff clothes.
Somehow, Tommy still felt cold.
He lay there for the better part of the morning, unable to convince his weary body to get up. It’s not like there was anything to take care of, anyways. Dream was gone for the rest of the week, he had told Tommy that the day before. No one had come to his party, and he hadn’t seen Ghostbur since the day he left with the invitations. There was no one to visit or chat with, no goal to reach for.
So for hours, Tommy contented himself with laying upon the sand, waves lapping at his feet, sun burning his skin. He spent so long staring at the sky, gaze unfocused, that the blue had since turned purple and swirled with strange lights at the edges, obscuring his vision.
Tommy’s stomach growled. He ignored it.
The sun crept overhead, and by now his hair was dry, crusted with sand and salt, itching uncomfortably. He ignored it.
It wasn’t until the sun was nearing its peak that Tommy moved. He only did so on account of his throat becoming so dry it hurt to swallow, sticking together and feeling raw after the onslaught of ocean water.
He stumbled to his tent, halfheartedly brushing off the sand on his way, slumping to the floor next to the storage chest and pulling out a bottle of water from it. Tommy sat there, sipping the water and wondering what the hell he was still doing on this earth.
No one needed him. No one wanted him. The lack of visitors made that painfully clear.
Even Dream, who seemed like a friend, someone Tommy could rely on, told Tommy how much of a pain he was to interact with. That he was tiring, and annoying, and unnecessary. Tommy couldn’t help but agree.
He sighed, letting his head fall back against the chest with a dull thump. The empty bottle dropped from his hand, and he watched it roll lazily across the floor, thumping against the handle of his shoddy iron axe. He stared at it.
“Could do with a bit o’ productivity, I guess,” he murmured, pulling the axe towards him and pushing to his feet. He made his way toward the tree line, having made up his mind to waste the rest of the daylight chopping trees to get wood he didn’t need. It beat staring at the white walls of his tent, anyways.
————————
Tommy took it back. Staring at the walls would have been significantly better than this. He shifted uncomfortably on his rickety bed, leg throbbing in response to the movement.
Somehow, he had lost track of time out in he woods and night had snuck up on him. The mobs came and caught him off guard, and he had barely made it back to the light of the torches in one piece. His clothes were singed even more than before due to creeper explosions, and there was a nasty gash spanning from the center of his left calf to the top of his knee, curtesy of a zombie he had been too slow to dodge.
He had wrapped the injury to the best of his ability with the meager first aid supplies he had on hand, but at this rate he would be surprised if it didn’t get infected. Zombie wounds were annoying like that.
Tommy rolled over again, leg pulsing in protest. He sighed. Dream wouldn’t be back for at least five more days. He had five more days to lay here, alone, hurting. And after that, who knows when Dream would bother to show up next.
All Tommy had was the promise of eternity out here, no Tubbo, no Ghostbur, no one but himself as company.
And one else to blame.
With that dreary thought, Tommy let himself drift into an uneasy sleep.
—————————
Salt. Again.
Except this time, it was so much worse. Tommy’s eyes flew open, a muffled scream bubbling out of his mouth as he woke. The wound on his leg burned, stinging like hell from the seawater.
He choked, scrambling for the surface, leg screaming at him as he kicked desperately toward the shore. Tommy spluttered, sucking in air, hardly keeping his head above the waves. The sand crumbled in his hands as he dragged his body from the surf and laid there, trembling.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he croaked, words lost in the pounding of the waves on the shore. “I can’t...I’m so sick of this shit.”
Pushing up onto his forearms, he maneuvered himself upright, glancing down at his leg. The poorly wound bandages had sagged off, revealing red, inflamed skin. With a grimace, Tommy looked away, letting his gaze drift to the horizon.
He couldn’t go back home, as much as he longed to. He couldn’t leave Logsted, not by land at least- the risk of Dream being able to track him was too great. As grateful as Tommy was for his friend, something in his gut told him Dream would be very upset if he discovered Tommy had left, and the last thing Tommy wanted was for an angry Dream to track him down.
But he couldn’t stay here, either. One more day of waking up with searing lungs and salt on his tongue, and he wasn’t going to bother swimming back to shore. He knew that, knew he was on his way out from the beginning, and tomorrow was as good a day as any.
Aching, Tommy’s gaze dropped to the waves lapping at his feet. There was one more option, as hesitant as he was to take it.
Dream couldn’t track him over water, no one could. He could leave, he could find somewhere else to live that wasn’t so damn suffocating all the time.
It’s not like anyone will miss me, anyways, He thought bitterly. Those assholes won’t even know I’m gone.
The longer he sat there, the more the idea grew on him, and Tommy settled into his resolve. He had a surplus of wood from yesterday, making a boat would be easy. Sure, he wasn’t the best navigator or sailor on the planet, but it’s not like he needed to get somewhere specific, just far enough away from this hellhole. And if Tommy was good at one thing, it was taking things further than they should go.
With a grunt, Tommy pushed himself to his feet, careful not to put too much weight onto his left leg, which felt uncomfortably warm and a little stiff.
Before the sun had peaked, he was ready to go. The small boat he had crafted was waiting on the beach, stacked with his meager belongings. Tnret sat empty, chest hollow, the rickety, uncomfortable bed the only other thing left behind.
Tommy climbed into the boat and paused, lifting his enchanted compass from his shirt by the chain. He turned it over in his palm, running his thumb over the familiar engraving on the back.
He looked up, squinting through the bright, noontime sun toward the direction of L’Manburg. Toward home. Toward everyone he had ever loved, still loved.
Everyone who didn’t love him.
“Goodbye Tubbo,” he whispered, throat tight.
The compass dropped back down his shirt and Tommy pushed off. His back faced Logsteadshire, front faced freedom, hope.
