Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pain.

Hate.

Fear.

Anger.

Disgust.

Loneliness.

Happiness.

Satisfaction.

Curiosity.

Awe.

Love.

Let all of it go. None shall remain within the body. No light within the eyes. No tears. Emptiness is all that remains. Move forward, Tommy.  Forsake all that is unnecessary. Forsake humanity. To be human is to be mortal, and mortals die. Abandon all that is human. Survive.

The sky is burning. From the dark grid falls their doom and its hisses signal destruction. The ground is cracked and smoke blankets the air so thick that the barest of silhouettes is all that can be seen. A man laughs and laughs and laughs from his self-made throne as buildings fall and houses crumble. In this moment, he is the king and the world his kingdom. The cries of his subjects’ pathetic struggle fuels his delight. And of course, his favorite…

Dream sees a patch of blond from the distance, Tommy’s hair still somehow a beacon amidst the chaos. He staggers among the rubble, dragging a foot in front of the other in a painstakingly slow pace. What a shame that Dream cannot see his expression right now. He could only imagine the despair etched in every grove of his face, a heavy frown wrinkling his brows, teeth gritted in hopelessness and eyes wide as he takes in the ruins of his home, now fallen once again. What a sight it would be!

The man hops along the grid, skipping along to a tune he alone could hear. This is what WIlbur must have felt like. He understands now, the beauty of it all. Explosions among explosions, a field of orange flowers blooming bright and quick, leaving embers as they die. Kinda like Tommy himself, Dream thinks, and he laughs at how poetic it sounds. He continues to follow Tommy’s figure, eyes squinting behind the mask.

A dull rumble echoed across L’manberg. Dream looks up and sees heavy gray clouds looming above the grid. Lightning flashed, then, rain. It extinguished the fires from below, plunging the land in darkness and smog. Dream frowns at having his fun cut short, but the bombs still continue to fall so it’s not much of a loss.

Technoblade and Philza have long since left after their dramatic declaration. Too bad they can’t see the results of their wonderful performance, but Dream knows they’re too much of a coward to face the consequences of their actions. So eager to deliver judgment but just as quick to flee from more. Still, recalling the face Tommy made at hearing his idol betray him is priceless. Dream makes a mental note to thank the two. He doesn’t want to appear ungrateful, perhaps a gift basket?  Dream is interrupted from his thoughts as explosions rocked through the grid. His eyes turned away from Tommy to see the mechanism behind him spark and rattle. He barely had a second to blink before fire engulfed his vision.

The world is burning.

Everywhere Tommy looked, all he can see are crumbling buildings and collapsing houses. All he can hear are the anguished cries of people as they futilely try to escape the hellscape that has become of their home, the smell of smoke and blood and dust. All he can feel is the searing heat that threatens to burn him inside out. It eats him. It consumes until all Tommy knows is the blinding light of flames. All his senses start to dull. The voices of people— his fellow citizens of L'manberg, men and women and children— begin to hush. His surroundings become a blur, turning to vague shapes that he can no longer make sense of.

There are corpses that spread throughout the land. Those that are buried beneath the debris, burnt and burning flesh turned black from high temperatures. There are those that died from impact from the bombs or having fallen or hit by walls, roofs, or pillars. Fortunate to not live through the experience of melting from the inside, lucky enough to have a quick death. Limbs are scattered, organs and bones strewn around, blood smeared from every surface. Tommy sees it all and he knows that this is what Hell looks like. Prime did not deem them worthy of salvation. Their prayers are never answered. Was their faith really that lacking? Were they too unworthy? Tommy would understand if it were only him. He knows what he is. Had it hammered into his head by Dream that he is nothing but a pest, worthless. But what of the citizens? They are innocent. They were innocent. They don't deserve this, any of it. They were caught in his stupid mistake. He never should have come back. He should've given his discs. But he's an idiot and once again, his mistakes had cost lives. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Tommy should be among the corpses, be cremated and turned to ash just like everyone else. At least he knows Tubbo is alive, the cabinet survived. He saw them from afar, pulling the brunet by the arms as he tried to reach out among the rubble. Tommy could not see his face, and he is glad that he couldn't. Perhaps it's Prime's one last act of mercy to him. Tommy would not be greedy and ask for more, for peace. If he is to die just like the rest, to suffer and slowly succumb to the hungry flames, then so be it. 

