Tommyinnit One Shots

And I'll Smile Again 💔💕

Characters: Bench Trio

TW: Self harm and panic attacks, descriptions of violence, but a happy ending!

Tommy needs to build up his pain tolerance.

The problem lies in the fact that Tommy doesn't know how to do it. He could probably try being even more reckless with his own well-being, but- well, it's not exactly a convenient way to go about it. Just thinking about the amount of travel he'd have to do to trip and fall enough times to actually help him gives him a headache.

And Prime knows he can't just ask someone else to hurt him- he doesn't want to give the satisfaction to the people who actually hate him, and that kind of request would just ruin his relationships with the few people he does trust.

Plus, he'd really rather keep it under wraps, as much as he can, anyway- though Tubbo and Ranboo have, unfortunately, already witnessed one of his panic attacks after falling off a bit of scaffolding and scraping his knees. It's just embarrassing. He used to be a brave soldier, always first to put his life on the line, and now he's- he's-

This.

So he decides to take matters into his own hands.

***

It's by a stroke of luck (or misfortune) that Tommy finds the pack of unused razors in the back of one of his storage chests. They're marked as "for shaving" but he doesn't think that'll be too much of an issue- besides, he hasn't even gotten to the point where he would need to use them as intended. He doesn't know if he'll live to see it.

Days pass, and Tommy sleeps most of them away, rising in time to watch the sun set and make his move. He's taken to going to various flower patches in order to carry out his- his practice.

Secretly, he thinks the blood makes the flowers grow better.

Pieces of himself drip down into the earth and become part of it, blossoming into brilliant color as days and weeks pass.

***

He's getting stronger.

At least, Tommy thinks he is. The progress he's made in terms of getting over his panic attacks is disappointingly small, but the severity of his self-inflicted wounds has only grown, so it has to count for something, right?

He smiles as he breathes in the fresh air. It's pitch-black outside, his surroundings lit only by the moon and a few stars- he'd waited until later than usual this night, so he feels confident staying in his own front yard. The flowers need watering, after all.

The blonde kneels, fumbling a new razor out of the pack- it's a pain in the ass to keep using dull ones, and as he's discovered, flesh dulls blades exceptionally quickly. He presses it to his arm with as much force as he can muster- which, admittedly, isn't all that much- and slashes across the scarred skin.

A beat, then the pain sets in. Tommy bites back a whimper as the pain sears up his arm and through his body, frantically adding more slashes to his other arm before it becomes too unbearable for him to move. Blood splashes against flower petals as he keels forward, red standing out on purples and blues. The plants have been looking more beautiful than ever, and- fuck, it hurts, it hurts, he can't breathe-

His head cracking against blackstone and obsidian, skin splitting at the point of contact, blonde hair dyed red with his own blood-

It's not real. Stay in the moment. It's not real.

Hands gripping his throat, squeezing until his skin is purple and his breath is gone-

Stop panicking, it's not fucking real, don't be a crybaby-