Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt!

Sam Nook’s head twitches to the side over and over again. He’s making a concerning buzzing sound, and Tommy can’t help but wonder if his wires are twisted over or something, because he should not be making that noise. The only sounds Sam Nook tends to make is the high-pitched sound of his voice, not… This.

So Sam Nook is broken, then. That’s obvious. That was obvious when Tommy walked up to him and Sam Nook didn’t respond. 

Tommy stares down at the little robot for a long time, trying to decide the best course of action. Sam Nook is small, but it’s heavy, too. Compact. Tommy is a big man, of course, but even the robot is a little much for him. But that’s okay, he can leave Sam Nook here, at his post, and go find Sam.

…

He has no idea where Sam is. He hasn’t seen him since…

Since he died in prison. No, no, that’s not it. The last time he saw Sam was shortly after Dream had escaped. Sam had run up to him and practically begged him to stay safe.

As if he had any right! He had no right to even speak to Tommy! Sam had hurt him time and time again! Sam had let him get hurt! Sam-

Sam is a terrible person and Tommy never wants to see him again.

Unfortunately, Sam is also the only person who can fix Sam Nook. He’s the only one on the server with the redstone knowledge besides maybe Callahan, but Callahan is never around, and even if he was, it would be easier to go to the person who knows exactly how Sam Nook works, anyway. Of course, that would be Sam. Sam was the one who designed and built Sam Nook, after all.

That leads back to the current problem, though- Tommy doesn’t know where Sam is.

The Prison is his first guess, but obviously that’s not the case. Not since Dream- and the name sends shivers down Tommy’s spine- escaped. So, not the prison, then.

Sam’s base. Sure, Sam doesn’t usually spend much time around there, but he used to before the prison was built. Plus, Tommy doesn’t have any other leads.

Sam’s base is far and out of the way. Tommy has to travel through the Nether to get there. It’s not a terrible journey, just annoying. Sam probably built it out there to deter visitors, but Tommy was determined to get Sam Nook fixed, so he trudged on anyway.

The door to Sam’s base is broken. It used to be a complicated redstone contraption, the only way to open it a secret to all except Sam (and maybe those who’ve seen him open it). 

But as Tommy walks into Sam’s base, he’s confused. It’s… Empty. No, no, it was always empty. Sam used to say he would get to decorating and getting furniture eventually, but he never did. He had a farm, Tommy was pretty sure, and a room for Quackity (or was it George?). But this… This was cleared out. As if someone had taken everything inside of it and moved it somewhere else.

The worst part is the dust. The layer of it on the floor was so thick that Tommy’s thin sneakers left footprints as he steps inside. 

Tommy frowns and looks around. The base looks deserted. Concerningly so. 

The entire place is deadly silent aside from the quiet dripping of water through a hole in the roof. Tommy pays it no mind as he cups his hands to his mouth.

“Sam!” He shouts, stepping further in. At least the base still has its lights so he’s able to see what he’s walking into. “Sam! Are you in here?”

He gets a response.

It isn’t Sam. 

No, instead it’s a faint barking sound. Well, less of a bark and more of a whine, but still, the sound is distinctly from a dog.

Tommy’s running towards the sound before he even realizes it.

“Fran!” The shout is louder than his one for Sam. 

Bark!

Bark, bark, bark!

She’s- she’s in a pen in the downstairs area of Sam’s base. The water bowl in front of her is half full and the food bowl is completely empty. Her fur is overgrown and tangled. He’ll scold Sam on it later, but first-

Fran has an automatic feeder. Sam says it will keep her fed for two weeks, but he never plans to be away from her for that long. The automatic feeder has long since been empty. Tommy shudders to think how long it’s been that way.

Luckily, with minor searching, he manages to find where Sam keeps the dog food. He gets the biggest scoop of it he can and practically dumps it into Fran’s food bowl. She begins to eat immediately.

“I’m gonna yell at Sam after this,” Tommy murmurs, partially to Fran and partially to himself, “I can’t believe he’d leave his own dog like this. That’s- that’s bad. Real bad, Fran.”

Fran does not reply. She’s too busy furiously eating her own food to listen to him. He worries, just for a moment, that eating this fast will make her sick. 

Tommy fills up Fran’s water bowl before pulling out his communicator to message Sam. He’s going to get an earful because who leaves their own dog like that?

TommyInnit: sam we need to talk

Bzzt!

SERVER NOTICE: Message failed to send

Tommy frowns. 

There are really only a few reasons why a message wouldn’t be able to send. The communicator was damaged in some way (not true, Tommy had messaged Tubbo this morning), the recipient was somewhere else (Sam never leaves the Dream SMP), or, the recipient is dead. 

…

Tommy makes a face. He tries sending a message again. 

TommyInnit: sam your dog

SERVER NOTICE: Message failed to send

It’s at this moment Tommy realizes that Sam may actually be dead. 

Not permanently, of course. The man has never lost a canon life before- he had told Tommy that fact at some point. Tommy can't remember when, but he’s certain it’s true. 

He closes his dm with Sam and starts scrolling through the general messages instead. If Sam is dead, then there has to be a message announcing it somewhere. He just… he has to find where. It can’t be that far back, otherwise his message would have gone through. 

He finds it twelve hours back in the log,  fingers freezing over the message as soon as he reads it. 

Awesamdude was killed by Awesamdude  using harming potion

Tommy blinks. 

That doesn’t make sense. 

It doesn’t make sense because that meant Sam had killed himself. He had drank a potion of harming- or multiple potions of harming- until he died. But that doesn’t make sense! He had no reason to do that!

…

Sam’s sole purpose for the last several months was to watch over the prison and keep the prisoner inside. Said prisoner had escaped. 

Tommy knew what it felt like to fail. He knew what it felt like to lose your sense of purpose. He knew what it felt like to want to die. 

He had stood on top of a tower once, staring down, building up the courage to jump. 

But even he hadn’t gone through with it, and Sam had. Apparently he did, anyway. 

That was a disheartening thought. Sam was strong enough to be the sole warden of the prison, and now he- 

Okay, okay, enough of that. Tommy puts Fran back in her pen while deciding his next move. As soon as he’s dealt with Sam, he’ll come back and get Fran, but he needs to deal with Sam first.

He should wait for Sam to respawn, but Tommy is seventeen years old and struggling with his own mental health. He’s not a therapist, and he wants to leave that work to the professionals. 

Except the “professionals” is Captain Puffy, the only therapist on the server, and she doesn’t even do therapy anymore. 

That leaves Tommy with his second option- Ponk. 

He finds Ponk inside of church Prime. Tommy hadn’t even been looking for Ponk, he just wanted to offer a quick prayer for Sam to the Lady Prime. 

But then there is Ponk, staring up at the portrait of Master Oogway up on the wall. Tommy used to argue that he wasn’t a god and shouldn’t be included, but he had long since given up on that argument. 

Tommy clears his throat awkwardly, getting Ponk to turn around. 

“Ponk,” he begins, only to trail off. He doesn’t know where to go with this anymore. 

“Tommy?” Ponk replies, Walking over so they’re not so far away from each other. 

Tommy squints at him, trying to decide how best to approach the situation. “What’s your opinion on Sam?”

Ponk’s face goes through a flurry of expressions in just a few seconds. It’s hard to decipher them, since his mask covers all but his eyes and eyebrows, but Tommy’s pretty sure that they’re not good. 

“I’m only-“

“What did he do?”

Tommy grimaces, glancing down at the ground. “Has he ever acted… Depressed, to you?”

