When he’s with Sam, he’s fine. He has something to think about and work for, and life feels normal. When he’s with Sam, with Tubbo, he feels normal again.
It’s when he’s alone that things feel different. When he’s alone, he doesn’t think. He sits alone in his house, staring at his wall for hours. He doesn’t show any emotion, he doesn’t sleep, he lets himself sink into a deep stupor, lost in memories.
It happens every night, and Tommy doesn’t know how to break the cycle. He isn’t sure he wants to.
He loses track of how long this goes on for. During the days, he’s happy and fine, and he can pretend everything is fine. But when night falls and he heads back for the back room in his house, Tommy sinks into a chair and slumps back, letting his gaze unfocus. He’s shell-shocked, numb and so ready to not think anymore.
“Tommy?”
He doesn’t respond right away to the voice hovering nearby. It could be anyone; Phil, Techno, or even Ghostbur. Wait, Ghostbur is gone.
“Tommy, snap out of it.”
He blinks slowly, trying to force the sluggish haze off. Coming back to reality is almost painful, but he’s turning his head to the side to stare at the figure in the doorway. He blinks again when he sees more than one.
It’s all three of them.
Tommy shakes his head curtly, annoyed that his nightly ritual is interrupted. He doesn’t want to focus on anyone or anything, he’d done plenty of that during the day. He’d been running around, doing all sorts of tasks, and now he just wants to slip.
“Tommy, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Phil marches into the room without invitation. Tommy doesn’t even protest, he’s already going back to staring at the wall, trying to succumb to that mindlessness again. He barely reacts when Phil grabs his chin, jerking his head to the side for forced eye contact. “Tommy!”
“I’m fine.” His voice is far too calm for how irritated he feels. Almost monotone.
I’m so tired.
“You really don’t look fine,” Techno pitches in. “How long have you been doing this?”
“I’m fine,” Tommy repeats, with more emphasis in his voice now. “Everything is under control.” He apathetically pulls away from Phil, trying to swat the man’s hands away. “Leave me alone, I’m busy.”
“Do you think people don’t notice what you’re doing?” Wilbur walks in, moving with more care and caution than the other two. This is Wilbur, not Ghostbur. He really is coming back, isn’t he? “Tommy, people are whispering about you.”
“I’m in my house,” Tommy mutters. “It’s not like I’m moping in the middle of the SMP.”
“You have an open front room,” Techno points out. “Your house is also not exactly hidden. Come on Tommy, I’ve seen you in this room a couple of times. What’s wrong?”
“It’s not like anyone cares.” Tommy’s voice is going back to that distant monotony that has the other three looking at each other with concern; Tommy can see it through his peripheral vision. “I’d like all of you to leave please. I don’t want to think anymore.”
Phil kneels down next to him, taking his hand. “Tommy, look at me. Please come back to reality. Look at us.”
“There’s nothing to look at.” Tommy shakes his head, letting himself slump back. “I’m fine, okay? You needn’t worry so much.”
“It’s one thing for you to get angry or lash out, but this new behavior is so unlike you and quite frankly, it’s terrifying.” Wilbur inches closer. “You have to talk to someone. We’re your family.”
“Family?” Tommy breathes lightly through parted lips, not really responding. This conversation is taking a turn that twists his gut and fills him with nausea. “We haven’t exactly been much of a family before, why are we starting now?”
There’s no response for a long while. Tommy knows why they’re not answering, and it’s because any answer they give will undoubtedly send him into a blood-red rage, and Tommy doesn’t want to snap out of this numb trance he’s in. He feels safe here.
“Will you at least let us stay the night?” Techno asks.
“No room,” comes the distant reply. “You can camp out outside if you’re so worried.”
“Okay, nope.”
Tommy doesn’t know who’s saying that. Why don’t they understand him? Why don’t they understand that he just wants to shut down? That he hurts too much to think or speak or wear a mask anymore? He exhales again, slower than the first time, and trying to let himself slip away.
