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Tommy let his hand drift above the spray of cold water as Sam Nook steered him out to the island. The motor's drone overpowered the sounds of crashing waves and squawking seabirds. Sam Nook said he had built a house there for Tommy, far away from anywhere Dream could touch. He was excited. He could ask Tubbo to join him and they could run away together, just like they had almost done over a year ago. They would have to find Michael first of course, but then they could move on. Phil was nice, he felt safe, but he didn't really need him, even if the thought of never seeing him again shot a needle through his heart.
The cool ocean breeze whipped his hair around his face. He tried to push away the memories of exile. This was different. Still, the cold wind seeped through his jacket.
After what must have been hours, they finally arrived at the island. It was beautiful. A cozy wooden house stood in the center of a decently sized island with a manicured lawn and a field of well nurtured wheat and vegetables. A small stand of trees peaked out from behind the house.
'WE ARE HERE,' Sam Nook announced. Tommy stepped out of the boat onto the weathered wooden dock.
“This is so cool!” he shouted, running towards the house. It didn’t look brand new, but he brushed it off as having just been the first thing built on the island. Maybe Sam Nook had stayed there while doing the landscaping. It didn’t seem unreasonable, the island was a near perfect image of his own animal crossing island. Sam Nook lagged behind, carrying the entire boat over his head. He snorted at the sight.
Tommy forced himself to walk more slowly towards the front door. He was shaking with excitement. Sam Nook turned down a different path, towards a small shed. There were flowers planted along the path. Some were trampled and a few lay picked on the ground. A sense of unease grew in his stomach.
He threw open the front door. It was a mess. He turned around to ask Sam Nook if he had taken him to the right island, but he wasn’t there.
“Hello Tommy.”
Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin at Sam’s voice. He shouldn’t be here. Sam Nook hadn’t said anything about Sam being there. He took an instinctual step backwards.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tommy asked with wide eyes. Sam was sitting on a plush couch a few meters from the door, dressed in casual clothes, watching an old fashioned TV that sat on a low console.
“This is my house, of course I’m here,” he smiled warmly, or at least as warmly as a murderer could.
“Um, uh,” Tommy glanced back towards the path leading to the shed, “sorry, Sam Nook must’ve taken me to the wrong island.”
“No, no, this is the right island, take a seat,” Sam patted the spot on the couch next to him. He took another step backwards to see the shed. Sam Nook was in front of it, chaining it up and attaching a heavy padlock to equally heavy chains.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath before sprinting towards Sam Nook. His heart beat out his chest as fear swelled within him. His ears roared and his feet pounded against the packed dirt path.
It was a miracle he heard the faint squeal coming from the nearby window. He stopped dead in his tracks.
There, behind the slightly open window, was Michael. Tommy blinked. He knew Sam had said he had taken Michael, but it was another thing to see the toddler staring back at him from a low window on the side of Sam’s house. He took a cautious step towards the window.
<Uncle Tommy!> the piglin child signed with a wilted smile that broke his heart.
“I’m here, I’m coming,” Tommy reassured as he carefully slid the window open further. The room was completely bare, save for a small blanket thrown haphazardly on the dirty floor. It smelled of wood chips and piss. Michael practically launched himself into his arms. He took a stumbling step backwards as the toddler took fistfuls of his jacket in his tiny hands. Tommy quickly glanced back the way he came before continuing to the shed. Michael sniffled into his chest.
“Sam Nook!” Tommy whisper-yelled, “Let’s go back, this is the wrong island,” at least he had found Michael. He just needed to get off the island and give him back to Tubbo.
Sam Nook turned to face him, ‘THIS IS THE CORRECT ISLAND,’ he stated.
Tommy furrowed his brow, “whatever, I wanna leave. Nice island though, it’s pretty.”
‘THIS IS YOUR ISLAND. YOU WILL BE SAFE HERE,’ Sam Nook said. He didn’t feel safe. Michael’s sniffles crescendoed into full blown crying. His eyes drifted to the padlock on the shed.
“I know, I know, but I wanna go home,” he said, even though his house kept getting vandalized by Dream and the hunter base wasn’t really a home.
‘THIS IS YOUR HOME,’ Sam Nook stated. Tommy hugged Michael a little closer. He tried to think of something. He had to get out.
“Um… Okay, great! But could I please get some stuff from my old house then?” he asked, fully planning on booking it the moment his feet would be on solid ground.