Ponk puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. His expression is serious now. “Tommy, what did Sam do?”

“Uh…” Instead of speaking the words, he just holds up his communicator, showing Ponk the death message. 

Ponk’s eyes widen, and this time, the emotion is clear. Dread. Dread and fear. 

“Ponk-“

“I didn’t think he’d- he asked me- oh my g-“

“He hasn’t respawned yet,” Tommy cuts in, “I don’t know what to do when he does.”

“Oh,” Ponk breathes out. He looks crushed. “Okay.”

Tommy just stares at him, as if the man has an answer to his problem. Of course he doesn’t, why would-

“That’s his first life, right?”

Tommy nods. 

“We need to find where he respawns. You know, in case when he wakes up, he…” Ponk trails off. He doesn’t need to continue. 

Tommy nods again. “Do you know where he slept last? That’d make our lives easier,”

Ponk lets out a tired laugh. “I don’t even know if he does sleep. But I’m assuming his base, right?”

Tommy doesn’t even remember seeing a bed there. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

“Then we can go check it out-“

“Or the prison.”

Ponk doesn’t speak for a long moment. “Or the prison, yeah. But I don’t think-“

“I can check it out.”

“Didn’t you die there?”

Tommy grimaced. He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds then opens them slowly. “Yeah, I did.”

“Are you sure you want to go-“

“I’m going. It’s fine,” he says, firmly. “Dream isn’t even there anymore. He’s out wandering around looking for people to terrorize.”

Ponk stares at him for a moment, considering his words. “Okay.”

And that was it. There wasn’t even a clause to what Ponk was saying, just an ‘okay’. 

They agreed to message the other when they found Sam, and then, depending on Sam, they’d either meet up wherever they found him or in Church Prime. 

And then they were off. 

Tommy just barely sets foot on the prison lawn before he pulls out his communicator, just to check if Ponk has messaged him. 

He hasn’t, but there’s a new message nonetheless. 

SERVER MESSAGE: Awesamdude has been slain by DreamWasTaken using Warden’s Will

Tommy is going to be sick. His hands, now shaking, nearly drop the communicator onto the grass. 

Dream killed Sam. 

Dream killed Sam.

Tommy almost laughs out of the sheer awfulness of it all. Not only did Dream kill Sam, but Tommy is even more certain that they’re in the prison now. 

Maybe that wasn’t because of the message, though. It probably has more to do with the open nether portal, glowing in the entrance of the prison, practically taunting him. 

The inside of the prison is cold. Every step Tommy takes echoes against the walls and down hallways that Tommy can’t even see. 

He finds himself at the front desk, unsure of what to do. 

Usually there would be someone to greet him at the front desk. Well, not ‘someone’. Sam would be there. Or, really, The Warden. They’re the same person, but it’s… Different. 

Tommy debates calling out for Sam, because surely he’ll respawn here somewhere, but he stops himself. 

If Sam is- or was- here, then that means Dream is here, too. And that’s… Bad. Dangerous. Terrifying. 

So instead he walks forward, all the way up to the front desk and then behind it. It wasn’t surprising that the entire thing was clean and organized. There wasn’t even dust on the floor, despite the prison being closed for over a month. Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if Sam came in every night to clean. 

There are a few drawers in the front desk, but each was locked. Tommy doesn’t have to search for a key to know it isn’t there- Sam values security far too much to leave a key in the room. Maybe it’s tucked in his front pocket, hidden back underneath his armor. Or- or- Tommy doesn’t know. 

The key isn’t important. What is important is finding Sam, who happens to be… Somewhere. Somewhere close.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The sound is repetitive, muffled, but Tommy can recognize them anyway. Footsteps are approaching from down the hallway, heavy and calculated. 

“Sam!” Tommy shouts, taking a few steps towards the sound. It’s too dangerous for Tommy to go down the halls by himself- security measures and all that- so he waits for Sam to come to him.

Or, oh…

Not Sam.

A tall figure, sure, but not tall enough. Netherite armor but the enchantments glint off of it in the wrong way. And instead of the mask covering only the lower half of his face, a mask covers his entire face. A smile is painted onto it. Blood is splattered onto the lower edge of it.

And his hands. And the sword he’s holding in his hand. Well, splattered is the wrong word for it- dripping off of is more accurate.

Tommy gasps in a shaky breath. He should have known. He should have known. “Dream,” he half-whispers.

He can almost imagine the edges of Dream’s mouth quirking up into a smile. “Tommy, what a surprise. I didn’t think you’d be here of all places after… Well, you know.”

Tommy steels himself, curling his hands into tight fists, fingernails poking harshly into his palms. “Where’s The Warden?”

Sam prefers to be referred to as The Warden inside the prison. As much as Tommy hates the guy, he tries his best to respect that wish. Besides, it separates Sam from the prison a little bit, even though they’re so tightly intertwined it’s painful.

Dream’s smile certainly widens from behind the mask. “You’re looking at him.”

Tommy blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“I’m the warden, Tommy.”

“No, you’re not.” Tommy lets out an awkward laugh. This has to be some sort of sick joke.

“Yes, I am. And as the Warden, I decide who’s allowed to visit the prison, so I hope you have a good reason for being here.”

Tommy stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s joking. Or if this is all some terrible nightmare. He decides that it’s neither. “I want to see Sam.”

“Oh, you want to visit the prisoner? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Tommy’s fist clenches a little tighter on instinct. 

“Well, you’ll have to sign the paperwork.”

Sam was probably shivering in a cell right now, scared out of his mind. Confused. Coming back from your first death (or two deaths, Tommy recalls) isn’t exactly comfortable. Sam must be really struggling. Especially if his first death was so… Violent.

Not that Tommy cares, of course. Sam could rot there for all Tommy cares, but… But Sam Nook! Sam Nook needs to be repaired, and Sam’s the only one who can repair him. Probably. 

And here Dream is, trying to waste time. Time that Sam could spend outside of the prison, fixing Sam Nook. Or maybe with Ponk…

“I’ve done the paperwork before.”

Dream’s head tilts slightly to the side, and even more slightly forward. He’s looking down at Tommy, but it’s not menacing. It’s… Like he’s looking down on him. “Then you should know what to do.”

Dream takes his sweet time finding the paperwork, and Tommy fills it out faster than he has in his life. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can get Sam out. The sooner he can leave. 

Dream plays Warden scarily well. It makes sense, really. He was the one who helped make most of the plans for the prison. He was there for a lot of the creation process, so of course he would know how it worked.

He takes the job less seriously than Sam. He laughs and ‘jokes’ as Tommy goes through the protocols to finally be let in the prison. It makes everything feel worse. Weird and uncomfortable. It creeps Tommy out, and he already can’t wait to leave.

But he has to get Sam first.

Which is why he finds himself, hands, still clenched, shaking slightly, as he waits for the wall of lava to part. 

“You put him in Pandora’s Vault?” Tommy whispers, more to himself than to Dream. 

“Of course I did. He-” Dream put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, who immediately ripped out of his grip. Dream simply sighed and kept going. “He’s committed countless crimes, Tommy. But no worry, you’re safe from him now.”

“Safe from him?” Tommy asks, appalled.

“He killed you, Tommy. Back in the prison. Don’t you remember?”

Tommy took in a sharp breath. “He did not kill me. I- you did that.”

He can almost feel Dream’s eye roll. “I did not, that was all on him. You know- oh! The lava’s finally down.”

