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Tommy sits by the shore, tattered sneakers wading in the cold ocean water without a care.
Chirp plays on a loop in the jukebox nearby. Tommy thinks it’s his favourite song now, as it helps the teen paint a world inside his mind that he escapes to.
The notes dance through the abandoned island, reaching out across the water. The melody swirls in his tired mind, and all Tommy can think about is the universe.
Chirp is cosmic to the exiled teen, sounding just like space feels to him when he stares up at the stars at night. The music is expansive, stretching out into the atmosphere as if it could really touch the heavens.
In the world that Tommy gets lost in, he meets an astronaut. Against the backdrop of infinitesimal stars and volatile galaxies, he is lost in the inky blackness of the universe.
He is lost, deserted and alone and there’s nothing he can do to save himself.
Tommy would surely lose his mind if she hadn’t found him.
Clara is the one who saves him, the only person in his mind (and in his normal life), who spares him a second glance.
Tommy doesn’t know what Clara looks like. In space, she wears a large white spacesuit. It contrasts with the inky depths, making her look angelic.
Tommy always sees his reflection in the dark visor of Clara’s helmet. He never has a suit on. It just him, in his classic red and white shirt with that stupid green bandana tied around his neck and he looks tired.
But, at least he’s alive.
Chirp fades and so does the space woman. Tommy is brought back to Earth, chest burning with the familiar fire of disappointment and limbs numb.
The cold ocean water washes gently against his exposed ankles.
Tears escape Tommy’s dull eyes.
•••
Far is the second disc that Tommy is gifted. (He stilled complained about not wanting to be pitied, but he took it anyways).
Far is mysterious, yet oddly... joyful? Chirp reminds the teen of the infinite universe whereas Far reminds him of a beautiful and dying star.
Clara shows up when Tommy listens to Far too.
Happiness bursts through his viens when he’s pushed back into space, where her familiar figure is waiting for him.
She’s closer whenever he listens to the new disc. Tommy can’t move this time, only able to watch the astronaut.
Clara reaches up a thick, gloved hand and brings it to Tommy’s bare cheek. Tommy wants to flinch, but she always stops and waits. Waits for his permission to touch him.
Tommy never refuses.
Because when the rough material of her gloves softly brush against his dirty cheek, something explodes in the teen’s chest. All his emotions sweep through him at the same time and the storm destroys all the thoughts in his mind.
The feelings are shapeless, nothing that Tommy could ever describe, even if he had the vocabulary of Wilbur. Such a simple touch burns away all his loneliness, yet makes his heart ache with want.
When the music disc ends, Tommy is left alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.
Those are the days that Tommy thinks he loves Clara.
•••
Tommy sits on the hot, blackstone path with his gangly legs hanging off the edge. The red and orange lava below him warms his pallid skin, and Tommy feels his dry throat click uncomfortably.
He has his satchel full of music discs, a jukebox beside him and the enchanted compass. The purple waver of the enchantments shine unnaturally in the reddish light of the Nether and Tommy frowns at the way the cold metal digs into his thin wrist.
Your Tubbo says the neat, little engraving on the side of the compass and Tommy hates those words.
He doesn’t like to think about Tubbo, not anymore and the engraving isn’t even true because he lost Tubbo a long time ago. Tubbo has moved on, clearly happy with his decision since L’Manburg had improved significantly since the blond’s exile. So, Tommy doesn’t like to this about the President that much.
He wants to think about Clara.
So why, when Tommy places Far into the wooden jukebox, does he not see Clara in the darkness? There is no bright suit, no indication that the astronaut is there with him.
After everything, she left Tommy too.
Tommy doesn’t even hate her for it because he gets it. He gets it. Everyone had abandoned him, so it was inevitable that Clara would too and...
“Tommy?” a voice behind him asks.
Tommy turns his head, the expansiveness of space throwing him off. He’s dizzy, but he manages to shake the nausea off enough to see clearly.
He wants to leave.
Tubbo is there, right behind him and floating in the space that Tommy thought was reserved for him and Clara. This was his world, in his mind, so why was Tubbo here?
Tommy didn’t want to think about him because if he thought about him then he’d have to think about the guilt that pools in his gut and he can’t think about the guilt or else it’ll crush him, destroy him and Tommy knows he can’t handle to have the last thing he cared about stolen from him...
“T- toby... why?” he asks, words getting caught in his throat.
The brunet smiles sadly, raising his right hand and extending outwards. He has an enchanted compass attached to his forearm with a red bandana...
Tommy’s breath catches painful and his crying again.
“I’ve found my way back to my Tommy,” his best friends whispers into the nonexistent atmosphere of space.
Somewhere, Tommy knows that none of this is real. He wouldn’t be able to hear Tubbo if they were up in space, and considering that neither of them were wearing spacesuits, they’d already be dead.
Part of him doesn’t care.
“I lost you a long time ago,” the blond tells him.
Tubbo shakes his head, gently chuckling in disbelief.
