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“Alright, Dream,” tommy started, his pickaxe raised high on his outstretched arm, ensuring Dream couldn’t maneuver his way out of the situation. “Put everything in the hole.”
Dream, with one hand held up above his head (the other gripping the base of his enchanted axe, which draped over the back of both of his shoulders), leaned in closer. The pickaxe was almost up against his chest now. “Tommy, you-“
“Now, Dream,” the boy reiterated, pushing the tip of the weapon right up against Dream’s netherite chestplate, a harsh clank! sounding throughout the room. His posture seemed to stiffen at that, almost beginning to seem somewhat frightened, like he knew he had no choice but to obey.
And that he did.
“Alright, okay..”
He started with the axe, the heavy weapon slipping right off of his broad shoulders and hitting the bottom of the hole with a loud thud. It made him recoil, just a little, the sound of something he’d carried with him almost always being dropped so carelessly. Next came his chestplate, which ultimately resulted in the bag slung across his chest to come off with it, as well. It was a bit of a struggle to get the material off, but truth be told, he hoped it took even longer. multiple pairs of eyes were burning into his masked face like flames, rich with fury and revenge. He wanted to prolong the feeling of meeting any of those eyes again.
Once his armour and bag had dropped into the hole between them, he straightened his back, his hands returning to the position he had held them in when they were above his head. dream went to speak, he’d even gotten a word or two out, but Tommy – defiant as ever – seemed to beat him to it.
“I said everything.”
The implications made Dream stiffen. visibly so, too.
“Tommy-“
“Everything. put your mask in the hole, Dream,” the blonde hissed, tapping at the ceramic against his face with his pickaxe, before lowering it ever so slightly to let him remove it.
Dream lowered his hands, chipped black nails curling into the green fabric of his sweatshirt, trepidation crossing his face. Not that Tommy could see it, anyways.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, incredulous. Close to nobody had seen him without his mask on; not Punz, his most trusted mercenary. Not even Sapnap, who built the community house right by his side. Who grew up with him.
“Oh I am, green boy,” tommy replied, taking a step forward so his toes were right up against the edge of the hole, one hand letting go of the base of the pickaxe to point downwards. Not once did he let Dream leave his sight. “Do it or I'll kill you.”
And without his armour or his weapons, without anything or anyone to defend him, he knew that Tommy would.
“Okay! Okay…” Dream breathed, his hands unclenching from the fabric against his chest and instead splaying out in front of him, as if pushing Tommy away (but never quite touching him).
He faltered. His hands shook. What was he making him do?
With a shuddering breath, he let his hands rise to the back of his head, unsteady fingers finding the buckles that held the mask in place. They pinched at his hair. At that moment, he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to feel it crush his bones, and soothe the buzzing beneath his veins. He wanted time to reverse, back to when Sapnap and George were playing pretend with him in the outstretch of Puffy’s land, adorning wooden swords and cardboard crowns until they had broken apart. He could feel their eyes on him the most. Burning. Lingering.
He unclipped the buckle, one hand moving forward to hold the loose ceramic against his face while the clips dangled by either side of his head. He didn’t lower it. It was like he couldn't. He closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white underneath his gloves as he gripped the hard white material.
“Hurry up,” tommy snapped.
Sucking in a breath, Dream pulled the mask from his face, and braced himself for what he’d never ever imagined he’d be doing. Not in a situation like this, anyways. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes, meeting the younger boys’ gaze.
“There.”
And then Tommy was laughing, a hand clutching his side as he took in Dream’s features. “Oh, you’re one ugly son of a bitch.”
Dream finally averted his attention to the floor; or more specifically, the hole. He scoffed. He tried to shut out the way the room had fallen silent, except for his tremulous breathing and Tommy's piercing laughter. The way the raised marks and scars that stretched across his face were on full display, for him to see. For everyone to see.
“But Dream? I really don’t think that’s enough,” the boy in question mused after his sudden burst of hysterics, a glint in his eyes unmistakably sly. Evil, almost. Dream felt sick.
“What? You can’t k-”
“I really think you should face all those you hurt,” tommy began, leaning closer to the other, his lips quirking up into a grin. It only seemed to grow wider as Dream’s eye contact faltered. “Face to face.”
Dream felt dizzy, like none of this was happening. Keeping himself turned away from his former family and friends already felt shameful enough, but it seemed that Tommy knew exactly how to make things worse.
“Tommy-“
He was cut off by a pickaxe being pressed up against his bare throat, the boy wielding it letting almost his entire upper body depend on holding the weapon up to his enemy. Dream's breath hitched, his hands instinctively raising to rest on either side of the pickaxe’s blade. He knew better, though. He didn’t push it away.
“Go ahead!” Tommy grinned, tilting one side of the pick upwards to force Dream’s head to the side, his face in full view to the crowd. “Get a good look, everyone!”
Dream couldn’t bring himself to meet a single person’s gaze. There were too many all at once to even begin to imagine focusing on. Something he’d been so secretive about, so desperate to hide, was exposed to everybody he’d ever known. Should he laugh? Cry? He didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t think he wanted to know.
He could block out the crowd’s voices well enough. their mockery, their laughter, their gasps. focusing on the cold sting of the pickaxe against his skin eased his nerves. He felt like he could throw up. Maybe throwing up would get him killed, and he’d never have to face this ever again.
His eyes scanned the crowd quickly, flicking to and from the people he once held dearly in his heart.
But they settled right on George.
George, who he’d met while wandering a nature’s path, picking at the round brown mushrooms that grew out of the holes inside of trees.
George, who had stuck by his side when he wanted to learn how to fight, helping him out whenever Sapnap was winning the duel.
George, who he’d visit late at night just to hold against the moon-lit grass.
George, who only told him he loved him when he really, really needed to, because expressing it was so hard for him.
George, who told him he wasn’t a monster when he caught him without his mask, who held his hand when he needed security.
George, who he’d started a war over. Who he had fought for. Loved.
And George, for the first time, looked terrified.