Chapter Text
“I didn’t think you’d still call me that.” Dream’s voice is hoarse, ragged and tinted with exhaustion, but he recognises it for the first time in a long time. “It’s been a while.”
Tommy shrugs, awkward, and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I thought I’d break the ice a little,” he says, “you were having a panic attack, you should be thanking me, not critiquing my nicknaming skills. Fuck you.”
Dream laughs, and then, unable to believe the situation, sobs, and begins to push himself to his feet. He instantly stops when Tommy darts back a few steps; Jesus, the kid is skittish, but Dream can’t blame him. Between them hangs a lifetime worth of history in four short years - a revolution, a war, an exile, a finale. It feels impossible to breach the gap between them.
Which, of course, only raises the question as to why Tommy is here.
Which, of course, only raises the suspicion that maybe this is just another hallucination. Dream sinks back down to the ground, wary, muscles screaming in protest, but it’s worth it when Tommy seems pacified. “It’s a stupid name,” Dream says, half hesitant. He doesn’t actually want to insult Tommy; even banter like this feels awkward.
“You’re stupid.” With uncertainty, Tommy crouches in front of him, far enough away that Dream can’t pull any tricks, and close enough that it’s not uncomfortable. “You’re a pretty stupid man, Dream, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not recently.” Dream regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth; wincing, he changes the subject. “Not that I’m actually stupid, obviously. I’m actually incredibly clever.”
But the feigned arrogance doesn’t work - the amusement slides off Tommy’s face, and he chews on his bottom lip. “Right. I forgot. It’s been a while since you’ve had visitors.”
“That’s-” Mean, Dream goes to say, but the word dies on his tongue. It’s true, he thinks instead. He tries to play it off instead. “I mean, it’s true. I don’t think I’ve been in much state to have visitors in the past few…”
Months? Days? Weeks? Time doesn’t exist in the prison, and even less so in his cottage. Time passes in the blink of an eye, and drags by like eternity in the same span. He’s never been a good judge on time, and, seeing the look on his face, Tommy snorts mirthlessly, scratching his neck.
“It’s been a year,” he tells Dream, and Dream sucks in a breath, sharp, stunned, “and it’s been a hell of a year, let me tell you that.”
He pauses, like he’s searching for words, or maybe he’s just giving Dream the time he needs to process. And time he needs — though he fears he’s had too much already. A whole year had passed while he’d been stumbling through each bleary day delusional and blind, with no idea it had been happening. How many times has he had visitors and been completely out of it? Had he even had any visitors, or had they been hallucinations too?
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m even here.” Tommy’s voice broke through his thought, gruff, nervous. Dream flips his gaze back to the kid, who looks a lot more tired than he remembers. He’s got new scars on his face, dark ones, almost black, and he’s wearing protective gear — some sort of hazmat suit, he thinks with some surprise.
He swallows. “...Yeah,” he replies hesitantly, “I am.”
“Basically, the world’s gone to proper shit.” Tommy laughs roughly, swipes at his cheek, which has started bleeding from a nasty gash. “The world is fucked, Dream.”
“Isn’t it always?” Is Dream’s response through cracked lips, and Tommy flashes him a startled smirk, unsure at the camaraderie.
“This is your world we’re speaking about, don’t forget. I blame you.”
A myriad of memories flicker through his mind; a red egg he ignored for too long, a hungry look on Bad’s face, a lingering sense of doom he’d felt every time he’d looked out over the lands. Yes, he knows he’s at least partially to blame for this. If he’d been more responsible, if he’d actually stopped to take care of the land, if he’d been less focused on disks…
“The Egg is gone, though,” Tommy says, “we had to- We lost-” He swallows, gnawing on his lip and getting to his feet again, beginning to pace. “We lost Karl to the Egg. He… He said to tell you he’s sorry. That you’ll see him again.”
Something like grief carves a home for itself in Dream’s chest, and for the first time in a long time, he allows it to stay. It clogs his throat, spreading its spores through his veins and limbs until it almost completely overtakes him. Karl. Karl. “He’s- He’s dead?”
