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A soft splash causes Tommy to lift his heavy head wearily.
He glances with squinted eyes to the pool of water in the corner of the dark room, from which the sound came.
Prison wasn’t treating Tommy well, as would be expected. His shirt was tattered and torn from the number of times Dream had tormented him, it would be a wonder if the iconic red would be recognizable ever again. The constant contact with the obsidian cell had caused the white to go a murky, dull grey, rubbed so thin that it was practically sheer.
He didn’t know how long it had been since Dream last came to “check” on him. He had said he’d come every day, but the length between visits felt longer every time. With nothing to see but the black walls and lava seep across the entrance, it had all faded into one in his mind. Every day, he struggled to remember his home, his small hut built into the side of the hill. He struggled to remember the SMP, all the places he had once roamed happily. They all blurred together, as if they were only the memory of dreams, complete makeup. Day after day he would repeat them over and over again to himself, trying not to forget, “Church Prime, l'Manberg, Prime Path, Eret's Castle, Home".
But today his thoughts were silent.
Tommy carefully rises from where he sat against the wall, wincing as he leans his weight onto his aching leg, and approaches the corner quietly.
The light from the lamp had long gone out, leaving no warmth except what the lava emanated.
Crouching down into a little ball next to the water, he blinks his eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing was actually there.
He raises a single skeletal finger, and pokes it gingerly, flinching back slightly upon contact.
“It’s real…”
A small cardboard box bobbles in the water, tied up with string, a small water sodden piece of paper tucked underneath.
Glancing over his shoulder quickly, Tommy gingerly takes the box out of the water, peeling the piece of paper off and laying it on the ground to read the blurred scribbles.
“This is from Puffy. Don’t let it go to waste, and DON’T tell Dream. Sam.”
“Sam’s there too…” Tommy mumbles quietly.
His finger hovers over the name. “He’s keeping me here too…”
He glances back at the box. It was dangerous to even open it, Dream would hurt him, Dream would hurt him again and again and again, he was already in so much pain he couldn’t open it Dream would make his life hell-
He slowly lifts the lid of the box.
The faintest hint of a real smile appeared at the corner of his mouth for the first time in a very long while.
But only the faintest.
Inside the box is a small cake. Cream white icing, golden crispy brown edges, and a bright red cherry on top.
Tentatively reaching out his finger, he takes a bit of the icing, licking it off and just pausing, letting himself enjoy the first real flavour he had had in a while.
And fuck, was it good.
He rips off a corner of the cake, swallowing it before even chewing, reaching for more, too eager to eat actually good food. He hadn’t realised how hopelessly he had missed it.
Closing his eyes to enjoy it, he lets out a small sigh.
He missed Puffy.
He missed Ranboo, Phil, Niki, Eret, Bad, Antfrost, Skeppy, Gogy, hell, he even missed Jack. He missed everyone.
He missed Tubbo.
Opening his eyes, he looks down at the half-eaten cake, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore.
I hope they’re all okay…
Reaching out to close the lid, he notices a slip of paper wedged into the underside of it.
He pulls it out, unfolding it to reveal Puffy’s familiar handwriting. Stroking over the curl of her P’s, he reads the note, fiddling with the corner as he does so.
“Dear Tommy,
Hopefully my plan works and you actually get this.
Stay strong in there. Enjoy the cake
Happy birthday :)
Puffy”
Ignoring the smile printed on the page, his hands start to tremble as he reads the last line, the paper shaking.
“Happy birthday… it’s my birthday.” He slides to sit on the ground. “It’s my birthday, I’m 17… I’m spending my 17th birthday locked up in prison.”
He shakily folds Puffy’s letter back up, slipping it into the pocket of his trousers.
“I’m celebrating alone, in a prison, with nothing but fucking LAVA providing any sense of entertainment!”
He suddenly clamps his hands to his mouth, peering anxiously over to the lava wall, praying that Dream didn’t hear him shouting.
He’d come if he did.
Turning back to the cake, he breathes out slowly.
“It’s… my birthday. And that means I’ve… I’ve been here 3 months, 3 whole fucking months, and nothing’s changed.”
Except that Dream had gotten worse. He’d come every day, just to beat up Tommy, for no apparent reason whatsoever besides the fact he just could. Tommy felt sore, he felt tired, and honestly, he didn’t know why he kept trying. He didn’t know why he kept trying to fight against Dream. He didn’t know why he kept trying to figure a way out.
He didn’t know why he kept trying to live.
Maybe, maybe if he did die, he’d-
“Now, let’s have some fun explaining this, hmm?”
Tommy whips his head around and stares in horror as Dream steps out of the way of the falling lava. Too caught up in his own thoughts, Tommy hadn’t heard Dream come across, and, scrambling backwards to push himself up against the wall, he remembered too late about Sam’s letter and the cake sitting right out in the open.
Eyes flicking frantically between them and Dream as he approaches slowly, Tommy struggles with what to say. “I- no, I didn’t-“
“Shut up, Tommy,” Dream says in a bored tone.
Tommy instantly shuts up, watching with wide eyes as Dream picks up the deteriorating note from the ground, pausing to read it before turning to Tommy. “Aww, little Tommy has friends inside AND outside the prison, he’s really getting places, isn’t he?”
Tommy just curls up tighter against the wall, nails digging into skin, waiting for the inevitable.
“What a nice little gesture, I’ll have to pay Puffy a visit on your behalf to say thank you…’ Dream says mildly, and Tommy watches as he draws his sword. “Shall I… cut you a slice?”
“Please, not Puffy…” Tommy barely whispers. “Please not me, not me please…”
Dream drags him up by the scruff of his shirt, slamming him up against the wall, beginning to force his sword into Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy squirms and seethes in pain, but barely fights it. He can’t
“Oh and Tommy?”
Tommy replies with a mumble barely decipherable, and Dream twists the blade ever so slightly, making him choke in agony.
“Look at me, Tommy.”
Tommy raises his head to meet that masked face, the smile jeering back at him, the pain causing his vision to dance.
“Happy birthday.”