Chapter Text
There’s nothing more aggravating than the mud between Tommy’s toes.
He’s sprinting through thick rain- it’s pelting against him and it’s icy and the droplets are thick and everything hurts. He hurts, it fucking stings, his body is sore all over and the cold water is only upsetting the vast array of cuts and bruises across his skin.
His shorts are torn up. His shirt is hanging on by a thread. He’s trying to think through a raging headache that hasn’t let up for the last few days. He supposes it’s probably a migraine, but there’s nothing he can really do about that right now.
He doesn’t know how far he’s ran, and everytime he checks over his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed, it’s a heart attack. Because, well, what if something is there? He’d rather pretend that nothing was following him. Nothing at all!
His shoes have gotten stuck in the dirt and the puddles, so he favored just sliding them off and running the rest of the way barefoot. Where he was going? He wasn’t sure. He avoided going towards the cold area in the North, considering that it was- well, cold. And he was sure his wings and his feet would freeze off if he did.
That’s right- his wings were waterlogged right now. Feathers were only so waterproof, and he’d definitely passed that threshold hours ago. It didn’t help that he’d taken a dive into the ocean earlier, and-
…actually, that probably wasn’t a good thing to think about at any given moment.
Let’s just forget. Forgettaboutit.
Just for a moment, he’s tucked himself under another tree to try and shield himself from the droplets above. It’s not really working, his clothes are absolutely soaked, and he’s shivering like crazy. He tries to bring his wings over his body, but they’re dripping and it’s awkward and it feels awful. He curls his arms over himself, shuddering and attempting to shake out some of the water. It’s no use, because the thunderstorm roars overhead, and so does the rain.
It’s dark and stuffy and humid. He’s been running through grass and plains for what seems like hours, and again- he hurts so bad. He’s been hurting for the past couple of weeks, the pain casually ramping itself upwards every waking hour. One of his wings might even be sprained but he can’t really tell because of how badly everything hurts.
He needs to start running soon. There’s no way Dream hasn’t noticed his disappearance by now, if he hasn’t already. He tucks his wings against his back again, peers through a gap in the wind and rain, and takes off once more.
Tommy hadn’t really planned to run off today, but he reasons that nobody ever really plans to run away. Or maybe they do? He’s always been forced to run off, so it’s not like it’s a decision he’s ever wanted to make.
He glances back again to make sure there’s nothing in the distance. It’s a bit past dusk, the dark clouds overhead only making it harder to see. He was hoping he’d find some semblance of civilization by now- even a village to recuperate in would do. Just for the night, so he could get out of the rain, and hopefully avoid some kind of illness… he definitely wouldn’t be able to get away if he had a fever.
Wait, no- big man Tommy Innit could do anything! Fever, schmever. He didn’t get sick!
…Well, that wasn’t true, he just didn’t want to think about the last few times he was sick. Wobbling, his gait uneven, while he had double vision. But he had to keep going, had to gather mining materials again, more wood, more- anything. Anything, to keep himself sustained.
He hated relying on Dream, but Dream kept taking all of his things.
(Dream had put a cold rag on his head when he got sick and told him it’d all be okay.
It wasn’t.
But Tommy said “thank you,” anyways.)
Sprinting, sprinting, he has to keep going. Going, going, moving forward, avoid that stick, avoid that puddle, avoid those rocks. He was sure he was cutting his feet up on spare pebbles- there might be something in his right sole, actually, because it was a sharp pain that he had to push through- something might be there, behind him, in the trees, in the leaves, in- in- in- in anything!
He takes the liberty to take another glance over his shoulder, and this mistake was a fatal one. His foot gets stuck in yet another thick swatch of mud, and he immediately faceplants into the dirt. He’s wet and cold and tired and hungry and now there’s mud all over his face and hands and chest, and it’s too much at once and he feels like exploding, combusting, catching on fire, bursting into flames-
Tommy cries out, feeling the way his foot twisted as he hit the ground. That’s not good. That’s not good.
He scrambles onto his ass to survey the damage. He can’t really see through the sheets of rain falling from the sky, but as soon as he tries to stand he stumbles to his knees again. Fuck, his ankle is definitely sprained.
He’s breathing heavy, chest laboring with his inhales- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK-
“Dream’s gonna find me,” he mumbles, shoving his fingers into dirty hair riddled with sticks and leaves. Loose strands stick to his forehead and to the back of his neck, having grown out after months of no care or attention. He’s sure it’s matted. He’s sure it’s awful. He’s sure that he’s ugly.
No, no, Tommy Innit isn’t ugly, he’s just- he’s going through a rough patch. Surely any smart lady would understand that!
Even his inner musings cannot save the way everything is crashing down around him. There’s another crack of lightning before the steady roll of thunder, and Tommy quickly jolts from his spiral of thoughts. Up, easy now, onto your feet- that’s it, Tommy! You got this, Tommy! Just keep going, Tommy!