“Not- dead. With the Egg, I think. Or… he took it away somewhere.” Tommy frowns. “He’s a time traveller. Did you know that?”
For a second, Dream can picture Karl’s smile, cryptic and warm like the summer’s day, in the back of his mind. “I think he tells me later on. In the future,” he says, words heavy. “I think we talk.”
Tommy doesn’t ask him to elaborate - Dream doesn’t think he can. It’s more of a gut feeling than anything else. But the grief in his chest recedes enough to allow him to breathe, to process, and Dream promises that one day he’ll talk to Karl again. They’ll meet each other again, come rain or shine. They have to. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.
“Is everyone else okay?” He asks, desperately hoping for some positive news.
He gets it. “I mean, we could all really do with some therapy, but I feel like that’s a given.” When Dream snorts in agreement, Tommy presses on. “Yeah. We’re surviving. It’s been a hell of a fucking year, but we’re… alive. I pulled us all through, hah. Wilbur calls it my ‘plot armour’, which I didn’t really understand, but he said you’d think that was funny to hear.”
Dream has changed. He knows this because the words ‘plot armour’ don’t make him stiffen up in defensiveness, and don’t remind him of heroes and villains and Theseus. “He’s wrong,” he says, firmly, “you don’t have plot armour. You’re just… lucky.”
Tommy meets his eyes. There’s something approving lurking there. “Is that what you thought when you were chucked in here to begin with?” He asks.
“I don’t know what I thought back then. It’s all… Blurry. I guess a year is a long time.”
“A year is a long time.” Tommy echoes, pausing in his pacing and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, before taking a breath. “Look. I’ll cut to the chase, or whatever. I’m not here to forgive you. I don’t think I can.”
Dream feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but doesn’t speak. He sits exactly where he is, not daring to interrupt, not daring to move.
“But-” Tommy lets out a breath, short, sharp. “Look, you did a lot of bad things. Those things I can’t forgive you for. But I don’t want you rotting in a prison here either.”
Hope; a flickering candle reignited. His breath hitches.
“Cause- Cause I’ve had a lot of time to think, Dream.” Tommy is rambling now; a sure sign of nerves, but it seems to do him good, to finally confront his problems and problem, in the form of Dream. “About everything. And you… What you did to me, during exile and after, what you made me and Tubbo go through- That was so, so fucked up.” His hand fists in his hair; with a frustrated noise, he releases it, turning to face Dream properly with a frown. “But you don’t deserve to suffer in here. It’s not going to help anything. It’s not going to solve any of my problems, it’s not going to solve any of yours, clearly. It’s… just more suffering, in the end.”
And hasn’t the whole server devolved into nothing but suffering? Dream can’t remember the last time they’ve had peace without suffering, had anything without suffering - it’s been a constant in their lives for so long now. It’s become a cycle, neverending, ceaseless, causing conflict after conflict and trauma after trauma. He’s not innocent; he’d been one of the biggest cogs in the machine.
But a cog can be replaced in the machine, and from the sounds of it, even with him gone, there’s still been suffering. The problem had been highlighted by him, but it hadn’t disappeared with him. Dream holds his breath, hardly daring to believe what he’s hearing.
“So yeah,” Tommy says, laughing nervously, “fuck, man, is it just be, or are you making things really awkward?”
“You’re the one monologuing,” Dream points out, voice unsure, hopeful, “you said you were going to cut to the chase about five minutes ago.”
“You’re such a dickhead!” Tommy complains, a whine in his voice - just like old times, Dream thinks, but there’s still an age and wariness in the kid’s eyes that signals not old times, but new times, maybe, a new future. “I’m trying to be all wise and heroic, and you’re ruining it!”
It’s almost funny. Dream almost laughs. “You’ve never been very good at being the hero,” he says, and maybe it’s the rasp of gratitude in his voice that gives Tommy pause and makes him consider him with a new light.
“You,” he says, “Were very good at playing the villain. Too good.”
And they’ve reached something monumental. Not forgiveness - Dream knows forgiveness might not ever come. ‘Forgive and forget’ can’t be applied in every circumstance, and this may as well be one of them. The things he’d put Tommy through had been unforgivable, he knows this. So it’s not forgiveness he reaches with Tommy. It’s understanding; a mutual, tired understanding that things are going to change, for the better.
