Chapter Text
“It’s so fuckin’ hot, holy shit.”
This would make it perhaps the fourth time Tommy repeated that statement since he left the hotel and joined Sam outside.
Sam never commented on the repetition, and he wasn’t planning on it.
Because that statement was incredibly true, no matter how many times he said it.
It was very hot.
Any sheep they’d passed by laid under the shadow of a tree or bush, pigs and cows often joining them, looking miserable in that blank-eyed animal way. After too many of these scenes, Sam started shearing them out of mercy. His pack was padded with unneeded sheep’s wool.
(He would sneak it all to Tommy later so he could use them for clothes—clothes he would never admit to making. He had to walk in on him doing it to even get Tommy to admit he dyed the sleeves of white shirts red for his classic look.)
Tommy and him had both broken a considerable sweat simply walking together to and through the nearest forest.
“God, it is, isn’t it?”
Tommy never brought up that that was his response every time, and he didn’t really plan on changing it. It just seemed fitting. “I was thinking we could head to a beach and work around there. The ocean breezes might be nice.”
“Oh, yes, Sam,” he complained with a fought-back smile on his face. “Beach. Wonderful idea. I would love to see exactly how boiling hot boiling hot sand can get. No, no, it’s alright.” He waved away imaginary concerns. “I don’t actually need my stupid feet. They can melt off. I don’t mind. You’ll just have to carry me.”
Sam switched the hand he was blocking the sunlight with, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I don’t think you need to worry about your feet unless you plan on walking around on the beach barefoot.”
“Hey! Maybe I am!” He laughed and shoved Sam’s shoulder, barely managing to nudge him. “I can do whatever the fuck I want! I’m above feet! I have transcended the human need for lowly fucking feet. Who’s going to stop me? You?”
God, he loved talking with Tommy. Being around him was a warmth he would never grow tired of. Tommy was just so damn amusing. “What will stop you? Hmm… Common sense?”
“Oh, Sam.” He slapped a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Me? Cursed with common sense? Oh, I thought we already knew I haven’t got any of that, huh?”
“I think you have to have at least some, Tommy. There’s a reason they call it common. ” He reconsidered, keeping a tilt to his lips to keep it lighthearted. “You might be an exception, though.”
“Oh, I definitely am if I’m walking to fuck-all nowhere in this HEAT! ” He threw his head back and shouted to the sky. “Sunlight! Stop it! Other direction! Give sunburns to the space aliens! We don’t want it!”
Sam laughed, running an arm over his forehead in an attempt to wipe it, smearing moisture around more than anything.
“I did mean that my senses aren’t common, actually . They are the most superior damn senses you’ve ever seen. The absolute best. And I don't just see them. I can smell and taste and whatever them too. Because of my superior senses, like I mentioned.”
“Alright.” He chuckled. “With your superior senses, can you let me know if you see any ocean or honey?”
“I don’t see any yet, but I know this is definitely the right direction for the water,” he replied easily, stepping over a fallen tree. “Long-ass walk, though.”
Not that there was a lack of it before, but a sense of affection rose at how he still kept their goal in mind, even while uncomfortable or joking around. How he just got things done.
“Thank you, Tommy.”
“Of course, of course.” He ran a hand through his hair, a little breathless. “The whole world should be thanking me, you know. Just in general.”
“Oh, sure. I believe they should.” Smiling, he took another swig of his now-warm water. “Hey, do you need another bottle?”
At least he’d brought plenty of those.
And he did have a potion of fire resistance in the worst case, heatstroke; it wasn’t the end-all treatment to that condition, but it was a help.
“No, thanks. Still got plenty of mine.” He sloshed it around to prove it. It was about half-empty.
“Alright. But let me know if you need more.” Hydration was so important, especially for a talkative teen boy in this sort of weather.
He’d asked Tommy to accompany him for gathering materials for the prison. Luckily, he’d agreed, so it would go faster.
Tommy would gather honey while Sam dipped underground for some iron.
In the prison, the surface of the honey block platform had begun to dirty over from visitors’ shoes, losing some of its stick and also looking ugly.
More importantly, the iron vault had a small chip Sam needed to replace as soon as possible, hence the trip today.
He could have asked someone else for help, but in all honesty, he wanted to spend time with Tommy.
He may have made the robot for the purpose of providing Tommy company and guidance at the hotel, and he had the ability to take control over his dialogue if he needed to, but sometimes it felt like Sam Nook got to bond with Tommy more these days than he did.
