MCYT Oneshots (Mostly Tommyinnit Centric, Maybe Other Fandoms)

Finally Home

"Tommy, everything that ever went wrong is because of you! You and your damn discs! " Niki exclaims.

"And therefore, you and your fellow friends have to die" Jack adds, gesturing at the 5 of them.

A brunette who holds scars a plenty, with trauma that runs deep, yet an unwavering love of bees. A blonde girl, with a fire in her eyes that is rage aimed at her brother's Dreamon, the person who scarred her first ever friend her age and holds no remorse for doing so, along with the rest of her and her friends. A blond boy who holds resentment towards his brother and his friends for teaching him only how to be on edge, how to always be paranoid, to constantly be vigilant. A boy split down the middle who can only remember pain and suffering before finding his people, those like him.

And finally, the final one, a blond boy who was forced to grow up to fast like his friends, a boy who has seen too many terrible things to count, a boy whp has died multiple times, countless times, on DSMP and everywhere else, the boy who carries the world on his shoulders, the boy who gives and gives and gives and never receives anything in return, the boy who gave up everything. The boy who grew up treading egg shells and shards of glass because his family was full of monsters who proclaim themselves gods.

The teens take a moment to glance around. The faces of friends and enemies a like stare back, most of them enemies. Anyone who wants to help is being held back. Puffy. Sam. Eret. Karl. Quackity. Sapnap. George. Foolish. Fundy. 9 adults, out of a whole goddamn server of adults, want to help them. 9. It's a higher number than they had bargained for, but still a small amount. Maybe if there wasn't the egg, there would be more people. Maybe if people actually knew what had happened to them, how they had grown up, people would care.

Tommy laughs then, and everyone is surprised. And slowly, the other 4 start laughing as well. But it's not the joyous laugh of a teenager, or the bubbling laugh of something funny. No, their laughs are hard, yet cruel. The type of laugh that leaves you scared for what's to come.

"What is so funny about this? You're about to die!" Techno growls out, a lot of them pissed at the brashness of the teens.

"You don't think we've already tried that?" Purpled asks innocently, but deeper implications run through his words.

"Tried what, exactly?" Phil asks in return.

All of them are confused, besides the 9 who wanted to help. They knew. They knew because they were the only ones who cared too. And they were the only ones who cared to make sure it never happened, ever.

"Killing us. You don't think we've tried?" Tommy replies.

And that's when he rolls up his sleeves. Thick bandages cover his arms, and he quickly unwraps both of his arms. There are perfectly straight lines carved into his skin, dozens of them. Some are old, some are new. Next, he just abandons his top, revealing scars upon scars. A ton are self inflicted, straight lines are messy words. Some are from everything and everyone else. And the other 4 reveal there's as well. Ranboo's scars glow a faint purple, and his blood is also purple, they all take note as one of his scabs opens up again.

Tubbo, Purpled, and Drista have the least amount out of the 5. But the can see on Drista's neck there's a ugly scar still healing (it had been invisible with her type of hoodie), from when she most likely tried to slit her throat. When Purpled takes off his gloves, there's visible scarring on his knuckles. Those smart enough to know things realize it's a sign of bulimia, meaning he stuck his fingers down his throat and forced himself to puke out his guts, the scarring being from his teeth biting down on his knuckles from the pain. There's burn marks that lick themselves all over Tubbo, along with a rash around his neck from where he probably tried to hang themselves. And on all of them, there are tiny perfect circles, which means one thing: someone has been smoking, and putting them out on their skin. Themselves, probably.