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The waves crash onto the shore like a strike of lightning and recede back into the sea like rolling thunder. The rise and fall of the tide is the only thing that keeps Tommy company nowadays. Well, the tide and Dream. They are the only friends Tommy has left in this world, but neither can seem to tell how they feel about Tommy. Either they give him something to choke on or something akin to peace.
If Tommy’s honest, though, neither the sea nor Dream can bring him peace. It makes him guilty sometimes, especially with the way Dream tries to see him each and every day, but nothing is peace like walls and vans and a side he could always stand by. L’manburg kept him loved and cared for and safe. Tommy misses the days he wasn’t kept just to be fucking kept.
Despite it being his only company, Tommy keeps a bit of distance between him and the sea. While it laps against the shore, he sits in Tnret eating a bowl of bland mushroom stew. Nights like this are agony. The loneliness is one thing, but the thoughts are a whole other fucking level. At least during the day he’s got plans and ideas and the hope of moving forward. At night, all he can do is miss.
L’manburg is at the center of his thoughts. Of course, it’s at the center of everything. It was at the center of Tommy before it was forcibly ripped from his body. Or maybe it’s more apt to say Tommy was ripped from L’manburg’s body. An organ taken not because it didn’t work anymore, but because someone thought it did not do enough good to outweigh the bad.
As he slurps his stew, he wonders how his carrot farm fares. He hopes someone tends to it. He’ll punch them in the face for the audacity, of course, but he would appreciate the sentiment all the same. Maybe Fundy will make sure his crops prosper while Tommy’s absent. Or Ranboo, wearing his armor to water carrots so he doesn’t burn to death doing a bit of gardening.
Tommy snorts. He’d pay to see that.
He’d pay to see anyone right now.
The more he watches the sea, the more he feels like it watches him back. It’s like a prison guard, in a way. The waves are ready to pull him under if he even thinks about leaving. But it always spits him back out. Wouldn’t do well for a prison to kill its only prisoner, now would it? As the warden, Dream would not be pleased.
Tommy sighs into his mushroom stew and gulps down the rest. He can’t look at the ocean anymore. Just the sight of it pulls him under.
As he lays in bed, he wishes someone would save him from this monotony. Anyone. Ghostbur or Dream or…
Tommy’s eyes find his Enderchest. Sometimes it feels wrong to want Tubbo here when it has been made crystal fucking clear that Tubbo wants nothing to do with Tommy anymore. But even now, there is no one in the world Tommy wants to see more.
With shaky hands, Tommy opens his Enderchest and hovers over, Your Tubbo. It’s the nicest gift he owns. Sometimes he wishes Ghostbur had never given it to him at all. It is something from the heart that gives Tommy hope but also tugs at his chest like it wants to take another organ all the same.
Tommy picks it up and holds it like it is made of pure Netherite. He slowly turns it back and forth to watch the dial ever-so-slightly change, but the path remains the same. Straight through the sea. It is all that stands in the way of Tommy and home. But it will choke and freeze and punish him just the way it is made to do if he dares to try and make his way to Tubbo. So here Tommy stays, with his heart in his hand and no way to follow it.
Is it wrong to miss L’manburg? When he so clearly deserved to have it taken away? When so clearly no one wants him back?
With a bitter gaze and a tight throat, Tommy turns his head to look at the ocean again. What’s it matter to be wrong? Tommy’s all wrong, filled to the brim, ‘til all they could do to keep it from spilling into their country was bar him from his home. Tommy could not stop missing his life, his L’manburg, his best friend, even if it were the worst thing he could ever do. Lately, it’s feeling more and more like it is.
Tommy curls up in his bed and cradles the compass to his chest like a child would a stuffed animal. With a shaky breath, he closes his eyes for sleep. Let tomorrow come. Maybe then someone will want to see him.
When Tommy’s eyes open, there is nothing. For a moment, he panics, trying to sit up as he flails about, but very quickly he realizes that his flailing feels like punching through mud. Yet again, he is one with the sea. It is not exactly a comfort to be drowning to death, but it is familiar enough that something like calm washes over Tommy. Maybe that’s just acceptance.
Tommy tries to look up, but he is not sure what is up. He’s so fucking tired. Is it worth it to try and reach the surface when all he will find when he breaks the water is a lonely tent that could never feel like home?
