Dresmp oneshots centered around Tommy (DISCONTINUED)

Petrichor

I find it interesting how cc!tommy loves the rain while c!tommy doesn't.

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He doesn't know why he hates rain, it might be because it's a hindrance for when he works. Or the sadness it brings, disrupting his mood. 

It might be because it always rained after something he loved got destroyed. 

One thing still rang true, he fuckin hated it.

But there he was, sitting on the bench soaking wet. He couldn't play the discs as the water would damage its grooves, so he just listened to the pattering rain. Feeling as his clothes and hair get stuck to his body, feeling the cold water on his thin skin. 

Tommy wanted to bite his nails, or the skin around them but doing so would result in him tasting the nail polish Captain Puffy had painted on his nails and another talk. So he settled for picking at his scabs or bandages and fiddling with his fingers. 

His hands traced over past scars, pinching and rubbing them as though they would come off. Traveling to his neck where hand-shaped bruises stayed and didn't disappear, and to his eyes were a black eye was still present faded and overshadowed by the bags. 

Instead of swallowing the lump in his throat, he let out a whimper followed by tears that mixed with the rainwater. His pale blue eyes glossy, his mouth pulled down as he sobbed and hiccuped. Pulling his knees to his chest he cried.

He missed his brother.

He missed his dad.

He missed his best friend.

He missed everyone. 

But he kept pushing them away or keeping them too close while they tried to escape. Why can't he just do something right? Why did he have to be himself? A stupid, pathetic, useless child that can't do jack shit?

He tried wiping his tears trying to prove someone wrong, but where was anyone? 

And another round started up bawling as snot got stuck in his nose, sniffing as he tried to keep it in. 

He wanted to feel a warm hand patting his back, creating small circles like what Wilbur or Phil would do after a nightmare or an injury. 

He wanted the comforting hugs Tubbo would give him after his older brother and father forgot to return for his birthday again.

He wanted the soft songs Wilbur sang to him when he cried himself to exhaustion. 

He wanted someone, something to be there for him. 

The boy laughed at his shortcomings, making himself sound like an idiot as he hiccuped and sniffled. 

Back then he used to think to himself 'What does he not have? Nothing! He had everything he loved right there'. Now he questions himself every night 'What does he have?'. 

A revived brother who's still insane as he was when he died, a best friend who's farther away than the sun, and a family who doesn't even glance at him. 

A voice laughed at his misery, making fun of his weak state. And he could do nothing but weep, letting the faucet loose flooding his head. The taunting getting worse, and he couldn't help it as he agreed to its opinions. 

The drops keep on pouring, his emotion kept spilling from the bottle he shoved it into. 

The water pelting his head as he kept it down, as the storm becomes softer the steady stream of his tears began to dry out. The downpour was still going strong but fading quickly as the clouds dissipate, it became only but a drizzle as he got his breathing in control. 

The rain disappears, leaving only its jeweled dews in the grass and leaves. As well as the earthly and fresh smell that eased his feelings.