Tommy turns his attention back across the chasm towards the cell. The Vault. The…

The man, lying on the obsidian floor of the prison cell. He’s still and unmoving. Tommy can’t even tell if he’s breathing from this distance, but he must be. He’s only lost two lives. He must have just respawned quickly after that last death. It’s uncommon, but not unheard of.

“You- I-”

“You’re stuttering, Tommy,” Dream points out as if Tommy doesn’t already know, “I thought I taught you to speak clearly back in ex-”

Tommy refuses to let him finish that sentence. “I want to go into the cell.”

Dream is silent for a moment. “Do you now?”

“I do. Send- send over the platform or whatever.”

“Are you-”

“I’m sure.”

Only a few minutes later and the platform is moving slowly, Tommy’s feet firmly planted against it. Dream is right behind Tommy, insisting on not letting him go alone.

It’s awful and he hates it. He hates being in the vicinity of this monster, but he has no choice. He needs to make sure Sam’s okay. 

Once the platform has made its way across, Tommy stumbles off of it and into the front area of the cell. He can’t make himself move further, not yet. Not when he’s so focused on Sam, who’s just… Lying there. Still unmoving. Shouldn’t all the noise Tommy had been waking have woken him up by now?

Sam’s hair is supposed to be green and cropped close around his face. He always says that it’s more efficient that way- plus it stays out of his face.

Sam’s hair could be described as a mullet now. Nearly a third of his hair is a bright white, a stark contrast to the deep green that it’s supposed to be. And Sam’s face…

His nose is crooked, one eye is slightly swollen. Cuts and bruises, angry and red, litter his face. 

Not just his face, but his whole body. He wears bloodstained orange sweatpants and a black sleeveless top. Nearly every inch of his skin is covered in bruises, all the way down to deep red fingertips.

Sam’s shirt is ripped. It’s stiff, too, having dried at some point after being soaked with his blood. The blood came from one main area- a large stab wound in his torso. Tommy can see it through the rip in his shirt. 

And then there are the restraints. Three metal cuffs, one on each wrist and one on his neck, connected with thick chains. It looks heavy. There are no doubt marks from it on his wrists and neck.

“Sam- Sam!” Tommy stumbles forward now, falling to his knees at Sam’s side. He rolls Sam over slightly, onto his back.

“He’s not going to respond to you.” Dream laughs.

“What’s- what did you do to him?”

Dream laughs again, slowly, like the entire situation is amusing to him. It probably is. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

Sam’s chest isn’t moving. Sam isn’t breathing.

“You killed him,” Tommy murmurs in shock.

“Tommy-”

“How? How, Dream? He had all three lives!”

Dream must be confused at that, because he doesn’t answer for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“How is he dead? I- I saw the message on my comms, he only died twice, Dream!”

Dream is quiet for another few seconds, and then he lets out a sharp laugh. “Can I tell you something, Tommy?”

Tommy doesn’t answer. Dream continues anyway.

“He reminded me a lot of you back in exile. Thinking no one cared for him- all the way to wanting to kill himself.”

“Dream,” Tommy muttered out in warning.

Dream didn’t listen. “Convincing him that no one cared was easy. Easier than you, anyway. Do you want to know why it was so easy?”

Tommy goes quiet again.

“Because for him it was true.”

Tommy doesn’t want to touch Sam. His heart still could be beating, maybe- maybe- but he can’t bear to look. 

“He died four times, actually. I had to revive him and kill him again once. But I guess no one noticed, did they?”

Tommy whips his head backwards to face Dream. “What? No, he didn’t-”

“Come on, Tommy, you’re not that stupid, are you?”

Tommy shoots him a heavy glare before turning back to Sam. Sam, who still wasn’t moving. Who wasn’t reacting to a single thing going on around him.

“You see that streak of white hair. Looks a lot like yours. Ha- he looks like your dad like this, doesn’t he?”

“Shut up,” Tommy growls. 

“He said that to me, too,” Dream jokes.

Tommy doesn’t respond, forcing himself to focus on the body in front of him. He carefully smooths down Sam’s hair, pushing it away from his (beaten, bruised, bloody) face. His fingertips just barely graze skin and Tommy winces. Sam is cold. Cold and dead and lifeless.

He tries to adjust Sam’s shirt a little, but it’s difficult. It’s sleeveless, cut in a way to show off muscles, though now it only shows off injuries, like the thick, bright red scar that wraps in a ring around Sam’s upper right arm.

Sam was never a person who appeared full of life. He ran off of caffeine, going days without sleeping before crashing (sometimes literally) wherever he stood. His hair was short purely for convenience, and usually was greasy, the light making the green look all that much brighter. And he had become paler and paler as he built the prison, spending more time inside of it than out.

Still, nothing compared to how absolutely lifeless Sam looks now. His face is still scrunched up slightly in pain. 

“Bring him back.”

“Excuse me?”

Tommy does not turn to face Dream. He doesn’t need to. “I said bring him back.”

“And why would I do that?” Dream asks it like a joke, but there’s an edge of something else that Tommy prays to Prime is in consideration. 

“Sam…” Tommy trails off.

Why should he bring Sam back? After everything Sam had done to the server? Sure, he kept the prisoner in, but that was only temporarily. The prisoner still escaped. The prisoner was now pretending to be warden.

Oh. Yikes.

The more Tommy thought about the situation, the more he realized just how screwed up it was. 

Dream was the one in power here. Not Tommy. Not Sam. Dream. 

What would Dream want?

“Isn’t he your friend?” Tommy tries.

Dream just shakes his head, the mask shaking with it. It’s not tightened properly. Tommy wonders if he put it on in a hurry. “He hasn’t been my friend for a very long time.”

As much as Tommy doesn’t want to admit it, that makes sense enough. “Then why… Why is he here? Why did you kill him?”

“Well he’s the prisoner, Tommy,” Dream says as if it’s obvious.

“But-”

“And dying was the sentence for his crimes.”

Tommy let out a surprised cough. “What- huh?”

“One death for each life he took. It’s only a fair deal.”

There are cogs turning in Tommy’s head. A plan clicking into place, piece by piece. “That’s his sentence?”

Dream nods. “That’s his sentence.”

“So… You killed him four times because he’s killed four people, yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re finally catching on-”

“Then you have to revive him. Legally,” Tommy insists.

Dream is definitely frowning under his mask as he asks “What are you talking about?”

“His sentence was to die four times. He’s finished his sentence; you can’t keep him here now that he’s done.”

There are so many ways this could go wrong. Dream could tell Tommy to drag Sam’s body out of the prison, or Dream could kill Tommy right here. Who was to say he even plays by the rules? The Warden played by the rules, but not Dream. Although…

“You’re Warden now, aren’t you?” Tommy continues, “You have to obey the rules. That means letting the prisoner free once he serves his sentence.”

Dream doesn’t respond for a long time. Maybe he’s thinking of a response, maybe he’s planning Tommy’s own murder. But then he starts laughing. “Are you being serious, Tommy?”

Was he? “I am. Sam has served his sentence, so now you have to let him go. It’s the Warden’s job.”

He is. He’s putting the power right into Dream’s hands instead of trying to threaten him. He’s got this guy figured out- more or less- and so-

“Stand back, Tommy.”

Tommy blinks. “What?”

Tommy is yanked backwards by his shirt collar, right into the armor around Dream’s shins. It’s slightly painful, but before he can complain, Dream starts…

Doing something. He’s… Making noises, sure. Guttural. Confusing. Tommy doesn’t know if they’re supposed to be words of some long-dead language or what, but it’s ugly. 