‘I CAN GET ANYTHING YOU NEED FOR YOU,’ Sam Nook said. Fuck. That didn’t work.
“Hi Tommy,” Sam called from behind. Tommy whipped around. Sam waved at him, then frowned a bit as he noticed Michael in his arms. Tommy took a step back. His eyes widened in fear. All he could see was Sam’s sword slicing through Ranboo’s chest.
“You’re safe here, come inside, I have lunch ready for you,” Sam spoke like Tommy was a spooked animal. He could barely hear him over his own heart pounding in his ears.
“No, no, you…” Tommy glanced at Michael, still sobbing into his jacket, “you know what you did,” he spat.
“I had to do it. I had to stop him from escaping,” Sam said. Tommy's hands trembled.
Tommy scowled, “You didn’t have to, you could have just let him go, Dream wasn’t going to turn back for him anyways.”
“I didn’t know that at the time,” Sam spoke down to him, “I was just trying to stop Dream from escaping.”
Michael squirmed in his arms, wrapping himself even tighter around his thin frame. They were both shaking.
“So you kidnapped my nephew and murdered Tubbo’s husband?” Tommy growled, “fuck off,” he turned back to Sam Nook, “take me back to the mainland please.”
'THE MAINLAND IS NOT SAFE FOR YOU,' Sam Nook said. His legs felt like jelly, barely holding himself up. The lock. It was to keep Tommy out of the shed. The shed with the only boat he had seen on the island.
"It's too dangerous there, Dream's still on the loose." Sam took a step towards him. Tommy took a step back. He scanned his surroundings. He couldn’t take them in a fight and there wasn’t anywhere nearby to hide. So he ran.
He ran away from the two Sams. He faintly heard Sam shout after him. A vivid secondhand image of Sam stepping over Ranboo’s lifeless body stained his vision. The socket of his prosthetic leg hammered into his stump with each step, jamming the unnatural ends of his tibia and fibula into his muscle. He hadn’t thought to take his running leg. He ran and ran as the edges of his vision turned black. He kept running towards the small stand of trees. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned.
He knelt to the ground behind a tree. He tried to catch his breath. Michael stayed desperately clinging to him.
“This is so fucked up,” he whispered. He heard a faint echoing memory of Ranboo telling him not to swear around his kid. Tears welled up in his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to have him here right now, doing just that.
He listened closely for footsteps. The island was silent except for a few birds chirping in the treetops. He set Michael on his lap and fished his communicator from his pocket. There was no signal. Just a big ‘x’ over an empty data bar. He typed out a message for Tubbo and Philza with his coordinates attached, just in case a blip of signal hit. He was well over two hundred kilometers away from Snowchester.
<I wanna go home,> Michael signed.
“Me too buddy, me too,” Tommy rested his head against the rough bark of the tree. He counted in his head, trying to steady his breathing. There was bound to be signal somewhere on the island, he just had to wait until Sam was asleep. A tear rolled down his cheek.
<Do you need Papa?> Michael asked. The blunt question wasn't uncommon. Oftentimes he would need Tubbo when he got a panic attack or bad flashbacks. He wouldn't deny that he needed him at that moment. At least Michael hadn't asked if he needed Dada, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that.
"He's not here right now," Tommy whispered. Michael frowned.
"No, not like that…" Tommy started. How does one explain to a toddler that they've been kidnapped? "He's looking for us. I'm sure he'll find us eventually, and he'll be very happy when he finds us," Tommy explained. There was something so hopelessly depressing about the thought of him being happy that he had only lost one of his family members, not all three. He shouldn't have had to go through that at all. And now here they were, the two surviving members of his family, trapped on an island with the man who murdered the third. He wished he could scream until his voice grew hoarse, but he had to keep quiet.
<Like hide and seek?> Michael asked. Tommy considered just saying that it was. It would be so much easier. But he couldn't.
"No. It's…" Tommy lowered his voice, "Sam's a wrong'un. Okay?" Michael nodded, "he's a very bad man, but I'm going to do my very best to protect you from him. I promise."
<Pinky promise?> Michael signed, ending the series of motions with a pinky extended towards Tommy.
"Pinky promise," Tommy wrapped his pinky around Michael’s, the smaller boy’s pinky too small to wrap all the way around his own.