So, when he had two tasks to do that could be done all at once if he just got himself another person, he went to Tommy. It was proving itself a nice choice.
Ideally, Tommy would head into the cooler, shadowed caves and Sam would linger on the surface’s heat, but he didn’t want to send Tommy into caves, especially not alone.
Tommy and caves—mining in general, really—didn’t really mix.
In the best case, it would bore him.
In most cases, he’d grow more and more uncomfortable with memories of desperate work in exile and walk out a bit more sensitive or aggressive.
In the worst case, he’d get triggered from damage from a mob, a creeper explosion, a cave that was just too small, or any other number of factors, or he could get really injured.
While he hated to make him work in the heat, he’d loathe to make him work in an avoidable mentally upsetting environment.
In the future, he’d definitely add a heat sensor to Sam Nook and program him to make Tommy stay in and hang out in the air-conditioned hotel if it was anywhere near this temperature.
The only reason he hadn’t waited to ask for Tommy’s help was because it was a prison task, not a hotel one. This couldn’t wait.
Guilt still churned whenever Tommy squinted at the sun or tried to dry his forehead with his shirt.
The boy rubbed his nose frequently. It must have been running.
“We’ll try and do this quickly, I promise.” He pressed a palm against a tree trunk and peered around it, trying to listen for the buzzing of a bee or the sight of a hive.
“Oh, you and I must have different definitions of quickly, because we have actually, Sam, been—trust me on this one, trust me, I’ve never been wrong—walking for one thousand million years. You learn something new every day, am I correct?”
“Ha! I know, I know.” He took a break from walking to chug some water. Tommy took a drink from his bottle as well. “This heat is just terrible today. Wow.”
“Sam, are we quite sure we didn’t wake up in the nether today?”
“You know, maybe we did. I just don’t know. Maybe the nether dressed itself up as the overworld so we didn’t notice.”
Overlapping his words, a shadow of a bird passed over their heads, for just a moment until it was buried by the dappled shadows of leaves.
“Crow? Crow! Phil? Philza Minecraft?” Tommy shouted, at least interested if not excited, using his hand to block the sun as he chased after the bird’s path in the sky. It was only visible in quick snatches, through patches of sky visible in the tangle of leaves and branches. “Philza—“
He stopped. “Oh, it’s just a seagull.” With a great sigh, he shook his head. “Be like that, then.”
Nearly laughing, Sam managed to catch up, laying a hand on his shoulder, half in consolation and half to support himself. “I can’t believe you just ran in this weather, Tommy, you’re crazy.”
“I am the best. The crazy best.” He patted Sam’s hand.
“You must be.” He huffed, trying to catch his breath. “Anyway, at least we know we’re close. Seagulls and water and all.”
“Yep. You good, big man?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He stood up and wiped at his forehead. “Thank you. Now drink water.” He started walking again.
“Wha—“ Tommy sped to match his pace after his head start. “I’m not thirsty!”
“Drink it anyway. We’re both sweating. You’re red in the face—like that time you knocked over the dye for your shirt all over you.” He elbowed him playfully, Tommy responding instantly.
“Hey!” He poked him in revenge. “You cannot bring up the dye story. But fine, MotherInnit , I’ll stay hydrated to your standards.”
With the world’s longest eye roll, he pulled out his water and drank the rest of his bottle. Sam handed him another and he took it without protest.
When they nearly left the tree line, beach visible and water stretching into the horizon, they turned around, Sam’s pickaxe in his grip and Tommy clutching a flower.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ll look for a cave opening." He couldn't recall seeing any nearby. "I’m just going to dig. Shouldn’t take too long. If I finish first, I’ll help you look for the rest of the honey if you haven’t gotten it already. Sounds good?”
“Sounds good, Big S.” He cracked his knuckles, doing his best to appear tough and ready for anything—while the tool for his task was a flower. It was an amusing sight, and Tommy was definitely playing into it and pretending he wasn’t. “I’m gonna steal houses from so many bees. Tubbo will wake up from a deep sleep and start—not crying, don’t want him to cry—tell him I said that and I kill you—not that I said anything—but he’s gonna wake up and think ‘Wow, I can sense so many bees are sad right now. Ranboo is so rich I’m going to commission him for bee houses.’ And it’s gonna be great. They will make me the bee king for putting all of that into place. And if they don't I'll just sting them. They could never sting me, of course. Really, I'm helping everyone.”