Briefly, Tommy wonders if this was the same way Dream revived him. 

And then he stops. And that’s it. There’s no bright shining light, there’s no angels (or demons) swooping down. It’s over, just like that.

Tommy scrambles back to Sam’s side, putting a hand on the side of his face.

It’s still cold.

“It didn’t work,” Tommy whispers, much more sadly than he intended.

Dream groans, running a hand through his hair. “Give it time. It’s not instant, you’re just impatient.”

“I am not- it didn’t work! He’s not breathing, and-” He puts his fingers against the side of Sam’s neck, just to check, “His heart isn’t even beating.”

“I brought him back and the first thing you’re going to do is complain? You really are a child-”

“I didn’t work,” Tommy repeats, even angrier now.

“You’re being impatient, Tommy, give him time.”

“If you’re lying to me right now…” Tommy grumbles. As much as he wants to yell at Dream- to tear this man limb from limb- he can’t. He needs to focus on Sam right now, who apparently has many more problems than just being suicidal. 

Tommy watches Sam like a hawk for any signs of life, but he finds none. His injuries don’t magically stitch themselves back together. He doesn’t start breathing. Every time Tommy presses fingers to his neck or to his wrist, he finds no pulse.

“Dream, you stupid green freak-”

There’s a sudden, gasping breath. Not from Dream, but from Sam.

Tommy presses fingers to the side of his neck. A pulse. Erratic and uneven, but there. It’s- Sam needs to calm down- but not right now. Later. For now, Sam can panic as much as he likes because that means he’s alive.

Sam takes several more gasping breaths before it fades to his regular, uneven breaths. They’re still shallow without his mask, but at least he’s breathing. If Tommy would have thought about it, he would have nicked one of Sam’s spare masks from his base to bring along, but it was far too late for that. Sam was here, and Tommy just had to roll with it. 

“Sam, Sam- you’re alive,” Tommy stutters out. 

Sam’s eyes open slowly. He looks a mix of confused and in pain. “Tommy…?”

“I’m here. I’m here, Sam. You’re gonna-“

Sam’s face contorts in pain. Tommy doesn’t even need to wonder why, because the next second, he pushes himself up to a sitting position. Sam’s arm immediately goes to the wound in his stomach, pressing tightly. Fresh blood quickly spreads onto his arm. 

“Sam, you need-“

“Where’s Dream?” Sam acts, near-frantic.

“He’s- he’s behind me. But it’s okay, Sam, he’s not-“

Sam isn’t listening to him. Of course not, he never listens to Tommy. Instead he forces himself to his feet. He’s already swaying, far too unsteady to be standing on his own. He steps in front of Tommy, between him and Dream.

If it wasn’t for Tommy standing up behind Sam, putting an arm out to steady him, he would have already fallen. 

One of Sam’s arms shoots out, acting as a barrier between Dream and Tommy. The other is still pressed tightly to his stomach. The chain connecting them is pulled taut.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” Sam sneers at Dream. 

“I’m not hurting anyone,” Dream says calmly.

Sam’s arm is shaking with the effort to stay up, but Sam’s expression never falters. “Step back, Dream.”

Dream lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Dramatic, isn’t he?” 

It takes Tommy a moment to realize that Dream was speaking to him. “He- can we leave now?”

There’s a brief moment where Tommy realizes that Dream could just leave them both in the cell. All he had to do was step onto that platform. Tommy could try and rush forward, but then Sam would fall, and it just…

It doesn’t matter. Dream doesn’t lock them in. Instead, he waves them forward. 

“What are you-” Sam begins, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Come on, Sam.” Tommy lightly grabs Sam’s outstretched arm and wraps it around his shoulders so he can somewhat support Sam. Tommy then wraps an arm around Sam’s back. He tries to ignore the feeling of blood that’s starting to spread onto his own arm. 

It’s for Sam Nook. 

It’s not, really. Maybe it never was.

Squeezing three people on that one tiny platform was not an easy task, but they managed. None of them were willing to make separate trips, so it was fine. Even if Sam wavered once and nearly toppled over the edge, bringing Tommy with him.

The walk through the halls was quiet, nothing much besides the sound of their shoes against the floor. Dream’s armored boots, Tommy and Sam’s sneakers. Sam kept looking around, wide-eyed and nearly panicked, as they made their way down the hallways. Tommy didn’t bother asking why.

Sam was the one to speak once they reached the front desk again. He turned to Dream and simply asked “Why?”

Dream pulls a key out and unlocks the cuffs around Sam’s wrist and neck. They clatter loudly against the floor.  “Does it matter? You’re alive now. You and Tommy can live out your days happily, yeah?”

He’s mocking them. Tommy knows it. Sam knows it, too.

“Why, Dream?” Sam asks, much more stern this time around.

Dream just quietly chuckles. “It’s more fun this way. Sure, I could leave you in the prison, reviving you whenever I need something to let out some anger on, but I think the chase is half the fun. After all, you came to me this time. It was boring.”

“I did not-”

“Besides, I’m sure you and Tommy have a lot to catch up on. Have you even spoken to Tommy since you killed him?”

Sam is starting to get heavier on Tommy’s shoulders, despite how much effort he’s clearly putting into holding himself up. “Shut up.”

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you, Sam. You never know when someone might try to hurt you.” Dream took a step forward.

Sam finched backwards so hard that Tommy nearly dropped him onto the floor. 

“We’re leaving now,” Tommy declares. “Don’t follow us.”

Dream is certainly smiling from behind the mask. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tommy’s grip on Sam tightens just slightly as he leads the man to the exit of the prison. They’re about to walk through the door when Dream speaks one last time.

“Just… I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you two.”

And then they leave.

Out in daylight, Sam looks even worse. His face is nearly the same shade as the white streak in his hair, which only helps illuminate the many cuts and bruises across his body. His entire body is wracked with shivers, and even his teeth chatter as he shakes.

“‘S cold,” Sam murmurs.

“I know, Sam,” Tommy replies. Tommy himself is bundled up under two long sleeve shirts and a sweater, but he can’t help but think that Sam’s cold might be a little worse. Would it get worse if someone permanently died twice? He doesn’t know.

“I’m so sorry.” Sam’s voice is a little louder now. Almost… Pleading.

“It’s not your fault.”

Sam shakes his head. He tries to pull away from Tommy but he’s much too weak to. “I killed-”

“No, not right now, Sam,” Tommy interrupts. With his free hand, he pulls out his communicator and types in a quick message to Ponk. 

TommyInnit: found sam. Meet at my base

TommyInnit: bring medical supplies

He thinks for a moment and sends one final message.

TommyInnit: and fran

“I should go.” Sam tries once again to pull away.

Tommy is by no means weak. If you ask him, he’s the biggest and strongest man there is. But… Sam is a lot bigger and stronger. Or he is supposed to be. But he’s definitely lost some muscle since Tommy last saw him. And, for lack of a better description, he looks half dead. It’s no real surprise that Tommy is currently stronger than him. 

Tommy scoffs. “You can’t even walk by yourself right now,” he points out.

Sam shakes his head again. “It doesn’t matter. I- I need to go. I need to stop Dream. I need-”

“You need rest, Sam.” Tommy starts walking. It’s slower than he usually would, but he has to go slow for Sam’s sake. 

It reminds Tommy a lot of when he and Puffy brought Sam home after rescuing him from the egg. He was weak, tired, and disoriented. He couldn’t even stand on his own and if it wasn’t for Tommy and Puffy he wouldn’t have made it four steps away from the Egg.

