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Tommy really can't remember how he got here, he can't remember how he came back to the steaming hot beach and sand that gets so hot he's happy he's got shoes, and he can't recall really staying there.
He knows the simple things of exile, something about blowing up George's house and being "irresponsible", but it feels like it's been months since he's seen anyone, and he swears something happened here that would make everyone else come to it.
Or, everyone that's real at least. Ghostbur is there sometimes, wearing his mischievous smirk and grinning like he has something Tommy doesn't, like he's keeping something from him with the subtle questions and knowing looks.
And there's Mexican Dream sometimes as well, he doesn't do much other than stare at Tommy or cry, but before Tommy can question or comfort him, he's disappeared into the woods, away from Tommy and not leaving anything in his path, not even footprints.
Tommy doesn't suspect anything from either of them, with the blistering heat that he can't get away from and the oceans water being ice cold and freezing, Tommy can't really blame either for being secretive and scared, anyone would love to get away from this beach and the illusions it gives.
Tommy still remembers the time he thought he saw someone with horns in the nearby village, but when Tommy went to investigate, they was gone. It chilled him to the bone, but he blamed it on the heat, "It's just driving me nuts," he thought, "Schlatt wasn't really there." Tommy assured himself, he had no reason to think anyone would go there to see him, to help him.
So just leave, run away and find them yourself. Go to Sam, go to Techno, go back to L'manburg and beg for forgiveness. Wouldn't it be better away from here, from the memories, from the scars, From your oblivion?
"Shut up shut up shut up." Tommy thinks, hacking away another tree and wiping late morning sweat from his forehead, feeling his now coarse and sun-bleached hair run along with his hand.
In truth, Tommy is still very scared of the waters that surrounds the island. His continuous waking up in the starkly contrasting freezing cold made him despise it, and the thought of even putting his feet in made him shudder, there was something very wrong with that ocean, and he didn't wanna find out what by leaving via the sea, but still...
"If I ever do get out of here, I'm getting rid of these stupid thoughts and getting myself a milkshake." Tommy thinks aloud, putting away the wood and going into the repaired caravan of logstedshire and putting away the materials into the chests that line the wall.
(He learned his lesson from last time, no more hiding things away from Dream, from out of his sight. No matter how long it's been since he's had a visit, he won't test his luck.)
Tommy sighs and thinks once more about getting some water, musing how with this heat it'll eventually boil out in the sun if he leaves the bottle out at noon when he hears a familiar knocking at the door before a swarm of cold knocks him off his feet.
"Holy shit Ghostbur! Don't scare me like that!!" Tommy shouts at the specter, who grins from his leaned position on the door, staring at Tommy who gets up from the floor.
(There's something sharp and amused in Ghostburs eyes, something malevolent and scary, but from the few seconds it's there, it's quickly turned sour and annoyed)
"Hi, Tommy! I was just.. checking up on you, are you aware yet?" Ghostbur asks, floating his body up from the door into an in-the-air sitting position, a coy smile on his face.
"Aware of what?" Tommy asks, turning away and wishing this ghost didn't turn his extremely sweaty body into ice. (He is unaware of the disappointment on the ghost's face, if only he understood, if he remembered.)
"Well," Ghostbur begins, setting his feet on the floor. "I was wondering where Mexican Dream is, have you seen him?" Ghostbur asks, looking out the door's window and into the field beyond the walls of longsted, still not seeing a certain someone.
"Oh," Tommy mutters, thinking of the last time he saw them, thinking of how hard Mexican Dream was crying before running away once he realized Tommy saw him. "He seemed so distressed, maybe Ghostbur could cheer him up." Tommy thinks.
He goes to turn back and answer Ghostbur, but halfway through he stops and widens his eyes with what he sees, dropping the planks he's been holding and feeling his hands tremble.
It's Wilbur, standing there with a oozing wound through his stomach with blood that's covering his shirt, it's Wilbur with nicotine stained teeth and his sadistic grin as red leaks down from his moth, it's Wilbur with his dirty glasses and cigarette pack sticking out his trench coat pocket as it sways with the outside wind.
But then whatever it was stops and fades, turning back to a concerned-looking Ghostbur who's waving his hand in front of Tommy's face, saying something he can't hear because of the ringing in his ears.
He tries to tune in and hear what Ghostbur's saying, but all he can do is drop to the floor and go into a ball, trying not to hyperventilate.