Tommy closes his eyes. Panic trumps defeatism and Tommy tries to pull himself up with quick strokes of his arm, but he can barely feel them as they move. He tumbles for what feels like forever, throat burning as he hopes he will live while wondering if that is any better than hoping he will die, until his head breaks the surface all on its own. His eyes burst open and the sun nearly blinds him. He takes a deep breath and only gets a little sea water in his desperate lungs. The watery air is a relief, but he is still so fucking tired. He takes one last deep breath then finds himself sinking back into the water. That, too, is a relief.
As he sinks, his eyes flutter in a fight between exhaustion and curiosity. The surface of the water is touched with the sun and creates a marvel of glittering blues and greens that would take Tommy’s breath away if he had any. It almost feels like peace. He reaches out a hand. In this moment, he knows he could have it if he could just touch it. The light doesn’t quite reach his fingers. His hand sinks. His eyes close. He lets the sea take him.
The sun sitting high in the sky intrudes on Tommy’s washed up, half-drowned form. While his brow furrows at the intrusion, his eyes do not open. Sand tickles his face and he lets out a half-hearted huff. He shifts and the earth shifts with him. He shivers at the cold, sticky sand stuck to his body. It clings like it never wants to leave him. It’s the odd one out, nowadays.
When Tommy finally is not just half-aware but fully awake, he lets out what is definitely a manly groan and not a pathetic whine. The sun is starting to hurt even his closed eyes and the cold sand is pissing him off. With tired, slow movements, he pushes his aching torso from the ground. Sand coats his palms. With hesitation, he opens his eyes. The sun still makes its dastardly attacks, so he blinks as fast as he can to try and wash sleep and pain from his eyes.
After a minute, he lands on squinting at the sea. The water looks... calm. On instinct, his hand goes to his throat, but the seawater does not fill his lungs the way it normally does when he's coughed up to shore. His body hurts a little, but there's no real damage from the sea.
Tommy lets his hand fall back to the sand. He leans back on his arms and watches the sea with a little less bitterness than usual. It’s showing him a bit of mercy today. More mercy than most. He sighs.
“I miss you.”
It feels as useless as the compass in his inventory. He knows where Tubbo is but cannot reach him. He knows how to get to Lmanburg but would be killed where he stands for the effort. He knows and he misses and there’s nothing in the whole fucking world he can do about it. No one would help him, either. No one wants to. There is no glimpse of Fundy or Quackity or even Ghostbur in his life anymore. It’s just Tommy. Sometimes Dream. Always the sea. But nothing that feels like home. Just the things it feels like he deserves.
Unlike last night, the waves do not crash against the beach or him with a vengeance. They are calm. They lap against his feet and feel… warm, actually. Tommy is so used to freezing around here. It’s nice to feel warm for a moment. Like a curse, the breeze blows past and makes him shiver. The ocean seems so inviting compared to earlier. Maybe he was being too harsh. Maybe he was the problem. That’s often how it is. He pushes up from his seat on the beach and walks to the shallow of the water.
A chill runs down Tommy’s spine as the Nether portal opens. The damning woosh is accompanied by clinking armor that Tommy knows well enough by now is Dream’s. But Tommy does not want cold, heavy armor. He wants the warmth of the sea.
The sounds of his name and breaking glass threaten to snap Tommy out of his calm. They threaten to grab him by the throat and squeeze until all that is left of him is a whispered plea. Tommy is tired of living a plea.
The clanging of Dream’s armor gets louder, but Tommy blocks it out for the sound of calm waters. He just walks further and further into the warmth. Every step he takes is deeper, but his feet are the only thing enveloped by the water. All that matters now is warming his bones.
As Dream marches toward the ocean, he calls out, “Tommy?”
This is not the first time he’s called Tommy’s name in the past two minutes. For someone who claims to be so lonely, Tommy seems to be intent on ignoring the only person who comes to see him. Dream tries to recall if he did anything in particular to upset Tommy yesterday, but it was the same old same old. Tommy was grateful to see Dream, even offered up his items without Dream having to ask! They were making progress. Leave it to Tommy to take them back to square one.
Dream stomps through the sand and stops just before he reaches the water. He wasn’t exactly planning on swimming today. He shouts, “Tommy!” Still nothing. Tommy just keeps walking away from him even though there’s no way Tommy can’t hear him. The water is too calm to use the ocean as an excuse. If Tommy wants to be difficult, Dream can be too. He will make Tommy regret it.
