Chapter Text
Tommy was cold.
At first glance, you might think it’s obvious, as the wind was harsh with the winter coming, and he had almost nothing to defend himself from the cold wind except his tent and his ragged and ripped clothes. But you see, Tommy was always cold. No matter where he was, he felt some kind of cold, like he didn’t belong here, or something isn’t quite right.
The dirt shack he made for himself, was close to warm. It wasn’t completely cold, as the soft ground made him feel safe, and it was welcoming. L’manberg was close to warm. It had walls, and people he led to battle and protected with his life, friends he had played with and fought with, a family he was loyal to. His first home was close to warm. It had his family, his room, his garden. It had his precious flowers nearby, and it was safe and welcoming.
But he left his dirt house long ago. L’manberg lost its walls long ago. And the family home was long abandoned. And now, he had nothing. He reminisced at the lost memories of his garden, the way it was so safe, safer then anything, warmer then anything. He thought of his flowers, how he always wanted to enjoy them, but never could, as it was inappropriate. He remembered the bees that came to the garden, how he felt so warm with them around.
He looked around. It was so cold here, so very cold. The ground was tainted with gunpowder, dead from the salt and hard from the wind. His current wooden home was gone, although it never really felt quite warm as well. He stared at the faraway woods. The sun was setting, and mobs might come out soon. Suddenly, after months of torment, he felt hope flatter in his chest. He thought of a garden. He thought of the bees. He thought of wooden walls. He thought of soft ground. And with a bloody smile, sore legs, and the gray in his eyes getting a small shade of blue once more, he got up, and left logstedshir far into the thick woods, running away.
He ran, and ran, and didn’t stop. He ran through the woods, through the plains and the mountains, avoiding snow and staying close to the ground. His back hurt more then usual, and his legs were full of cuts, and his arm lost feeling, but he knew he couldn’t stop, as dream might come and get him. He said he wouldn’t come back, but dream told lies. Dream was a lying manipulative bitch, and his ‘broken trust’ can explode with his items for all he cares. He had his seeds in that hidden chest, and for some reason, he felt like they were more important then the iron or anything else in there for that matter. It was stupid, they were just seeds, but lately, just seeds didn’t feel so stupid anymore. For some reason, a lot of things didn’t feel so insignificant anymore. When he thought of a garden, flowers felt important again. Muddy ground wasn’t dirty in his mind anymore. He felt a longing for the sky, so blue and calm.
He didn’t have his communicator with him, as it was taken from him at logstedshir. he didn’t know that he was now thousands of blocks away, and he didn’t know his communicator glitched and lost his signal, sending the message ‘TommyInnit died’ as a result. He didn’t know about his funeral at l’manberg, and he didn’t know of the tears of his best friend.
And he didn’t feel the need to know, because tired and sore, he smiled with glee, looking happily at the most beautiful flower field he ever saw. He had already collected seeds from villages and fields, preparing for the garden he would make. He had already started mining, making tools for it all. He ran at the flowers, and with not another thought he followed his instincts. You, would have looked at him and be disgusted or weirded out. But you, nor anyone else, was there. It was just him, and that was enough. Nothing is inappropriate when you are alone. At least, that was Tommy’s train of thought as he moved to another flower. And another, and another. When he finally felt full, he laid on the ground, more satisfied then he had been in a while.
When he started to enjoy his flowers again in his travels, It was a bit embarrassing. He felt ashamed, and nervous, as he was doing something bad and someone was looking. But as time went on, it became more natural to him, to a point where he did it without question. After a minute of laying on the ground, he got up, smiling with excitement. He started digging in the nearby hill, making a small hole. He made a chest and put all his belongings in it. Next, he put his crafting table next to it, and then his furnace. At the other side of the room, he put a bed he stole from a village, (these guys were assholes anyway) and a single torch on the wall. After days (weeks? Months? He didn’t know anymore) of running and traveling, only dreaming of his new garden, he wanted to get started right away. Unfortunately, he was sore and tired from the travels, and was in real need of sleep. Sighing, he laid on the bed, and fell asleep immediately, falling into a dreamless sleep.