Sam was laughing when he reached stone, putting away his shovel and bringing out his pickaxe once more. “If you melt away and become a slime when I’m gone, let me know. I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t anyway!” Tommy’s voice was fading as they went in their different directions. His voice echoed strangely off the walls of the tunnel Sam was digging out. “The little ones are harmless! They’re really not fun to slap around, it’s like… punching a baby. Well, some babies suck and can take getting slapped around a bit, I meant it’s like punching a baby that definitely doesn’t deserve it. If I were a parent…”
He was too far under to hear him now, stone crumbling into smaller rocks easily under the force of his sharp and powerful pickaxe. Sam tucked a torch under his arm to light his way.
Honey and iron. Very basic. Very easy.
When he’d gathered enough to make either a new block or just a new layer of iron to cover the chip, depending on how he decided to fix the issue, he had mined it all without hitting a cave system, surprisingly. He’d dug around and all the iron he had found had just been sitting around stone.
It wasn’t a ton of iron needed, so it hadn’t taken too long, but it was still longer than he’d expected.
He climbed back up the tunnel he’d made to, dreading the heat he could feel growing the closer he got to the surface.
Through the trees, he scanned for a sign of Tommy.
He had to have found a beehive by now, even if it wasn’t within sight of where Sam stood.
They’d agreed to meet back here.
Wait, was that him? On the beach?
Actually, he was standing in the water. He was standing in the water? Yes, he was standing in the water.
“Tommy?” He called, blinking against the blinding sunlight, happy to inhale fresh air even if it felt like it was melting him from the inside. “You going for a swim?”
He didn’t see any honey on the sand, and surely Tommy wouldn’t put it in his pack and possibly get everything sticky. Chances were, he didn’t yet have any.
Last he checked, honey didn’t form in the ocean, so he’d decided to go off task.
Tommy wasn’t dressed for the water, and he didn’t bring a spare change of clothes.
It was really hot, though, so maybe he had decided to take a dip anyway. The wet clothes might be nice.
But the teen didn’t answer his question.
Tommy just swayed with the movement of the waves.
“Tommy? Can you hear me?”
He was definitely in earshot by now, but gave no response.
The boy stepped forward. The waves lapped just past his shoulders.
His skin didn’t glisten with the telltale sign of a water-breathing potion.
Scanning the beach, he saw no shoes or socks, meaning he was wearing them in the ocean.
He chuckled, walking closer. “Really? You’re gonna have to walk back with soaked feet.”
Wet clothes might be nice. Shoes and socks? Squishing with every step? Going damp? Never.
The teenager must have stepped again, because at their highest, the waves brushed the bottom of his chin. Yellow curls stuck to the bottom of his neck where they’d been wettened.
He made his way across the beach, trying to squint into the waves to see if maybe Tommy was holding a sword to stab a fish with, or if there was a drowned with a trident Tommy was trying to get.
Anxiety churned as Tommy stood silently.
The anxiety spiked alongside his heart rate when he started walking forward.
"Tommy? Tommy—"
A wave buried the rest of his visible curls,
and his head never resurfaced.
“Shit! What are you doing?” He tore off his chest plate and boots, tossing them into the sand. “I’m getting you.”
He waded with all his strength until it was deep enough to properly swim, heart lurching as he saw Tommy’s full body underwater, just standing.
A flurry of bubbles followed his quick moments in the water, but they sparked no reaction from Tommy when he ended up right behind him.
In a moment's decision, he wrapped his arms around Tommy’s waist and kicked upwards, keeping him in his arms.
They broke the surface quickly, the sound of Tommy inhaling sweeter than the honey they were supposed to find.
He spat water out of his mouth and shifted the clasp of his arms up to Tommy’s chest, making sure his head leaned back against him, firmly over the water. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The boy was kicking to help him, but he wasn’t talking.
Sam’s feet hit the bottom first, and he helped drag Tommy out, the smaller hand gripped in his.
“Did you inhale any water?” He grabbed onto his elbow to help support him as they tried to clear the beach, water droplets trailing them. “Any at all?”
He’d seen no bubbles from his mouth or nose, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t missed them, especially since he’d been facing Tommy's back.
The teenager went from stumbling alongside him, taking his own weight just fine, to collapsing onto his knees, like he was a doll whose strings had been cut.
“Tommy?” He grabbed for his shoulder, moving in preparation to hold him up so he didn’t bury his face in the sand. “Tommy!”