The wind caught his sails, and the boat left the bay.
———————
At first, sailing had been peaceful, a cool breeze brushing his face, the sun warming his skin, glinting gold on the water.
And then the clouds appeared on the horizon.
Tommy watched them approach warily, hoping uselessly that they would turn some other way, would leave him alone. They only crept closer, growing darker. The ominous rumble of thunder echoed across the waves.
Tommy gingerly stretched out his leg, wincing with the movement. It was definitely infected, no doubt about that. The edges of the wound were puffy and hot to the touch, and it smelled bad after baking in the sun all morning. The dunk in the ocean hadn’t done the injury any favors, either. He attempted to re-wrap it, glancing up at the approaching storm every few minutes.
By the time he had finished, rain was pattering on the deck, the sky darkening quickly. Gritting his teeth, Tommy stood, adjusting the rudder as the waves grew in size. The wind began to whistle through the sails, battering the mast. Tommy scanned the horizon, looking for a smudge of visible land.
There, off to his right. A long, low shadow. He pulled on the rudder, struggling to keep his grip on the slick wood. The rain poured down harder, and lighting flashed overhead.
The small boat struggled over the waves, crawling up one side and tumbling down the other, sending jolts through Tommy’s already sore body with each crest. He pushed the sodden hair out of his eyes, squinting through the rain, trying to stay on course. Was he still getting closer to the land, or was that just another bank of clouds?
It was so terrifyingly dark.
Minutes passed, and Tommy began to feel light headed, leg sending a wave of pain up his side with each jerk of the boat. His mouth somehow felt dry despite the torrent of rain lashing at his skin.
Was that the rain making everything blurry, or was something wrong with his eyes?
A close crack of lighting lit up the sky, illuminating a massive wave rolling toward the boat. Struggling, Tommy yanked in the rudder, desperate to keep the boat on course. The wind howled, ripping at the sails, and Tommy held onto the rudder with a white-knuckled grip as the boat crested the wave.
It slammed down on the other side, jarring his bones. There was a strange snapping noise, and sluggishly Tommy turned toward the sound just in time to see a rope break. The sails fluttered, one side going slack, and foolishly Tommy lunged for the rope, trying to catch it before the wind whisked it away.
He failed to account for his leg, which locked up in protest and Tommy stumbled, sliding on the slick deck. The boat crested another wave, tilting crazily, and Tommy plunged overboard.
The water was shockingly cold. Tommy sank, head fuzzy, watching the frothing water pulse with flashes of lighting.
He had the time to think I fucking hate the ocean before darkness overtook his vision and he lost consciousness.
———————
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Tommy gingerly pried one eye open, head pounding. His lungs ached.
Thump. Thump. Tha-thump.
Tommy forced the other eye open, blinking away the blurriness and craning his neck, looking for the source of the sound.
Thump. Thump.
There was a child sitting on a nearby chest, whose legs were gently swinging back and forth, kicking the wooden box. Upon noticing Tommy’s movement, the kicking stopped.
Tommy stared at the kid. A set of green and red eyes stared right back, peeking out from behind messy, weirdly monochromatic hair.
“Hi!” The kid suddenly chirped, sounding very young for how tall he was. Tommy said nothing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He looked around the room, the wooden planks, chests and haphazard medical supplies strewn about. All of it was unfamiliar.
Where the hell am I? What happened to-
“Are you a pirate?”
All thought processes screeched to a halt as Tommy turned back, gaping at the strange looking kid.
“Am I a what?”
The kid shrunk back a little, fidgeting, but his eyes were still bright with curiosity. “A pirate. They have ships, you know? You were in a shipwreck, I think. They found you on the beach and Miss Clara said your boat must’ve sunk, plus now you’re missing a leg so you can have one of those pegs!”
Tommy opened his mouth to respond and froze, the last sentence sinking in. His eyes flicked down to look at the pile of blankets in his lap. Missing a-
“Do you have a parrot?”
Hand reaching for the blankets, he paused again, hovering over them. He looked up at the kid, bewildered.
“What the fuck? No, I do not have a parrot. I’m not a pirate!”
The kid’s face fell, and he shrunk back a little bit. “Oh,” he said, shoulders scrunched up by his strangely pointy ears. “Sorry.”
Tommy scoffed, turning his attention back to his lap, dread coiling in his gut. With shaking hands, he reached out and lifted the blanket off of his worryingly numb leg.
(Really, he already knew what he was going to find. Tommy just refused to believe it- didn’t want to believe it.)
He blew out a shaky breath at the sight that greeted him, tears quickly clouding his vision. His left leg was gone, from the lower part of his thigh all the way down. His left leg was gone. His left leg was gone-
“Fuck,” he whispered, reaching a trembling hand out to touch the stump, hissing at the ache that came with the touch. The skin was still tender.
There was a thump as the kid slid off the chest, coming over to stand nervously next to the bed. Tommy ignored him, fingers pressing harder into the skin of his stump, breaths coming faster as tears slid down his face.
“FUCK!”
There were little, clawed hands on his, gently pulling them away from his leg. “Sorry Mr. Pirate, but uh... well, Miss Clara told me to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself and that looked painful so I gotta move your hands- sorry, really sorry,” the kid rambled quietly, holding Tommy’s hands in his own.
Tommy slumped back into the pillows, overwhelmed and exhausted already, giving the kid a halfhearted glare through the tears. “I told you, ‘m not a fuckin’ pirate.”
The kid giggled, slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “Okay, if you say so.”
“‘M not.”
And with that convincing argument, Tommy passed the fuck back out, his touch-starved mind locked onto the feeling of his hands in someone else’s.
———————
Thousands of blocks and an ocean away, a torn bandana, having been carried by the raging waves and strong currents of by a storm since passed, washed back onto the shores of Logstedshire.