He eventually calms down enough to hear Ghostbur coach him through to awareness, to hear his dead brother's praise, and hear his breathing finally go back to normal.
Tommy puts his head into his knees and groans, now feeling heavily embarrassed and tired. "Ghostbur, I'm sorry, I haven't seen MD for days and I don't wanna go outside to help you, I'm, I wanna go to bed, Will." Tommy mutters.
Ghostbur stands there, blue now leaking from his palms while snapping out of the daze he appears to be In. He grabs a blanket for Tommy and sets it on his lap. "Here Tommy, get some rest, I'll go looking." He says, watching his little brother lay down and his breathing soon even out as he cuddles his blankets and snores.
Wilbur smiles and goes into the forest to find the certain place where he's sure to find Mexican Dream, slowly walking through the dark trees and shadows.
The next time Tommy wakes up, the sun is rising on the horizon line and the nightly chill is leaving with the moon. It's not often he sleeps for this long, but it's a rare occasion he sleeps at all, and he's happy he's gotten some rest, even if he's slept the day away.
Tommy rises from the ground of the van, stretching his arms and listening out for the usual birds and rustling of the leaves with the wind. But for once, it's eerily quiet, too quiet.
He hears the echoing sound from the portal, the sound it makes when someone comes through, when someone enters back into the overworld from the nether, "Someone's come to visit me!" Tommy quickly realizes and hurries to get up and greet them.
He opens the door and runs out of logstedshire to find him there, standing at the beach and looking across the ocean. Dream is finally there, he finally came back for him.
Still, Tommy stops once he sees the familiar green hoodie and mask, because Dream for once isn't wearing his armor, isn't holding his prized ax, and isn't holding his usual TNT.
Tommy can read Dream's body language, he's been around him for a long time in exile, in the times before L'manburg and after, in some other place he can't remember. He's spent enough time around the man to get to know when he was angry without seeing his face, how to tell if he was grinning by the small visible part of his face crinkles, and how to tell if Tommy should be scared if his hands were clenched into a proper fist, or if his palm was wide open with his fingers straight.
So when Dream slowly turns and faces him, looking at him through the now cracked porcelain mask that shows a wide green eye, Tommy knows he's smiling something unkind and wild.
Dream starts walking toward him with purpose and no hope of putting any more distance between them, his eyes on the prize and his hand held out as Tommy stumbles backward into logstedshire, he doesn't like that look, he doesn't find this visit fun, not when all he can see and feel is Dream's obsession and possessiveness.
"Dream! Dream what's going on man? What- What are you doing??" Tommy asks, scrambling back to the door of the van, but Dream's always been quicker than him, and he grabs Tommy by the wrist, dragging him away from it all and back to the plains, to the beach, to the watery shore.
"Dream! Dream what is the meaning of this?! Why aren't you saying anything???" Tommy shouts, pleading for an answer. Still, Dream says nothing, nearly grabbing the arm that isn't in his hold yet as Tommy swings it around, trying to keep his balance while leaning his body away, trying to get his wrist out of Dream's hand while avoiding tumbling to the ground.
"Ghostbur! Mexican Dream!! Help me, please!" Tommy calls out into the forest and begging into the trees as he yells for Dream to let go, to snap out of it, to stop trying to drag him into the sea.
His shoes fill with water and his pants begin to soak in the salt of the sea as Dream pulls him deeper and deeper into the ocean, forcing Tommy's wrists into his hands and leading both of them down, both losing their air, their precious oxygen, as they quickly sink.
Tommy tries to fight it, to get Dream's hands off of him and to swim up, to survive this, but the thrashing from earlier has tired him out, the adrenaline can only pump for so long, and he's still tired and sore from just waking up.
His lungs burn as everything left inside comes out in bubbles in front of him, and all he can feel is Dream's hands on his wrists, and all he can see is the broken and cracked smiley face mask, and all he can hear is his heart beating in his lungs, something he hasn't heard in a long time.
"Tommy.
Tommy?
Wake up."
Tommy sits up with a gasp, and is met with Dream's wide green eye and cracked mask, is met with the wet crying obsidian and boiling lava of the prison, is met with flashes of neverending pain and agony coming in waves throughout his body as he clutches his shirt and tries to breath.
"You're back." Dream says while smiling beneath his mask, grinning, like a God who's created life, and a man who will destroy the old ones creation with a single mighty fist.
Tommy trembles and wishes for once, that he was back on the beach.