Was he unconscious? Did he just misstep?
What the hell was going on? How does he fix it?
Tommy’s palms struck out to support himself against the sand, though, and he remained on all fours with his own strength.
All the while he was inhaling in and out without issue. No coughs. No choking. No vomiting of water.
“I’m—okay. I’m just going to assume you didn’t breathe in any water, okay?”
He’d make him drink a water-breathing potion later anyway—his body would absorb any water left in his lungs and dry-drowning wouldn’t be an issue.
He sat down and crossed his legs, his shirt and pants sticking both to his skin and the sand.
If Tommy were to look up, he would see Sam just outside the center of his vision. Carefully, he moved his hands from the ground to his knees, plainly in sight.
“If you can talk, I’d love for you to do that, alright? Yeah? Can you tell me what… what you just did?”
An exhale that was slightly more shaken than the rest was his sole response.
“Okay. Too open-ended. Let’s start simple. Tommy, please look at me?”
It was technically a command, but nothing should be spoken to Tommy like an order right now.
He didn’t look at him. His arms started to tremble.
When Tommy shifted back and sat down without prompting, Sam rubbed his face in relief. So there was awareness in him.
Well, maybe.
His eyes were pink-toned from seawater, set on one spot in the distance and never moving. Blinks were slow and laborious. His lips were slightly parted.
It was like he was sleepwalking.
“Tommy?” he whispered, hoping to draw his attention. He flicked his ears to add movement to the noise.
Slowly, blue eyes shifted to rest on him.
And even though they were blank, he couldn’t help but smile. “There you are.”
Tommy stared at him for minutes, brows furrowing so slowly, as if only half-heartedly trying to solve a puzzle.
He almost appeared to shimmer with the drops of water sticking onto his skin, and his normally fluffy hair was now flat to his scalp, color darkened to something more orange or brown than blond with the moisture.
Sam’s eyes flickered between his abandoned boots and shirt on the sand and Tommy’s wet hair. “I’m going to stand up and go and get my things, okay?”
Tommy’s lips parted just a little further and the blank confusion in his expression deepened.
Sighing, Sam walked up and grabbed his shirt from the shore, did his best to shake the sand off—not that it mattered because Tommy already had plenty on him—and threw it atop Tommy’s head.
Basking in the sunlight had dried it quickly. In all honesty, it probably still smelled, but at least his hybrid genes had his body odor not smelling like typical body odor. It shouldn’t really bother him.
“Do you want me to dry your hair?”
It was a bit of a silly sight, him sitting with Sam’s shirt just laying on his head, partially covering his face.
Tommy just sat there, like a robot without a battery.
Sam’s foot tapped anxiously, and he pushed down the bad feelings.
He wanted to help Tommy, but he was just worried about what touching him with a lack of consent would do. What if he gave him a panic attack?
He’d witnessed those before and it broke his heart.
“Can you use your hands?” When he saw no hint of sign language, he specified, “Let’s say… One finger for yes, two for no.”
He displayed it himself. “This is yes.” One finger. “And this is no.” Two fingers.
He tried to smile encouragingly. “Think you can do that?”
Tommy did look at his hands, but it wasn’t to do anything other than twitch a finger and turn his palm around a little like he was examining it.
At least… at least there was some understanding of Sam’s words? He mentioned fingers, Tommy was looking at his. Progress? Maybe?
God, this was a terrible process to go through on the beach.
The soak had been nice, but he was still sensing the future sunburns worsening from standing here like this.
Had Tommy even gone into the forest before leaving for the water? How long did he just stand with the sun beating down on him?
Fuck, was that it?
The heat?
Was he delirious from heatstroke?
Did he drag him out here just to hurt him?
“Shit.”
He tore his pack from his shoulder and onto a knee, balancing awkwardly. He dug through the water bottles until he saw the glass with a tinted liquid and pulled it out, uncorking it so Tommy didn’t have to. “You’re gonna drink something for me, okay?”
He leaned down and raised it right to Tommy’s lips, supporting it with his own hands when Tommy never made a move to hold it.
“Thank you,” Sam praised, trying not to let his worry dampen the tone, after Tommy started drinking without much of a pause. “You’re doing great. Very great, big man. Thank you.”
The boy’s skin boiled and bubbled—harmless—with the visual sign of the potion kicking in.
He showed no interest in it other than lowering his blank stare down to a spot on an arm.
