Tommyinnit Oneshots

Stay On The Line With Me (which will die first: me or the battery?)

It's cold

He never liked the cold before. He wasn't built for that kind of weather. He was a raging fire or a sputtering spark. He was heat, burning and frying the world around him until nothing but ashes was left. The day he was born, he had a heart made of wood and skin soaked in gasoline. His eyes were brilliant like sunny stars and his hands held the secrets of hollow flames. The cold couldn't coexist with him. In fact, the cold stole his heat from him. He had noticed this in his youthful years during the winter season, he had learned this lesson brutally when he was casted away, and he was reminded of it every time he stepped into the arctic biome after he abandoned the person who made him doubt himself more than anyone else. The cold sucked the life from his bones until he was a husk.

He was a shell of who he once was, but it wasn't because of some physical cold. The wars had been like trudging through snow, trying to move forwards even when the resistance was far too great, when every step forwards was at a snail's pace. Wilbur's death was being dropped in a tank of icy water, the shock settling into his pound, not allowing the grief to be dealt with in a healthy way. Exile had been slowly freezing him, the ice sliding across his skin until he couldn't move or think or breath. His revival brought back a statue of ice, someone who was comprised of frozen water that couldn't be thawed because he wouldn't let anyone close. The white in his hair was symbolic, more than a consequence of being brought back. It showed that he was snow. He was shattering, slowly, and he was melting away into nothingness.

The cold reminded him that he was alone. People had body heat, and when they were close, they shared that heat. He would never admit how clingy he was, but there had been a time when his nights were spent huddling close to someone who provided him with even more warmth than the furnace he called his soul could create. There was a time when he hadn't been afraid of touch, when his instincts hadn't screamed that every hand headed his way was coming to hurt him because he had been bad. Because he wasn't good enough. Because he was a medicore, worthless child who made mistakes and messed up any good thing he ever tried to do. He wanted to feel the burning touch of someone who loved him, but he was scared that the heat would melt him away. He was scared that nobody loved him anymore.

And nobody did. If someone did, they were fools who didn't know that Tommy Innit was a frozen boy with hands that made a fire that destroyed everything he touched. Most people had learned this lesson. Sam and Tubbo, the people he thought would never abandon him, had been destroyed by the inferno that he couldn't tame. That Dream couldn't control, though he tried. That Wilbur couldn't weaponize, though he tried. Tommy just wasn't worth it. His company didn't make up for the pain he caused. His smile would never be equal to the blood he had spilled. His right to be happy was less than the despair he deserved for everything he had ever done.

Ranboo had decidedly not learned this lesson.

Tommy's communicator buzzed. A soft melody played in the quiet air that meant someone was trying to call Tommy. With dazed eyes, Tommy held the communicator to his ear, waiting for someone to yell at him. Instead, he heard a voice that was still kind to him no matter how terrible Tommy was in return. "Hey, we're having a movie night tonight. It will just be you, me, Tubbo, and Michael, I promise. If you come over soon, I'll help you convince Tubbo to watch Up. He wants to watch some documentary about nukes, and I would rather watch anything else, so... you think you can make it?"

Tommy laughed. It was a wet laugh that pushed some of the mucus and blood from his throat onto the snow beside him. Tommy didn't know why he found the situation humorous. It wasn't funny in the slightest. A tear slipped down Tommy's face, the salty liquid mixing with the blood dripping from his softly smiling lips. "I'm not coming home, Boo."

"What?" Ranboo's voice had an obvious shift. Before there had been a lighthearted conversational tone, but now it was concerned like Ranboo cared. Tommy wondered what it would be like to have someone care about him. He doesn't remember what it was like to have someone genuine in his life. He was able to make the distinction in his mind that while Wilbur and Dream seemed to care, in realty, they didn't and were manipulating him. Why him, specifically, he could never answer. It had crossed his mind that maybe he was easy to manipulate, or on the flip side, they liked a challenge. No matter the case, their 'love' wasn't real. "What are you talking about, Tommy? What's wrong?"

"It's cold, Boo. I don't like the cold," Tommy shivered as if to prove a point even if Ranboo couldn't see him. Tommy sighed, a chilling feeling of resignation flooding his system. All was lost. There was nothing he could do.

