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Dream is staring up at him through the hole in the ground, or at least his head is tilted upward like he is. Not that it’s ever really possible to tell what that guy is looking at, even when he’s very very sure Dream is looking directly at him.
“Um. You okay?”
It’s not winning an award for Smartest Thing He’s Ever Said, but the empty black eyes of the mask feel like they’re digging holes into his brain, and it’s already hard enough to think in these moments between being caught and being punished, when his mouth is usually saying some bullshit that never actually helps and his stomach is doing a swan dive from build height to bedrock.
“This is—do you want me to—”
“Tommy, have you been hiding this from me?”
“No, I—no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—”
“Tommy.”
Dream’s voice is almost as hard to read as his face is; he could be anywhere from amused to absolutely furious. Amused might even be worse—at least anger is predictable. Yes, Dream, he’ll throw his armor in this hole. No, Dream, he won’t fight back. He’s good, really. He even made sure to have armor ready today. He’s following the rules.
That doesn’t sound like something I would do dies unspoken in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says instead, quiet enough he’s not sure Dream can hear him. He’s steeling himself to say it again, louder, when Dream finally responds.
“Tommy, have I been too hard on you?”
“No,” he says automatically. That’s what Dream wants to hear, right? “No, I’m fine, really. I’m a big man, I can take anything.”
Fuck, has he always been this bad at lying?
“If you’re fine, why did you hide this?”
At least Dream isn’t bringing his appearance into this; it’s hidden under his armor for the moment but Dream’s already seen how bad it’s gotten. It’s his own stupid fault for not dealing with it himself, really. He could have repaired his clothing, could have found leather, string, wool. Or if he’d asked, Dream would have brought him more, so really the rips and the dirt and the missing shoe are proof that it’s fine, he doesn’t mind, he’s just fine on his own. Fake proof that isn’t fooling anyone, sure, but Dream understands. Dream’s the only one who’s bothered to understand.
“I mean, what is this?” Dream continues. “A jukebox? Some iron? Did you really think I was going to take away How To Sex 3?”
“Of course not, I just—you know, I just wanted a place where I could go, these are mine. These are my things.” He can’t keep looking at the mask. He turns his head away, shame stinging in his eyes.
“Tommy, everything here is yours. I just wanted your armor and your weapons every day. That was it. And I didn’t even take it, one or two days, and I even gave you armor once. But you have to somehow wiggle your way out and try to defy me for some reason. You're acting like you see me as an opponent, Tommy, and I don’t want that. I want to be your friend.”
“We are friends. You’re my onl—you're my friend.”
“Come down here, Tommy.”
He does, and stands shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot; the secret room doesn’t feel as safe now that it’s just a regular room, and Dream still has the chest open, looking through its contents with unknowable interest.
“I really didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset at you. You felt pressured and you reacted. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
“Oh.” It’s less a word and more an involuntary noise of relief, like he’s found the surface and the air and the shore. Dream isn’t angry with him.
“And these are… Tommy.”
“What?”
“Tommy, this isn’t healthy.”
He stares down at the picture in Dream’s hand.
“They’re just… happy memories,” he says, a little too defensively.
“Well, yeah. But they’re just hurting you. Tubbo—has he come to see you? Has he said one word to you since he exiled you?”
“…No.”
“You have to let them go, Tommy. You shouldn’t waste so much energy on people who don’t even think about you.”
“I know.”
“It just kind of seems like that’s what you’re doing.”
“I know. I’m just… I don’t want them to be gone.”
“They’re not gone, Tommy. They just didn’t want you.”
He looks away. Dream closes the chest.
“I’ll leave the pictures here until you’re ready to move on.”
“I’m ready.”
“Oh?”
Dream’s right, of course. Dream’s always right, always looking out for him. He has to stop hurting himself.
“I’m ready,” he repeats, more firmly. “I am.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Outside Logstedshire, Dream digs a hole, just as he’s done every time he’s visited. Every time he’s come to see his friend, because they are friends, because Dream cares about him enough to do this almost every day.
“Do you want the armor, too?” Tommy asks.
“Of course.”
He feels lighter when he throws down the armor, and light-headed when he drops the pieces of paper, averting his eyes from them like from the sun.
“Alright,” Dream says, TNT in his steady hands. “That’s everything, right?”
“Yes. I mean, no. No, wait.”
There’s another memory he can throw down this hole, something that’s taking up space in his heart and in his enderchest. He leaves Dream waiting as he walks back to tnret—as much as he wants this over with, running seems wrong.
The compass points as true as always towards the falsest friend he’s ever known. Its twin is long gone, now—accident or malice, it doesn’t matter. ‘Your Tubbo,’ hah, as if Tubbo wants anything to do with him. Maybe he’s been the clingy one all along.
He cups it in his hands for a long moment before letting it fall, simply parting his hands underneath it until there’s nothing to hold it up anymore. Dream places the TNT over it, something familiar and constant.
“Why don’t you do the honors, this time?” he says, tossing Tommy a fire charge.
Tommy looks just once in the direction the compass is still pointing, for an instant, then does.