The tide must be low because Tommy is farther out than Dream would think, so he starts his trek through the water.
“Tommy!”
Water is heavy enough without armor, but Dream has enough practice that he can walk as easily as cutting butter. Not even the ocean will show him up. Except every step he takes, his body sinks further and further into the water. It doesn’t make sense to Dream considering how far out Tommy is without problem and he almost stops walking due to his confusion, but the farther Tommy walks means the louder Dream has to scream. Something in the pit of his stomach wants desperately to stop, but he will not let something as trivial as nerves stop him from wading toward Tommy with a vengeance. He keeps moving.
With each step, it becomes harder to pretend he’s stronger than the ocean, and by the time he catches up with Tommy the water is up to his neck and the taste of salt is pervasive on his tongue. He struggles to stand, but forgoes thoughts of balance to grab Tommy by the leg and pull. All he needs to do to get out of the ocean is intimidate Tommy to shore. Easy enough.
Tommy looks at Dream. Looks down on Dream. High above him and without a single glimpse of fear. Dream doesn’t like this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
“What the Hell, Tommy?” Dream demands. Tommy just stares. Almost surprised, but there is still no fear as he looks at Dream. How can Tommy not be afraid of him? “What are you doing? How are you-” the water begins to rise above Dream’s neck. He strains on his tippy toes for breath. “Tell me what you’re doing, Tommy. Now.”
There is no way for Dream to use Nightmare right now as he treads the water, but his voice should be enough for Tommy to crumble in apologies and explanations. Instead, Tommy’s face changes. Instead of surprise, instead of curiosity, there is rage. He looks Dream like he is nothing. Tommy looks at Dream like he’s nothing.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dream demands. The water rises. The water that should be lower, the water that Tommy should not be able to stand in, rises until it covers Dream completely. It pulls him down until his screams of Tommy’s name are nothing but a gargle in the waves. The helmet gives him more time to think of a way out, but with every moment passed Dream starts to think there is no way out. He can’t move. He can’t swim. He can’t do anything but sink.
The last thing Dream ever sees is Tommy’s face twisted in contempt. The last thing Dream feels is fear.
As Tommy watches Dream drown, he feels…
“Fuck!” Tommy shouts as he drops into the water. It goes above his head but he does not panic, just rises to the surface with a gasp. The current slows. It washes him ashore with a warm, gentle wave and he feels… electrified.
Tommy doesn’t even fully know what just happened. One second all he knew was the sea. The next, all he knew was anger. Why the fuck should Dream interrupt him when he’s feeling good for the first time in ages? Why should Dream demand explanations out of him that Tommy does not have? Why should Dream be here at all? The next thing Tommy knew…
A few items plop into his inventory. Tommy looks to the side and sees all of Dream’s inventory washed up on the beach. There’s no doubt about it, then. Dream really is fucking dead.
He laughs. He cackles. He punches his fists triumphantly in the air. Does he regret it? Maybe a little. Maybe he wishes his friend was still alive and he was not alone on this beach. But he made that happen. Tommy made something fucking happen, and now he’s free. L’manburg’s free. Tubbo…
Tommy pushes himself up from the sand. What is he even supposed to do? Go to L’manburg, tell them he killed Dream, and hope they hail him a hero? Is he a hero? Did he not just kill L’manburg’s strongest ally, even if he is also its oldest enemy?
Maybe Tubbo will be grateful. Maybe he’ll wrap his arms around Tommy and thank him. They will sit on a bench and listen to a song without fear for the first time in… ever. The President and the Vice President will finally know peace in the home they built for just that.
Maybe Tubbo will put Tommy on trial and watch expressionless as his best friend is sentenced to another exile for murder. Or maybe it’ll be even worse than exile. Maybe L’manburg will finally just cut their losses and sentence Tommy to death.
…No. There’s nothing worse than exile.
Something hits Tommy’s foot. He looks down and feels a jolt of fear at the smiling mask that he has been tormented with since he joined this server all those months ago. That awful fucking spectre that has haunted him more than any ghost could dare. Tommy grabs it and lifts it across from his face.
“You were my friend,” he says mournfully. The mask just smiles at him. It always just fucking smiles at him. That terrible grin that mocks and hurts and loves him. Tommy’s mouth twists into a snarl.