The two sat together in silence for a while. Today had been a disaster, he’d been betrayed by Sam Nook and now he was stuck on a small island with Sam until he could get the shed open. But Michael was here, and as much as it sucked for him to be on this island, at least Michael wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to imagine what it must have been like before he got here. He must have been so scared. It wasn’t going to be perfect now that Tommy was here too, he wasn’t an idiot, but it would be better. Sam might hurt Tommy, but he wouldn’t let him hurt Michael anymore.
The wind blew colder every minute. He could start a fire, but that would reveal their location. Michael fell asleep on his lap. Tommy was too much of a coward to check for bruises. A few weeks ago he wouldn’t have dared suspect Sam of hurting a toddler, but it wasn’t a few weeks ago. The freezing wind bit at his exposed cheeks. He unzipped his jacket and held the sleeping toddler against his chest, the jacket extending around both of them. He thanked his past self for making his jacket so large.
Tommy didn’t fall asleep. He hadn’t gotten very much sleep the night before, he hadn’t gotten much sleep at all since Dream escaped. His best night of sleep had still been when he had passed out in Phil’s basement and woken up in a soft bed, having been told he had been out for fourteen hours. His fingers grew numb in the cold.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, wooden poles with redstone powered lamps lit up the island. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t for why they were here.
“Tommy?” Sam’s voice sent a wave of ice through his veins. Tommy carefully lifted Michael into his arms. He was fast asleep.
“Come inside, it’s getting cold,” Sam continued. Tommy gently stood up. He wasn’t going to let him anywhere near Michael. Still, it was getting cold and the idea of being in a heated building was quite enticing. Tommy had slept in a thin tent in the middle of winter before, he could handle it, but Michael couldn't. Michael shouldn’t have to.
“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay outside,” Sam said. He already knew that. He took a careful step away from where Sam’s voice was coming from. Maybe they could sneak back into the room Michael had been kept in and still avoid Sam. The problem was that that direction was exactly where Sam was coming from. Tommy cautiously walked around in the opposite direction, making sure he didn’t step on any twigs or large patches of leaves.
“Tommy, please, I have the fireplace on,” Sam called out like a siren. It was tempting, but he kept walking away from him. He could circle the house and slip inside that way.
“There’s a big pot of stew on the stove,” Sam said. Tommy kept walking. He left the stand of trees.
In front of him, on a small patch of flat land, was a wooden cross with his own name inscribed on it. He peered closer out of morbid curiosity. It listed his death as March first, several months ago. It was from when he had died to Dream in the prison. It left a sick aftertaste in his mouth. He wanted to kick it over and toss it into the sea. He didn’t do that though. He just kept walking past it. He could destroy his grave later.
“Come inside, please,” Sam practically begged. Tommy kept walking. He stayed close to the house. Michael shivered in his arms. He was only wearing overalls, a thin long sleeved shirt, and a pair of normal socks. If Tommy was cold, Michael was freezing. He had to get inside. He sped up to a jog, abandoning any stealth he had had.
“Tommy, you don’t have to run from me!” Sam called out. Tommy gritted his teeth. He kept on going. He could see the shed, he was almost there. The wind blew harder, chill piercing down to his bones.
‘HELLO TOMMYINNIT,’ Sam Nook beeped to life, his glowing green eyes aimed right at him. He froze.
“I wanna go home,” he still pleaded to the robot.
‘YOU ARE HOME,’ he said. Tommy took a step towards the window. Sam Nook’s eyes followed his movement. He knew he couldn’t trust Sam Nook anymore. He needed to get inside. But he also needed to be hidden. Or was he just being stubborn. What was the worst that could happen if he just went inside?
Who was he kidding? Sam had killed Ranboo. What would stop him from killing him or Michael?
Staying outside still wasn’t a good option either. His hands felt seconds from freezing off and he had Michael with him too.
A hand touched his shoulder. He spun around and took a large step away from the touch. Sam towered over him with a disappointed look on his face. Tommy could run again. He could go back to the stand of trees and hide again. But it was only going to get colder.
“Come inside, I won’t hurt you,” Sam said. He longed for the days when he could have trusted him.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Tommy stared down his friend’s murderer. It wasn’t entirely true, he didn’t think Sam would be against hurting him, but he could take it. Michael couldn’t.
Sam sighed, “I won’t hurt him either.”
He could almost hear his reluctance. He didn’t move.
“You’re going to freeze to death if you stay out here all night,” it wasn’t quite a threat, but an edge of annoyance still poked through Sam’s voice.
“Let me go home,” Tommy demanded.
Sam took a deep breath, “I can’t. I’m sorry but it’s just not safe.”