***
It had been two weeks since he settled in the flower field. The field was located in a large forest biome, spread out to hundreds of blocks wide, and filled with wildlife. Tommy thought nobody ever been here before, because there were many different kinds of animals living there together, And they were never fearful of him. they even seemed pretty fond of him for some unknown reason. Not only them as well. Mobs stopped attacking him, sometimes even greeting him in some sort of nod, wave, or bow. It was really strange, and after the first 10 or so times it happened, he stopped thinking he was imagining it, and just beginning to accept it instead.
The day after he settled in, he began working on his garden. The soil was perfect for gardening, and the seeds were happy to settle here. The field had a small pond with sweet water next to it, so getting water to shower and watering the plants was easy to do. It’s been a week since he found the nearby beehive, and moved it to the garden. The bees were acting the most strange out of the mobs, sometimes following him around to his dirt house or the pond nearby, or to… well, everywhere apparently. At first, it was one or two, then five, then ten, then… was it strange if there were five hives in his garden, two outside the house and one inside? It seemed that anywhere he went at least five bees followed in minimum. Even when he SLEPT they were with him, Buzzing on his back or head. At first, he was kind of weirded out, but after some time he began feeling not only completely ok with it but also a bit glad for it. The buzzing calmed him, and he felt like he never slept better. He felt responsible for them, a similar feeling to the one he had in l’manberg when he led them into battle.
He also stopped eating meat, the flowers and honey filling him and makings I’m content. He developed a strong need for anything sweet, and the meat just wasn’t it. His vegetables, on the other hand, were very sweet. One day, he did a small experiment. He took him cocoa beans from the cocoa tree he planted, then crushed and mixed them with some honey, nectar, and milk, making the sweetest and most addicting mixture in the world. He called it cokelet, named after the addicting drug. To not get too addicted to the unhealthy mixture, he decided to make it only on weekends.
Most of his injuries were now healed or wrapped up in fabric or wool, but his back was hurting more and more every day, as well as his head and teeth, which was one of the reasons he decided on making cokelet once a week. He had a terrible headache every day, and his back was killing him the more days went by.
It’s been almost a month and a half, winter now in motion. The air was colder, but he never felt warmer in his life. His bees were buzzing in worry in his room, feeding him honey and sometimes giving him flowers picked out from the garden, as he laid in bed, a strong fever and headache rushing in his body. He smiled as they buzzed around his bed, gently pouring honey in his mouth when he was too weak to drink it himself. He heard mobs at night, snooping from his door, making worried noises, at he thinks that way. He must be really sick, thinking the mobs make worried noises. When he thinks about it, the bees say stuff sometimes as well. Buzzing that sound a lot like ‘prince’ or ‘protect’ and sometimes even ’tommy’. He must be delirious. He was like that for a long time he thought. When was the last time he got out of bed? must be more then two weeks or so.
At some point he felt himself falling asleep, having the strangest of dreams, not nightmares of dream or Wilbur like usual, more like of the sky, and his garden. Some were of honey, some were of his beloved bees, and some were of this strange woman he never met in his life, but still felt so familiar. She had silver hair and glossy wings. She wore a bright yellow dress, and always did the same thing. She offered him something, but she was always too tall to reach. Again and again, before he could even see what was offered, the dream dissolved into another one. Until after the longest time, he finally reached her hands, but instead of letting him take the offered item, she raised her hands, trying to put it on his head. He froze, as his head became heavy with the item on his head. He looked at the woman again, as her wings dissolved in the dream, then her after them. He looked around for a minute, searching for her before he woke up from his back screaming in pain, as well as himself.