Working against each other, they’d been formidable. Working with each other, with distance, with time, they might just bring change.
This chapter in Dream’s life had started with TommyInnit staring him down on obsidian floors he’d built; his new chapter starts with Tommy extending a hand to help him up. Dream takes it, hesitantly, and stumbles to his feet. Tommy moves back from him instantly, and Dream represses the urge to cry at the first human touch he’s had in nearly a year, but they both take a breath and they both deal.
“You want some… I dunno, time alone, before we leave?” Tommy asks.
Dream snorts. “I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”
Tommy grins. “Good answer, dickhead,” he says, “get into the respawn point.”
This chapter of his life had started with lava. His new chapter starts with water, and a brusque nod of encouragement from Tommy. It would be symbolic, he thinks as the world goes dark, if he’d been living in a story.
But this is his life, real life, and so he wakes up on the other side with Tommy near him, and Dream has never felt more alive.
Leaving the prison feels like a fever dream - he doesn’t remember coming in, and Dream doesn’t know whether to try and take in every detail of the place that he can, or whether he should avoid looking at any of it. He settles for doing a mixture of both, and it isn’t long before he begins to see things he hadn’t been certain he’d ever see for real again. The Nether. A desk, where he presumes Sam had worked before the Egg incident.
Speckled sunlight, scattering over the entrance to the prison when they get there. Dream stares at it, stunned, speechless, and a lump forms in his throat.
“How’s it feel?” Tommy says from somewhere behind him.
Dream forces out the words. “Different than I expected.”
“That’s so fucking vague,” Tommy mutters, but there’s nothing harsh in his voice. He understands.
It’s different because the server is different. It’s covered in dead bloodvines that leech red onto the ground and the buildings are half destroyed and there’s an odd, heavy air in the wind, like something has changed, like something - someone - has died. It’s different because he’s different: he doesn’t feel like he used to. He doesn’t feel good; he hasn’t healed, he hasn’t been redeemed, he hasn’t come close. But his head is heavier and it feels like he’s seeing the server for the first time, and in his mind, he reaches out to it, apologises. The server hums under his skin, exhausted, wounded, delighted to hear from its admin again.
And it’s then that Dream turns to Tommy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything I did to you and to Tubbo and- to everyone, really.”
Tommy pauses, arches an eyebrow, lets Dream continue in his awkward little unprompted speech.
“I really, really fucked you over. You in particular. I-” He blows out a breath, nervous. “I never should have manipulated you. Never should have tried to force you to be the hero. And I’m sorry.”
The silence hangs for a long, long moment, and Dream wants the ground to open up and swallow him while Tommy scrutinises him. “You’re a really shit apologiser,” Tommy tells him, “and I’m not going to say that it’s fine, or whatever, or I forgive you, but… thanks. For apologising. It’s nice to finally hear. It sounds like you mean it.”
Dream surprises himself with another truth. “I do,” he says, and then hesitates. “Is there… any way I can apologise to the others, too?”
Tommy’s eyebrows shoot high. “Are you fucking kidding me? There’s no escaping them. Half of them are in the Community House right now. I was gonna take you there, if you’re fine with it.”
“It’s- still standing?”
“Bad rebuilt it, after his whole… Insane Egg Arc that he went through.” Tommy wrinkles his nose. “That stupid fuckin’ building always stays standing one way or another. It’s the oldest thing on this server. It’s crazy.”
Warmth builds in Dream’s chest, something like joy. “Crazy,” he agrees, and Tommy exhales a short bark of laughter, “yeah. I’m fine with going there. I’d- I’d like to see it again.”
Tommy bounces ahead of him, the sun slowly beginning to sink over the hills far in the distance. “Come on then, big man,” he hollers, “let’s get going before it gets dark.”
Dream lets out a breath, and turns to face the prison portal. It shimmers purple at him, in goodbye, in good riddance, in good luck. It feels like the start of something new.
“Coming,” he calls back, slowly beginning to follow Tommy towards the setting sun, and finally, he thinks he’s going home.