Chapter Text
Tommy is stuck in this godforsaken, glorified box, with Dream. Dream, who’s voice makes Tommy’s heart pound. Dream, who’s honeyed words slither, like writhing, red tendrils, into Tommy’s brain and turn it topsy-turvy. Dream, who has single-handedly caused Tommy so much trauma. Dream, who Tommy still feels guilty about running away from, sometimes.
“C’mon, Tommy,” Dream says, voice quiet, but not quite soft, like it used to be, back on that sandy shore that had ruined the sight of beaches for Tommy, “It’ll be just like old times.” He’s getting closer, he’s getting closer, why is he getting closer? Tommy backs up, into the wall. “It’ll be just like exile, Tommy.”
Tommy channels all of the panic, bubbling up in his chest, into rage. Shoving Dream away roughly, he screams, “No! Don’t you ever fucking mention exile to me again.”
”Oh, don’t be like this, Tommy. I missed you! Didn’t you miss me!” Dream pouts slightly and Tommy looks away, shoving down the instinctive guilt, in his stomach.
“Sam!” Tommy yells at the top of his lungs. His throat is getting scratchy. “Sam!” He calls again, “Help me!”
”He can’t hear you, Tommy,” Dream’s voice is filled with poorly concealed laughter.
”Shut the fuck up!” Tommy snaps, voice raspy.
”Just give up on it, Tommy. He can’t hear you. And, even if he could, why would he come to get you right away? You signed the waiver, didn’t you? You can be in here for up to a week!”
Tommy’s chest is heaving, as he desperately tries to suck in oxygen. “No. No no no no, I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You know I can’t! I can’t be in here with you!”
Dream grabs him by the shoulder and Tommy freezes, heart thundering in his ears. “It doesn’t matter, Tommy! It doesn’t matter, what you can, or can’t do! Nobody is coming for you.”
Out of pure terror, he calls for the one person, who he used to trust implicitly. “Phil!” He screams at the top of his lungs, tearing his arm out of Dream’s grip. Tears are rolling down his face and he tells himself that they’re tears of exertion and nothing else. ”Phil! Dad! Help me, please, please, please-“ He’s definitely hyperventilating now and, though he’s sure Dream thinks he’s sly, the man doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide a smile.
”Don’t you fucking come near me!” He orders, as Dream turns back around. “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t even act like you know I’m here!”
”Oh, Tommy, you don’t mean that,” Dream’s voice has a dangerous edge to it, “You miss our bonding just as much as I do, right?”
”No! No! I don’t!” Tommy argues desperately.
”I’ve changed, Tommy, you can give me a chance to prove it!” Dream says, with an encouraging smile. Well, if you could call a smile given, with dead eyes, ‘encouraging.’
”Like hell, you have,” Tommy spits.
”Tommy,” Dream says, with a sigh that makes Tommy flinch, on instinct, “Just give me a chance. I promise, I’ve changed.”
Tommy sticks his fingers in his ears and screams at the top of his lungs. He can see Dream’s mouth moving, so he yells, “Sorry! I don’t listen to little bitches!”
The displeasure on Dream’s face is obvious, even before he grabs Tommy’s hands and forcibly yanks them down to his sides. “You’re going to fucking hurt yourself like that,” he snaps, sounding worried. The concern in his face, however, looks different than the kind, understanding sympathy given to Tommy, by Sam, or Tubbo, or Captain Puffy.
”I don’t care,” Tommy glares, throat dry, as sandpaper.
”Just don’t do it again,” Dream glares right back.
Tommy is ashamed of how easy it is to make him break eye contact. “I won’t,” he whispers finally and Dream pats his arm.
”Good. I just don’t want you to get hurt, Toms,” Dream says, voice reminiscent of sweet sugar and honey, coating a disgusting pill.
”You’re lying,” Tommy says, voice wobbling.
”You can choose to believe that,” Dream shrugs and Tommy realizes, with a jolt, that the man is still touching him. Jerking out of his grasp, he turns a mistrustful glower towards the older man.
“Aren’t you hungry, Tommy?” Dream asks, fetching a potato from the chest where he stores them. Tommy shakes his head mutely. “Are you sure?” the man presses, an ugly smile still plastered onto his face.
”I don’t want it,” Tommy snaps. Truthfully, he is quite hungry. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. After this visit, he had been planning on getting ice cream, with Tubbo and Sam. It was supposed to have been dual celebration of both Tommy's continued recovery and the opening of his hotel.
He laughs bitterly to himself. He should have known that something would go wrong.
Neither he, or Dream, speak for a long time. Judging by the clock on the wall, Tommy had spent about three hours slumped on the floor, trying to control his breathing. When he speaks again, his voice is broken and raspy from all of the screaming he had done, “I hate you, you know?”
”I know." Dream shrugs and that's the end of the conversation.
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He's awoken, with a terrified jolt, to Dream's voice. "It's time to get up, Tommy," the man says and Tommy has to brush his hand against the crying obsidian, to remind himself that he isn't in Logstedshire.
Dream hands him a potato and Tommy finally gives in to the hunger that's making his stomach ache. They return to a stiff, uncomfortable sillence.
A while later, Tommy clears his throat. ”Do you...” Tommy doesn’t know why he even cares, “Do you feel bad about what you did to me? At all?” He twists his fingers together, as he speaks; an anxious habit he had picked up sometime between Pogtopia and Logstedshire.
