Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oh, you’ll never die, Tommy. I won’t let you.” 

Tommy gasped for air as he frantically tried to put some distance between him and Dream, tripping over his own feet and fumbling through his inventory.  

“I can bring you back.” Dream pearled, landing right in Tommy’s path. “I can bring you back again, and again, and again.” 

“You fucker,” Tommy stammered, “You- people will know. They- this time, they’ll know, Dream, they’ll know, and they’ll get you, they’ll get you again, they will -” 

Dream laughed. He laughed that fucking laugh that haunted Tommy’s dreams, the echoless sound bouncing in Tommy’s ears and stuffing his brain with cotton wool. 

“No, they won’t, Tommy. That’s the thing!” 

The ground was uneven under Tommy’s feet as he stumbled backwards, trying to get away from the sinister figure of his fucking abuser. 

“I’ve been in prison for so long, Tommy. I’ve reformed! I’m all better now and they can’t do anything to prove otherwise.” He strode up to Tommy, mere inches away, yet making no move to attack him. “And if they don’t believe that, then there’s other things I can use.” 

“Like what? You- no one will trust you; you’re a tyrant, a- a villain.” 

“Oh, but I’m hurt. Everyone loves a good charity case here. I mean,” Dream looked Tommy up and down, the clicking his tongue in disgust. “Just look at you.” 

“I’m not a fucking charity case, you- you bitch!” 

“Yeah, yeah, you tell yourself that.”  

That- that fucker, how dare he- 

“Anyways, where was I?” Dream tapped his chin mockingly, his face a caricature of thinking. “Ah, that was it, charity cases. See, Tommy, you know what Quackity did to me in prison. I’ve got the scars to prove it. If I get cornered, or questioned, all I need to do is have an eensy weensy breakdown and then – what’s this? How could I be a threat when I can’t even defend my poor old self?” 

“You wouldn’t, you- they wouldn’t believe you, they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t-” 

Tommy saw Dream reach into his inventory and flinched back. He couldn’t stay here, he had to get away, had to run- 

“Aw, what’s wrong, Tommy? Surely, you’re not scared of pathetic, traumatised Dream, are you now?” 

Dream started to bring something out of his inventory and Tommy turned tail and ran, his panic addled mind deciding his movements for him as he sprinted in the of literally anywhere that Dream was not. Relief washed over him as he saw Phil’s house. 

His lungs burned as he screamed the man’s name, vaulting himself over the fence and landing heavily in the snow, scrambling to hide behind him. 

“Tommy? What’s going on?” 

“He- he’s here- he's gonna kill me, Phil, he’s gonna kill me, please don’t- you gotta protect me, Phil, please, please, please-”  

The words were spilling from Tommy’s mouth in a torrent of pleas as he grasped the fabric of Phil’s cape in his fingers, the cold creeping into his joints and biting at his skin. 

“Who? Who are you running from?” 

“The fuck do you think, Phil?! Dream! I saw- I saw Techno helping him escape so I was- I was running away- I can’t- I was running and then he was there and he had end- ender pearls and it was like- it felt like exile all over again and I can’t do that, Phil, I can’t do that again!” 

“Dream? Mate, he’s- come inside.” Phil gently tugged Tommy’s hands off his cape and began to lead him to the house. “You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. He can’t get to you.” 

“No, no, Phil you don’t understand!” Tommy slammed the door behind them, checking the lock, once, twice, three times before turning back to Phil. “He’s- Phil, he’s everywhere! He won’t stop, Phil! I’m not- I can’t be safe! I’m never safe from him! Even in my fucking dreams, he’s there tormenting me!” 

“Tommy, Tommy, breathe. You need to breathe, mate.” 

“I can’t- I c-can't- Phil, he’s gonna get me- he's gonna-” 

Each rasping breathes felt like fire in Tommy’s lungs as his chest heaved with choked gasps. His trembling hands clawed at his t-shirt, nails scraping against the pale skin of his neck. 

“Hey, now, none of that, mate.” Phil captured Tommy’s hands in his own, grimacing at the lines of irritated red on the boy’s skin. “You’re okay. You’re in my house, the door’s locked, no one can get in.” 