"Where are you, Toms? Are you wearing a coat? Do you need me to bring you one?" Ranboo replied instantly. Tommy heard shuffling on the other side of the communicator. Cloth rubbing together, a toddler's babbling, the monotone noise of a man describing the precursor to nukes, the popping of popcorn, Tubbo's baby voice. It was all familiar noises from a time that Tommy would never experience again, that he hadn't experienced in a long time. The last time he had seen a movie with people he cared about was with Sam and Fran, sitting in Sam's base with dozens of blankets and a roaring fire with the movie playing too loud to keep the sounds of the snowstorm away. Tommy shivered again at such a warm thought. He had been leaning against Sam, tucked safely beneath his arm with Fran's weight keeping him tethered as he watched the colors on Sam's screen move around. All he had been paying attention to was that it was the best kind of warm and surrounded with love. Tommy missed Sam. He wished that he hadn't fucked things up.

"I don't wanna bother you with that. You're watching a movie, right? I bet you eat popcorn weird..." Tommy muttered, his voice dropping as his eyes fluttered shut. He must have fell unconscious because the next thing he knew, Ranboo was practically screaming at him for coordinates. Tommy blinked warily at his screen. What was happening again? Why was he talking to Ranboo? Why was he sitting in snow? Why was there something red all around him, soaked into his shirt and the snow in a puddle? "Boo... I'm tired. Can you stop yelling?"

"No, no, stay awake, Toms, please," Ranboo pleaded. Tommy didn't know why. What did it matter? Why did Ranboo care? "Listen, buddy, Toms, if you tell me, if you tell Boo where you are, I'll take you somewhere warm. Does that sound nice? You'll be bundled in a blanket. We'll make you some hot chocolate. Everything will be fine. You'll be fine."

"But I'm not," Tommy muttered instead of thinking about the paradise Ranboo described. Because at the end of the day, Tommy didn't deserve to be loved or cared about. He lost his right to warmth. "I'm fucked up, Boo. There's something wrong with me. I'm unlovable. I'm a mess up who fucks everything up and everyone over. If I have something good, it doesn't last. I destroy everything because I can never be satisfied with what I have. I'm not fine. I was born broken."

"No. You were born in an unfortunate situation. You were raised in a terrible war. You were told to live with the fact that everyone hates you for pointless reasons. I may not... I've read the stories, and I've heard what people say about you. And I believed them. I'm sorry for that. After you were exiled, I started to think that we were never friends. I thought that you had tricked me, but I learned I was wrong. Tommy, you are one of my closest friends. I refuse to let you die again," Ranboo's voice was the firmest it had ever been. Tommy didn't know Ranboo was capable of this kind of sternness. He knew Ranboo could be a tad overprotective, but Tommy never imagined that he was part of the tight-knit group Ranboo would kill for. Despite everything, it made Tommy feel a sliver of warmth. "So, I'll ask this one more time. Where are you?"

Tommy fumbled to tell Ranboo, but once the words left his mouth, he heard the whirring of a trident. Tommy let his communicator drop. Ranboo was coming. That was alarming. Tommy was scared that Ranboo would be disappointed in what he saw. He was scared that Ranboo had come to finish the job. He was scared that he would be gone before Ranboo even arrived, and he was equally scared that he would still be alive.

"I'm sorry, Boo. Tell everyone I'm sorry. Tell Techno that I never meant to hurt him. Tell Phil that I forgive him for killing Wil. Tell Tubbo that it isn't his fault. Tell Niki and Jack that I genuinely hope they're happy now. Tell Sam that I miss him. Tell Wil that I... that he's my brother, no matter what. Tell Puffy that I'm thankful she tried her best," Tommy whispered, his voice rising and falling as he tried to say everything he needed to in the few seconds he had left. "And, Boo? You were always my friend..."

His body went slack. The communicator fell from his grasp into the snow. An anxious Enderman hybrid demanded Tommy start talking again. Boots hit the snow. Someone picked Tommy up into their arms. His communicator and a puddle of blood was left behind.