But not once did he stop moving. Tommy never stood still even if it's easier, even if it meant more pain. Still putting a foot in front of the other, each step a monumental effort to accomplish. He wants to stop, he is nothing more than a dead man walking. His heart should have slowed down, his brain run out of oxygen. Yet his body refuses, hardwired to survive, to live, even when all Tommy wants is to lie down and rest. Let the fire take him. It is pointless to keep moving, everyone around him has long since perished, he is the only one left alive but he doesn't want to live. He doesn't deserve to. 

I want to die.

Please. Let me die already.

These thoughts swirl in his head as he continues to walk and walk and walk. A mantra that becomes unintelligible over time as words begin to lose meaning. Thoughts and sensations degrade and grow numb until, eventually, nothing

Is.

Left.

.

.

.

.

.

Heavy rainfall soaked what once was the country of L'manberg. It extinguished the fires caused by the looming grid of obsidian overlooking the land, a silent witness to the calamity it had brought. The clouds blanketed the sky, the world turning dim as they hung forebodingly above it all. Floods gather through the ground and turn into rivers, scattered across the neighborhoods and plaza, through muddied farms and cracked roads, gathering together to pool at the deepest craters left by the bombs.

It is through the aftermath of 'Doomsday', as it is becoming known by everyone who had witnessed and heard of the event, that a man dared to travel and see it for himself. Although he told his town that it was out of curiosity, there is a deeper motive to his visit. One that as soon as he saw L'manberg, had known how fruitless it had been from the very start.

Yet something compelled him to walk further. The land is heavy with an atmosphere he cannot describe. It feels like a living, seething thing, drawing him deeper to its center. The man is helpless and terrified of what it could mean, but he could not stop himself from moving. Everywhere he looked, blackened lumps lay on the ground, almost blending with the ash-riddled soil. Corpses. Or what remained of them. The man could only turn away in horror and walked as quickly as possible.

It felt like days passed with how long he roamed the barren remains of the country. Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few hours, but the toll it took on his mind was too heavy for such a small amount of time. This was a massacre. Death in its unabashed, merciless form. A land laid waste and desolate. The man knows it will haunt him for the rest of his life. In the back of his mind, the man could only wonder about who, no— what is capable of doing such destruction, and more importantly, why? What would drive someone to do such a thing? To think any further on this matter led to madness, and he stopped himself before he spirals further.

Just in time, too. For what lay ahead of the man is a miracle. A figure drenched in water and stained with mud, it is slumped on what remains of an oak tree blackened and as burned as the rest of the land.

The stranger did not feel himself move yet he finds himself crouched over the impossibility before his eyes. It is a boy, he now sees. Burns litter his body and wounds bleeding sluggishly, but by Prime is he alive. Somehow.

"A miracle..." The man murmurs to himself. He laughs, a strange choked noise, and lifts the alarmingly light body in his arms.

For a moment, the boy's eyes opened, a brilliant shade of blue so vibrant and alive . The man can't help but smile. He must've looked deranged but he does not care, "I'm so glad." He cries. The boy closes back his eyes.

The man does not notice how his shoulders feel lighter. How the air no longer feels as heavy nor does he see the clouds part, the deluge of rainfall stopping for the first time in days. All he cares about is the boy within his arms, ignorant to the tears that leak from his eyes. Unaware of how he never once slipped on the muddy ground as he ran with abandon, as if the very ground itself is helping with every step. 

As the man retraces his way back out of L'manberg, as he reaches his horse and mounts it with urgency, as he wraps his cloak around the shivering figure in his arms, he recalls the reason why he came to see the land in the first place. Though he did not find what he was looking for, what he found instead more than makes up for it. 

He left his home in search for answers and now, he will come back with hope.

Chapter Text

To see nothing and feel nothing. How does one describe absence? How can someone explain that which they lack?

These are not the kind of questions that he expected to think after waking up. He should probably be more concerned about where he is. Or who. But he knows what he is though; injured. Going by the bandages that wrap around both his arms and up to his neck, it's definitely as worse as he feels. He takes a moment to look up from his hands and feels his breath catch on his throat.

Sunlight bathes the room in warmth. It's sparsely decorated but still appears somehow comfortable. A light breeze from the window sends curtains into a slight flutter, and he catches sight of the beams of light that float through the glass. There is a table right beside his bed and on top of it is a potted plant. Its flowers sway lightly with the breeze as if to face him, little blooms of red and orange dancing.

