Chapter Text
Tommy tripped into his garden for the third time since the morning, the sound of the returning birds barely made its way to his ears as he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around. His carrots were. . . looking fine, if he had to describe them, they were sickly and small, a sign that the leak in his watering can was helping the grass and weeds along the pathway through the garden more than Tommy's crops themselves. Tommy sighed and look towards his leg, cursing to himself as he realized the rust had locked it up again. He grabbed his shovel and scraped away at it in a futile attempt to not have to see Sam before picking himself up and pulling his hat over his head to block out the sun, carefully tucking the white hair strand underneath.
It was almost sad, Tommy thought, how deserted Prime path had become. It used to promote enough foot traffic and noise that even in the dead of night, you could hear someone moving around. Nowadays, it was more used as a dump for some of the more asshole-y members of what used to be a great country. Tommy stared at the small flag hung on the edge of his fence and stilled himself, leaning and ducking his head to catch his breath. He unlatched his crossbow from its holster on his belt and looked it over to make sure it wasn't damaged (it never was, it was too well enchanted), then pointed it at the flag carefully and-
One, Two, Three, Four,
No other way. The smell of smoke and revolution smothered his senses.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight,
End it. They were silent, the crowd, watching without a sound.
Nine,
Here, here and now.
Ten.
Tommy clutched his chest and felt something twist inside of him, he doubled over, dropping his weapon and releasing a mouthful of sick upon the ground. He wiped the corners of his mouth yet again and stood up, pulling himself out of his garden and into his house.
It was dark by the time he woke up. The previous beams of sunlight that lit up the room were no longer present, gone with the day. Tommy ran a hand through his hair, he had dropped his hat and gardeners outfit in favor of a replica of Wilbur's coat, but kept a sleeved shirt and pair of jeans on, not willing to fully submit to his brothers style. Tommy tapped his knee slowly, staring at his house. The kitchen was almost empty of any nutrition, but Tommy hadn't eaten in three or four days anyways. His leg and arm both ached, despite lacking. . . the leg and the arm, which sucked. The living area and dining room, both built to hold a group of people that no longer. . . they were wrecked beyond relief, enchanted armor and weapons strewn about, all within reach at a moments notice. The only clear spot in the house was the bathroom, because as much as Tommyinnit sunk, he would never let go of hygiene. Tommy didn't want to go in there anyways, it was too small, too similar to the prison, with narrow walls and a low ceiling that his wings wouldn't appreciate.
.
.
.
It was too silent. Tommy stood up and began pacing, he grabbed an axe from the pile and began tearing away the kitchen, he didn't need it anyways. He need room, wide and open, enough that he would know if there was someone hiding in his house. He couldn't risk cabinets, he couldn't risk bookshelves, because his enemies could hide. . . under. . .
A creak.
Tommy turned towards his bed. He kept turning his head as to not alert whoever was under it that he knew they were there and walked out of line-of-sight of the darkness that seemed to emanate from the old wooden frame. He grabbed a shield and started running towards the bed, only for his leg to lock up as he began to slide across the dusty floor. He looked up to see a dark figure, who was it? Dream? Was it Sam, come to finish him? No, it was Tubbo- Schlatt-Wilb-
The figure wasn't there. Tommy stared, now standing, and turned back to the bed to find it destroyed. The blanket had been thrown to the ground, the mattress torn to pieces, the frame burnt and cracked. Tommy stared at his hands, a light layer of soot covering them, his metal fingers rusted and wet, and fell to his knees. It was too much. It was too, too, too, too much. Tommy tore his metal arm off and pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his axe, and sent the blade through his rusted leg. He reached out to hold himself on the wall before falling to his chest.
He sat there for what felt like an eternity, breathing hard and clutching his chest, after the first rays of sunlight pierced the windows in his doorway, he pushed himself up and felt around, eventually finding a book and quill. He tore a page out of the book and began writing, tears streamed down his face as he did, and one long moment later, he pushed himself to his fe- foot, his foot (he always forgot) and began to limp towards the door. He took his favorite axe from the pile and pushed along with it, then strapped it to his side as he reached the door.
Memories rushed to him, the first time he stepped out of the house after it was built-
The garden was beautiful, Tubbo laughed as he almost teared up as he stared out, the sound of citizens of his country going about their daily business made its way through the yard. Tommy stepped out, laughing and splaying his arms and wings out as if to say, 'mine! this is all mine!', Tubbo got what he meant and nodded, and Tommy cheered. He stretched his wings out and took to the air, swooping around the house, it was beautiful from above as well, Tubbo shouted at him after a minute that the lemonade was ready, and Tommy landed in the house- his house, for the first time.
It still had some of the charm it did before, the hedge walls had mostly fallen away and been replaced with rotten wood. The acres of gardens had been weed-ridden for years at this point, though he did try his hardest to keep it together. The cups and pitcher they had used for that lemonade had long since broken or been taken back, or regifted, or used in a nice symbolic representation at Wilbur's grave, or-nevermind. Tommy pulled himself towards the wall of his house.
Tommy stared at Prime path, one arm holding his head up, elbow on the fence, the other resting on the wood of the fence. Tubbo stepped towards him, smiling happily. Tommy grinned and motioned for him to hop the fence before backing up. "Tubbo, I got a project to do, and I've called you here to help me." Tubbo blinked innocently and looked out on the garden, smiling wider as he saw the flowers he planted.