It wasn’t the intention of fire resistance to protect against heat from the inside of the body, so it wouldn’t solve everything—it would still leave him pretty hot and without proper immunity to it. It was better than nothing, though.
He had to get Tommy’s temperature normal enough for when the potion wore out, otherwise he’d just get sick again.
And that was just assuming that the heatstroke was the issue.
If some lucidity returned to him after taking the potion, at least Sam would know for sure heat was the root cause.
Unfortunately, Tommy still didn’t respond much to his prompting or even to his name.
Fuck.
Of course it wasn’t the heat.
Of course it wasn’t something tangible he could work against.
This was growing worse and worse. Maybe he should program Sam Nook to keep him away from Tommy.
He didn’t see any creeper holes around, and he’d heard no explosions when underground; he hadn’t gone terribly deep and still should have noticed something.
He saw no mobs sheltering from the deadly sunlight under the leaves and branches. Tommy had no injuries on him that suggested an arrow or zombie bite.
If this was an episode, which was becoming tragically likely—and frightening, because he hadn’t seen anything like it before—he had no idea what triggered it.
Oh! There!
There was a life in Tommy after all.
He’d shifted his arm.
Sam’s shirt slid off his hair and onto the sand, and he glanced at it and then away, relatively quickly.
Was he coming back? Was he—
He…
He dug his hand into the sand—
And scooped out a handful.
Oh.
His heart sank.
As Tommy dug out more handfuls, he took a selfish moment to mourn.
He mourned the day that he’d wanted to be good for Tommy. He’d wanted a good day! This was supposed to be fun.
That clearly wasn’t the case now.
Because TommyInnit was digging a hole .
He was clearly in some sort of flashback, but it was a dissociative type; he wasn’t yelling or pleading or seemingly even aware of Sam...
He sat down heavily on the other side of the hole, throat swollen. “No… hey. We don’t need to do that. You don’t need to dig a hole, Tommy. You haven’t done anything wrong. You haven’t done anything. You wanna stop for me?”
Tommy instead pulled out a shovel, knuckles white with the force of his grip.
His hands were near grey, dirtied from the sand.
Because the sand was dry, he still didn’t really make progress deepening the hole so much as widening it.
He dug a shovelful of sand away; sand at the edges of the hole trickled down and filled it more. It was a pattern that ended up in nothing more than a bit of a depression in the sand. But he just kept going.
“Tommy, put the shovel away… You don’t have to dig a hole.” He rubbed at his temple, watching with sad eyes. “Can you hear me?”
The teenager halted.
“Hi, Tommy.” He titled his head. “Hi. Can you hear me? You’re safe. No holes needed.”
Slowly, the kid reached out and dropped the shovel in the hole.
He slipped out of the straps of his pack and began to shake it into the hole, slowly stretching the strings so it would open and dump the contents in.
“No, Tommy, please—“
Familiar rage flooded the back of his mind, sudden and without warning, like a dam had broken and flooded a river.
He was going to murder Dream.
He was going to murder Dream.
He was going to fucking murder Dream.
He’d caused this. He’d done this. Tommy was broken because of him. Every time Tommy didn’t eat. Every time Tommy flinched. Every self-deprecating joke, every instance of hoarding stuff, every shaky breath and flashback, done by his hands, and he was locked away, absolutely safe and sound…
But the rage faded away.
Tommy, precious Tommy, was in front of him, and anger wouldn’t help him.
Not like Sam could ever act on it, anyway.
All he could do was gently remove the shovel and place it beside himself.
“You don’t need to put your stuff in a hole. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
The bag eventually opened and his stuff was slowly shaken out—Sam picked up every item and placed it near him, protectively; in sight but out of Tommy’s direct reach.
When his pack was empty, he took the weapons and tools out of belt and dropped them, too, ignoring Sam’s comforts and pleading.
After a long pause of Tommy’s furrowed gaze just staring into the empty hole, he finally looked at his things—and at Sam.
Sam perked up. “Tommy, you’re safe right now. You’re so safe. You’re not in trouble. You haven’t done anything wrong… Do you know who I am?
Tommy blinked.
“Hi, Dream…”
Sam’s mouth opened and shut by itself.
“No,” he finally managed, heart thumping out of his body. “No, but that’s—that’s fine. You are not in trouble. Doing everything right. I mean—I mean that I’m not Dream. Dream’s not here. He won’t be here. I’m Sam. Awesamdude.”