He is distracted from staring by the sound of the door creaking open. He turns his head just in time to meet the eyes of a... bull, on two legs. Carrying a tray. He blinks. The bull's mouth falls open.

"Wha— you're awake!" The bull steps further in the room and sets down the tray. It is loaded with dishes that make his stomach rumble unabashedly, announcing his hunger to the world.

The stranger laughs. "Well, glad to see your appetite's working." He hands over a spoon and a bowl filled with soup. "Eat it slowly, please." With such a polite request, he stops himself from gulping down the food and carefully begins to eat.

"I found you in the ruins of  L'manberg five days ago." Says the bull. Maybe it's rude to keep calling him that, but it is no exaggeration. The great big horns on his head are hard to ignore, and hoofed hands fuss over the tray. Then he finally registers the words that were said.

"L'manberg…?" It comes out in a rasp, and the bull looks at him with a strange expression he doesn't know how to describe. He is handed a glass of water which he promptly drinks.

"Yes." Is the reply. "You're in a right state when I saw you, didn't think you'd wake up this fast."

The bull shakes his head. "Anyways, if it's not too much to ask, can I have your name, boy? Though," he coughs, "It's rude that I haven't introduced myself first, didn't I?" He extends a hand forward. "My name's Asterios, though Aster's just fine."

He reaches back tentatively and opens his mouth to offer his name in return, but freezes as nothing comes up to his mind. 

Aster watches as the boy falls still. Not even a slight movement to indicate he's breathing. It's rather unnerving to see.

He is leagues better than he looked when he was first brought to the town. The good doctor raised quite the fuss when they saw all the injuries the kid bore. Pre-existing ones included. Aster still remembers how much the doctor muttered to himself, astounded by the, frankly, seemingly impossible feat before him. Aster is very much inclined to agree after seeing the extent of the wounds. The kid has no right to survive everything that he did, and yet here he is.

"Boy, are you alright?" He prodded, mouth pursing at the sight of the catatonic state his patient fell into.

The boy raised his head and met his stare. Aster inhaled, the sight of those blue eyes bristling the fur on the back of his neck. It's like staring down the ocean, dark and weightless with all its depth.

"My name…" He croaks, voice thin. "I can't remember… what's my…" He trails off with a wheeze, chest heaving with the effort to speak.

Aster flicks his ears and shakes his head. Stop staring. Focus, you idiot. "Hey, none of that, now. Stop pushing yourself," He takes the empty bowl gently from slack hands. "We can talk about that later, okay? Just rest for now." He pushes the kid back down to the bed, fluffing the pillows and settling the blanket.

The boy continues to look at him, wide-eyed and lost. He is no small thing, built long and lanky, but he looks so young lying alone in that bed, swamped by sheets and pillows. Aster lets out a sigh. "Sleep, kid. We'll talk more later, hmm?" He smiles to reassure the poor thing, and sees the boy reluctantly relax.

He stands up with a grunt, wincing slightly at the sound of his joints cracking, and taps the small bell near the potted plant. "Just ring this dinky little thing if you need me, you hear? Yes, even when you need to go to the bathroom, you're not strong enough to go walking on your own yet." Aster takes up the tray and moves to exit. The kid didn't finish everything but he ate the soup. It's progress, at least.

He doesn't hear a reply, probably for the better with that damaged throat. Aster resolves to visit the doctor and inform of his patient's progress. No doubt old Accel would want to conduct a check-up immediately.

He can't remember his own name. 

Nothing stands out in his mind no matter how much he concentrates. No name, no age. He doesn't even know what he looks like. It doesn't alarm him as much as he thinks it should, but neither does he feel calm either. Restless, perhaps. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. He shakes his head, there's no use, he's just repeating himself.

Although that bull, that person, Asterios. He recalls that face now. How could he forget the first smile he ever saw?

"I'm so glad." He cries.

What a beautiful smile it was, the boy thinks. Maybe he can ask Asterios about it later? For what reason would he smile like that, at him? What did he see to make him cry? Ah, it would be nice to find the answer to all these things, if he doesn't feel so tired right now. His eyes flutter as he sinks into the bed, body growing heavy and relaxed.

Surrounded by softness and comfort, the boy drifts off to sleep.