/perspective shift TommyInnit
Tommy woke up, aching. He had fallen asleep not three minutes earlier, and he was still tired. He was always tired. There was nothing to live for.
He looked to the side. There, on the wall, were two jackets. When had they gotten there? He didn't remember them being there yesterday. The first was dark blue, and had a hat hanging with it. The hat was black tricorn, rimmed in white, and the jacket had epaulettes on the shoulders, brown. It was his jacket. From back when he had been.... Something. A person. A boy, but already a man. Proud. It couldn't be here, could it? He had given it to....
Tubbo.
Tubbo had forgotten his jacket, and Tommy had given him his. A slight smile twitched on Tommy's face. Those days had been simple, better.
He shook his head. Don't think about that. He was this now. Thinking of anything else was useless.
He couldn't help it. How was Tubbo doing? Ghostbur had told him that Tubbo looked broken, like something on the inside had cracked. He apparently couldn't sleep without Tommy's old jacket. Something seemed wrong about all of this. They were supposed to be together until the end.
Tommy wondered if Ghostbur spoke to Tubbo about him. If he had, what did he say?
No. Ghostbur hadn't said that. What was wrong with him? The jacket wasn't there at all. He had been staring at the logs. Why would Tubbo care? He had sent him away. Tommy growled deep in his throat. That little traitor. How could he have done this to him?
There. Across from him. Tubbo. What was he doing here? It didn't matter. He left Tommy, like he didn't mean anything. Like their friendship hadn't been anything. Tommy lunged off of the ground, charging towards him while pulling out a sword. The traitor deserved to die.
Tommy swung, and his blade was stopped. Who was it?
Dream. Of course he would be protecting the traitor. Tommy growled again, but Dream didn't care. He shoved Tommy's sword backwards, and then slammed the pommel of his own sword into Tommy's face. Tommy fell backwards onto his butt. How dare he? Being hit like that, almost disdainfully, made Tommy feel like a child.
"But you are a child, Tommy," Dream said, leaning forward, his mask hiding the smirk that Tommy knew would be there. Tommy growled again. This monster didn't deserve words.
Dream just laughed at Tommy's anger. "Growling? Tommy, you really are just a kid. You turn into an animal, just like that."
Tommy scowled at him, looking about for his sword. There it was, lying on the ground.
He stood up slowly, stretching out. One of his shoes was missing, and that made it awkward to stand. But what else could he do? He had to push on.
He stood up, and looked into the sky. It was blue, as always. A direct contrast. A mockery to Tommy's pain. He couldn't see it, not really. It was faded, muted. A shadow of itself. It always seemed half red to him.
Red with blood.
He glanced at the jacket on the wall again. There was a hole in it. Right over the chest, a tear. He raised his hand unconsciously to the same place on his own chest. He put his hand through a rip in the side of his shirt, feeling at the skin over his chest.
There had been something there, once. A scar. An arrow. He had snapped off the shaft, but it was still there. He could feel it. The rush of pain, the mask staring at him, painted eyes looking like black pits. Just an inch to the right, and it would have gone through his heart. His own arrow flying, slamming into the smile, throwing chips as it broke the mask.
Tommy felt like he was dead.
No, half dead. He was walking around under a half sky, half of his brain shut down.
The half that had laughed. Tommy was half a man.
Tubbo used to complete him. There, the compass.
Tommy stroked it like a pet, feeling the inscription in the metal.
Your Tubbo.
His Tubbo. He had been. Tommy layed himself down on the ground, uncaring about the uncomfortable position. Everything ached lately. Especially his heart. He felt like it was broken, like it wasn't even pumping blood out into his body. After all, if it was, then how did he fell so cold?
Half a heart, pouring blood into his lungs, endlessly drowning him.
Just half a heart, nothing more. After all, what else was he? Nothing he did mattered. Dream came and destroyed his stuff every day. The only time he felt even partially whole was with Mexican Dream. He laughed with Mexican Dream, sometimes.
But that was over. Mexican Dream had been killed, by Dream, and with him were gone the days where there hadn't been a cruel overseer to destroy his items.
Tommy was starting to believe that other Dream when he called Dream Nightmare.
Tommy fell asleep. Or maybe it was a trance.
Heart beating, pumping blood.
Blood rushing, filling his lungs.
Drowning.
Half a heart.
The rest of his heart was still with Tubbo.