Tommy felt himself being guided over to the sofa, felt the soft cushion dip under his weight as his legs finally gave out. 

“Just focus on what you can feel, alright?” Phil continued, the soft, level tone of his voice cutting through the fog in Tommy’s head. “What can you feel, mate?” 

“I- I don’t- he’s gonna kill me, Phil- he's gonna-” 

“You’re safe, Tommy. You’re here in my house. It’s just me and you. Now, c’mon. What can you feel?” 

“I- the sofa, you- your hands, the floor, my- my hair- Phil, I don’t-” 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Phil soothed, “That was good, really good, mate. Give me something you can see. Gonna have to open your eyes for this one, mate.” 

Forcing his eyes open, Tommy blinked away the tears streaming down his cheeks.  

“My- my shoes, the floor, the- the carpet.” 

“Something you can hear?” 

Tommy gulped, trying to hear anything past his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“Techno- his dogs. Um- my- my heartbeat, your breathing.” 

“You’re doing really great, mate,” Phil said softly, “Do we need to do smell and taste, or do you think you’re okay now?” 

“I- I’m okay.” Tommy slumped back on the sofa, the energy sapped from his body. “I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, mate.” 

They were both silent for a moment. 

“You’ll keep me safe, right?” Tommy broke the stillness, his voice small and scared. “You won’t let him get me?” 

Phil hesitated. 

“Of course, mate. I promise Dream can’t get to you.” 

As Tommy’s heavy eyelids slid shut, he vaguely registered Phil standing up and leaving him alone on the sofa. As he drifted off to sleep, Phil’s voice drifted through from the kitchen, sounding as if he had called someone on his communicator. 

“Puffy? D’you think you could come round? No, yeah, I’m alright, don’t worry about me. It- it's Tommy.” 

Chapter Text

Tommy sat stiffly in on the sofa in Phil’s living room, picking at a stray thread on his jeans as he pressed his lips together stubbornly. 

“Don’t feel like talking?” 

His eyes snapped to Puffy, who was sat across from him in an armchair, a notepad and pen balanced on her lap. 

“No point.” 

Puffy nodded in that infuriatingly patient way she always did during therapy sessions.  “And why’s that, Tommy?” 

“Because! It doesn’t matter how many times you pick apart my fucking psychology or whatever shit you do, it won’t change the fact that Dream’s still out there!” 

Pen scratched against paper as Puffy hummed, noting something down. 

“Phil told me you had a panic attack? Can you talk me through what was going on when that happened?” 

“What was going on ?” Tommy scoffed, “What was going on was that my fucking abuser had escaped prison and was coming after me! He still is!” 

“Phil also told me a little bit about the grounding techniques he walked you through. Did they help?” 

“Stop changing the fucking subject!” Tommy yelled, his fingernails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. “Why is nobody taking me seriously?!” 

Puffy closed her notebook and capped her pen.  

“I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings, Tommy. I assure you that you’re safe here.” 

“You can’t fucking know that!” 

Nodding again (seriously, did she do anything else?!), Puffy rose to her feet. 

“I don’t think we’re getting very far today. Phil said you’ll be staying with him, so I’ll come back in a couple of days to check back in, okay?” 

Tommy huffed, slouching back against the back of the sofa. “Whatever.” 

“Okay. I’m going to have a little chat with Phil before I leave.” 

He huffed again. Why was everyone treating him like a fucking child?  

A flash of green bounced off the glass of the window. 

… 

The fuck? 

Holding his breath, Tommy slowly stood up.  

There it was again.  

Tommy could here Puffy and Phil murmuring away to each other in the next room over. He crept swiftly over to the front door and slipped out, closing it gently behind him. His breath made clouds in front of his face as he hopped the fence and jogged over to the treeline, eyes scanning for the flash of lime. 

“Hello, Tommy.” 

At the sound of the voice behind him, Tommy whipped round, coming face to face with Dream. 

“Green fucker.” Was the greeting his fearful mind came up with. 