Tommy shouts, “You were my friend!” He punches the mask into the sand. Tommy falls to his knees and smashes it over and over, listening to it crunch and splinter as he kills not only Dream but the idea of him. There’s nothing left to salvage. There’s nothing left to fear. Dream can’t fucking watch him anymore.
Behind him, the sea rages.
The vibe in Tubbo’s office is overwhelming, to say the least. Tubbo sits at his big, fancy desk in a chair that feels too big in a suit that is certainly too big and nervously scratches at the varnished wood as he wonders what to do first.
Minutes ago, Fundy was in here speaking passionately about the rising levels of the lake, about how it needs to be top priority, and Tubbo waved him out as he struggled to read over a paper on detailed tax reform Quackity shoved in his face three hours ago. It wasn’t a completely terrible paper overall, but the numbers are jumbling together and there is nothing in it detailing property taxes so it makes no fucking sense at all and…
Tubbo is tired. Tubbo is very, very fucking tired. It feels like he’s underwater and the only way out is up, but he’s been drowning so long it’s the only way he can live.
It isn’t the only paper Quackity has brought him today. In fact, Quackity has been in and out of his office what feels like a thousand times today, shoving papers in his face, ranting and raving about Dream and Technoblade, and just generally being as chaotic as Tubbo’s desk covered in papers.
It all contributes to a splitting headache that might be his end. At this point, he hopes it will. Of course, his ghost will just pick right back up where Tubbo left, but he thinks ghosts don’t get headaches. Maybe he should find Ghostbur and ask. Except that’s just one more thing to fucking do.
Tubbo groans and puts his cheek against the desk with closed eyes. Maybe he just needs to stop reading. Maybe he just needs to take five seconds with his eyes closed. Maybe he could just find Ranboo and take a little break. He sighs. He opens his eyes. Taking a break isn’t how everything will get done. If he stops, what was it all for?
As he sits up, his eyes find the closed drawer to his right. His dedication to continue wavers. Maybe a moment to himself wouldn’t be so bad. Hesitantly, he opens the drawer he does not let himself open often. Not much sits in the desk. Just a few unimportant papers and letters that he shoved in there at the beginning of his presidency. But right in the middle of these needless things is the most important thing Tubbo owns.
Tubbo scoops Your Tommy out of the desk and it is no longer just the weight of a country on his shoulders. The needle points where it always does, out of New L’manburg and across the ocean. The glass is chipped where Tubbo dropped it before realizing you should not keep the things you hold dear to your chest.
Despite how heavy it makes Tubbo feel, it was an incredibly nice gesture on Ghostbur’s part. It feels… good to know where Tommy is, even if Tubbo can’t see him. Won’t, Tubbo supposes. It would just be too hard. For both of them. Tubbo can’t let himself get caught up in such childish things when all of New L’manburg depends on him.
Speaking of, Quackity storms in and declares, “We have got to fucking lower the water level, Tubbo.”
Tubbo does not look away from the teetering needle of the compass. “Fundy already told me.” Silence is the response to that, until there are suddenly fingers in front of his eyes far too close to the compass and Tubbo grips it tighter in surprise. He looks up to Quackity’s unimpressed face.
“Then clearly Fundy didn’t make it seem as dire as it is. One more storm, we’re all toast, Tubbo.”
Tubbo frowns and places the compass back in the drawer. Ten seconds is a long enough break for how much he has to do, he supposes. He jokes weakly, “More like soup.”
Quackity rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, like fucking soup. You wanna be soup, Mr. President?”
“Suppose not,” he sighs. Despite the multiple deaths Technoblade caused, this is the most annoying legacy he has left Tubbo to deal with. Without the earth Technoblade blew to Hell, floods are the worst hazard New L’manburg faces. It used to be Dream. That reminds Tubbo. “Have you seen Dream?”
“No. Isn’t he usually harassing you by now?”
“Usually,” Tubbo agrees. It’s strange. Dream has been very… involved in New L’manburg. Not even completely antagonistically. Though Tubbo does not trust Dream as far as he can throw him, he is not too proud to say that they would not be anywhere near as far along if it weren’t for his help. Every day Dream has come by to offer Tubbo advice, or even sometimes just to lend an ear. Tubbo has to admit he’s grateful to Dream despite it all. Maybe because of it all.
Tubbo continues, “Maybe he got caught up with Tommy? You know how he can be.” Quackity frowns. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it considering Quackity is still not the most pleased with Tubbo’s choices. Tubbo exiled Tommy from L’manburg, and now New L’manburg flourishes. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now, and it worked out for the better, so Tubbo does not see the point in regret. His or anyone else’s.