"Of course big man, I'll help you!" Tommy grinned and held out a lead and a handful of flowers.
"Well then, lets get going! Those bees won't get themselves into my garden!" Tubbo lit up like a fireworks display and Tommy laughed.
That beehive had relocated itself almost an exact week before Tommy was exiled. Tommy pondered a life in which he followed them. Would he have gone through the same thing if he did? Would living on different land have saved him? Tommy shrugged it off and knelt next to a small shrine, putting his hands together and smiling as he prayed.
The church was a good idea in principle, a place where everyone could come to appreciate the deities that occasionally dropped into the nearby lands (some of which befriended the citizens personally, which Tommy had experiences with), though sometimes the citizens that came to listen to Tommy's sermons complained that they felt strange. Tommy played that off, but he did connect the dots when Phil revealed that he was married to Death, though he would've never known staring at what looked like his father, as the man knelt and prayed to the statue that Tommy stood in front of.
His mothers face prevailed across the shrine, long-gone, but still remembered constantly. She had been related the Phil, so when she and Tommy's father, Lucas, had died, he had gone to Phil. He always assumed the family thought of him as their son or brother, depending on which member you asked. But thinking about it, they probably thought of him more as a family friend, or an annoyance. Tommy dipped his hand in the bowl of water that the small carved figurine of XD stood in and dribbled water on the statues head, a sign of worship commonly associated with the pantheon. Tommy quickly ran through the other main tenants of worship when it came to prayer before standing, feeling slightly rejuvenated.
He took his axe from its place on his back and used it to limp to the center of his backyard, stared at the house he called home since before. . . before what felt like every bad thing that happened to him, and turned back, he clutched the wooden hilt of the axe for one long moment, relishing in the morning sun, then stretched his wings and took to the air.
The winds of the Esempi and L'Manburg always yielded beautiful sunny days, though they had their storms. Today was more of the former, though clouds seemed more prevailing, splitting the red and orange sky with drifting blobs of white and grey. Tommy dove through one to wash off the grime of kneeling on the ground for so long and laughed. It had been months since he had last taken flight, Dream had brought him back after tearing out an. . . unfortunate number of feathers, and it took weeks to heal.
He relished in the cold, cheering to the world as he saw the border approaching. The waking birds began to lift into the air next to him, and he stood out like a baby chick in a turtles den, where their white and grey and red and black and blue wings tore the sky into rainbows and monochrome beauties, his wings were large and taught, a wingspan wider than a small house, where years ago there had been molten red and gold, there was now grey and black, crackling across each other like lightning.
He flipped upside-down and yelled something unintelligible even to him, the pink of the sky turned to orange as he split the sky in twain, tearing the land away with speed unknown to him since him childhood. The sun was closer than ever, and Tommy turned his head up, realizing today was a new day.
His lack of an arm and leg made balance difficult, though he hadn't had them since even before the prison, so the knowledge of how to fly without balance came easily, though less so when he was eating what birds he could pick off in the sky. When the wind was good, he glided and napped, but that was occasional at best, nonexistent at worst.
The fourth day marked when the land officially became unknown, the fifth was the first of four where the landscape was constant mountain ranges and canyons, he could even see sinkholes. It finally occurred to him why they never expanded in that direction, and he finally dropped to the earth on the tenth day, when the canyons and sinkholes gave way to ancient ruins and a more hill-filled terrain. He didn't stay for long, just finding what loot he could and sleeping for a night, then searching for the closest approximation he could get to a church and praying for an hour or two, then taking to the air again.
The ruin kept coming, though they were apart from each other, with old unrecognizable architecture that spoke of a thriving civilization and canals that had long since been abandoned, finally, there was a large stretch of plains that lead to a small village. Tommy didn't stop though, and he kept moving for another week and a half without stop. The skies eventually became windy and storm-filled more often than not. The twentieth day, Tommy felt his wings pull together in request of a break, sore with physical strain. The twenty-first, Tommy passed out for a minute and almost hit the ground, but kept moving, the twenty-second, he lost feeling in his arm, and started dipping.
It was a slow thing, that day, it started as any other, but the ground started getting a bit closer, and Tommy didn't notice. Then it kept getting closer, very quickly. And Tommy crashed through a forest, skidding to a halt on the forest floor, and not getting up.
.
.
.
The basket was heavy with carrots, though there weren't that many. Shroud dragged it through the forest despite the adults in the village telling the children not to go in. They were dumb anyways, and whatever monster had crashed through a few days ago was gone by now. Plus, it was a pretty good short cut from the gardens back to the orphanage, and you never want to be late for dinner, especially with Sylvia running the place. Shroud pulled the basket, staring at the ground and singing a song under his breath, the shade never felt hotter-
Wait. That wasn't shade, that was. . . sunlight? Shroud stared up and found the tree line had paused for ten or so feet, given way to crushed trunks and an unnatural formation along the dirt of the forest floor. The sunlight didn't feel good on his type of hybrid skin, so Shroud dove for a bit of cover, taking the basked with him. The closest cover was a broken tree, which Shroud hid under, he closed his eyes and hyped himself up to try and make a run for the orphanage, only to open them and find. . . a- a man?