The beach. Was it the beach? Was the beach a trigger?
But could just being at the beach have caused all of this?
He didn’t even know what experiences the silence and the walking-into-water were connected to. He couldn’t think of any demented story Dream told him or anything Tommy had opened up about that connected him to this.
Tommy blinked a few more times. Emotion was returning to his face, but it looked like nothing but confusion. “No? Dream.”
He looked down at his stuff, and then at the empty hole, then back at Sam.
Sam’s attempt at a smile came out wobbly. “No Dream here, Tommy. Only Sam. Only Sam…”
“Would you like your stuff back?” He patted the nearest item, the shovel, invitingly. “You can keep it. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
You still don’t deserve that even if you had somehow done something wrong. But that was a big other topic for another time.
After a long consideration, Tommy nodded jerkily.
“Oh… Thank you.”
Sam’s eyes filled with a stinging sensation, and something compelled him to sniff.
He rubbed at an eye, and his fist came back wet.
Tommy stared at him in genuine bewilderment.
He didn’t know why he was crying either.
“Let’s just…” He sighed, reaching for Tommy’s empty pack. It was covered in stickers and sand and differently colored patches in spots that Tommy repaired and sewed himself. “Let’s just put your stuff away.”
He did all of the work, but that was fine, and what he’d expected.
The heaviest items were placed at the bottom and lighter or more useful items at the top, maneuvering every object with a ginger touch.
Things are important. Tommy is important. Tommy’s things are important. They are meant to be cared for with as much passion as Tommy cares for them, not ripped out of his hands and thrown underground and exploded to dust. They are meant to be his.
With slow hands, he pulled the pack shut and held it up by the strings.
“Do you mind if I carry this?” He spoke clearly and slowly, hoping it would sink in Tommy’s mind easier. “It’s still yours. You can have it. If you want to carry it, that is fine. But I want to help you, and I can help you by carrying it.” He swallowed. “Is that okay?”
A shudder. An inhale.
A nod.
Genuine hope swelled at such a relatively quick response to all those words and information.
“Okay. Great. Sounds great.” He slipped the smaller pack on, resting easily on top of his own bulkier one.
He might have tucked it inside his—he was an expert at packing compactly and had space, but he wanted it clearly in sight, clearly separate from what he owned. It would be wrong to tuck it away among his own belongings.
If he was getting responses, he had to push. He had to keep it going. This was fragile, and it was in his hands.
“Why don’t we move to the shade?”
He pointed to the trees, layers of branches providing dappled shadowed patterns over the grass and dirt and undergrowth, but the teen didn’t turn to look.
He didn’t turn to look, but he gave something better. A word.
“Okay,” Tommy mumbled, blinking.
In an offer to help Tommy up, he held out his hand.
He held out his hand—
And Tommy flinched so violently a cloud of sand sprayed in his wake.
Sam flinched too.
“Damn it.” It came out before he could stop it, and before he could register, it came out again. “Damn it!”
Tommy wasn’t supposed to flinch from him. He was supposed to feel safe. He was supposed to feel protected.
Those wide eyes didn’t look protected.
He’d startled him, and then he’d sworn. Great going, Sam.
“I’m sorry.” He held out his arms, keeping his hands visible and obvious. “I’m very sorry. I’m not frustrated with you. I’m not mad at you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m—“
A tired sort of resignation filled his body like an ache. “Oh, whatever. We’ll both be burnt all over tomorrow anyway.”
He plopped back down again, abandoning the hope of getting to the trees any time soon. Treating this was the only way any progress was going to be made.
Speaking of treating it…
If this was a panic attack, he’d—well, first he’d have to get Tommy to stop shouting and swearing over him so he could have a chance at hearing him—he’d go over what Puffy taught them.
The senses exercise. Five things you could see, four things you could touch, three things you could hear, two things you could smell, one thing you could taste.
But this wasn’t a panic attack, and asking him questions that required so much awareness of himself and his surroundings didn’t seem like it would do much good if he didn't have much awareness in the first place.
He’d do it himself. Then he’d try and get Tommy to do it.
“I’m going to go through five things I can see. I can see you—I’m very glad about that. I can see…”
Shifting around, he searched the ocean so he and Tommy shared the same vision. It might help to list things Tommy could identify himself, but he'd purposefully go for small details in case Tommy felt like he couldn't repeat anything Sam said. “I can see... a small, young fish. I can see… a piece of seaweed that broke free. It’s just floating around. I can see… the sun reflecting on the water. I can see… the white part of the waves when they crash. How many was that?” It was more to himself than anything.