“Whatever. Maybe we can actually get stuff done with Dream distracted.” Tubbo would say Dream is actually the only reason anything has gotten done in the past few weeks. Quackity certainly isn’t pulling the same weight that Dream is, and he’s Tubbo’s Vice President.
Tubbo does not say that. He just smiles and says, “So. Draining the lake?”
The sea calls to Tommy. It’s a strange juxtaposition from all the demanding it’s been doing lately. The tide laps gently at the shore and coaxes him back in. Or maybe on? Tommy doesn’t know how the fuck he did any of that. Walking on water, drowning Dream… all he knows is that it’s a power he has not had in a very, very long time. He wants that electric feeling back.
Nothing can stop Tommy now. He’s befriended the prison guard, killed the warden, and now nothing in this fucking world could keep him from L’manburg. Nothing can keep him from Tubbo. Even if they don’t want him anymore, they’re going to fucking get him. Tommy grips the compass in his hand as he keeps his eyes on the sea.
“I’m coming, Tubbo.” With a steady breath, he pockets Your Tubbo . He takes one step, then another, then another. He’s walking on water. He’s walking on water . Like Jesus, he is. If Jesus used the water to kill his greatest enemy like ten seconds before. Maybe the Bible would have gone a lot better that way. When Tommy finishes How to Sex 2, he’ll improve upon God.
As Tommy walks, the sea follows. It’s like he’s surfing but there can be no crash. The waves are his. The water is him . Overhead, the sky begins to darken.
Tubbo is getting awfully tired of running a country surrounded by water.
Before November 16th, it was manageable. Their country might have been surrounded by water, but it wasn’t actually on water. Now, it is a constant struggle to keep his people from flooding. He watches the pump slowly drain the lake and hopes there won’t be rain.
In the past ten minutes, the world has gotten rather… dark. Like a chimney bellowing across the land. It threatens a storm, but there has not even been a drizzle, so Tubbo thinks maybe hope is on his side for once. It is strange, though. The sun was shining all day. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. As of right now, though, it is less of a worry than how fucking slow this water is pumping.
A clunk of armor interrupts his thoughts. It can just barely be heard over the sound of the pumps. He almost feels relieved because armor means whoever stands behind him isn’t a member of New L’manburg. He wonders when he started trusting outsiders more than his own people.
Expecting Dream, Tubbo is surprised when he turns around and sees Sapnap. The smile on Tubbo’s face freezes. He does not really know what to consider Sapnap nowadays. A friend, a foe, certainly not an ally. The only person Sapnap is loyal to is Dream. But Dream is… helpful, nowadays. Something like an ally now that L’manburg’s biggest threat has been exiled. Maybe Sapnap is something of an ally-in-law.
“Hello,” Tubbo says politely when it is clear Sapnap isn’t going to greet him. All Sapnap does is watch the water pump with a curious frown. It makes him look dangerous in the glow of his Netherite helmet.
“What are you doing?” Tubbo looks at the pump, then to the lake, then to the sky. He lets his eyes settle back on Sapnap.
“Well, it’s quite obvious, I think.”
Exasperated, Sapnap says, “Just tell me.”
“Maybe you could answer a question for me first. Where’s Dream?” Sapnap’s frown becomes dangerous on its own.
“Hey, I’m the one asking questions, Tubbo.”
In a tone that tries to stay friendly, Tubbo questions jokingly, “What, is this an interrogation?”
Sapnap shrugs. “You tell me.” All this over a water pump seems a bit ridiculous. Sapnap is on edge. Should Tubbo be on edge? He finds he already is. He thinks he always is, nowadays.
Tubbo ignores Sapnap’s question again. “It’s just weird. He hasn’t been around all day. He likes to check in, y’know. Do you know if he’s with Tommy?” Sapnap scratches the back of his neck and looks uncomfortable. He probably doesn’t know anything either, then.
Sapnap goes to speak when thunder claps at a deafening tone. Tubbo instinctively puts his hands over his ears and looks back up at the sky. Fuck. It is gonna rain. Stupid of him to think hope would be on his side. Tubbo takes one last look at the pumps and sighs. There’s no point now. Whether New L’manburg gets flooded is out of his control and in the hands of the sea.
