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"Let me out!"
Tommy's throat was raw and aching from his open-mouthed screaming, hot and scorching embers licking at his delicately soft insides, the walls of his trachea burning up, up, up. He felt as if his whole body was on fire, despite the fact that he hadn't actually touched the bubbling wall of lava. Yet.
"Please," He sobbed, dropping down to his knees in a shaking, quivering heap. Scarred legs thumped against rock-solid obsidian, the purple, shimmering block inevitably leaving deep bruises along pale skin.
Tommy paid it no mind as his body rocked forwards.
Stray droplets of lava almost brushed over crimson-flushed cheeks, leaving hot trials sinking into exposed flesh. The teen hiccupped and wailed, anguish and torment ripping through his body as he lurched.
"Please, please, please. Sam! Sam! Please, I need to get out!"
He couldn't stay there, locked away in a claustrophobia-inducing tiny box, with Dream's taunting words and whispers forever making their way inside of his cracking mind. Tommy would go insane. He'd quite literally lose his grip on reality - pushed over the edge to crumbling insanity, and there would be no coming back from it.
Tommy couldn't do it.
He couldn't.
He couldn't!
"Let me out, let me out!" A choking, gasping mantra rolled from cracked, bleeding lips.
"Phil! Phil, Phil..." Another mantra of his estranged father's familiar name. An utterly useless mantra, but something still vaguely comforting to the young teen.
Salty, dripping rivulets of tears streaked down a crestfallen expression, only falling harder as calloused hands began to wrap around Tommy's waist and pull him backwards – far back into the obsidian cell and away from the warmth oozing from the lava wall.
Tommy wanted to grip onto something, to dig his nails into the similarly crying obsidian and stop the sluggish movements altogether, but, again, he couldn't.
He couldn't resist the unfortunately cold embrace he found himself being edged into.
"Tommy," Dream sighed, carefully holding the thin boy close to his own chest. His dark eyes were gleaming beneath his smiling mask, the forest orbs full of superiority and a manipulative victory that he found himself clutching onto.
Finally, finally Dream had won. Sure, he was stuck within the prison too (though not for long – they were just waiting on Ranboo's unconscious compliance), but at least he had Tommy with him. He had the one person who had ruined everything from the start.
The one person, who had fought war after war against Dream, started each and every conflict and acted as if he was on top of the world. When in reality, it was Dream's server. Dream should be on top of the world. Not Tommy. Never Tommy.
"It's just a week, isn't it? That's not so long."
A week for Dream to completely break the blonde. To utterly ruin his already convulsing mind until he was just an empty shell of himself. Until the old Tommyinnit was no more, and instead, he was simply Dream's puppet.
At last, Dream could pull the strings again, similar to their shared time together in exile.
"And it might not even be a week. Sam might have the problem sorted out before then."
It didn't matter if it wasn't a full week in the end. Not really. Hell, just a couple of days would be enough time for Dream to control one nervous, forgetful enderman hybrid and have the boy break them out. They were already halfway there, and unsurprisingly, Sam hadn't noticed yet.
And in those few days? Tommy would be left a trembling, skittish wreck. He would be Dream's friend again and rely entirely on the masked man.
"At least we have time to bond now. Don't we? Didn't you miss that?"
There was quiet for a few moments, an uncomfortable silence bleeding over the conflicting pair and resting heavily on their shoulders (or at least, on Tommy's tense shoulders.)
"No."
Tommy's voice was rough and lathered with resentment as he spoke, his head shaking from side to side and greasy locks whipped against the side of his face.
"No," He repeated, another layer of venom and spite dripping from his tongue. "No. I hate you; I hate you. I hate you."
Tommy hated how, after everything, he still couldn't pull away from Dream. He hated the fact that their worlds seemed to repeatedly collide no matter how much Tommy protested. He especially hated that even now, he didn't know how to properly express his deep, deep resentment for the older man.
"I wish you'd just leave me alone. I wanted to move on. I wanted to get away from it all, Dream."
The Big Innit Hotel was meant to be something to take Tommy's mind away from everything, to help him move on from his crumbling family that had decided to blow up the only proper remembrance of his dead brother, and move on from the fact that his best friend was slowly slipping from between his fingers.
It was meant to be something new and crisp, something that Tommy could look upon with a smile and know that everything was going to be okay.
With Sam Nook at his side, it was meant to be a fresh start.
Tommy had just wanted that extra bit of closure from Dream – an end to the horrendous, gut-wrenching arc that Dream had put him through. He'd just wanted to close his eyes without seeing flashes of explosions and carnage, to sleep without recurring nightmares of an eerie and smiling mask, to breathe without a heavy pressure seemingly permanently resting over his chest.
And now, he was stuck again with his tormentor. His abuser. His manipulator. Dream.
Tommy's gaze, hollowed out and flashing with resentment, stared out towards the glistening wall of seeping lava. It was almost beckoning him closer with deceivingly comforting hands, urging Tommy to pull free from Dream's clutches and throw himself deep into the enveloping warmth without another thought. To lose his last life.
It was scarily tempting.
But somehow not tempting enough to get him to actually do it.
Tommy's eyes closed once more. He'd wait. He'd sit, keep up his armoured walls and make sure he didn't crack. Sam would be there for him soon. He just needed to be strong for himself and for everyone living outside of the walls of Pandora's Vault.
Tommy would be okay as long as he held firm. He was sure of it. (He had to be.)