“You’re not fucking sorry,” Tommy snarled. Sam took a step back, but didn't deny it.
"Please just come inside, I don't want you to freeze," Sam gestured towards the front door.
"I don't fucking trust you," Tommy stepped towards the open window. Sam looked at something behind Tommy. Two metallic hands wrapped themselves around his waist. His eyes shot wide open.
"I didn't want to do this," Sam smiled sadly.
"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Tommy shouted, his legs flailing uselessly as Sam Nook lifted him off the ground. Michael squealed in fright.
"Fucking put me down!" Tommy shouted as the robot carried him towards the front door. Michael grasped at Tommy's shirt.
"I'm sorry Tommy, I just want you to be safe," Sam monotoned.
"If you had wanted me to be safe you wouldn't have fucking murdered Ranboo!" Tommy screamed. Sam stopped dead in his tracks.
"I had to stop Dream from escaping,” his voice dropped to a dangerous growl. Sam Nook continued carrying him closer and closer. Michael began to cry again.
"And he escaped anyway! You! You- just, fuck you!" Warm tears rolled down his frozen cheeks. Sam kept on walking into the house. He held the door open. A wave of warm air enveloped him as he was carried over the threshold. The door slammed shut behind him. The air inside smelled of pumpkin pie and blood.
Sam Nook lowered him to the ground. Both of them were between him and the door. There was a living room to his right and a kitchen to his left, with a halfway in the middle. He bolted down the hall. He spotted a door left slightly open and threw it open the rest of the way.
A thick red and white comforter sat perfectly made atop a twin sized bed. A decently sized nightstand held up a simple lamp and a pad of blank paper. Tommy closed the door behind him. There wasn't a lock. He tried to set Michael down on the bed, but he didn't let go.
"Okay, I'm sorry," Tommy whispered, maneuvering himself so he could lay down without squishing Michael. He wasn't safe. Nowhere was safe. But he was too cold and exhausted to do anything. Michael needed some rest and they both needed to warm up. He stayed like that for a few minutes. It wasn't long before the toddler was asleep again. He cracked a small smile. He couldn't deny that he was adorable. He had to keep Michael safe from Sam. He needed to keep himself safe from Sam as well. There was a window above the bed he could climb out of if he needed to. He kept his eyes locked on the door. Sam definitely knew they were in here. He wondered why he hadn’t come in yet.
He took his communicator out again. There still wasn’t any signal. He checked the wifi, there weren’t any networks available either. He shifted backwards, away from Michael. He reached towards him in his sleep.
“Sorry,” Tommy whispered, carefully climbing off the bed. The room was dim, illuminated only by the setting sun pouring through the window. There was a shelf on the nightstand with a communicator charging cord and a few extra ports. His communicator still had a good amount of charge. On the other side of the room was a bulky wooden dresser. Inside was a large selection of neatly folded clothes.
"The fuck?" He whispered to himself, letting the drawer fall closed on its own. A lump grew in his chest. He looked around the rest of the room.
There was a shorter door opening to a small bathroom, fully stocked with toiletries like a hotel room. There was even a toothbrush by the sink.
A toothbrush.
This wasn't a guest room.
He turned back towards the bed, where Michael was tossing and turning in his sleep. Whatever this was, it had been set up for Tommy while Michael had been kept in an empty room. He gently closed the bathroom door and returned to the bed.
“Mikey?” Tommy whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eye and huffed at him.
“I’m gonna look around the house, can you stay quiet under the bed for me please?” Tommy whispered.
<Why?> He signed, and it hit Tommy that he hadn't been able to sleep on a real bed in weeks and now he was telling him to sleep on the floor again. Tommy grimaced. Did he really need to stay under the bed? Couldn't he just stay quiet on the bed?
<I don't want Sam to hurt you so I don't want him to find you,> Tommy signed.
Michael nodded.
<Has he hurt you?> Tommy added. Michael looked towards the ground and Tommy really didn't want to cry again today.
<Not on purpose,> Michael signed so small Tommy could barely tell what he was saying.
Tommy knelt down on the plush carpet, <where?> He asked, exaggerating his distraught expression to ensure Michael knew he wasn't scolding him. Michael pointed to his arms and stomach.