“Solid descriptor,” Dream responded smoothly, “I’d give it a seven out of ten – accurate, if a little boring.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

Shrugging, Dream casually put his hands in his pockets. “Eh. I’m just bored, y’know? May as well be big, bad, scary Dream.” The last part was said in high, taunting voice as he leaned towards Tommy. 

“Shut up, bitch. Why does nobody believe me about you?” Tommy demanded, trying his best to exude confidence. He had a bitter feeling that he was failing. 

“Why would they?” 

“What- you- why- the fuck do you mean ‘why would they’?” He sputtered, “Because- because it’s you!” 

“They think I’ve changed.” 

“Like hell you’ve changed!” 

Dream chuckled. “They’re not on your side, Tommy.” 

Tommy stood there dumbfounded as Dream slipped deftly into the trees. 

“Tommy? Tommy, what are you doing out here?”  

Phil rushed to him, hands ghosting over his body as he searched for any injuries. 

“He was here,” Tommy mumbled. Then louder, “Phil, he was right here-” 

“Who?” 

“Dream!” He was tired of Phil’s naïve act. “Dream was right here!” 

Once again, Tommy let himself be led back into the house. Phil stayed silent. 

-- 

As the days went by, Tommy found himself seeing that stupid, ugly lime green slip by window more and more often. Each time, he practically sprinted up to the attic bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

He didn’t have the courage to go and see what Dream wanted anymore. He wouldn’t give the man another opportunity to hurt him. It was dumb and selfish, but each time he even entertained the idea of seeking Dream out, he felt numb with terror. 

Therapy sessions with Puffy came and went. She would always start with asking how he was, and he would always answer with a half-hearted shrug. 

Dream messaged him. Thinly veiled threats lit up the screen of Tommy’s communicator in the dark of the night, the incessant chiming echoing so loudly that he was surprised it didn’t wake Phil.  

23:57  

Dream: I saw Phil farming today  

Dream: would be a shame if something were to happen to him  

00:24  

Dream: you aren’t ignoring me, are you?  

Dream: you know I'll get you eventually  

02:41  

Dream: pretending that I don’t exist won’t make me disappear  

02:58  

Dream: I can see that you’re not asleep  

Dream: that attic room looks real cosy :)  

Tommy spent a whole week sleeping in Phil’s room after that message. He didn’t tell Phil why. 

He felt like he was constantly on the verge of a breakdown, unable to function when he wasn’t glued to Phil’s side. The dark circles under his eyes grew even darker as time passed, and he stopped speaking altogether during therapy sessions. 

Puffy would still try to ask questions, but it was hard for her to do so when she gained no response. The sessions were every day now, and each day she would try something different. EDMR, art therapy, meditation, even play therapy. 

Tommy had talked during that session, if only to yell at her for treating him like a little kid. 

Nothing seemed to work. 

It was during one of these sessions that everything fell apart. 

Puffy hadn’t brought anything this time, seemingly back to trying to get Tommy to talk to her. He had been pulling at that loose thread in his jeans again when he saw it. A flash of green in the corner of his vision. His head shot up. 

Dream was stood in the corner of the room, not doing anything, just staring at him. 

Tommy stared back. 

Shifting in her seat to follow Tommy’s line of vision, Puffy turned to look behind her. 

She turned back to Tommy. “What are you looking at?” 

“He- you don’t-” He couldn’t look away from Dream. Couldn’t tear his eyes off the wide smile on the mask that lurked in the corner of his mind and was the highlight of his night terrors. 

“Remember to breathe, Tommy,” Puffy said calmly, “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.” 

“He’s right there.” The words were broken and lurching, and Tommy didn’t think he could feel his hands. 

“Who’s right there?” 

“Dream! He’s right there! Don’t you see him!” He knew he sounded hysterical right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Fear coursed through his veins as his wide eyes remained fixated on the monster in the corner. 

“Tommy, calm down. You’re safe.” 

“How can you say that when Dream is right there?!” Tommy yelled. 

Puffy slowly made her way over to Tommy and knelt in front of him, gently putting her hand on one of his. 

