Chapter Text
Tommy’s ears were ringing, a dull throbbing making its home behind his eyes. He felt weak, more so than he had in the entirety of the past two weeks. He was cracking, Ccrumbling. The ground under him felt like it would swallow him whole.
He felt like he was rotting from the inside out.
Though he supposed he was rotting on the outside too. His entire body was covered in dirt and grime and his hair was a matted and tangled mess. His eyes were dull and lifeless, or at least he thought they were. He couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore. He passed his reflection in iron ingots or shallow pools with fleeting glances, making sure not to linger on himself.
Body and face aside, his wings were by far in the worst state.
His wings had, long ago, been covered in bright reds and golds that moved like fire in the daylight. The neat, clean feathers and the center of his pride were now faded nearly to black. They’d started fading during the revolution, he recalled. It was years ago now before Wilbur had gotten too busy with the war and had made it a staple in their routine to preen Tommy's wings as he had in the Empire. He’d been carefully brushing through them with his fingers when he’d found the first grey feather. Wil had commented on it absent mindedly but Tommy hadn’t forgotten that moment, especially not when the greys and blacks became more prominent than the reds and golds. Not when he began to decay.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but they persisted. They seemed to do that a lot now, he realized. They were cruel and angry, slamming into his head like a pickaxe against stone.
Some sick part of him deep down wondered if this is how Wilbur felt when he was wasting away in that ravine when he imagined that everyone had turned against him in some sick, Shakespearean way. Did he feel helpless? Was he scared?
Wilbur had never been one to express his fears or anxieties, not in Pogtopia and not before. Before, when it was just Tommy and his family in the great halls of the castle. Before he and his brother had set off for adventure and independence away from their father’s rule. Before he’d waved goodbye to Port-Aux-Francais and his father and his other elder brother and everything he had ever known from the deck of a royal passenger ship. Back when he and Tubbo would wrestle in the gardens and Wilbur or Technoblade would scold them and keep them from rolling over Phil’s prized roses. When he’d sneak down during his studies to watch his elder brothers spar in the training hall. When he’d stare out across the capital from his father’s bedroom balcony, and admire their home.
When he had a home and a family to admire it with, but that was gone now. A silly childhood memory that died with Wilbur and L’manberg. He could still feel it, that awful thing in his chest that he’d felt when Phil had slid his sword in between Wilbur’s ribcage.
And then his father had gone back to the empire without him. He’d taken Technoblade with him because Prime forbid those two be seperated, and he’d left Tommy behind. Left him like he’d left Wilbur’s broken and cold body to decay in L’manberg’s ruins. He hadn’t even sent for his body so that he could be buried in the Antarctic where he belonged. Tommy was the one who had buried him with blistered hands and crying eyes.
And when Tommy thought it would be okay, because he still had his closest friend and his nephew and his new companions, they had exiled him.
Dream was yelling something he couldn’t make out, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His entire body was numb. His head had been stuffed with rain clouds and moss and mushrooms sent to finish returning him to the Earth. He could feel Dream coming closer now, his footsteps echoing through the wet sand he was seated upon.
He’s going to kill me, Tommy’s mind supplied rather unhelpfully, I’ve fucked up for the last time and he’s going to kill me killme killmekillmekillme.
He could feel Dream pull him up by the collar of his worn and battered shirt. The porcelain mask moved closer to his face, and Tommy fought the urge to squirm backward.
“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” and oh, Dream is mad, he realized. He’s furious, and it’s all Tommy’s fault. He had no idea what he was thinking when he began squirreling away those supplies underneath that stupid house made by the ghost of his stupid brother on this stupid island. He hadn’t been thinking, he’d been careless.
He really, really should’ve known better.
Because Dream was sharp blades against skin and smoking torches held a little too close to the fabric of your clothes. Dream was harsh words delivered with a venomous tongue and explosives that left the sounds around you muddled and muted.
But Dream had never been anything but nice to him, hadn’t he? He’d fed him and clothed him and kept him warm when the world around him seemed to suck the heat from his soul. He was kind to him.
… Except for when he murdered him. Murdered his friends and his brother and his nephew and he hit him and he yelled and-
“ Ungrateful .” Dream spat with finality, and Tommy couldn't help but agree with him.
Dream threw him back onto the ground, his jaw slamming upward and biting his tongue. He choked back a yelp, instead opting to scramble further away from the elder. Dream just scoffed, reaching a hand up and running his fingers through his hair. He always did that when he was angry and Prime , did Tommy seem to make him angry a lot.
“I’m done, Tommy. I mean it.”
I’m done too, he couldn't help but think to himself.
“I’ll come back when you can behave .” Dream hissed and before Tommy can even begin to protest he was gone, the nether portal blown up behind him.
Finally, Tommy could breathe again. His breaths were ragged and uneven, eyes burning and stomach willing itself not to throw up what little food he had in him.
But he could breathe and that’s a lot more than he could do just a few seconds ago.
On shaky legs he pushed himself off the ground and stumbled towards- towards what?
There was nothing for him here or anywhere else in the world. He was well and truly alone. He had no family. No friends. No allies. Prime, he didn’t even have a house!
A sob made its way out of his throat. He couldn’t feel his hands as they started to place stone and dirt beneath him and pushed him further into the sky. His body moved on its own terms.
I can’t do this anymore. He thought, I’m just alone.
Dream was his only friend. His only friend and Tommy had made him angry. He’d betrayed his trust, his loyalty and friendship. Prime knows that Dream didn’t have to stay with Tommy or support him or do any of the other nice things that he did for him. Dream had done that because he cared, and Tommy had spat right back in his face.
We hung out together, we laughed together and he’d take my things. He’d make me throw everything in a hole and he’d blow it up. He’d come and watch me-
He’d come… to WATCH me.
He paused as the clouds rolled back and the moonlight hit his face. He’d always loved the moon. In Antarctica when the snow was glistening and reflecting the moon’s light the world had seemed so bright it was almost blinding. The rays from the moon seemed to reach for him, cup his face and kiss his forehead and tell him “not yet.”
Not yet, He promised quietly.
His wings unfurled, reaching out to welcome the moon and her words.
He jumps.