A Rift Through Worlds (A Dream SMP x Hermitcraft AU)

Glitching through the barrier

It was late afternoon in Logstedshire. The sun was saying his goodbyes over the horizon, leaving before his love, the moon, could catch up. A wave of sea and salt crashed against a sharp rock at the edge of the beach, splattering away and the wind picked up the cold droplets to carry them away. The temperature had shifted drastically in just a couple of minutes; going from blazing hot to ice cold right as the last few rays of the warming star disappeared.

A campfire was burning, the scent of flaming embers almost overwhelming that of the ocean. It kept the atmosphere warm and calm despite the cold breeze's efforts to make the small plot of land unbearable. The fire kept the beasts at bay, the smoke driving them away from the claimed territory. Few beasts remained and they were small -almost microscopic- and utterly annoying as they buzzed around the fire, some catching ablaze and falling like tiny meteors. The worn green tent barely stood against the elements anymore, threatening to topple over at the slightest disturbance.

One tap of a finger and it would fall like a card pyramid.

Tommy sat by the fire, absentmindedly poking at the charred pieces of wood with a stick to let it breathe and roar louder. He was lost in thought, a knee against his chest, the unoccupied hand over it and his chin resting on top. Plotting his escape from exile took up most of his time during nighttime, plotting and thinking hard and as fast as he could to weigh the cons and pros of such an action. It had been a few days since the thought had been engraved in detail in his mind, not leaving him alone and always keeping him pacing around the makeshift campsite.

Dream had already made his daily visit during noon and he had already blown up anything of value with yet another bundle of TNT. It seemed like he had an abundance of it wherever it was that he lived. Anything that looked like it could have had been used as a weapon had been destroyed and the boy had the wound to prove it -a stray piece of iron had grazed his face in the explosion and it had left a small but noticeable cut on his cheek that had scabbed over (he still ghosted his fingers over it with an itch to peel off the annoying crust). The man had hung around for a few hours after that, trailing behind Tommy like a lost puppy as he went about his day and observing the teen as one does before inevitably having to leave with a heavy heart.

On one hand, if he attempted to leave, Dream was sure to attempt to hurt the president of L'Manburg -no, New L'Manburg as he had been told- in turn. He was not about to let his best friend, Tubbo -the one who knew him better than himself- to get hurt because of him being irresponsible. He would try to hurt Tubbo and anyone he knew who was of importance to him and then the innocent citizens who had never asked to be a part of this crazy ordeal.

He knew that Tubbo could handle it though. He was far more patient than Tommy could ever be and get anything done with gracefulness instead of ragged yells and swears. With the support of the others; Fundy, Quackity and that other guy, Ranboo, Tubbo was sure to pull through any hardships and stand his ground in a battlefield.

Would he though?, a small, mournful voice in the back of his mind whispered. He swallowed, doubt slowly creeping up on him. No, he had to trust Tubbo and everyone who was on his side supporting him; he was nothing like Wilbur.

On the other hand, now, Dream had nothing to manipulate Tubbo with. If Tommy left, the problem with the discs would be temporarily solved and the threat of him losing his last canon life would be gone. Tubbo would be able to act more freely and that was the best result he could think of in his head. At least, he thought the puppeteer hadn't found any new strings to play with.

So the plan to leave was still on the table.

Reluctantly, Tommy stood up and dusted off his slowly-melting pants and slightly-ripped shirt. He would have to find a way to replace his old clothes after getting far, far away from Logsted; there was no way of knowing what kind of weather would await him in his little escapade. Hopefully not snow, he would die of hypothermia in five minutes if snow were to be the only thing for miles on end.