#VERY IMPORTANT CHAR IS IN THIS IMAGE TOO SHE IS THE SOB REACT. do NOT forget cal ‘the killa’ s. corn

[aroacedavestrider]

let it be fucking known i was cruelly cyberbullied into this btw

Draft check

mason you cannot do this to me.

[general-mahamatra]

Why...

Focus: Tommy (Some Wilbur)

Genre: Dark, war, death

TW: BLOOD, DEATH, MURDER, BODY HORROR, GORE

Wordcount: 1329

Read it on AO3 here

Note: PLEASE MAKE SURE TO KEEP IN MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. THIS IS A REALLY DARK FIC AND IT’S VERY IMPORTANT YOU AVOID IT IF ANYTHING AROUND THE LISTED WARNINGS ARE ONE OF YOUR TRIGGERS! (If you have any more things you think I should tag this as, PLEASE let me know!)

This is also part of the AU Somnis Veritas that can be found on the blog @in-somnis-veritas. It is Act 2 and TECHNICALLY spoilers, so beware.

War is nothing but horrible, bloody, and destructive. Especially in a battle of extremists versus the kingdom.

Months... so many months of back and forth battles. Cheating from the rebels and the Rules of War from the royalty. A back and forth MISERY only because they went too far in the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

Uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional.

Tommy stood at the top of a hill, taking in his surroundings. A gentle breeze swept through, stirring the otherwise still nighttime air. It messed with his hair, occasionally tousling it and sending it into disarray. Over a year since it's been cut, his hair was more of a mess than it usually was. Not ratted or tangled, but unkempt for sure.

It was finally starting to cover his ears. Even with his undercut still being noticeably short, it was clear just how shaggy it had become. And by the Goddess, it needed to be taken care of.

But if you took one good look at the boy, you would find everything needed to be taken care of.

He was paler than usual. Heavy bags settled under his eyes, the blues and purples stark against the sickeningly white skin. They made his eyes appear sunken, gaze seemingly hollow to mirror the blank expression on his face.

Red spots and scabs dotted across the oily skin, covering his cheeks and temples.  A horrible break out; acne so clearly messed with and yet never taken care of.

The boy looked horrible.

Tommy shifted his hold on the sword, letting it hang at his side as he gazed down on the valley below him.

Bodies littered the ground. Corpses of men, women, and children all sprawled in the tall grass. The stench of blood and smoke was everywhere, encompassing the swathe of land. No matter where you went you were met by the coppery tang or the sting of smoke.

A small child staggered through the bodies, crying and wailing as they searched for their parents. They stumbled as they tried to stay upright, looking lost and alone.

"Mama?" The child called. "Daddy?"

They continued to wander, small burnt hands reaching out towards different bodies. Every time they found someone, they backed away and kept searching. Tears streamed down their face as they tried.

And then their eyes landed on Tommy.

The teenager made eye contact, expression deadpan as he watched the kid.

They had to at least be six.

Their eyes lit up, hope reigniting as they spotted someone who was alive. Rushed forward, panic driving them towards the blonde.

When they got closer, Tommy was able to truly see how they looked.

It was a young girl, hands and face covered in blood, some of it smeared on her cheeks from wiping tears away. None of it appeared to be hers...but…

Half of her head was missing hair, instead replaced by blisters and horrible, horrible burns. In fact, it was her entire left side. Skin melted and destroyed, bones exposed on her shoulder, her ear completely gone…

Tommy was horrified.

She reached out for him, grabbing his shirt. "Where's mama and daddy?" she pleaded, voice wavering. "Mama and daddy, where are they??"

Tommy pulled his arm away, the first hint of emotion finally showing. Terror.

The girl stumbled when her support was yanked away, eyes growing wide. She was quiet for a moment before wailing, "Where are they?"

The boy tightened his hold on the sword, continuing to watch the child. His hand shook with tension, knuckles white.

When he didn't answer, the girl started crying.

He couldn't take it.

So he swung.

With one clean slice, the body crumpled to the ground, blood splattering everywhere and completely drenching Tommy's clothes. The head detached. Tumbled down the hill, trailing the crimson liquid behind it.

He kept watching, panic starting to set in. Wide eyes; parted lips. His grip on the blade loosened as he continued to stare.

He didn't know what to do or what to say or how to react. The child was dead at his feet and there was blood on his sword. It dripped to the ground, soon followed by the blade.

His heart raced, hands shaking as he raised them, palms up. So much blood coated them. Too much blood. It was everywhere. Across his body, his clothes, in the grass.

Too much too much too much.

Slowly, Tommy covered his mouth, unable to read his gaze away from the corpse.

Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Why did I do that?

The boy dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his face and mixed with the blood. He couldn't look away. He couldn't look away.

A choked sob shook his body. Made him lean forward, hands now gripping his hair. He just killed a fucking child. A child. She just wanted her mom and dad… she just wanted her parents.

Why didn't I help her?

Tommy barely got a chance to move his head before he threw up. Bile mixed with saliva melded with the grass in the darkness. He could barely see it beyond the tears and his night blindness. And honestly? He was extremely thankful.

The sight must've been pathetic. A boy kneeling on the ground sobbing and vomiting.

He's supposed to be a leader. To be strong and powerful and bring them to victory… and he's just a fucking broken mess next to the dead body of a child.

Hands on the ground for support, Tommy hung his head. He felt disgusting. The tang of bile didn't leave his mouth and the tears kept coming. There was no end to the crying.

A hand on his shoulder made the boy lift his head. Through the bleariness, he managed to make out the form of a taller man. Horns protruded from his head and Tommy could barely make out faint yellow of flowers where one of the man's eyes should be.

Wilbur.

The older man helped Tommy to his feet, keeping a hand on the boy's arm to keep him balanced. They stood there for a few moments, heavy breathing the only thing between them.

Until Wilbur pulled the boy in, wrapping his arms around Tommy in a tight, comforting hug.

Tommy melted instantly, hands gripping the back of Wilbur's shirt as he buried his face against the man's shoulder. He shook, crying harder than he was before.

It was times like these he felt so small; where he was reminded of just how young he was.

The older began to rub circles on Tommy's back, trying to get him to relax. He said nothing, simply letting the blonde weep without judgement.

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as Tommy rode out the breakdown. They barely moved, only sitting on the ground after Wilbur coaxed the boy to let go.

Once they were sat down, Wilbur pulled him back into his embrace.

They rocked for a bit, the brunette gently running his hands through the boy's hair. It lasted for a while until Tommy finally spoke.

"I- I just… she-" A breath. "Wilbur I.. I killed a kid." He sounded so broken and distraught, his voice breaking with his stutters. He had pulled away from the hug to look at Wilbur with large, watery eyes.

Wilbur hushed the boy, now placing his hands on Tommy's arms. "I know." He pulled the teen back in, allowing him to rest against his shoulder. "I know. There's nothing you can do about it now."

There was a pause. A hesitation, almost, before Tommy asked a question

"How many did we kill?" He didn't look up at Wilbur this time. "How many kids…"

"Too many."

They watched the embers die out from the charred village, silence settling over the two. Regret gripped them both, the bloody meadow a heavy reminder of the atrocities they just committed.

Why did I bring them here… why did I let them?

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, only for them to shoot open. The image of the girl's decapitated body was all he could see when he closed his eyes. And he refused. Refused. To relive that moment.

“I can’t do this anymore, Wilbur,” he whispered.

He shouldn't have brought them. He shouldn't have brought the rebels.

He shouldn't have let this happen.