<Can I look?> Tommy asked. He didn't know exactly what he'd do with the information, but it wouldn't hurt to see how bad it was. Okay, that was a lie, it could hurt a lot. But it would hurt more, both literally and metaphorically, if he didn't know and it got worse. Michael sat up and rolled up his sleeve. There were a few bruises, some older than others, but nothing severe enough to indicate a broken bone. He grimaced as he pulled his sleeves back down. Tommy helped him out of the top of his overalls and rolled up his shirt. There were a few bruises there too, though none of them were shaped like hands. He rolled his shirt back down and helped him back into the top of the overalls. It wasn't much, but it didn't paint a pretty picture.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Tommy whispered. Michael wasn't supposed to get hurt. He didn't want to say he had failed. To say he had failed would be saying that it was too late. It wasn't too late. Michael was still here, right in front of him on a soft bed with his uncle to protect him. It wouldn't be perfect, but he wasn't going to fail. He had made a promise. He was going to keep it until the day his soul gives out. Michael made a little noise and softly nodded. Tommy gave him a gentle hug.
The sound of metal hitting tile rang out from somewhere else in the house. Tommy flinched and turned towards the door. Michael let out a tiny squeal.
Tommy cautiously approached the door and pressed an ear against it. A small fire crackled over the faint sound of a movie.
He took the cold door handle in one hand and slowly twisted it. It made little sound as the bolt slid back. With one hand pulling back and his foot pushing forward, he cracked the door open just wide enough for a stream of light from the hallway to illuminate the room. A homey garlicy smell drifted through the gap. His stomach grumbled. He took out his communicator and used its camera to peer around the door. Sam was in the kitchen wiping up a spot on the floor. Wisps of steam rose from a pot on the stove. Sam Nook was nowhere to be seen. He closed the door.
Maybe he could sneak some of whatever he was cooking later.
He turned back and sat down on the bed next to Michael. He just had to wait. He pulled out his communicator and scrolled through his apps. Michael tugged on his wrist.
<Can I play?> Michael asked.
<Sure,> Tommy handed over his communicator.
Michael scrolled over to temple run and started playing. He straightened his posture and brought the device close to his face. Tommy smiled. He lost quickly, only making it a few bends before he missed a jump. Tommy’s high score displayed itself on the screen. It wasn’t the highest it had ever been, he had gotten a ridiculously huge high score during his first exile. His communicator had been destroyed at the beginning of his second exile and he hadn’t gotten even close ever since. Maybe it was the tremors he got from time to time, maybe it was the release of the new animal crossing.
Michael quickly pressed “try again” and kept playing. It was almost nice. He could almost pretend he was back in Snowchester, hanging out with Michael after a movie marathon. He could almost pretend his festering anxiety was about Ranboo showing up to lecture him about letting Michael play video games after his bedtime. Almost.
He watched Michael play for a while. Some runs were unlucky and he lost almost immediately, while other times he managed to keep the avatar alive for twice as long as he normally did. He looked back at the door from time to time. He wondered what Sam wanted with him. He knew Sam had been keeping Michael as a hostage, but why was Tommy here? Was he also a hostage? Had Sam found out about him and Phil? He hadn’t exactly been keeping it a secret that Phil was protecting him. Maybe Sam wanted to kill Phil for his involvement with the prison break. Tommy didn’t exactly like that he had helped break Dream out of prison, but he didn’t think he deserved to die for it.
Footsteps came down the hall. Tommy raised his index finger to his lips. Someone knocked on the door. Michael pushed himself forward on the bed.
“Dinner’s ready if you want some,” Sam called. His mind filled with images of pumpkin pies and beef wellington for a glorious moment before it all came crashing back into the present. Tommy stuck his arm out in front of Michael, who gave him a confused look. He took the communicator and stuffed it in his pocket. He cracked open the window, ready to grab Michael and leave through that window if the door even so much as budged.
It didn’t. Instead, something made a single light tap, then footsteps retreated back up the hall.
He closed the window and sat back down on the bed.
<Dinner,> Michael signed.
Tommy sighed, <it's not real, it's a trap.>
Michael tilted his head in confusion.
<I think he's trying to hurt us,> Tommy clarified. Really, he wasn't exactly sure whether it was a trap or not. Part of him was begging him not to waste food, that he didn't know when the next time either of them could eat would be, while another part screamed that the possibility of it being drugged or poisoned outweighed the potential benefit of a single meal.
He wanted Michael to look up at him in confusion again. He wanted him to not understand. But instead he simply nodded, and that was enough to shatter him.
<I'm hungry,> Michael signed.
