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tommy didn't know exactly who had told him.
whispers passed easily throughout the smp, secrets weren't exactly a thing. no one was to be trusted.
(tommy learned that the hard way.)
what he did remember, however, was the wave of sickness that had passed over him the moment he'd heard. nausea flooded him, stomach dropping and vision swimming. dread seemed to choke him, spilling out in the form of spluttered, harsh coughs that rattled his ribcage.
he was back in the prison, there were fists smashing into him, his bones were shattering, he was drowning in his own blood. he could feel the metallic liquid spilling down his throat as he spluttered and writhed on the floor, desperation taking hold. there was screaming. someone was screaming. was that him?
but his feet were rooted to the grass, the chilly air was brushing his bone-dry hair into his eyes, and he was okay, and he was okay because he wasn't there, but he was, because why else would he feel the impact of his ribs caving in?
by the time his dark eyes refocused on the real world, whoever he'd been listening to had gone.
it was just him, and he was okay.
his eyes squeezed shut, and his panted breaths slowed into a quiet, rhythmic pattern.
tommy exhaled slowly, coldness seeping into his core and fear rotting him from the inside out. he was frozen in place, terror clutching him into the spot.
he hadn't ended things on a good note with technoblade. last they'd encountered, he was screaming his throat raw, tears bleeding his vision, begging, pleading, for mercy upon his country, his home.
a lot had happened since then.
(tommys pure white, pale hair fell into his eyes.)
it had always been a fantasy, to repair the relationships with everyone he'd hurt.
to stand with closed eyes in front of jack and honestly, truly, apologise. to genuinely talk to fundy and spill remorse from his lips. to clutch the back of nikis shirt and sob into her shoulder that he was so, so sorry, and that he'd never wanted to hurt her. to sit at georges side and express the overwhelming regret that clawed at his chest whenever he laid eyes upon the ashen remains of the hut. to stand eye-level with technoblade and confess his wrongdoings, to apologise until his throat gave out
the last one didn't seem so possible anymore.
technoblade had been locked in dreams prison cell.
(he was falling, falling, falling, one eye swollen shut, the other drenched with blood. he ached, everything was agony, but the fists crashing into his form showed no signs of stopping. someone was screaming. maybe that was him.)
tommy blinked tears from his eyes. bile and regret rose in his throat.
(there was a red cloak around his shoulders. there was a fluffy white collar drenched with snow tickling his neck. there were snowflakes in his hair. there was a quiet chuffing next to him as a soft voice grumbled about him making himself cold. there were warm, gentle hands weaving through his blond locks. there was the light crackle of the fireplace. there was the only place that truly felt like home.)
god. tommy knew first hand a prison escape was impossible ("-tommy, you said he wouldn't hurt me!-"), but he wanted nothing more than to tear the prison apart with his bare hands just to save his brother from the same suffering that he'd had the misfortune of living through himself.
as much as bitterness stained his heart and the burning desire for revenge clouded his mind, tommy firmly stood by the fact that the prison was fucking inhumane. he'd found himself debating internally whether or not dream even deserved it, but he knew completely that absolutely no one deserved to be locked in there wrongfully, and absolutely fucking nobody deserved to be locked in with dream.
(-"i'm practically a god, tommy!-")
a chill ran down his spine.
he could almost imagine technoblade walking out, hollow eyes and white streaking his rose hair. bruises painted across his skin, blood soaking the rags he wore as clothes. it was pitiful and heart-wrenching all at once.
it hurt him to think of. (was that what he'd looked like?)
time seemed to pass slower and unbearably fast all at once.
tomorrow felt like yesterday, but yesterday felt like forever.
tommy didn't keep track of time well, but according to his communicator, it had been a little over three months since the news had broken.
there was no chance technoblade had survived. if he'd been in there for more than three months, it was inevitable that it was no longer him in there, but his bruised, battered corpse-
he gulped, trembling hands jerking away from the paper as a tear splattered onto it. fuck. his signature was blurred.
maybe that was for the best.
then he'd overheard the whispers of technoblade escaping.
alive.
tommy felt like his heart could beat again, that the air entering his lungs was finally worth something, because techno was alive.
and everything was okay again.
because it had to be.