Tommyinnit Oneshots

Don't Let Me Return Until You Understand Why I Left

As easy as it was for Tommy to stay in his state of apathy. He was very vaguely aware when he moved to a different location, and sometimes he could catch a hint of what someone was saying around him. Other than that, the world was a blur of colors and a cacophony of dulled sounds. The best part was that nothing hurt. He couldn't remember much from before the emotionlessness. He didn't want to remember any of that. Whenever he tried to- which was rarely- he was met with a wall of pain that forced him to back away from the past. He was content in his blissful oblivion. Tommy didn't need to worry about anything. He didn't need to care about his relationships with people, and he didn't feel when he touched something that would burn him or make him bleed. Tommy wasn't exactly happy, but he wasn't angry or sad, either, so it was an easy trade to make. Tommy figured he would stay in his abyss until the real abyss came to swallow him whole. That was the plan, anyways. Nothing ever happened the way Tommy wanted.

The morning started off how it normally would. Tommy was sitting on the couch, a blanket hanging off him while he stared into the flames of the fireplace. Michael was in a playpen built from colored plastic fence pieces, some of his toys spread around him. He was currently using some blocks to make towers as haphazardly as gravity would allow. Tubbo had last been seen going into the kitchen to make breakfast, and Ranboo had gone in there a few minutes after. Even though he was mostly unaware of the world, Tommy's ears started to pick up yelling. Anywhere else, Tommy would have drowned the noise out completely, but hearing it at the mansion was odd. Tubbo and Ranboo never fought, and if they did, it was more like hissing threats between clenched teeth. Michael had stopped playing with the blocks as the yelling steadily grew louder. His lip began trembling as he recognized his parent's voices but not their tones. After a particularly loud yell from Tubbo, Ranboo threw the kitchen door open. Michael flinched back harshly, and Tommy didn't even twitch. Another door slammed closed as Tubbo came rushing out of the kitchen, chasing after Ranboo. Michael began crying in his pen, on his wobbly feet as he tried to climb after the fence to get to his parents.

Tommy was starting to fade back away, but he heard a squeal erupt from Michael's throat. Tommy wandered back to the edge of reactions to smell something in the air. It took him a solid few minutes to figure out what the smell was. It was definitely familiar, but every attempt to identify it was met with that wall that separated his consciousness from the past. Tommy would have given up had it not been for the panicked sobbing of Michael, whose vocal cords were desperately trying to form coherent words to explain to Tommy why he was upset. Tommy took a deep breath that made his lungs ache. The small jolt of pain, the continuous screeching from Michael, and a stubbornness Tommy forgot he had, Tommy was able to remember what the smell was... smoke. And where there was smoke, there had to be fire.

It took a lot more work than it really should have for Tommy to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he took a hesitant step forwards. The world in front of him was blurry to the point that he couldn't see the ground he was walking across. He barely knew his own name, how was he supposed to walk to the kitchen that he forgot the location of? Why was he putting out the fire, anyways? Tommy got his answer in the form of Michael cheering him on in the hopes that would make Tommy go faster. The blonde didn't remember who Michael was, but his most basic instinct was to protect that child. Even if he lost his grasp on reality, he couldn't abandon some of his instincts. Tommy found a doorway where the smell of smoke was thickest. Tommy pushed the door open, and blanched at the heat pounding against him. He stared into the flames, slamming into the wall that kept him from feeling his trauma. Tommy didn't want to do anything. He was tempted to fall down, letting the fire consume him, but he didn't want the child who had been begging for his awareness to die. Tommy closed his eyes as he stumbled towards the stove. Whatever was in the pan was on fire, and a few hand towels on the counter had been set ablaze by the sparks that fluttered around. Tommy pushed the pan off the stove, unable to feel the nerves in his hands that warned him that he should let go. He fumbled with the control on the stove until he had turned it off. His fingers slipped several times as he tried to turn the sink on. When the water finally started pouring, he threw the hand towels in there. Whatever was in the pan was still on fire, but he didn't know what to do about that. He tried to muster the energy to throw the food in water or smother the flames, but phantom hands had circled around him as a memory pounded on the opposite side of the wall. Tommy's head fell into his hands as he felt the headache threatening to break his brain apart.

"Don't put water on it, Tommy! You're going to hurt yourself, you gremlin child! Here. Use the salt. I know what I'm doing! Use the damn salt, Tommy, before I make you eat the shit you burnt."

Something fell from Tommy's lips. It was a pained gasp- a pathetic whimper- as fragments of the memory broke through. He couldn't remember who had told him that, what they were cooking, or most details of the memory. He remembered the voice, he remembered a man's expersation, he remembered giving a cheeky smile as his cheeks burned in rosy embarrassment, he remembered the feel of the salt in his hands, and the heat of the fire fading away as the flames were put out. Something painful tugged at Tommy's heart as he found the salt- what he hoped was salt- in one of the cabinets. Tommy fumbled with the lid until he saw the white particles falling into the pan. He heard some sizzling as the heat died away. As he watched, another memory fragment slammed into his mind. It was enough that Tommy dropped the salt into the pan, making the whole thing flip over and spill onto the counter. Tommy grabbed the sides of his head, letting the memory settle. There had been a man standing in the cold snow with a half-smile on his face as Tommy danced around him with laughter rushing out of his lips like steam from a geyser. Tommy's arms dropped from pulling at his hair to holding himself as he fell onto his knees. He didn't like it. He didn't want to remember. He wasn't to go back to oblivion. He hated being aware of things... aware of the pain. He didn't like all these faces that were blurred and nameless, these moments that were like the pieces of broken glass that he would only cut himself on if he tried to put them back together.

Tommy crawled out of the kitchen. He saw Michael staring worriedly at him, but he didn't say anything as his hands gave out. He crashed into the floor, his face scraping against the wood. He felt the barest amount of pain, and he almost recognized the dripping of blood and tears that started to collect beneath his cheek. Michael was warbling as a baby who spoke the native Nether language. Tommy drowned him out. Everyone was back to being safe. He didn't need to be any more aware than he was a few moments ago. He could go back to the oblivion that he had made for himself.

As Tommy completely tapped out, Ranboo and Tubbo came back into the house. Tubbo went straight into the kitchen while Ranboo walked to the couch to check on Tommy and Michael. His eyes widened when he saw the tear tracks on Michael's face, and the blonde laying on the floor by Michael's pen. When Ranboo ran over, his fingers trailed the cut that had been bled red on Tommy's cheek. Tommy's eyes had glazed over, but it was clear that he had been crying from the puffiness. Tubbo called for Ranboo. When the half Enderman went to see what Tubbo needed, he saw Tubbo staring at the stove and sink. The water was still running in the sink over towels that had been burnt black around the edges. The pan Tubbo had been kicking in was flipped over in a spilling of baking soda with the box on its side, the cooled off grease dripping onto the floor. Tubbo's lips twitched into a smile as tears filled his eyes. Ranboo's jaw went slack. They both understood that this was Tommy becoming aware enough to put out a fire. Ranboo ran back into the living room with Tubbo on his trial. Tubbo picked Michael up from his playpen, apologizing for making Michael hear his parents arguing and then leaving him in the house with a turned on stove. Ranboo was left to put Tommy back on the couch, cleaning up the cut on his cheek. Ranboo carded a hand through Tommy's hair. It was wishful thinking to assume that Tommy would be reacting again, but Ranboo was satisfied in the knowledge that Tommy was getting better. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long until he could convince Tommy that some people still cared.