Bedrock

Chapter 19

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Tommy sat up, wide awake for what must have been the 5th time that night since Mumbo had left. At least, Tommy thought he left. Maybe he was still sitting outside like a creep.

He got out of bed, tired of tossing and turning. Who needs sleep anyway? Not Tommy. At all. Whatsoever. Nope. But, either way, his pillow was hot, so there was no chance of drifting off again.

Tommy stepped outside for the second time that night. The sun was already showing its colours in the early morning sky.

The pond was calm, just like he remembered it. Tommy tugged his shirt off, biting his cheek as he pulled on the scar now stretching across his chest. He stared into the still water, his eyes searching the new blemish. It had joined many others he'd acquired over the years.

One on his lower right ribcage he'd gotten when he was young, when Techno had decided he was going to teach Tommy's kid self how to fight. He'd forgotten to use training swords that day, and Tommy could still remember how much the cut hurt and then how proud he was of the scar when it had healed. His first scar! Just one to join the many others in the future.

Then the line stretching across his heart, his token from the Final Control Room. That was the first time he'd actually died. It was terrifying when it happened. He thought he was safe for the first time in that year, that Eret could be trusted. But then Dream was there and there was a sword through his heart and the last thing he saw before the darkness hit was that stupid smiling mask.

And the scar from his latest death, the duel. That death was worse than the Control Room. Instead of the arrow hitting his heart, killing him instantly like Dream's sword had, it had gone through his stomach. He'd been knocked off the bridge into the water, the pain rendering him unable to kick his way to the surface. It had taken so long to die that time. To be honest, Tommy really wasn't sure if he had died from blood loss or drowning.

And now this one, standing out pink against his pale chest. His biggest scar yet! Great.

He was less skinny now compared to the last time he had really looked at his reflection. To be honest, though, he really couldn't get any thinner than he was in exile without dying. He was on the verge of death there in the first place!

And then there was the problem of Mumbo.

Tommy had done exactly what he had promised himself he wasn't going to do. He had spilled his guts. Like a stupid person.

To be honest, he was sleep-deprived and not in his right mind, but still.

There wasn't really anything he could do about it. He had threatened Mumbo (which he secretly felt a bit bad about), so now, all he could do was hope that he wouldn't tell anyone.

~

Mumbo was still in shock. He really hadn't expected Tommy to say anything when he asked if he wanted to talk about it, but then he did. More than did. He told his whole life story.

Tommy hadn't exactly been easy to understand (he had been crying, and Mumbo could never understand people who were crying). And honestly, just the way he had told everything was scary. What he said sounded like it could be something out of a horror novel, but he had said it like he had lived it. And, he apparently had.

16, Tommy was 16. And he had fought in wars, seen his friends die, and had been killed himself twice. He had built a country, the one he had rebuilt here. His brother had been stabbed by his dad? And now he's a ghost? How could Mumbo just keep this to himself? He knew Tommy's past had been at least a bit messed up, but this? This was just horrific.

But Tommy had threatened him with death. And Mumbo was a bit scared.

Before he had heard about Tommy's past, he would have thought it was an empty threat. But now he knew that for a literal veteran, that wasn't a complete impossibility. Tommy had killed people before. His family had killed people before. His friends had killed people before. And, these deaths weren't unlimited where he came from. 3 deaths, and then you're gone. Or a ghost, if you counted his brother.

If Tommy had died from his injury where he came from, he would be dead. Actually dead. Gone, not on Earth, dead. What if he had died on Hermitcraft? Would that count as one of his lives?

Now that he thought about it, Tommy hadn't said how he got that gash. Mumbo could guess any number of people from what he heard, not that he remembered their names. There was one that came up a lot, though. Dream.

Mumbo tugged open a chest and stared at the items. He needed to tell someone, didn't he?

A sound came from upstairs, and Mumbo nearly fell over in surprise.

"Hello?" He said, his nerves flaring up. What if it was Tommy? Would he-no. He was a kid. Mumbo knew him no, he didn't. He had no reason to be afraid.

"Mumbo?" Mumbo recognized Etho's voice.

"Down here," He called, groaning at the man's timing.

Etho appeared, descending from the hole in the ceiling and landing with a grunt next to Mumbo.

"I just wanted to ask how you're doing." The man started. "I haven't really seen you since Tommy came, and I was getting a bit worried."

Mumbo swallowed, unsure of what to say. This was the literal perfect opportunity to share what Tommy went through, and he did trust Etho, but was it the right decision?

Yes, yes, it was. Tommy needed help.

But-

"Mumbo?" Mumbo looked over to see Etho staring at him with a worried gaze.

Mumbo gave a half-hearted smile. "It was a rough night."

Etho nodded, his gaze trailing over the storage room they were in. "I don't think I've ever been in here."

Mumbo grunted, leaning back against the wall of chests. Etho looked back at him.

"Mumbo, be honest with me here. Are you okay?"

No. No, he wasn't.

Mumbo slid down the chests and sat in the grass, pulling his knees to his chest. Etho squatted down next to him.

"I know things, and I need to tell someone, but I also can't," Mumbo said quietly.

Etho's worried gaze returned. "Why can't you tell anybody?"

"I both don't want to get hurt and don't want to hurt somebody else. Even though it would probably help them."

Etho scratched his face. "This is about Tommy, isn't it."

When Mumbo didn't say anything, Etho sighed. "If you want to tell me, you can. I won't say a word to anyone else. I understand if you don't want to, and you don't have to tell me specifically, but if it helps Tommy, you need to tell someone. "

"Yeah, I guess so." He paused. "Uh, basically, Tommy went through a lot more than we thought."

Etho sat back. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. Apparently, he's fought in multiple wars, some against his own family. He's died twice, and where he lived, you only have three lives. His brother lost all three of his lives, one to their dad, and now he's a ghost. He's killed people," Mumbo sighed, resting his head on his knees. "What more is there to say."

Etho blew out. "How did he get here with that injury?"

"I don't know. But I'm pretty sure someone tried to take his third life."

"That really is worse than we thought," Etho said, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Mumbo asked, looking up.

"I'm going to talk to Tommy."