“Tommy,” She started steadily, “There is no one here but you and me.” 

“But Dream-” 

“-Is not here. I promise you.” 

“I’m looking right at him!” 

Puffy squeezed his hand.  

“Tommy. Dream’s dead.” 

Chapter Text

The words echoed in Tommy’s mind.

Dream’s dead. 

“Look at me, Tommy.” 

At Puffy’s words, Tommy reluctantly tore his eyes from the corner of the room, blinking as he looked into Puffy’s warm gaze. 

“Dream is dead. He was killed as he tried to escape prison.” 

“That’s not- that's not possible! He’s- he’s right there!” 

“What is he doing Tommy?” 

“He’s just- he's just there- I don’t- just standing there-” Tommy’s eyes were flicking rapidly between Dream and Puffy as the words spilled from his mouth, leaving a sour taste. “I don’t- I don’t understand- Puffy, what-” 

“Remember to breathe, Tommy.” 

He gulped in air at the reminder. 

“Tommy. I believe you’re currently experiencing a visual hallucination. I can tell you with absolute certainty that Dream is not in this room.” 

Tommy shook his head frantically. “No! No, he can’t be dead! He can’t- he messaged me!” Trembling hands fumbled with his communicator as he pulled up the chat logs and- 

They were gone. 

The messages were gone. 

“There were messages! I know there were! I couldn’t sleep because my communicator was so loud and the volume must be scuffed because I turned it all the way down but it didn’t do anything and I swear I’m not lying, Puffy, I swear -” 

“Tommy. Tommy, slow down. Breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe.” 

“Why aren’t the messages there- I swear I’m telling the truth-” 

“Tommy, you said your communicator was really loud, didn’t you?” Puffy asked gently. 

“I- yes? I was always scared it would wake Phil up.” 

“Why didn’t it? Communicators can be very loud on full volume, so why did it not wake Phil up?” 

Tommy opened his mouth, promptly shutting it when he found he didn’t have an answer. 

“Tommy, Dream was killed by Sam as he attempted to escape prison. Technoblade had to choose between him and Ranboo, and he chose Ranboo.” Puffy looked Tommy in the eyes, staring deep into his soul. “Dream cannot hurt you anymore. He’s gone, Tommy. You’re safe.” 

Tears dripped down Tommy’s cheeks. Huh. When had he started crying? 

“He won’t go,” He whispered, “Even when he’s dead he won’t leave me alone. Why won’t he leave me alone?” 

Smiling sadly, Puffy stood up from the floor so she could sit on the sofa next to Tommy.  

“I could give you the full scientific answer to that, but I’m sure that would just bore you to sleep. Is he still there? Right now?” 

Tommy took a deep breath before glancing over to the corner, flinching when he saw the lime green. 

“Yes, he’s- he’s still there.” 

Puffy nodded. “Okay. That’s alright. He can’t hurt you. Now,” She plucked Tommy’s communicator from his quivering hands, opening the camera feature. “Let’s see if this works. Try and look at him through the camera.” 

Hesitantly taking the communicator back, Tommy haltingly pointed the camera towards the corner. He looked at the screen and saw- 

The empty corner? 

“Oh,” Tommy breathed, “He’s really not there. I- fuck. I was scared you were lying to me.” 

“I would never lie to you, Tommy.” 

“But you- why didn’t you tell me that he was dead?!” Irrational anger flared up in his chest as he gripped his communicator. “You let me believe that he was still out there!” 

“I’m truly sorry that nobody told you, Tommy,” Puffy said, “I was under the impression that you knew, and that you were simply experiencing episodes of intense paranoia.” 

Tommy turned to her, searching her eyes for any hint of deception. 

He found none. 

The anger building up inside him petered out, replaced with a fatigue that weighed down on his bones and sent a deep ache to his core. 

“Would you like me to go so you can rest?” Puffy asked, preparing to stand up. 

“No!” Tommy blurted out, cheeks flushing at the pathetic desperation in his voice. “I mean- can you stay? Please? I don’t- I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Of course. Anything you need.” 