<We can get food once Sam's asleep,> Tommy signed. Michael grumbled. He had to agree. This was a terrible situation. Still, it was only temporary. It would only be temporary. It would have to be only temporary. Tonight he would find some signal and Phil or Tubbo would take at the very most two days to get there. Just two days.
He waited for a good long while. Michael fell back asleep not long after Sam called for dinner. Tommy waited on the bed for the most part, occasionally pressing an ear to the door to listen for footsteps. He waited until he couldn't hear anything, then he waited a bit longer just to be sure.
Finally, long after the sun had sunk below the horizon, he opened the door. It opened into a short hallway with a few closed doors. By his feet, there was a bowl of pasta with a thin white sauce. He paused for a moment, staring at the bowl of pasta. His mouth watered. No. There were probably leftovers in the kitchen that were guaranteed to not be drugged or poisoned. He ignored the bowl and tiptoed over to the kitchen. The area was lit up by a dwindling fireplace in the living room, which was separated from the kitchen only by a change from wooden to tile flooring.
Inside the fridge there were a few tupperwares of leftovers, along with an assortment of other random foodstuffs. He picked out a container with more of the pasta. He gently closed the fridge door, then slowly made his way back to the room.
Michael was still just sleeping on the bed, and Tommy released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He shut the door behind him and climbed up onto the bed.
"I got food," Tommy whispered, gently shaking Michael's shoulder. He sat up with an excited squeal. Tommy set the tupperware between them and cracked open the lid. Michael glanced around.
"Oh, you can just use your hands," he said, demonstrating with a handful of cold buttery pasta. Michael followed suit, messily slurping up a few noodles.
It was good, though there still was the pervasive thought not only that it would be better heated up, but that he was in some way wasting it by eating it cold. Michael wiped his hands on the bedsheets. Tommy smiled at the 'fuck you' to Sam, even if it was likely unintentional. The small part of him still waiting for Ranboo to come through the door to sigh at their antics and offer to heat up the pasta for them weighed heavy on his heart. But Ranboo was dead, and…
Tommy could barely hear the commotion of the faraway battle. Sapnap had told him to run if Dream scared him that much.
And…
“I DON’T CARE IF HE DIES,” Dream’s voice was carried in the wind. In that moment, he had thought that the ‘he’ was himself. Selfish. Coward.
And…
By the time the whole story pieced itself together, by the time Tubbo confided in him about his confrontation with Technoblade, it had already been nearly a day. Tubbo asked him if they should build Ranboo a grave. Tommy said that they should. He knew why Tubbo had asked him, but he had already given up hope. That little message that he had at first thought was directed at him. Dream shoving Tommy away from the edge of the bridge during exile. Ranboo wasn’t coming back.
Tommy didn't notice the tears streaking down his face until a finger wiped a tear from his cheek, leaving a greasy smear of buttery sauce. Michael wore a small frown, his head slightly tilted to the side. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, instead just nodding at him. He wondered if he even realized his father was dead. There was no way that Michael hadn't heard him scream at Sam about him having murdered Ranboo, but that didn't guarantee that he knew what that meant. Even if he had, he wouldn't know that it had been his last life. It felt wrong for Michael to be wiping his tears when he should be the one there for Michael.
They kept eating in silence for a while. They were both hungry. Tommy had only had a snickers bar for breakfast and nothing else that day, and he didn't know how long it had been since Michael had been fed. Eventually they got down to the last few noodles. Tommy let Michael eat them. He watched as he wiped up some residual sauce and licked his fingers clean.
"Are you still hungry?" Tommy asked. Michael nodded vigorously.
"Okay, I'm gonna get some more food," he continued, sliding off the bed.
He carefully slipped out the door. He stepped around the bowl on the floor and continued to the kitchen at a slow walk. The fridge would still have a lot of food in it, but it wouldn’t last too long in the open, so instead he looked for the pantry. It was across from the kitchen in a room with a small archway that wasn’t much different than a door frame missing its door. He stepped inside and scanned over the contents. He grabbed a box of poptarts, a jar of peanut butter, and a bag of milano cookies.
A door creaked open to his left. He froze.
“Fran, stay,” Sam’s voice carried through the stale air. Tommy leaned forward to peer out the doorway. He could only see the first set of doors.
A door squeaked shut. Tommy took a single step closer, still hiding behind a small section of wall. There was a bit of metallic clanging and Sam let out a disappointed sigh. Tommy leaned a little further. Sam was bending down in front of the door to the room Michael was in. Tommy held his breath. Sam picked up the bowl and looked down the hall, towards where he was hiding. Tommy stepped back and flattened himself against the wall of the pantry opposite of Sam.