“No, Tommy, you never lost me. I’ve always been right here,” he says kindly.
Tommy scoffs, ribs clenching painfully and tears threatening to burn him.
“You’re a liar, you never once visited me. Or even cared to say hi to me. You didn’t even try to reach me!”
He spits those words out like they’re poisonous. They taste bitter against his tongue, metallic and venomous. They sound too harsh, even to Tommy, who’s guilty conscious only ways down on him harder.
But, Tubbo doesn’t react negatively to the accusations. He just smiles, tired brown eyes glowing sadly with the reflection of a dying star.
“But you reached for me, Tommy. That’s why I’m here,” his best friends says.
He says that so lightly, like those words don’t mean the world to the blond. Tommy blinks, surprise slipping into his sleep deprived mind.
“W-what... that doesn’t make any sense... ha, you’re not even here! This is just happening in my head!” Tommy laughs, sounding strangely deranged.
“Just because it’s happening in your head, why does that mean it can’t be real,” Tubbo asks.
Tommy’s head spins and the tears make his vision blur.
“I love you, Toms,” Tubbo tells him genuinely.
“You too, Toby. I... love you too...” Tommy chokes out.
Space fades away, taking his best friend with it and Tommy is left sitting on the path up high. There’s no space, no Clara and no Tubbo. It’s just him and the useless emotions he’s left with, the ones that demands to crush whatever is left of the broken sixteen year old.
Tommy fumbles to pull out his communicator that he’d turned off before coming to the Nether Hub. Clumsily, he turns it back on.
A familiar robotic female voice tells him,
It’s ok, Tommy. You’re going to be ok.
And for the first time, the teen believes it.
•••
Tubbo regrets looking at his compass that day.
He was getting ready to go to the L’Manburg Christmas party, but his anxiety about Tommy possibly being there had delayed him.
There wasn’t a day that had gone by where Tubbo didn’t feel guilty for what he’d done to his best friend. He hadn’t even been totally at peace with his decision, even though he believed that his nation was more important than his best friend.
The guilt grips his heart in a vice as the young sixteen year old opens his inventory to pull out a small, yet weight compass.
Your Tommy.
Tubbo wasn’t even sure if that statement was true.
The President pulls out the compass and feels dread fill his heart. The glass that protects the needle is cracked, spindly cracks weaving a web across the sharp glass.
That wasn’t there before, he catches himself thinking.
Despite all of his better judgements, Tubbo shakily pulls out his communicator and types;
Tommy?
•••
The world is silent now but Tommy’s accepted that.
He feels so at peace, sitting blocks above the enchanting lava. It shimmers gently below him, and Tommy wants to receive all the kindness it has to offer.
The teen has been so cold, but he knows that the lava will be warm.
It will give him the warmth he needs.
Tommy’s accepted it.
Now, a voice tells him gently.
Tommy knows that it’s Clara.
Because she loves him.
But there’s a strong hand on his shoulder, digging fingers into Tommy’s bony shoulder. The foreign touch stings the teen, but he doesn’t flinch.
“It’s not your time to die,” Dream tells him.
He sounds as kind as Clara is and as genuine as Tubbo was. But, Tommy understands that Dream is a liar.
The masked man doesn’t care.
“It’s never my time to die,” he whispers, listening to the calling of the lava.
The hand doesn’t move.
Tommy doesn’t need it to.
It’s ok, Tommy. You’re going to be ok.
I’m going to be ok, he thinks.
And then he’s...
f
a
l
l
i
n
g.
It’s so warm.
•••
Dream doesn’t know where Tommy’s strength came from. He looked so gaunt, starved and sleep deprived. The teen wasn’t a threat to anyone.
Except himself.
Tommy pushes himself off the blackstone edge with an unnatural strength for a malnourished teen. The momentum plunged him off the edge, ripping him free of Dream’s grasp.
Dream feels his heart plumet and bile clog his throat as the warm, solid body is suddenly and completely gone. Someone screams and from the way his throat becomes hoarse, the SMP leader thinks it’s him.
[Tubbo] Tommy?
Dream feels his knees lock and his legs turn to jelly. The blackstone rushes up to greet his numb body, his lungs are on fire and he can’t breath, oxygen won’t make it to his lungs, it won’t, it won’t, oh god, p l e a s e...
The lava bubbles and pops loudly, almost louder than the splash Dream hears.
He wails.
•••
Wilbur is wandering the small grounds inside Logstedshire when something catches his eye.
A transparent, baby blue person stands in the entrance. As Wilbur approaches, the other doesn’t seem to notice. He’s preoccupied with something on his wrist.
“T-toms?”
Those cheeks are stained with tear tracks that reflect the pale moonlight, and those dull blue eyes are sad.
There’s a compass attached to the ghost’s wrist with a transparent green bandana.
“I’ll help you, come on,” Wilbur whispers, reaching a phantom hand towards his brother.
GhostInnit smiles softly.
He reaches back.