He limps another good distance before finding a tree that had fallen in the midst of the storm. He rests against it, pressing sore skin into rough bark, and notices that the branches of this particular tree were fairly large. Maybe… perfect for a crutch? Just temporarily! Until Tommy could find somewhere to spend the night!
With sapping strength he tugs at the branches until one of them comes free. It’s large enough that it won’t snap immediately if he puts his weight on it, although it is covered in damp soil and grass and leaves. Whatever, honestly. He can deal with some of Lady Nature’s gross-bits on his skin. It can’t be worse than the eternal sunburn at Logstedshire. Really. Honestly. Seriously.
(God, he’s so fucked.)
He leans on the stick and he can already tell it’s going to cut into his palms, but- whatever. It’s kind of the least of his concerns at the moment. And he’s certain that whatever punishment awaits when Dream finds him again is way worse than the burn of bark into his hands.
Okay, off you go, Tommy!
The makeshift crutch does its job somewhat well. It at least relieves some of the stress on his ankle, which is definitely swollen and definitely not going to be working right anytime soon.
You’re a genius, Tommy!
Oooh, why thank you, Tommy!
He takes a bow at the air, to ease his slipping sanity. The rain has softened a little, but it won’t last long. He hadn’t expected it to rain today when he took off. Just his luck! His shitty fuckin’ luck!
God, he’s tired. So, so, so tired. What an awful feeling- it’s in his bones. He’s been bone-tired for over a month now, where it’s hard to move, hard to get out of bed. He can’t really eat because it’s difficult, he’s dehydrated because drinking water is such a chore. He stopped wearing anything protective, because Dream was just gonna end up confiscating up, or blowing it up, or (usually) both.
He squints ahead, fingernails digging into wet bark. He just wants to lay down somewhere warm and soft, maybe make a nest again, or something. His wings sag behind him- they’re too heavy to keep pressed to his back, mainly because of the water. He needed to dry them off- and soon. Not that he could out-fly Dream, anyways. The bitch-fuck was too damn fast!
Breathe, breathe, goddammit, breathe, Tommy! It feels like he’s suffocating. The wind whips damp hair around, out of his eyes, and there’s- wait, there’s something ahead.
A big, thick, winding structure into the air. It’s hard to see in the gloom of the evening, but a faint, red glow cuts through the air.
A light.
A light.
Oh, oh, oh, thank the stars!
A person! People! Someone! Anyone! As long as it’s not Dream! He’ll be happy! Praise the lord!
He scrambles through tall-grasses, ignores the tickle and pokes of wild weeds against his skin, trying his best to limp-run through soaked clothing. His wings are so heavy but he’s gotta keep going. He doesn’t really remember his vision being this blurry at the edges- there’s spots in them, too- it’s- it’s fine. Really, it’s all fine. There’s a fucking person ahead, which means everything’s gotta be okay!
The closer he gets, the more he can see it. A tree, of all things. A tree-house! Brilliant! There’s lanterns dangling in the wind, swaying with the rough breeze that circles the place and steals the breath from your lungs. If he squints hard enough, the windows in the upper parts of the tree have dainty lighting, so- the whole place must be lit. Which means someone is probably inside. Okay- he can work with that. Tommy, the people-connoisseur. Let’s just hope that whatever hybrid lived here wasn’t an aggressive one. Even so, he’s forcing his way into this damn house! Anything to get out of the rain, just for a night.
He’ll even be nice if he’s gotta be.
( Ugh. )
He makes his way to the door, it’s wooden and large and Tommy takes no time in knocking his knuckles against it. He discards his walking stick away, but his strength is so low that he ends up falling to his knees as soon as it’s not in his grasp.
His tongue is fat in his mouth and it’s only getting harder to breathe. His shivering has only worsened, but- it should be okay. He’s- he’s fine, surely. Surely, he’s perfectly A-OK.
He bangs his fist harder against the door, pressing his body against it and swallowing back tears when the reply isn’t immediate. The wind is howling and there’s more lightning, more thunder. He can’t hear if there’s anything or anyone inside the house.
He jiggles the handle. Locked. Shit.
He punches the door with both of his hands, almost throwing a tantrum against the bark. He utters the forbidden words- “Help! Help, help! Someone- anyone- please, help me!”
He can’t really keep his eyes open, resting his body against the door and praying that it’s good enough coverage for him to sleep on this random person’s doorstep for the night. The rain is still finding its way to him, drowning his skin in near-ice.
The door opens and he tumbles onto the floor beneath him. It’s a carpet, he thinks, a welcome mat, because the texture is rough against his cheekbone.
His head is spinning, and his vision is swimming. The edges of his gaze is black and blurry and the last thing he sees before he succumbs to the darkness is a large man wrapping crooked, tattered wings and strong arms around him as he scoops him up from the porch.