Bringing his knees to his chest, Tommy leaned against the arm of the sofa, eyelids drooping as he felt the effects of the adrenaline crash. 

As he drifted off, he felt Puffy’s fingers softly detangling his mussed up blond locks. 

Maybe he could be okay, eventually. 

-- 

Things were getting better. And worse. And then better again. And then worse. 

Recovery was not linear, and Tommy decided that that fucking sucked. 

Slowly, him and Puffy figured out what his triggers were, and what said triggers actually triggered.  

Tommy discovered that potatoes triggered flashback. 

Small spaces triggered panic attacks. 

Techno triggered hallucinations (and wasn’t that one fun?). 

The list just seemed to get longer and longer, and Tommy was no longer hopeful that he could ever just be normal again. 

(Puffy would tell him that normal isn’t definite, would tell him that he can make a new normal. Well, if this was his new normal then he didn’t want it.) 

The first time he saw Techno, he had seen lime green in every corner and echoes of ‘oh, Tommy’ filled his ears four hours. 

He hadn’t left his attic room for 3 days after that, and when he did, he refused to put his communicator down, constantly checking corners through the lens of the camera.  

Techno didn’t visit Phil for a good while after that. 

But still, Puffy refused to let Tommy give up. She was always on time for their daily meetings, never even five minutes late. She would stay even on the days when Tommy would yell at her to leave, that he wasn’t worth it, that he hated her. 

Afterwards, when Tommy would sheepishly open the door, apologising with his head down, she would merely just smile at him and ask kindly if she could come in. If he said no, she would nod in understanding before going to wait in the living room. 

It was one day in the early weeks of spring, when Tommy realised.  

“Phil!” He yelled, running down the stairs and into the kitchen, “Phil, Phil, guess what!” 

Phil looked up from his cooking in mild alarm. “Uh, what?” 

“Two weeks!” Tommy beamed, “I’ve not seen him in two weeks!” 

Phil’s eyes brightened in understanding, and he stepped forward to tug Tommy into a warm hug. 

“That’s great, mate! I’m so proud of you.” 

And sure, Tommy knew there would be more ups and downs. He knew he would inevitably relapse. 

But he also knew he would recover.  

Right now, the future didn’t matter, and the past was left behind them. All that mattered was that Tommy was here and alive and free. 

He wasn’t okay just yet, but he knew he would be. 

Chapter Text

Tommy jolted awake. He blinked in the darkness of his room, reaching for his communicator. 

Something shifted in the corner of the room. 

Careful to keep his breaths even, he flicked the lamp on, letting its warm light flood the room. He flinched at the flash of lime green in his field of vision. With shaking hands, he opened the camera app on his communicator and pointed it at the corner of the room. 

Dream stared at him through the screen. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Dream drawled as he approached the boy’s bed, “Did you miss me?” 

He tilted his head in curiosity at the communicator. 

“What are you doing with that, hm?”  

Tommy distantly felt the communicator being snatched from his grip. 

“I know this trick!” Dream said gleefully, “Oh, it’s terrible when you don’t know what’s real or not, isn’t it?” 

“You- you’re dead-” 

“Evidently not.” 

Tommy shook his head. “No, no, I must be dreaming, you can’t be here, you can’t-” 

“But I am! Count your fingers, check the time, pinch yourself – you'll see that you’re not dreaming!” Dream leaned in closer. “It’s been so boring without you.” 

“All those times,” Tommy stammered, “All those times I thought I saw you outside my window – were those really hallucinations?” 

“As much as I want to say that that was me, unfortunately that was all your little messed up mind.” Dream chuckled darkly. “Don’t you see, Tommy? Even your subconscious knows you need me! And now I’m here!” 

“How- how are you here? You- you fucking died!” 

“Yup. I did. But now I’m back.” Dream glanced out the window. “Well, looks like it’s time I should get going.” 

It was only after the man, no, the monster, had slipped out of his open window – the window that Tommy knew for a fact he had locked before going to sleep – that it hit him. 

Dream was back. Really back. 

And Tommy was the boy who cried wolf.