Sam didn’t seem to notice him as he walked down the hall, bowl of uneaten pasta in hand. He kept his back pressed flat against the wall as he heard something plop into a trashcan, then a running faucet. If he made a break for the room, Sam might catch him. He knew that Sam knew he had been in there, but he was still scared of being caught. Maybe he’d be punished for leaving the room. Maybe he’d be punished for stealing food. The faucet stopped. The empty tupperware was still on the bed.
Footsteps approached him. He needed to keep himself between Sam and Michael. He had promised Michael that he would protect him. He stepped out of the pantry. Sam locked eyes with him. He pushed off the ground, making a mad dash for the room.
“Tommy,” Sam’s voice held a hint of amusement. The box of poptarts fell to the floor as he twisted the doorknob.
“You don’t have to hide food from me,” Sam continued. He yanked the door and rushed inside. As he turned to pull the door closed, a stronger force pushed it further open. Sam’s bright green eyes bore down on him, “just, don’t eat in your room please- look! Now the bedsheet’s are dirty.”
Michael let out a distressed squeal. He saw red. But he knew he couldn't beat Sam in a straight fight, especially not unarmed.
"Don't you fucking dare," Tommy snarled.
Sam raised his arms in mock surrender and rolled his eyes, "I'm not gonna hurt him."
"I don't, I can't trust you," Tommy said.
"Well then, guess we're gonna have to work on that," Sam said with an almost wistful element to his voice. Goosebumps crawled across his skin.
"Fuck you," he spat. Sam backed up. Tommy slammed the door in his face. Sam immediately knocked on the door. He couldn't block the door, it opened outwards. Instead, he held the handle with both hands and leaned back as far as he could. The cookies and peanut butter fell to the floor.
"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked from behind the door.
"Just, fucking let us go home!" Tommy demanded.
"You know I can't do that. It's not safe."
"You keep just fucking saying that!" He shouted.
"Because it's true!" Sam roared. Tommy flinched, but didn't let go of the handle.
"It isn't!" Tommy shouted, though a traitorous part of him did want to give in, to fall into his arms and be protected from the world. But that was gone. That Sam had died long ago. Why was it so hard to move on?
"You know Dream is out there! He'll kill you if he finds you!" Sam shouted. He was right. Sam was right, but still he found himself clawing for any little discrepancy he could use to fling back at him like a monkey throwing its shit at a zookeeper.
He took far longer to respond than he had any right to, "I want Tubbo," he said in a near whisper, "I want Tubbo and Phil and Quackity and Sapnap and I want them to be safe" he paused, taking a second to harden his voice, "and I want Ranboo. But you murdered him."
"Tubbo exiled you, Phil blew up L'Manburg, Quackity exiled you and Wilbur, Sapnap killed Henry" Sam said, "and Ranboo set off the explosion that caused you to be stuck in the prison with Dream."
He froze.
“W-what the fuck was that?” Tommy’s gaze floated towards the ceiling as explosions rocked the cell.
"No… no, h-he wouldn't do that!" Tommy shouted, because Ranboo wouldn't do that. He would never have done anything like that. Sam was lying. He had to be lying.
“Means that you could be stuck in here for a little bit… Maybe even months,” Dream taunted, grinning unnaturally wide.
"He did. It took me far too long to piece it together. I'm sorry," Sam said.
"Shut the fuck up! You're lying! You're lying! He'd never do that! You- you just… I hate you!" Tommy screamed, tears pricking the edges of his vision.
“That’s the Tommy I know,” Dream’s sickly sweet voice shot through him like a volley of razor sharp icicles.
The door swung open and Tommy fell forwards, landing against Sam's chest. He pushed back, only for two muscular arms to squeeze him into a bone-crushing hug, his own skinny arms pressed uncomfortably between their stomachs. It felt like lava, yet he didn't really want to leave. He felt a gnawing emptiness consuming him, as if his organs were making room for Sam's blade to slice through his chest.
“Sam, Sam!” Tommy called out as everything around him shook. A piece of obsidian fell and cut him across the cheek.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through all that," Sam whispered. Tommy tried again to push away, but to no avail. A hand left his back, moving instead to card through his tangled hair.
"What do you want from me?" He pleaded.