Tubbo takes his hands away from his ears and calls, “Fundy!”
From a little ways away, Fundy shouts, “What?”
“Stop the pumps! We’ve got a storm to prepare for!” The sentence begs to be ended with, and I think we might really be fucked this time, but Tubbo holds it back. There is no place for the President to say or think such things. But Tubbo really thinks they might be fucked this time.
Sapnap asks, “Uh- what are you doing now?” Tubbo really doesn’t have time for this. He doesn’t remember Sapnap being this stupid.
“You might want to go, this’ll get ugly,” is his response rather than explaining how a fucking storm works. Then, in a thoughtful tone, “Or stay and help. We could use all hands on deck.” Like it was waiting for him, the sky opens. It does not start with a drizzle, rather it falls heavy and loud against the docks. It’s not the worst rain Tubbo has ever experienced yet, but he has a sinking feeling it might be something special. The color of the sky is frankly ridiculous.
“Um, I think I’m gonna go,” Sapnap says stiffly. Without waiting for a response, he takes off in his clanking armor. Is everyone determined to be useless today? Is this why Schlatt went fucking insane?
Within minutes, the rain beats down on Tubbo’s skin hard enough to hurt. He knows the lake has to be filling and wishes he had managed to pump just a little more water out to sea. At this point, though, he thinks the sea might be the thing to fuck them. The waves crash against the docks like a TNT cannon. He can hardly see them through the haze of rain, but the sound is scary enough. He scratches at his mouth and wonders what he’s supposed to do.
“Tubbo!” Quackity shouts from somewhere. Tubbo has no clue. He can’t see. He can hardly fucking breathe. All he can do is listen to his country torn apart by wind and rain. He wants to cry, but all he can do is stare wide-eyed at the docks as he bites at his fingers and tries to think of something. Anything. An explosion could not destroy L’manburg completely, but a rainstorm? That’s their end? Is that what they deserve? Even Wilbur didn’t completely destroy the country, but Tubbo has managed to in just a matter of weeks?
Fundy shouts, “Tubbo? Tubbo, c’mon!”
Fuck.
Quackity calls, “Tubbo, where the fuck are you?”
Fuck.
There’s nothing he can do. There are a thousand people calling his name, grabbing at him, depending on him, and all he can do is fucking stand here. All he can do is wait for L’manburg’s destruction. This is all he amounted to. Worse than Wilbur, than Schlatt, than Technoblade, than Dream because Tubbo is the only one who has actually managed to send L’manburg to complete ruin.
Suddenly, enough light shines through that Tubbo can see the incoming waves with clarity. It’s so much scarier than just being able to hear them. The waves are fucking massive and seem so much worse a devastation than an explosion. Tubbo can stop a madman, but mother nature? He’s better off dead.
The wave begins to almost… part. Something comes through it, and dread like Tubbo has never felt reaches from the bottom of his stomach and pulls. This is worse than being on the losing side of a war. This is worse than having a firework aimed directly into his skull. This is worse than losing the best friend he’s ever known to protect the only home that he’s ever had.
Run.
It’s all his mind can think. His legs can’t get with the program.
Run.
The country will be nothing but water. Tubbo will be another carcass in the flooded mess if he doesn’t just turn and get the fuck out of here. Survival is what he does best. Where did that instinct go? Is he just too tired to follow it?
Run.
Tubbo takes a step forward. Then another. Then another. And suddenly his wobbly legs can get with the program, but they’ve taken him in the complete wrong direction. In his mind, he knows where he needs to go. In his heart, something at the end of this dock has taken hold and pulled.
Another yell from Quackity. A grunt of someone he runs into but does not see. Nothing matters except making it from here to the end of the dock. Nothing matters but the rage of the sea.
When he gets to the end of the dock, he nearly slips off. The waves hit around him but do not fall directly on him. His shoes are soaked. He trembles in the cold of this dark, wet nightmare. But within the light, he knows there is something almost warm.
The wave twice his size begins to fall and he screams but does not move, just shuts his eyes and waits for mother nature’s damnation.
It was never meant to be.
Too much time passes and nothing comes. After ten seconds, he lets his eyes open and does not meet death, but he does meet his demise.
Surrounded by water, held up by it so it seems, is Tommy Innit. Water drips off of him, soaks his hair and clothes, but he is not within it. He almost… is it. He towers over Tubbo the way he always has, but he is more than a force of nature now. He is nature.