It was a world of pain, blood, and screaming. He was too weak to get up and too full of pain to move. The world was spinning, and all noise was numb. His eyes were blurry but clear as well, and he felt everything around him but barely knew where he was anymore. The pain was horrible, stabbing, like his skin was tearing itself apart from the inside out. His head had a similar feeling, but covered smaller places and was less painful. Every time he felt like he was losing consciousness he was dealt with more horrendous pain that kept him awake.
It felt like forever, when the pain died down. His voice was sore, hoarse from the constant screaming. Every time he moved his back he felt like it was- wait. Moving his back? He opened his eyes and immediately met with bright daylight and black and yellow buzz. He slowly got to a sitting position, still shivering from the pain. He tried moving his back again now that it hurt less. Weirdly enough, it moved. Or at least, something else attached to it did. He reached to it with shaking hands, finding something soft and a little wet. When he looked at what it was, he saw it was blood. A bit dizzy, he got up a bit too quickly and tripped. He would have fallen if it wasn’t for an Enderman of all things grabbing him. He didn’t even want to question it, as he asked the Enderman to carry him to the pond to wash up and look at his back. Without question, he nodded, and picked Tommy up. He barely managed to focus, as his bees followed them, buzzing around his reassuring words. they got to the pond, and he slipped inside. Sighing with relief, the water washed all the heavy blood off the things on his back, and he moved then with relief, relaxing them.
Finally, he walked back to the shore of the pond, now looking at the Enderman. He began to ask for help to walk again, before remembering Enderman were allergic to water. He nodded to the Enderman, and said “thanks.” With his horse voice. The Enderman nodded, before disappearing into purple particles. He crawled to a clearer side of the pond, not as dirty with his blood, to see what’s on his back.
When he finally found a spot a bit cleaner, he froze. He looked at every angle, touching them, staring at them, even wondering if it’s all a dream. But it all made sense. The back pain, the headaches, the way he now realized he somehow slept through all of winter. The antennas on his head, the sharp teeth, the black stripes in his blond hair. And most importantly, the long slick wet and glossy wings on his back, moving rapidly. They were almost see-through, he thought, as he touched the dripping wings. He was in awe, feeling the soft black fur on them.
No wonder he was in so much pain. He was a bee hybrid! But why now then? He was sixteen, hybrid sprouts are at least at the age of ten, and even that’s late. ‘Nectar, nectar, you never drank your honey, flowers, nectar’ his bees buzzed around him. Oops. He didn’t realize he said that out loud. But that explains a few things, doesn’t it? He stopped enjoying his flowers at the age of five if he remembered correctly. He left his garden at the age of ten when he ran away with Wilbur to go on adventures. And now that he was back to it, his hybrid traits awoke again. He stopped eating meat, instead of eating sweets. His teeth weren’t hurting from the amounts of sugar, they were growing venom buds! Now that he thinks about it, they feel sharper.
He buzzed in excitement with his thoughts, then Immediately put his hands on his mouth in surprise. Did he… just buzz? Like actually buzz. It wasn’t from his other bee, no, that was much stronger and he also felt it. It was a loud rumble in his chest and neck, somehow using his own voice to make it, so it was unlike any other bee buzz. It felt natural, like he’d done it a million times, yet he had never done it in his life. Slowly but surely, he started to buzz again, a bit tense this time. The bees around him buzzed with him in excitement, reassuring him. Now more confident, he buzzed louder, and louder, until he felt like the whole forest could hear him.
He buzzed happily, now realizing why it felt so natural. It was warm. The loud vibrations in his chest were WARM, as well as the wings, and antennas, and his teeth, and his newly colored hair, and his bees around him reassuring him and buzzing with excitement, and the mobs hiding in the trees staring at him, and the trees around him, and the soft ground below him, and the sweet smell that followed him now. It was all warm, and he never felt happier in his life. His buzz was laughter, and his smile was wide. He laughed with glee because he wasn’t only free, but he was also himself. The sky was blue, the pond was sparkling and reflecting the bright color, and his eyes were both.