Chapter Text
A few days have passed since what was dubbed as the incident, or when Tommy, you know, went on a murder spree. Shroud and Clementine did, in fact, bring back Schlatt’s mutilated remains.
The man had large areas of skin missing and some of his flesh was falling off the bone. There were deep eye bags beneath his eyes and his body was covered in welts, burns, and bite marks, both from bugs and animals it seemed.
Part of the body was rotted and Tubbo wanted to know what it looked like on the inside, so he did a dissection. Wilbur threw up once Tubbo extracted the man’s heart—what a pussy. Techno, on the other hand, looked delighted—what a phycopath.
Ranboo and Phil had decided to leave them home alone that day, so they didn’t get to see the maggot infested organs; their loss. They cleaned up the body before the two got home and no one suspected anything was wrong, well, apart from Wilbur’s unnaturally pale face.
The heart was kept at Tubbo’s house, pickled in a jar like a gag souvenir, and no one thought otherwise. Life went on and Tommy began to get more comfortable in being himself: buying things, going out, and using his powers at home. It was like a dream.
Before he knew it, school was approaching, and Tommy didn’t feel all the anxiety he did when he first arrived in this home. He knew that whatever happened, there would be friends and family to back him up. Also, Techno might literally murder any bullies that dare come for him, which is greatly appreciated in a strange way.
Schlatt was officially proclaimed dead on the news and his organization was shut down. None of it was explicitly explained to the public, but a few check-ins on the facility confirmed their suspicions: the wicked bitch is finally dead.
Tommy was free. He’s free and he’s never going back to being the scared shell of a rabid dog. It’s such an intangible concept to him, but he’s safe now, away from the white coats who can never harm him again, and if they try they’re going to fucking regret it.
The last days of summer are fun and flying past faster than Tommy realizes; everyone hangs out together, eating and joking all day long. Tommy can now proudly call the group of people his friends.
One night, Tommy is called to a family meeting and he isn’t even anxious! That’s another win in his book, and Tommy’s been having a lot of wins lately.
Now that the rest of the family knows where his trauma lies, he’s been set up with a therapist. Her name is Clara and although Tommy can’t tell her everything, she helps him work through his trauma in noninvasive ways.
He’s started being less anxious and more of the rambunctious kid he used to be, calming himself in the garden and playing more pranks. His paranoia has gotten better and his mind is not always on the white coats anymore, allowing Tommy to buy white clothes or act without thinking of every little detail.
At the dinner table, Tommy sits confidently, albeit a bit curious about what this meeting is all about. Phil looks all fatherly, Wilbur like he might combust with the smile he’s wearing, and Techno with a weary nervousness—but the man is always anxious, so that’s not a surprise; plus, this anxiety seems to be of the good kind.
“What’s up, big men?” Tommy says as he flops forward to lean on the table. “Why was I called here?”
“Well, Tommy,” Phil started off with a clearing of his throat, “we were think that since you’ve been here for weeks already and we’ve had quite the unusual bonding that–”
“We want to adopt you, gremlin!” Wilbur shouts in interruption, standing up and knocking his chair over behind him, eliciting a wince from Techno.
“Yes, like Wil said, we want to know if you want to be officially adopted.” Phil sighs, fond exasperation written all over his face.
Tommy was speechless, his eyes becoming glassy in a way he willed to go away. I mean, he considered these people to be his family and he hoped they did the same for him, but there’s a difference between thinking it and actually hearing it.
He always thought he was the ‘unlovable’ child of the orphanage, always getting into fights and arguing with such a burning hatred for the world. He never thought someone would see him behind those hot walls of anger, slowly putting out the flames to comfort the shaking child hidden within.
“…Tommy? It’s ok to say no. We don’t want to force you into anything.” Techno stammered after Tommy’s silence, being cut off by the bone-crushing hug the boy gave him.
Phil and Wilbur were pulled in as well, carnations blooming from their bodies, showering them in soft petals. It wasn’t threatening like the last time Tommy sprouted flowers, it was more of a comforting act, telling the family everything they needed to know.
If a few tears slipped out everyone’s eyes when they signed the official papers, no one needed to know.
Tommy had found his family, his completion. Mother Nature was smiling down on him along with the other gods above, happy for their vessels to be at home, to be loved in a way they could never provide, despite the hardest they tried. Schlatt was dead, and Mother Nature’s boy was safe in the arms of the determined.
They would protect him like she could never, lighting up the paths of his future and helping him wear down the road to happiness. There wasn’t a path for him before and he didn’t know what to do, but they’ll show him that he needs to make his own path in uncharted territory.
Not on his own, never on his own. They would trek beside him, helping him carry the boulder of burden, smiling and laughing until the weight weathers away.
There will be bumps in the track, no doubt, but there will always be someone to help Tommy up, no matter how much he slows down. They will be patient and understanding to his frustration, not allowing him to be consumed by flames of hatred.
They will heal wounds into scars, never completely fading, but merely becoming paintings of resilience. You may see them as shameful and will for them to scrub away, opening them again in the process, but why should you scrub away the marks that show your growth? They are like Tommy’s flowers in a more metaphorical sense, and he would never scrub those away.
However, scars aren’t pretty like flowers, no one said they were, but they are yours. They show your mortality and experiences, building you up in a painful, but sturdy, way.
Don’t our bodies show our resilience and determination to become who we want to be, regardless of how many jagged edges life can snag on? Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, and to some, scars are the prettiest flowers to plague the body.
Trust will be built and torn, but nicks in the tree show wisdom. The axe may forget, but the tree remembers. The axe forgets the pain it inflicts, but the tree is forced to carry the burden of its scars. Take these in pride rather than dishonor, for these were life changing to you while to the axe it was merely another day.
Recovery isn’t linear, it never was, but perhaps with family to patch up what was broken again and again, building it into the finest piece of art, Tommy will come out the other end with a smile.
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