Unlike then, though, Tommy wasn’t going to drop Sam off at his base and leave him now. Sam had… Well, he hadn’t killed himself, but he had still gotten himself killed. He needs to figure out why Dream had killed Sam. What ‘crimes’ he apparently committed.

Oh! And he needs to get Sam to fix Sam Nook. That is top priority, really. Tommy just had a few other priorities above it.

Tommy’s house isn’t far from the prison at all. This is both discomforting and helpful. It doesn’t take long at all before Tommy and Sam stumble through the door of Tommy’s dirt hut.

The place is still a mess. Clothes and trash strewn on the floor, items tossed at random in half-open chests. His bed is unmade.

His bed!

Tommy leads Sam over to his bed, carefully lowering the man onto it. 

“Tommy-” Sam protests, but his body works against him. His legs practically give out as he’s forced to sit on the bed, and it’s barely a few seconds before he leans back to rest his head against the wall behind it.

“So…” Tommy says, awkwardly. “Four deaths?”

Sam practically cowers in on himself. He looks embarrassed. He looks in pain. He looks… Scared? His arm is still holding tight against his stomach, the wound still weeping.

His arm is shaking, Tommy notices. Not the arm pressed against the wound, but the other one. It looks like some sort of tremor, and a bad one at that. Tommy considers surveying for more injuries, but decides to leave it to Ponk. Ponk is the professional, after all. 

But he does make Sam lean forward, and (after sticking a towel behind Sam’s back to keep him from bleeding everywhere) drapes a heavy blanket around the man’s shoulders. His shivers don’t subside, but they definitely lessen. 

Sam looks up at Tommy with exhausted eyes. “Why?” He asks. He had posed the same question to Dream, but it has such a different meaning now. 

“You’re hurt. And- and you’re cold and confused.”

“But-”

“Plus, you still have to fix Sam Nook. He broke, you know,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood a little.

It works. The corner of Sam’s mouth (the one without blood) lifts just slightly. “Okay, kiddo.”

Tommy stares at his front door for a long moment, waiting for Ponk to walk through. When, after that moment, Ponk doesn’t walk through, Tommy moves. He carefully makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge of it, pulling his legs up until he’s sitting criss-cross. He’s close to Sam. Not close enough to touch, but enough so that he would be able to feel warmth radiating off of Sam.

But Sam is nothing but terribly cold right now.

“It’s… Scary coming back. Not that I was scared, ‘cause I’m not scared of anything, but you know. To other people. Scary.”

Sam mutely nods. His gaze is unfocused, set on the carpet lying on Tommy’s floor.

“I’m sure you’re cold.”

“I have a blanket,” Sam points out.

Tommy nods. “But it doesn’t fully take it away, does it? It helps, but it’s not warm enough.”

Sam doesn’t respond.

“I think it’s part of being dead. It gets better sometimes, especially when you’re around people you love. Or fire. Or lava, if you’re feeling up to it, but…” He coughs awkwardly. “Might bring up bad memories. Anyway!”

Once again, Sam doesn’t respond.

“Your heart is beating again. Sometimes it feels like it’s not, but it is. It… Doesn’t stop. Even when you feel like it does.”

Tommy slowly moves one of his hands over to his wrist, pressing two fingers against his pulse.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“Your heart still beats, your blood still flows. We- me and Tubbo- haven’t figured out if you still age or not. But your hair and nails still grow, so that’s something at least.”

Tommy glances over at Sam again. His head is leaned back against the wall and his eyes are closed. His face is contorted slightly in pain, but he’s otherwise relaxed. His breathing is shallow, but slow and steady. 

Sam is asleep. 

So Tommy slowly, carefully, stands up from his spot on the bed. He wraps the blanket a little tighter around Sam’s shoulders, and then he exits the house to wait outside for Ponk. 

And five minutes later, when Ponk arrives (Fran in tow), Tommy is sure to warn Ponk. 

“Sam is asleep, try not to wake him up.”

Tommy usually wouldn’t care whether or not Sam wakes up. Sure, the man never gets as much sleep as he should, but that’s none of Tommy’s business. However, being killed and revived by Dream is no fun, and after what Dream said just in Tommy’s presence… Sam could use a break.

Ponk brings in many things. A breathing mask, which he immediately fits to Sam’s face. Antiseptic, which he uses to clean Sam’s stab wound. A needle and thread-

At this point, Tommy looks away. He’s always been grossed out by medical things and he doesn’t really want to watch Sam’s skin be stitched together again. So he doesn’t turn around until the majority of Sam’s injuries are bandaged and clean.

Instead, Tommy crouches down and scratches Fran behind the ears. She doesn’t lean into the head scratches, as much as she probably wants them. She keeps whining and leaning towards Sam. It’s obvious she wants to go to him, but Tommy holds her back for now, just until Ponk is done with all the medical stuff.

When Tommy turns back, Sam looks marginally better. His hair is pushed away from his face, unfortunately only showing off the white streak that much more. The bruises are still there, but the cuts are cleaned.

Ponk had removed Sam’s shirt, but the majority of his torso and arms were wrapped in thick white bandages, so it didn’t really matter. 

Fran doesn’t hesitate to pull away from Tommy and jump up on the bed- careful not to land on Sam. She searches for a minute, before carefully making her way to his side before laying down. She nuzzles her head underneath Sam’s hand and closes her eyes.

They look peaceful, Fran and Sam. As if Fran hadn’t been locked in a kennel for ages and if Sam hadn’t just died. 

Ponk is the one to break the silence. “So… My comm said he was killed by Dream?”

Tommy nods. He really doesn’t want to think about it, especially not so soon, but Ponk deserves to know. Probably. “Yeah.”

“What, uh, what happened?”

“I got there after it happened, I… Don’t really know. I think Dream-”

“Sam asked Dream to kill him,” Ponk murmurs, staring down at where Sam is sleeping. 

Tommy immediately shakes his head. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“He would.”

“Dream- he stole Sam’s sword and killed him. Sam would never give up the Warden’s Will-“

“He would!”

“How do you know that?” Tommy is practically shouting now. 

“Because he asked me to do the same thing!” Ponk shouts back. His eyes widen, and then he continues in a quieter voice, “He held his sword out and asked me to kill him.”

Tommy shakes his head angrily. “He wouldn’t ask Dream to do it! Are you crazy? Sam hates Dream.”

The fact that Dream also hates Sam goes unsaid. It doesn’t need to be said- everyone knows it. It’s obvious, considering… Well, the whole warden and prisoner situation. 

“It was suicide. He-”

“Dream bragged about killing him.”

Fran lets out a quiet, low growl. It’s not enough to get either person to stop talking.

“Of course he did. But that doesn’t mean Sam didn’t ask him to.”

“Dream bragged about killing him four times. Ponk, I know you see the white streak in his hair. If Sam wanted to… You know,” Tommy felt weirdly uncomfortable about saying the word “Dream wouldn’t have brought him back.”

Ponk looks at Sam for a long moment. Then he lets out a sigh and turns back to Tommy. “Either way, he still killed himself once. We need to… I don’t know. Keep an eye on him- especially while he’s healing, but after, too.”

“Do you want to take turns, or-”

“I’m going to stay at least until he wakes up. If you want to take a break-”

“No, it’s fine. We can both watch him for now.”

And they did that. Ponk took Tommy’s chair, leaving Tommy to sit on the floor. 

Tap. 

Tap.

Tap.

Ponk taps his fingers against the metal of his prosthetic arm.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Tommy works on a knitting project, the needles clicking together every stitch.