”I was in the right, Tommy. You needed to have someone treat you the way you deserve. You needed someone to humble you,” Dream says, with the tone of someone speaking to a particularly dense child, "It was for your own good."
”I- I didn’t deserve any of it,” Tommy mumbles, half to himself and half to Dream, “That’s what Sam’s been telling me and Sam doesn’t lie.”
”Sam’s been telling you that, has he?” Dream chuckles slightly. Tommy nods silently. “And why is that, Tommy? Think about it. You’re paying him to be your friend, aren’t you?”
Tommy draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face between them. “Shut up,” he groans, “You’re in my head often enough. I don’t need you in real life too.”
”In your head?” Dream asks, sounding curious and mildly amused, “What do you mean by that?”
”I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tommy mumbles, drumming his fingers on the hard floor, in an effort to keep himself grounded.
”No, go on, Tommy,” Dream offers, a smile in his voice, “You can trust me to keep a secret.”
Tommy shudders, “Shut up. I don’t want to talk to you.”
”Now, is that any way to talk to a good friend?” Dream chastises and Tommy hears him walking towards him. He doesn’t have to look up, to know that the man is standing over him.
"Stop it," Tommy whines, "You're not my friend, you're not my friend."
"But, Tommy! Don't you prefer it, when I'm your friend? It's easier for everyone involved, isn't it?" Dream sounds as if he's trying to teach a kindergartner that two plus two makes four.
Tommy knows how Dream works. You'll answer 'four' and he'll inform you that you were supposed to subtract three from four, without being instructed to do so. He acts as if Tommy should be able to read his thoughts.
"You- you don't have power over me anymore," Tommy grinds out.
"Don't I?" Dream smirks, "It's obvious that you haven't learned a thing. Maybe you need a few more lessons."
"You can't control me," Tommy looks up at the man looming over him.
"That's an interesting theory," Dream shrugs, "If that's the case, than you shouldn't mind if I say: Put your armor in the hole, Tommy."
Something in Tommy's brain switches off at the words. He's hyperventilating again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleads. He's in Logstedshire again. He's sure that he is. He can smell the salty, ocean breeze. He can hear the crash of the waves against the rocks. He wakes up, wading in that water, sometimes.
"Sorry doesn't cut it," Dream's voice says and Tommy honestly can't tell whether or not he's imagining it.
"Please don't hurt me," Tommy begs, "I don't have any armor left to give you."
Dream drags him to his feet, by his shirt collar, a sneer on his face. "You really are pathetic. I wasn't sure whether, or not, that would work. Snap out of it," Dream orders, shoving Tommy against a hard wall, not caring, when the teen's head hits it.
Tommy feels obsidian scrape across his hand and he gradually recalls his true location. "I'm sorry," Tommy whispers, "I- I don't know what-"
Dream scoffs, opening his mouth to speak, when the sound of lava draining makes them both freeze. Tommy scrambles to check his communicator, with shaking hands.
Sammie: I'm on my way, kiddo.
Tommy can barely press the right letters, with his trembling fingers, but manages to get a general feeling of thankful relief across. Before the lava can drain completely, Dream grabs him by the wrist. "Don't ever forget which one of us is in charge, again."
Tommy stares at him, with wide, scared eyes. "I-" his voice dies, in his throat. The pressure on his wrist increases. "I won't," he finally says quietly and Dream releases him, with a nod. The teen jumps, when the smirking man ruffles his hair approvingly.
When the lava finally recedes, Sam himself comes across on the bridge. Tommy feels almost sick, with relief. "Tommy," Sam says, rushing over to the teen's side, "I'm so, so sorry, Toms."
"'s ok," Tommy says, feeling completely exhausted, "How long's it been?"
"Nearly two days," Sam frowns, "I'm so sorry, Tommy."
"Don't worry, he's been good for me," Dream smirks and Tommy flinches, pressing close to Sam.
Sam wraps an arm around Tommy and turns a glare on Dream, "I'll deal with you later."
"I'm terrified," Dream deadpans, "No, really! I am!"
Sam guides Tommy onto the bridge, where the teen stares blankly back at Dream. "Bye, Tommy! I had a lot of fun, with you!"
Tommy shivers, pressing himself into Sam's side, in a desperate attempt to find some form of safety. Sam rubs his arm comfortingly, as they travel back to the other side of the lava.
Once the lava covers everything, they make their way out of the prison, in silence. Tommy is attached to the hybrid's side through the whole journey. The moment they make it out into daylight, Sam turns and engulfs Tommy, in a protective, reassuring hug. That's about all it takes for Tommy to break down, into heart-wrenching sobs. "It was so horrible," he says between pained cries.
"I know," Sam whispers, "And I'm so sorry, but you're safe now."
Tommy shakes his head against Sam's chest. "How do you know that?" he chokes.
"Because you're not going to come anywhere near this place again and that bastard is never leaving," Sam says firmly.
"I want to go home," Tommy begs, "Please, just let me go home."
"Alright," Sam says, keeping his voice soft and gentle, "Let's go home, Tommy. I'll be with you. You're free now."
Privately, Tommy thinks that he may be physically free from the confines of the prison, but he will never be truly free from Dream. Pushing aside those thoughts, however, he tries his best to allow himself to feel safe.
Sam's kind, steady presence does a lot to help the teen, in this endeavor. Tommy may not be free, but he is out, in the open air and safe and that is enough for now.