“Five...”
“Oh! Thank you. Thank you very much. I appreciate that, Tommy.” He had counted! That was incredible! That was much better than he’d expected. “Hey, do you wanna try five things you can see?”
Maybe he could manage it now. Maybe. Hopefully.
“Uh… I, uh… there’s sand.”
“There is! Very good.”
“Ocean. ‘N kelp... Fish. Sky. You.”
That’s six, but who cares.
“That’s great.” He was at risk of crying again. He was genuinely at risk of crying from relief. Happiness. Love. Whatever new emotions Tommy brought out in him every single day. “I’m so proud. You did such a great job, big man.”
The moment they were back to the main area of the SMP, he was going to scoop up Tommy’s blanket and pillows from his house and take it to his base. He was going to drag out every soft piece of fabric he owned, and he was going to dump all of Fran’s toys in Tommy’s lap so he could play with her as long as he liked, and he hoped to DreamXD and Drista and anyone else Tommy was okay with touch because he wanted to hold him at least an hour straight. They’d had a sleepover at his base before, and they were going to have a million more, starting tonight.
“Okay. Amazing.” Soon, this would pass and simply be a bad memory. It couldn’t pass fast enough. But the weight of it felt a little lighter, like he’d stopped climbing uphill and reached a plateau instead. “Let’s start on touch.”
He dug his fingers through the sand, in the uncomfortable warmth. “I can touch the sand. I can touch… the air. I can touch… There’s not much around, is there?” The shore was really just sand, except for—a few rocks. He clutched one and rolled it around in his palm. “I can feel this rock. And… I can feel my heartbeat, I guess.” He let the rock tumble back onto the sand.
Tommy shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Breath. Sticky… That’s sweat. There’s… uh… ground. And… I dunno.”
That was going fantastic, he was going to sweep him into his arms and swing him in joy, but maybe he’d prompt him, just to get that final fourth observation. “So great, Tommy. Can you run your hand through the sand?”
Tommy did so.
“What’s the temperature?”
No response.
Fuck.
“Is it hot or cold?”
“‘S… hot.”
“So you can touch the hot sand. That’s great! That’s great. Onto hearing... I can hear the ocean waves, I can hear myself talking, and I can hear… myself breathing.”
“Hear the water, too. There’s… me. ‘N your breathing.”
The claps in his applause were soft and a little slow, careful not to make unpredictable hand motions or too much noise. “Yes! Almost done. We have smell and taste to go. And we can just—just go again if we have to. Smells… I can smell the ocean. Does sand have a smell? If it does, I’m probably smelling that.” There wasn’t really a ton to smell.
“Ocean and…” He rubbed at his nose, but the motion of his arm stopped quickly. He pulled it away, eyes scanning it up and down. The bubbling had receded as the potion’s time ran down, but it was still in effect. “Did—did I take a potion?”
Oh, he was so close to being back. He was so close. Was he back? Was that it? There was a spark of life on that question. Not just a spark of life, but like—of Tommy. It sounded like Tommy.
“Yeah. It was for fire resistance.”
“Taste that.” He smacked his lips in distaste. “Ew.”
Trembling hands handed over a glass bottle of water so he could wash out the taste.
“Tommy?” He whispered, entire chest aching. “Are you back?”
“Think so… Didn’t go, though.” He squinted at the sky. “It’s so fuckin’ hot, holy shit.”
Rubbing at his face, he sniffed. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” He was wiping at his forehead, still getting distracted by the lingering skin-bubbling effect. “Hey, why’d you give me a potion?”
“I was worried about heatstroke. Speaking of that, can we move into the shade?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” The teen pushed himself up, complaining under his breath about creaky joints and old bodies.
He moved quickly—and rather awkwardly, sand was so hard to walk on—to fit himself by Tommy’s side in case he tripped. His legs seemed a little wobbly, as if his brain was still reconnecting his body. If he noticed, he gave no indication of it, almost glaring at the trees until they reached them.
With a sigh, Tommy wiggled himself into a comfortable sitting position, nearly cradled by the roots of a tree. The back of his head made a small thumping noise as he let his head fall against the trunk. “Fuck.”