He completely snaps out of it when he feels himself being lifted up out of the chair, being flung over someone’s back. Techno’s the culprit here.
Tommy reacts, finally. He screams and thrashes, trying to grab onto his walls and chests and furniture, red-faced and angry. Phil pries his fingers loose each time, untiil they’re outside and away from anything Tommy can latch onto. They’re still walking, and he’s screaming even louder until his throat tears and he can taste acid. Even then, he refuses to stop yelling.
He ignores the pain-fueled tears streaming down his face, falling down the sides of his face and blinding his vision. Everything is a red blur, and he’s trying to claw at Techno, yelling inane words that make no sense.
Eventually, he falls limp, too spent to continue. They’re exiting the nether, back in that stupid snowy biome he won’t admit he missed. He pokes his head around, seeing Ranboo just up ahead.
This is embarrassing.
He lets himself fall limp, trying to conjure up that same empty feeling he’s come to rely on. It doesn’t come; he’s just exhausted.
“Tommy, you need better coping mechanisms,” Phil says softly. “Retreating into your own head isn’t healthy or good. You need to be around people.”
“Kidnapping me isn’t good either,” Tommy spits. “I want to go home.”
“Okay.” Techno sounds all too cheerful as he dumps Tommy on the ground. When he scrambles to his feet, he’s not happy to see himself in front of Techno’s cabin. Off in a corner, he can see where Ranboo lives. The enderman hybrid is watching them with an emotion Tommy can’t identify.
Tommy wants to punch the asshole in the face.
“Not this home,” he snarls. “I don’t want to be around any of you. Fuck all of you and fuck this Sleepybois business. I just need to be at home with my enderchest, and you all can have fun with Ranboo.”
Wilbur moves forward, pushing Tommy toward the cabin. His touch is still more gentle than Phil’s and Techno’s combined. “Tommy, my Tommy.” His voice is just as gentle and soothing. “Tommy, we’re all fucked up in one way or another, but the thing is, and I want Phil and Techno to understand this too. Ranboo as well, because he’s listening right now. You’re a child. You can protest all you want that you don’t need anyone, and we’re a shitty family. Which is true! But nonetheless, we’re still family. You and Me especially, and you and me are going to get you to sleep for once, so you can go back to actually thinking.”
“I don’t want to!” Tommy’s voice is rising again, throat burning from his earlier tantrum. He feels sick, he’s shaking too much, and he wants to run. He’s not safe anymore, especially with four pairs of eyes staring him down. He hates feeling so vulnerable. “God, none of you get it! I’m tired! I don’t want to think I don’t want to feel anything, I just want to sit in my home and stare at the wall all night. I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not doing anything destructive, I’m keeping to myself like everyone wanted. Leave me alone!”
He backs up a few steps, but he’s blocked by Ranboo, who nudges him back toward the cabin. Here, his legs give out on him. He’s more tired than he thought.At least when he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t have to focus on his exhaustion. Now, it’s all hitting him at once, and he’s on the ground, too spent to move.
Maybe they’ll leave him here. He hopes so. No one’s grabbing at him to pick him up. He can almost hear them walking away, snow crunching beneath their feet. They’re walking away, and distantly he can hear a door shutting. Finally, he can let himself slip away, and the world around him is fading at dizzying speeds. He can finally be alone.
“Tommy?”
“Go away.” Christ, he’s tired. Leave him alone...
“Just letting you know you’ve been asleep for most of the day, and we all thought you might be hungry. Wilbur had to go again, but he says he loves you.” The voice sounds like Ranboo.
“Mm.” Tommy rolls to his side, stretching his arms out over the snow-
Bed?
It doesn’t matter. He’s letting himself blank out again. This time, he dreams.
In his dreams, he’s not a worn out soldier or a victim of a madman. In his dreams, he’s living in peace.
Maybe a little thinking is nice.