He awoke to a wall of uncaring obsidian and calloused hand carding through his hair. He froze in fear as Dream whispered about how peaceful and quiet he was when he was asleep, about how soft his hair was, about how he would make sure to keep some of it.
The hand carding through his hair stopped, then pressed his head against Sam's chest, "I just want you to be safe. I just want to keep you safe from Dream and anyone else who might hurt you," he cooed.
He heard his own skull crack open against the obsidian.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Sam moved his calloused hand through his hair. He felt each strand pull away from his skull like red hot needles.
He did exactly what Dream told him to do. He didn’t want to die again. He held still as Dream played with his hair for hours on end. Every so often he ripped out a lock of hair and grinned as Tommy held back his screams. He had screamed that first time he had pulled out his hair. That had caused Dream to wordlessly drag him over to the sink and hold him under. He was almost sure Dream would drown him. When his head was lifted from the water he was told to thank Dream for not killing him. He did. He almost meant it.
He knew not to move, and when Dream pulled his hair again, he knew not to scream. He just sat on the cold, cold obsidian floor and watched the lava flow over the exit. It felt like Dream had flayed open his chest to rearrange his organs however he saw fit, folding his lungs, excising his liver, wringing out his stomach. He fantasized of burning off his hair while Dream took a shit. But then Dream would pull his hair again and he’d remember that if he did that, if he disobeyed Dream like that, he would likely be pushed fully into the current of lava. He didn’t want to die again. He involuntarily shivered as Dream raked his fingers gently through his hair.
“Ten,” Dream said. Tommy opened his mouth to say something, anything, to plead his innocence, but all that came out was a pitiful whimper as he was pulled to his feet. He stumbled as Dream pushed him over to the sink again.
“I was being gentle and you still couldn’t follow a simple rule,” Dream pushed down on the back of his head. He folded over, his head plunging beneath the surface of the icy water. Dream didn’t let go. The blackness of his closed eyelids looked just like limbo. His lungs burned. For a dangerous second he considered opening his mouth and letting the water rush into his lungs. He thought of what he’d tell Wilbur, maybe he would be upset that Dream only wanted him alive for his own purposes. Maybe Wilbur would be upset if Dream revived him in general. He blacked out.
He woke up on the floor, his face still dripping wet. He knew he hadn’t died, but-
“You know, I was actually trying to kill you that time,” Dream chuckled as Tommy gasped for air, “guess you got lucky. For now.”
He felt something cold on his hands.
Dream pushed him into a sitting position. His lungs burned like they had been ripped out and dragged against a cactus.
Dream put his hand back in his wet hair. He flinched.
"Eleven," his disappointed tone still dripped like acid. Back to the sink.
His eyes snapped open. The walls weren't obsidian. There was an open door behind Sam. Sam-
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered. He was in front of him. Tommy was sitting on something soft. It didn't feel real. He squeezed his hands. Ice cubes.
His face was wet.
"Flashback?" Sam asked.
He nodded, but he wasn't really listening.
"Dream can't get you here," Sam cooed.
He didn't believe him. Dream was there just seconds ago. It wasn't just seconds ago, it was months ago. It felt like only seconds ago.
No. He was here. He was- he wasn't okay.
"Lay down for me?" Sam asked, his gentle voice helping reel him back into his body. He laid down on the soft mattress, mind still too fuzzy to think.
The socket of his leg popped off his residual limb, then the liner was slid off. The mattress was soft, the blankets were soft, and Sam was gentle tucking him in.
"It's really late, you should get some sleep," Sam said.
"Michael," Tommy said before he thought, "Michael, where's Michael!" He sat bolt upright.
Sam sighed, "I'll get him for you."
Sam left. He was all alone. Alone. Alone.
The moonlight shining through the window barely illuminated the room. He clutched the blanket he was under. He wasn't in the prison anymore. He wasn't in exile either. He had a warm bed and he could see the stars out a thick glass window. He collapsed back into his pillow.
He was still trapped though.
It was easy to cry when his face was already wet. Each tear fell like a drop into that damned sink he'd almost drowned in so many times.
The door opened again. He scrunched his eyes in the bright light. He heard a squeal and-
He had failed him. He had promised Michael that he wouldn't let Sam hurt him.
He felt a weight settle down next to him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. The pale moonlight illuminated the toddler as he climbed over him.
“Goodnight Tommy,” Sam said.
"Goodnight" Tommy replied automatically as Michael stuffed himself between Tommy and the wall.
Sleep pulled heavy on his bones. He didn't have the energy to resist.