Work Text:
This is it.
What may be Tommy's final stand.
What may be his last chance at protecting L'Manburg.
Well, maybe not for good. Absolute peace is unobtainable, anyways. That's something he learned far too young.
If he wins this duel, Dream will be gone forever. He won't be able to hurt anyone else.
(He hardly considers this place a home anymore.
He's lost his love of the grass, the crumbling buildings that choke on bloody vines, the flooding crater. It's not for him.
This is for those he cares about; or maybe those who don't care about him anymore. With the way Tubbo's eyes are trained on him from up on that ridge, he's not sure that the latter is true. At least, he hopes as much.)
The hills on either side of the combatants are alive, the residents of the SMP crowded together to watch. This is the battle that will determine the future of every person here. They all know this.
Among them are old friends, acquaintances, and enemies. The boy disregards them. In the end, this comes down to him and Dream. The grip on the hilt of his netherite sword tightens.
There's a large crack that runs lengthwise along Dream's mask, revealing a grim smile as well as his newfound mortality. The key to his invulnerability is gone. Blood on the floor and walls of George's home says as much.
(The man never asked to be Dream's link to the mortal realm, his Achilles heel, so to speak; but he was still complicit in his wrongdoings. And even if he were truly innocent, the ends justify the means. There was no way around his murder.
But there's no use dwelling on insignificancies. Considering what he must do next, George's death is the furthest thing from Tommy's mind.)
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Dream tuts as he takes a step forward, palms up, as a casual greeting. An (albeit unsteady) air of confidence still radiates from him. "Don't you remember what fun we had together, what good friends we were?"
Tommy's lips press tightly together. His eyes narrow. "I can't wait to make you shut up for good."
That irritating smile flickers behind Dream's mask for a moment. But only for a moment. "You used to be so fun."
"And you haven't changed a damn bit."
At that, Dream makes the first move. He reaches into his sash, smashes a crimson-filled bottle at his feet, and charges, axe raised.
Tommy lowers himself and steps aside to dodge, praying that his training with Technoblade is enough.
Their blades meet again as Dream whirls back and swings. Tommy leans through it, knowing that he cannot contest him in strength, with or without a potion.
He returns the attack with a sharp thrust forward, which is repelled quickly. The axe is brought forward with the momentum of the parry, grazing Tommy's cheek. He slices forward in retaliation, nearly taking off Dream's arm.
There are no playful quips. No small talk as they clash, and duck, and weave out of the way of each other's weapons. This is a true fight for their lives.
Though, they're beginning to tire. Tommy's own sides ache, adrenaline causing his arms to tremble and his mind to race. From the way Dream's movements begin to slow, he can assume that he's faring about as well with his newfound vulnerability.
Tommy grits his teeth and dodges another swing, taking a stab at the other's hands. Dream, too slow to realize, fumbles and drops the axe. He's forced back with another swing.
Dream unsheathes his sword. They meet at the middle of the valley and-
Tubbo lets out a bloodcurdling cry as the fallen god drives it directly into Tommy's gut.
"You were never one to win a duel, Tommyinnit." Even curled in on himself, he can hear the smile in Dream's voice.
The blade twists agonizingly, and he lets out a pained noise, dropping his sword. He can hardly register Tubbo's anguished shouts.
He can't die like this, he won't. Not after everything. He refuses to let Dream go on with the satisfaction of taking all three of his lives. He refuses to let Dream get his filthy hands on L'manburg ever again.
Tommy collapses forward, almost unable to handle the medley of pain and the thousands of thoughts and feelings from something so far buried, yet entirely innate. A well left untapped for years and years. The shock freezing his body melts away.
He grips Dream's arms, and the air grows hot.
Apparently, that's the last thing Dream expects. He jolts back, but the boy's hold remains firm.
"Well, Dream," Tommy wheezes as he grapples the other. He shoves all of his weight forward, and the sword pierces further through his stomach. "I don't think we're parting ways just yet."
The world seems to twist under his feet, but he doesn't yield. "Maybe it's time you see how fucking bright I can burn out."
(He only barely feels the pain, now, a newer feeling beginning to spread from the wound. He smells smoke.)
Dream's sash burns where Tommy now grips it. The potions attached to the cloth all clatter behind the two as Tommy spins them both away, entirely off-balance. Residual smoke compresses into glowing wands held together by pure heat, that trail around them.
At this turn of events, Dreams's face goes white behind the mask. Yellow light bathes him as he begins to struggle. His hands leave the sword hilt as he makes a frantic attempt to push the boy away. The skin on his palms hisses where he makes contact.
But Tommy doesn't feel the sword in his gut anymore. Smoke rushes from his mouth, his nose, the tips of his fingers. But he doesn't choke, doesn't splutter. He only gives a satisfied smirk as he holds Dream closer, refusing to let him find his balance. "Didn't expect things to end this way, did you?"
"LET ME GO." Dream's voice is shrill.
"Not a chance, big man." The sword falls to the dirt as the flesh it was anchored to dissolves into ash. Still, coils of smoke pin Dream to the burning boy as they dance together like a puttering candle flame. "Did you forget how these duels are meant to go?"
"I AM-"
"Someone."
"-Y-YOU CAN'T-"
"Has." (His voice cracks, just a little.)
"-DON'T YOU-"
"-To die."
There's a blinding flash that compresses down into a mere glint, before a world-shattering BOOM rocks the ground. The grass lays flat against the dirt and a blast of heat radiates from where the two stood.
Those who could still bear to look on dive for cover as a plume of infernal flame rockets into the sky, twisting as though it were a dragon made of hellfire. The dale is scorched as snakelike patterns of flame etch up the opposing hills.
When the terrible display finally burns itself out, and the flames recede into the barest of embers, the blackened earth at the bottom of the gulley is leveled. A pocket of wasteland, all signs of life erased completely.
Theseus may have fallen to his doom, cast into the water from far, far above.
But, oh, what a twist this is.