Sam does not make a noise. Even his breathing is scarily quiet, and Ponk stands up several times to make sure that Sam is, in fact, still breathing. He always is.

***

When Tommy died, Dream’s laugh was hysterical. It was horrifying and frequently echoed in Sam’s head long after it happened.

“You should look, Sam!” Dream shouted, barely managing to get the words out through wheezes. “He looks like he’s sleeping! Sleeping like the dead!”

Sam isn’t sure if he slept like the dead, but he certainly feels dead when he wakes up. His entire body is freezing as if he was in a snowstorm, contrasting the way his lungs burn each time he takes a breath in; the feeling lessens only slightly when he exhales. There’s a faint ringing in his ear that sounds scarily like the prison alarms. His head throbs only slightly more than the rest of his body. And his right arm…

He pushes that concern off for later. 

There’s a pressure on his chest. It’s familiar, like a weighted blanket although it doesn’t stretch across his entire body. No, it’s only on his chest. It-

Oh, he knows what this is.

Opening his eyes should not feel like a monumental task, but it is. It takes him at least thirty seconds before he manages to open them, squinting heavily in the bright light around him. He keeps his focus straight ahead of him, down at his chest.

Sam can hear voices in the background. They’re familiar. Quiet. He can’t make out what they’re saying, but he doesn’t care.

He’s paying more attention to the dog with her front paws atop his chest.

“Hi, Fran,” He murmurs. Or it would have been a murmur if his voice wasn’t completely wrecked. It’s more of a dull wheeze.

And then another figure enters his vision. Messy white hair pulled out of his eyes by a piece of red fabric. A red and yellow mask hangs loose around his neck. There’s scruff on his chin as if he hasn’t shaved in a while. 

Sam thought he’d never see that face again. At least, not like this. Not with a face carved with worry instead of anger and hatred.

“Hi?” Sam manages to croak out, more a question than a greeting.

A second figure is there in an instant. Blonde curls, bright blue eyes. A small bandage is plastered across his nose. Tommy. 

Sam remembers Tommy. He was… He was somewhere. Sam had been with him… in the prison? No, Sam had been alone in the prison. But how-

“Sam- Sam, you’re okay. You’re alive. I’m here, Ponk’s here-”

Sam interrupts him with a cough. “Where am I?”

“You’re at my house.”

“So… Not the prison?” Sam’s eyes flick from Tommy, to Ponk, to Fran. The latter lays her head on his chest and lets out a low whining noise.

“Not the prison,” Tommy confirms.

Sam hums in response. He brings his left hand up and scratches Fran’s nose bridge. Fran leans into the touch just a little bit. He missed her.

“Are you cold at all, Sam? Hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m fine, Tommy.” He’s not fine. He feels like he’s been killed forty times as opposed to four. But of course he doesn’t say this. He’s not going to burden them any more than he already has. “I appreciate all this, I really do, but I think I’d better head home.”

Ponk speaks up at this point. “You’re not going anywhere, mister. Do you know how badly you’re hurt?”

Sam is well aware he was hurt. He was also aware that his injuries would fade faster since he respawned after death. Unless it changed after losing his last canon life…  “I’m fine.”

“You have a fresh stab wound.”

“And?”

Fran lets out another low whine. She scooches further onto Sam, careful to avoid the aforementioned stab wound. 

“And you can’t even stand up right now, stupid.” Everything Ponk says sounds angry, frustrated, and annoyed. But the nickname… Ponk only ever used it in an endearing way, even now, Sam can just slightly feel it.

“I walked here, didn’t I?” It’s a genuine question. Sam vaguely remembers walking.

“You wouldn’t have made it out of the prison if I didn’t help you,” Tommy points out.

Right. The prison. Where Dream had all but threatened Tommy as they left. He’s probably still there. Sam wonders if he went there fast enough he’d be able to catch Dream before he runs off to… Wherever he goes.

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Ponk speaks before he can. 

“You’re staying here for at least a week. Doctor’s orders.”

Sam stops scratching Fran’s head. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Sam.”

“I’m not going to stay here like some- some prisoner, Ponk. I’m leaving,” He barely manages to position his arm to even allow him to sit up when Fran growls. 

She’s not growling at Ponk and Tommy.

She’s growling at Sam.

“Fran,” Sam whispers. Even he can hear the affection in his voice when talking to her, something he doesn’t have with Ponk or even Tommy. “We need to go home, girl.”

She doesn’t stop growling.

“Fran.”

The growling only gets louder.

Sam then sets a glare at Ponk. “You’ve turned my own dog against me.”

Ponk just rolls his eyes. “I’m going to get some supplies and then we’re checking vitals again.”

Sam wasn’t intentionally trying to make Ponk’s job harder, he just hated someone being so near him. Every time Ponk touched him, Sam could only feel Dream touching him- beating him- killing him- in the prison. 

It shouldn't scare him. Nothing should scare him.

So when Ponk tries to ask Sam questions or give him advice, he ignores it. Better yet, he tells Ponk off for it.

“Rate your pain,” Ponk would say.

“No,” Sam would reply.

Or,

“You need to stop moving around so much, you’re going to rip out your stitches.”

And then the only way Sam would stop moving was if Fran crawled on top of him. Fran was pretty quickly becoming Ponk’s most competent nurse. It would have been Tommy, but he didn’t know how to help besides handing Ponk whatever supplies he needed.

Sam doesn’t care. Tommy is a kid, he shouldn’t be involved at all. Especially since it’s helping someone like Sam. Sam, who doesn’t even need help.

Or,

“Now lift up your right arm.”

Sam doesn’t move.

“Sam, seriously.”

Sam is propped up in a sitting position, back against the wall again. Fran lies across his lap. He still doesn’t move his arm.

“Sam-”

“I can’t move it.”

There’s an awkward silence.

It wasn’t that Sam was intentionally hiding it. He would have- and did- say when prompted, but he didn’t particularly want to explain the entire arm-cut-off situation. Nor does he want to admit that he’s a lot weaker than he’s acting.

“Since when can’t you move your arm?” Tommy asks, concerned. He’s currently sitting on Sam’s left side. He had been petting Fran, but stopped as soon as Sam said what he said. 

“Uh…” Sam’s face heats up slightly with embarrassment. “Since I first woke up?”

Tommy’s face falls. “Sam- that was hours ago.”

Sam is staring down at Fran. His left hand is buried in her fur. His right arm lays on the bed, still shaking just slightly. He’s certain that Tommy is staring at it, probably just now noticing the shaking.

Ponk frowns.. He reaches out and grabs Sam’s right wrist, pulling his entire arm up with it. He examines it for at least ten seconds before flipping it over and examining again. 

“Sam,” Ponk begins, “What happened to your arm?”

Sam’s face is red with embarrassment. His hand stills in Fran’s fur. He mumbles something under his breath. He doesn’t want to say it. He shouldn’t explain it. He deserved it anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

“Sam.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “He cut it off.”

Sam doesn’t look up at them, too busy staring into Fran’s fur like it contains the secrets of the universe. There’s no secrets in Fran’s fur, though. Just Sam’s fingers, twitching slightly as he can’t decide whether or not to begin petting her again. 

“That’s… Awful,” Tommy offers, almost as a lifeline to try and get Ponk or Sam to say something.

“It’s fair,” Sam corrects. Before either can respond, Sam speaks again, “An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, a limb for a limb.”

Now it’s Ponk’s turn to look embarrassed. He still has Sam’s wrist in his hand, but he’s looking anywhere but. “Sam-”

“It’s fine. You can- you can let go now.” 

