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“Stop fucking hitting me.” Tommy hissed through clenched teeth. A throbbing ache made its way through his body, the pain dulling his senses. Dream struck him again. The blow sent him reeling backwards as he clutched his now heavily bruised cheek.
“If I wanted to, I could kill you. But I won’t.” Tommy continued, his voice strained. He was bluffing of course, but he couldn’t stop now. He kept pushing. Now, he glowered at his cellmate, who met his gaze just as angrily.
“I need that revive book, Dream. That’s the only reason you’re still standing here in front of me.” Tommy gave him a harsh shove, savoring the sight of Dream stumbling backward a few steps. Before Dream could speak though, another thought crossed Tommy’s mind.
“But when I think about it, how real is this book anyway? Where is my proof that something like this even exists?” he said with a grin. Jshlatt couldn’t have given Dream any kind of power. He was just a drunken madman after all. The old president was dead and held no real authority over anyone anymore. Tommy took the opportunity to close the space between him and Dream, marching right up to the taller boy’s face.
To say that Dream was frustrated was an understatement. How dare he have the right to make such a bold claim? His anger simmered behind his striking green eyes.
“If the book is as real as you say it is, then do it. Bring Jshlatt back to life.” Tommy’s voice was raised, verging on hysterical as he became more aware of his wounds.
That was enough. Dream’s usually calm and eerie demeanor disappeared as quickly as it arrived. Being reminded of his torture at someone else’s expense in the past few months was enough to make him rear back, a bloodied fist rocketing backward to give Tommy something that was long overdo. The crisp crack of bone could be heard clearly as he struck Tommy as hard as he could. Tommy crumpled to the cell floor, his head hitting the ground hard as he heard his abuser’s voice.
“Why don’t you go and see him for yourself.”
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It ended so suddenly, it almost didn’t register in his mind. There was an odd stillness to the air once the deed was done. It was so quiet, too quiet. How can silence be so loud? Dream thought to himself, forcing himself to breathe deeply enough to feel it in his chest. It hurt like hell, but he needed to calm down, needed to focus. He had to bring Tommy back to life.
Dream steadied his breathing and snuck a glance at his old puppet. A wave of nauseousness overtook him at the sight of the boy. His eyes were partially open. They were once very vibrant and lively, but had dulled to a sickening light blue as his life slowly drifted away. The wounds Dream himself had inflicted upon Tommy covered the majority of his face, crimson blood flowing from somewhere.There was too much of it to really tell where it was coming from, and the thought of it made Dream’s stomach churn in disgust. Tommy’s once soft blonde hair was mussed and wild-looking from the fight. It too was covered in blood. Whether it was Dream’s or Tommy’s was anybody’s guess.
Moments passed before Dream finally snapped out of his daze to perform the task at hand. Even though he no longer had the book with him, the knowledge was tucked away in the back of his mind at all times. Quackity would never get his hands on it now. A slight, triumphant smile formed on Dream’s lips at the thought. Despite his gruesome methods of getting Dream to talk, he never got what he came for.
The gravel beneath his feet crunched as he bent down and began the revival process, the steps easily remembered as if he’d known them his whole life.
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Tommy awoke with a sharp gasp of pain, the sensation shooting upwards to his head. He was sitting upward, a hand to his head, before running it through his hair. The sight of a snow white color caught his attention. A single streak of white hair tinged with red. That wasn’t supposed to be there, was it?
Then it hit him. The only other person to have their hair similar to his at the moment was Wilbur’s. The area fell into place around Tommy, reality setting itself in stone. Only black existed in the space around him and seemingly went on for miles and miles, almost endless. Panic arose in the boy’s chest, flooding his feeble mind.
“No.” he whispered, the sound falling flat in the empty air. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. That doesn’t make any sense, he should be back in the prison with Dream. Sam was coming for him. He can’t be dead. The fear consumed him, holding him tight in its grasp. His breath came in desperate gasps and he squeezed his eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the horror trying to claw its way out of his chest.
“Tommy,” his name rang out clearly in the void. It sounded dull, almost bored.
“No.” Tommy’s voice came out harsher, tighter. He knew who it was. How could he not? Tommy forced himself to open his eyes and face his older brother. Wilbur remained expressionless, but his tired eyes shone with amusement.
“I didn’t think you would arrive here just yet, but I’m glad you’re here with me now.” Wilbur continued softly. Tommy shot him a cold glare and kept his mouth shut. The young boy took in the sight of his brother, he looked quite similar to when he saw him last. His eyes were immediately drawn to the dark red gash that remained on Wilbur’s chest, his soft yellow sweatshirt torn in places. The only difference was a pair of thin silver glasses, the frames slightly bent, and a bright streak of white hair to match his own. Wilbur eyed him impatiently.
“Always a conversationalist, aren’t you?” he muttered, then took a seat on what looked like nothing. It looked as though he were floating effortlessly above an imaginary floor. Wilbur was a good few feet away, yet Tommy could smell the pungent stench of cigarettes and alcohol on his tattered trench coat.
“Why am I here?” Tommy asked, putting an effort into finding his voice. Wilbur eyed him thoughtfully before responding.
“You’re dead, aren’t you?” he said. Will sighed heavily, his disappointment written clearly on his ghostly features.
“You were too young, Tommy. But perhaps it’s a good thing you ended up here with me.” Tommy’s brow furrowed in confusion. What was he getting at?
“What do you mean?” the blonde snapped, done with his brother’s mind games. For once, couldn’t he just give it to him straight? Wilbur sighed once more. He reached for his jacket pocket and pulled out a deck of cards, absently shuffling them before placing them down in front of him. Solitaire.
A moment of silence fell between them. It felt like an eternity before Wilbur spoke again with a laugh.
“We weren’t good for this server, Tommy. Look at what we’ve done since we’ve arrived.” Another card was placed. Tommy ran this information through his mind and spoke hesitantly.
“No, Will. You weren’t good for the server, and now you’re here. It’s what you deserve.” he spoke the words he’s been dying to say since he lost the man who caused the death of a nation. Wilbur remained quiet, taking this with a neutral expression.
“This is where you belong now.” he replied with a small smile.
“I shouldn’t be here! I want to go home! Why am I here?!” Tommy felt more words coming, more words that couldn’t be taken back. All those months that he wasted trying to turn his brother into someone he wasn’t. Not anymore. His voice was bitter before delivering the final blow.
“I never belonged with you, should never be compared to you. You deserved to end up here and you deserve to rot here!” He was yelling now, his throat raw. Will winced at his tone.
“You’ll learn to like it, to exist like this.” he hissed, locking eyes with his younger brother. Tommy stood up angrily, his face flushed.
“I fucking hate it here!” the boy screeched, his sky blue eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks.
Suddenly, Wilbur’s form swam before his eyes. He felt faint, the edges of his vision white and blurred. What was happening? Pain fought its way into his head, his old wounds now ached and his face burned. The sensations became more and more unbearable before Wilbur was the only thing he could see, a wide grin spread across his blood-stained face.
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Dream watched triumphantly as Tommy sucked in a pained breath. His eyes fluttered open at first, then shot open fully at the sudden realization of where he was. The cell fell back into place, the heat of the lava wall warming his deathly cold skin. Tommy’s horrified expression worsened as he looked around before meeting Dream’s sharp green eyes.
“Welcome back, Tommy.”