The air was still sweltering in the shade, but it was like heaven compared to just sitting in the exposed beach. Sam leaned against a tree, letting it take the majority of his weight, as he cooled and collected himself. Tommy’s eyes shut, and he let his eyes shut as well.
After a long moment, Sam stood upright, Tommy glancing over at the noise.
“Do you mind sitting here while I go get some honey?”
“Oh.” He could hear the embarrassment in the word. “Right... Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s all fine. I don’t mind. I’m just going to quickly get some, and then we can head home. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sure.” He wouldn’t look at him, picking at his shirt.
He could have a talk with him about not thinking of himself as a failure when he didn’t finish a task, but he could do that another time, and he really just wanted to get out of there.
“Can you restart the senses exercise while I’m gone?” He didn’t want to leave him and let him just mentally float away again.
“Oh. Yeah, I can.”
“Great. Thank you. I will be back very soon.”
He ripped a flower from its base to carry with him as he walked.
The first beehive he found was full, and while the next two weren’t, it was still enough to replace the three-block platform. He privately messaged Tommy each time he found a hive, updating on his location and the progress.
When he came back, his heart swelled with pride to hear Tommy mumbling to himself about what he could see, clearly having done the exercise on repeat.
“I’ve got the honey!” When he was close enough, he held out a bottle to prove it.
“Cool, cool,” Tommy rose to his feet immediately, shaking bark out of hair, “now get me the fuck outta here.”
“Very agreed.”
Going out into the sun after enjoying the shade was definitely not fun. Not fun at all. But, they readjusted as they had on the trip over, except…
Except Tommy wasn’t talking, and Sam wasn’t talking, either.
He wanted Tommy to be rambling and energetic and normal, and if Sam had to start the talk, then fine, he wanted to bring him into a conversation, but he was so tired and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. He was just so damn relieved Tommy was there with him.
Tommy just walked beside him, looking present in his expression and movement, so it wasn’t like he was zoning out again...
Maybe it was best to just let the silence sit.
Without warning, Tommy spoke, and it was to tease him like it was the most natural thing in the world, even after a trip of nothing but silence. “You’re so stinky when you’re sweaty and shit. Disgusting, man.”
He held his nose as if to avoid a terrible scent, tilting his head back dramatically. “You ever fuckin’ shower?”
“Yeah, I shower.” He glanced at him with his best attempt at mischievousness. The relief at hearing Tommy both talk and talk like himself was immeasurable, but what he’d witnessed earlier still lingered in his mind. “Not so sure about you, though.”
Long-term, he lived in a dirt house and it showed, on his shoes and face and clothes and fingernails, but currently, damp sand was sliding down his legs with every step, and he smelled distinctly of sea salt. And sweat, even with the earlier wash.
Tommy snorted at that, but the teasing didn’t develop into proper banter as Sam had hoped, their trip back onto plains and hills, civilization in the distance, returning to a neutral silence.
He’d nearly forgotten about the brief exchange when Tommy spoke again.
He heard a softer follow-up, mumbled quietly with shame.
“I, uh, think it’s the gunpowder.”
Every aspect of Tommy’s body language revealed guilt, his shoulders hunched and his head down as he walked.
Sam swallowed with the revelation.
Things finally clicked into place.
He was significantly part creeper. His blood held a level of gunpowder like everyone’s held a level of sugar or oxygen.
When he sweated, it smelled closer to gunpowder than typical human body odor.
Which… might be just strange to anybody else, but would definitely be triggering for someone with trauma related to explosions.
He'd walked with him, dumped his shirt on him, seen him rubbing at his nose! Was Tommy too polite to say anything? And Sam hadn’t thought of that at all.
Tommy had also been near a beach, which would also be triggering for someone exiled to a location with a beach.
(He was green. Green. The less armor he wore, the more Tommy couldn’t meet his eyes. But he couldn’t change his color.)
“I see. Tommy?”
“Y-yeah?” The poor thing sounded nervous.
“Thank you so much for telling me. We can figure something out." Triggers are important, big guy.
Hmm…
He’d go and talk to Hannah about what types of flowers had the strongest scents.
He could crush flowers in with his soap and shampoo. He’d definitely try and formulate the world's most strongly scented deodorant. Maybe he’d carry a perfume.
Until then, he was going to ask about that sleepover (Tommy agreed, he always agreed) and he was going to sit Tommy down and tell him how much he meant to him until Tommy was bored out of his mind.
And next time, he’d go alone in boiling heat.