“Sam.”

“Just let go, Ponk.” His voice is firm. It’s… Almost The Warden, but not quite. It’s too broken. There’s too much sadness and pain behind the words. 

Sam has already resigned to his fate. He had thought it earlier, and he still thinks it now. He had completely cut off Ponk’s arm. He had done that, and as much as he would like to blame The Warden, it would be unfair to. So now that his arm was damaged, it’s only fair that it stays that way. Even if he can’t use it anymore. 

Ponk carefully lowers Sam’s arm until it’s resting against the bed. 

Surprisingly enough, it’s Tommy who pipes up. “So when you say ‘cut off’-”

“Tommy!” Ponk shoots a glare at him.

“No, but really. ‘Cause I thought severed limbs don’t come back.”

Ponk grimaces. “They’re not supposed to.”

The dead aren’t supposed to come back either. Sam has managed to break both of those rules of the universe, apparently.

“Is that why he can’t move it?”

“I don’t know, Tommy.”

“Will he be able to move it again?”

“I don’t know, Tommy.”

Sam wants to shrivel up and die. He hates how he has to listen to these two people- who he knows don’t care about him- talk about him like they do. They don’t care about him, they shouldn’t have to deal with him. Sam shouldn’t be in Tommy’s house, he shouldn’t be in Ponk’s care. He hurt them. He killed them. 

He ruined their lives. Literally and figuratively. And- and-

Fran moves, sitting on his lap and facing him. She puts her paws up on his chest again, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

Panic attack. He’s having a panic attack. 

Fran knows he’s having a panic attack. Of course she does, that’s what she’s supposed to do. Sam… Sam has them often. She helps him deal with them. Or she’s supposed to. Once he started to build the prison, he wasn’t around her as often. But it was fine, he learned to deal with them on his own.

Still, this was nice. It somewhat calms his racing heart (which he had only just realized was actually beating). 

He leans forward until his head taps against Fran’s. “Hi, girl,” he whispers into her fur.

Ponk and Tommy’s voices rise with anger. Sam doesn’t even know why they’re fighting. Tommy is angry because Ponk doesn’t have answers, but that shouldn’t matter when the answers aren’t important anyway. So why is Tommy yelling? And why is Ponk yelling back?

At least Limbo was quieter. Sure, there was the alarm, and Tommy was screaming bloody murder, but it’s different. There’s no real emotions in it.

“Can you two shut up?” Sam asks, surprising even himself. He doesn’t know why he said it. He should have just let them argue, but it’s too late now. 

Ponk stares at Sam for a long moment. There’s something in Ponk’s expression that Sam just can’t place no matter how hard he tries. It’s not resentment, but it’s… It’s something. 

“I’m going to go to my base and get more bandages. Maybe some lemonade, too,” Ponk finally says. He leaves before either Tommy or Sam can get a word in. 

Sam hasn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Fran is curled up in his lap. Tommy sits next to them, a knitting project in his hands. There are several times that Sam considers asking Tommy what he’s making, but he refrains each time. If Tommy wanted him to know, then he would have said. But he hasn’t said, so he doesn’t want Sam to know.

He probably doesn’t want Sam to be here. No, not probably, definitely. He wants Sam out of his home as quickly as possible. Maybe that’s why Tommy is doing the knitting project- so he doesn’t have to look at Sam.

But if that was the case, why rescue Sam at all? What was the point behind it? Because Tommy hated him- and he should hate him, but why would he rescue Sam, then? There was no point, no reason. 

Maybe he was bored. Maybe- maybe he was trying to break into the prison. Maybe he had been chasing Dream and had just stumbled into Sam.

Although that last one didn’t quite make sense. Sam had been dead. Dead as a doornail, so why was Tommy in the prison?

To look for Sam.

But why would he look for Sam?

“I was worried,” Tommy says, suddenly.

“Huh?” Sam asks, confused.

“I saw the message about, uh… About your death. One of them. I got worried, so I went looking for you.”

Sam hadn’t realized he had asked his question aloud. It was too late to take it back, as much as he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” he says almost automatically.

“It’s not your fault. Well- I guess technically it is, but not really. Ponk and I just wanted to make sure you were safe, you know?”

Sam furrows his eyebrows. “Make sure I was safe?”

Tommy averts his eyes from Sam. Sam would’ve thought he was trying to avoid the subject if he didn’t blurt out “Ponk told me you asked him to kill you before. And then we saw the message that you killed yourself. We got worried.”

Oh. Ha. It was Sam’s fault.

It was all Sam’s fault. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“That’s not-”

“No, but if I hadn’t worried you then you wouldn’t have come looking for me.”

Tommy frowns. “What’s wrong with me looking for you?”

If Tommy gets to blurt out things about Sam being suicidal, then Sam’s response is only fair. “You had to see your abuser again. That’s- I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, especially you.”

“No,” Tommy says rather firmly.

Sam gives Tommy a confused look. 

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you.”

Sam shakes his head. It makes the world spin but he doesn’t care. “I don’t matter.”

Tommy purses his lips. “You really need to see a therapist, man.”

Sam says nothing to that. 

Tommy doesn’t either, not for a solid thirty seconds, anyway. But then when he does speak, it’s quiet. Uncomfortable. Unsure. “I almost killed myself once, you know.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Back in exile. Uh, I built that tower and I was going to jump off and just… You know. I had lost all my purpose, basically, and I thought that it was the best option.”

“Tommy…”

“This isn’t about me- I’m not- I’m just saying that I know what you’re going through.”

Sam hesitates. “What?”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

It takes Sam longer than it should to realize what Tommy is insinuating. He puts a stop to it almost immediately. “Tommy, I’m not suicidal.”

And he’s not. Not really. Even if sometimes he thinks it would be better if he never woke up. Even if life feels meaningless. Even if he used to consider going into Dream’s cell and letting himself get killed just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it any longer. 

Even if he was almost grateful when Dream finally killed him. Limbo was terrifying, but it was deserved. It was a breath of fresh air that stabbed through his lungs. It was good Sam had died. He should have stayed dead.

But he couldn’t kill himself. Sam has a purpose. Sam has to protect the prisoner. 

…

The only prisoner now is Sam himself. He doesn’t need protecting. 

“Sam, I saw the message. You killed yourself.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “Dream forced me to. I wouldn’t have done that on my own.”

It’s not even a lie. Even if he does want to die, he would never have killed himself directly like that.

“The message said you drank the potion yourself,” Tommy sounds slightly confused.

“He threatened me. Otherwise I would never have done it.” Also not a lie. 

Tommy snorts. “How did he threaten you? Like, he went “I’ll kill you if you don’t kill yourself”?” 

Sam lets out a harsh laugh. “No, kiddo. No…”

“Then how?”

“He said he’d hurt someone I care about.” He said he’d hurt Tommy. But Sam wouldn’t mention that part. It would just scare the kid. “Let’s- let’s talk about something else.”

“Sam-”

“Have you noticed how much Fran sheds lately? I think she’s stressed.”

Tommy goes along with it, good kid.

The next two days are similar. They’re filled with awkward conversations with Tommy, arguments with Ponk, and Sam still trying to hide his symptoms. Ponk and Tommy refuse to leave him by himself, which is… Honestly fair. Sam knows that as soon as he was left alone, he would make a break for it.

It’s what he should have done in the prison. 

It’s what he’s going to do now.

He has things to do. Tommy has mentioned several times that Sam Nook needs fixed. Plus, Sam needs new tools and armor. Not to mention, Sam has to recapture the prisoner. The real prisoner, not himself, but Dream.

But Tommy and Ponk won’t leave him alone. If Tommy isn’t with Sam, then Ponk is. They must have some sort of schedule for it that Sam doesn’t understand. He doesn’t bother trying to understand, either, so that might be part of his problem.

It’s day three of staying with Tommy and Ponk. Sam’s wounds haven’t even begun to heal. Tommy says that his wounds took longer to heal after his revival, but never that long.

There’s an uncomfortable look exchanged when Sam suggests that it’ll take longer because Sam was revived twice.

Unfortunately, because of this, Sam is stuck on bedrest. It’s uncomfortable at this point and he wants nothing more than to get up and just do something. Unfortunately for him, Tommy went out somewhere and Sam is stuck with Ponk. Ponk holds a book in his hand, but Sam doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out that Ponk isn’t actually reading from it.

No, it’s quite obvious. Ponk will look at the book for a few seconds, then up at Sam. He hasn’t turned a page in over twenty minutes.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Sam finally asks. 

Ponk blinks once. Twice. Three times. He looks almost panicked. “Like what?”

Sam bites down a few flirtatious responses he thinks up on impulse. “Like you just ate something sour.”

“I am not-”

“If you have sour candy you’re legally required to share with me.”

Ponk rolls his eyes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” It’s a taunt. Sam knows it’s a taunt. He just doesn’t know why Ponk is taunting him. 

“I…” Sam immediately trails off. He doesn’t have a good threat. Not after everything he’s done to Ponk. “I’m sorry,” he says at last. 

“What? Sam, no, I don’t actually have candy.”

Sam sighs. “I know. I know, just-” He doesn’t know, actually. He doesn't know what to say or what to do to make the situation less awkward. He just wants Ponk to stop looking at him like that.

They sit in silence for a long time. Ponk drums his fingers against his prosthetic arm. Sam runs his fingers through Fran’s fur.

He still can’t move his right arm. After an earlier examination, Ponk said he thinks control will come back with proper physical therapy. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Sam, I already said I don’t-”

“For your arm.”

“Oh…”

Sam grimaces. He can’t look at Ponk while he speaks, as much as he wishes he could. “I shouldn’t have done it. Prime, I don’t even know why I did it. I was angry and I wanted- I needed control. And I took it out on you.”

Ponk sighs loudly. “Yeah, you did.”

Sam smiles grimly. He wasn’t expecting sympathy by any means, but it still hurt just a little bit for Ponk to agree with him. “I hurt you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t realize how it would affect you. And I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Prime, I shouldn’t- I’ll build you a new arm. I’ll build you a new one and once it’s done you’ll never have to talk to me again-”

“Sam,” Ponk interrupts. “Sam, it’s okay.”

Sam looks at him, confused.

There’s not enough anger on Ponk’s face. “I don’t forgive you, duh. But… I don’t hate you, either. You made a bad decision, and you’re gonna pay the consequences, but…” Ponk’s gaze drops down to Sam’s right arm. “It looks like you already did.”

“Ponk-”

“I’m still mad at you. But I don’t hate you.”

And he’s being sincere. Sam hates that he still knows what sincerity looks like on Ponk’s face. 

“Besides, now we’re in a club together.”

Sam lets out a startled laugh. “What?”

“The one-arm club. You’re an honorary member.”

He tries not to, but a smile forms on Sam’s lips. 

“There it is,” Ponk murmurs. At Sam’s confused look, he explains, “I missed your smile.”

Sam can feel his face go red. Bright red, judging by how hot it feels. It’s burning compared to the freezing cold of the rest of his skin. Sam quickly brings his hands up to hide the blush. “Stop it.”

“What? I missed your smile, nothing wrong with that.”

There is. There’s so much wrong with it. Because nobody missed him. No one was supposed to miss him. Much less miss little things about it. It doesn’t make sense. 

No one came looking for him. No one was going to come looking for him. That’s what Dream said, and he was right. Dream killed Sam four times before Tommy found him.

But Tommy still found him. That had to be worth something, right? Or maybe it was pure coincidence. 

Or maybe it wasn’t. 

“I missed you, too,” Sam says quietly. 

Ponk rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you want my lemon candy.”

“You said you didn’t have any!”

There are many more calm conversations in the following days. Sometimes between Sam and Tommy, sometimes Sam and Ponk, sometimes all three. And they’re comforting and warm and they feel like home.

But it’s not home. Sam doesn’t live here. He doesn’t belong here. He can’t stay here.

Ponk and Tommy are both in the room. Tommy is curled up under a blanket, snoring quietly. Ponk is in a chair, a book held tightly to his chest. He must have fallen asleep reading it. As much as Sam wants to get a closer look at what Ponk was reading, he doesn’t dare.

Sam’s shoes were right where he left them- next to his bed. Tommy had insisted Sam get outside, so with Tommy (and Ponk’s) help, he had left the house earlier and sat outside to spend time in the sun. It was nice. It felt like home.

But this is not home.

Sam slips his shoes on. He then takes a deep breath before forcing himself to his feet.

Pain. White, hot pain. It’s like a javelin through his stomach. He claps his hand (left hand, right still won’t move) over his mouth to stop from screaming. The last thing he wants to do is wake Ponk and Tommy.

After a few seconds he manages to get the pain under control, and once he’s sure he won’t be too loud, he stands up straight.

Fran is at his side immediately. Her tail isn’t wagging, but it’s twitching back and forth slowly. She’s nervous. She knows something is wrong.

Fran is a good dog. She knows when Sam is hurt. She knows when he needs help, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And she’s so large that it’s easy to put a hand on her back and slightly lean on her for support as he walks to the front door.

A better man would look back at his family- not family, just at Tommy and Ponk- before he left. Sam is not a better man.

He’s lucky he fixed the creak of the door ages ago, otherwise he would have been in trouble. But now the door swings open silently and Sam slips outside without much notice. He doesn’t give much thought to where he’s going. He’s traveled this road many times.

He should be worried about monsters but he can’t get himself to care. He just uses Fran as a crutch as he stumbles back to his base, having to stop every several yards to catch his breath and let the pain in his abdomen die down slightly.

When they arrive at his base, he doesn’t even have to refil Fran’s food and water bowls, Tommy must have done it. He fluffs her pillow and sends her to bed after feeding her a treat. Then, he gets to work.

Sam is injured, but he will heal. He is cold, shaking, but he can find blankets later. He wants to go back to Tommy’s, but he knows better.

Sam takes a deep breath and he searches through the many chests in his base. He needs materials. He needs tools. He needs armor. 

When Dream escaped prison, Sam was almost relieved. Being The Warden was an impossible burden, one that Sam couldn’t wish on anyone else.

He had never expected Dream to pick up that burden.

But he will not let Dream hold it any longer. 

It’s not nicety to Dream. He’s not doing it for Dream’s sake, actually, but for the sake of the server. Dream is a tyrant. He’s a monster. He’s a murderer.

…Just like Sam.

But Sam will not let anyone take his burdens, not even Dream. Especially when Dream, the monster he is, decides to play judge, jury, and executioner of the server. Sam will not stand for it.

He will wait a few days, though, just enough for him to gather the right tools and armor, and then he will take down Dream.

Drip. 

Drip.

Drip.

There is a hole in the roof of Sam’s base.

It sounds like the prison. It sounds like Limbo. It sounds like Sam’s blood against harsh obsidian floors.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that it started raining.