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“Tom, you’re not well.”
He didn’t know why he was surprised when he heard those words leave Tubbo’s mouth. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew what he was getting himself into, bringing Tubbo down here, bearing his goddamn heart—but some part of him hoped that things were still the way they used to be.
For better or worse, Tubbo did not want to merrily follow in his footsteps as he had done so many times before, not anymore. Tommy knew where this was leading.
It didn’t make it hurt any less. In retrospect, he should have listened. He should have listened a little harder. He should have paid attention to the way his body ached, the way his head spun in circles, the way circles had darkened under his eyes, the way the walls reminded him so vividly of the past—the way his stomach turned and protested morning and night.
Tubbo was onto something, surely.
“No. You’re right.”
Tubbo made him promise. He made Tommy promise so many things and Tommy wanted to throw up again because he was about to break every one of them the moment Tubbo walked out that door.
Maybe Tubbo didn’t understand after all. Tommy had ghosts. He had so many; they wore different faces and they spoke in different voices, but most of them whispered death down his neck. There wasn’t a thing Tommy could think of that would help him escape. No, nothing save for one thought.
With death having long since planted roots in his heart, he wondered what it would be like to embrace that thought. After so much turmoil, torment, and unrest—he could be free again, couldn’t he? He didn’t want death stalking him anymore. He could be its pursuer. He could be the one who was not afraid. He could take control of one thing in this life of his after everything else had been stripped away, even down to his core, his habits, his feelings. It was a small wish of his. Arguably, it was a dangerous fixation, but it felt like the right answer. It felt like the only answer. Tubbo did not trust Tommy enough to adhere to his judgment, but he was not so distrusting to recognize that Tommy knew he had to do this no matter the cost. Or perhaps he did and he didn’t want to be the one responsible for it. Tubbo couldn’t have wanted to be responsible for anything that Tommy would do, not after seeing the state he’d fallen into.
All Tommy could feel as he trodded towards the prison alone was suffocating guilt and nausea, but he’d grown accustomed to them both.
He waited for someone to spot him and tell him not to do it. He’d gone outside without even turning invisible—was it because he wanted that? It made no difference. He still felt invisible, trudging heavy footsteps through the SMP’s empty pathways in the middle of the night.
Every time he looked at the towering, terrifying prison, he always thought that it would be the last time he’d ever go in there. He always thought about how much he never wanted to enter the cursed building again, yet something always brought him back. Again, and again, and again—perpetually existing as some stupid nucleus of fate. Never mind it being literal prison, it was its own metaphor of being an inescapable facet of what was left of Tommy’s life.
He was going to kill Dream.
It wasn’t a fucking joke. He was going to kill Dream this time.
If Tommy killed Dream, he wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. He wouldn’t have to live in this pitiful state anymore. Tubbo wouldn’t distrust him. L’Manberg wouldn’t be gone. Tommy wouldn’t have been hurt so many times. Tommy wouldn’t have died. Everything was Dream’s fault. If Dream hadn’t brought Wilbur back to life in the first place, Wilbur wouldn’t have gone away. Tommy would’ve been able to cling to a bitter memory of the man instead.
Why did Wilbur have to leave?
Why?
Tommy didn’t want to do this alone, but he had to.
The netherite plates strapped around him were crafted to be light, but they weighed him down like chains as he recounted his plan to infiltrate the prison. It wasn’t even as difficult as he thought—there was a secret entrance in the Nether just as he remembered. His heart sank as he passed through the portal and his strength drained from his body from an all-too-familiar resident curse. It was only a few months ago that he was last here. He was here with Wilbur. That was the day Wilbur pretended to destroy Tommy’s discs in front of Dream: an incident Tommy preferred not to unpack.
Tommy would’ve thought the prison was abandoned if he didn’t know better. If he hadn’t seen Dream slip inside every day, he could’ve believed it. The building was completely overgrown. Vines, debris, dust and cobwebs littered its claustrophobic halls and corners. Many of its mechanisms were exposed and seemed to be out of use. There was no sign of active maintenance.
The oppressive atmosphere had Tommy’s fingers twitching for the invisibility potion hidden under his jacket. The thought gave him revulsion, but he knew he needed to see Dream clearly when he killed him and needed Dream to know what his fate was. His own presence was not dispensable, not for this.
His pulse was racing as he quietly navigated the prison. The reality that he’d chosen to come here by himself was beginning to dawn on him. If things did not go according to plan—if he couldn’t get the jump on Dream—Tommy would have to accept that he was alone in here with him. More likely than not, nobody was coming to save him. Maybe if Tommy lucked out, Tubbo would realize what he’d done and call for help. Tommy didn’t want to get his hopes up.
Alone in the prison with Dream. Alone in the prison with Dream.
There he was, an invisible clock ticking. Forever, and ever, day after day, time disappearing, a fiery wall separating him from the rest of the world. Nobody was coming to save him. Nobody cared enough to save him.
Then bruises. Blood splattering on the obsidian walls. His face breaking. His body dying.
He’d catch Dream unaware and he’d plunge his axe into Dream’s neck.
He’d be saving the world, right?
He crept through the greenery-tangled hallways, proceeding towards the structure's center. If Dream was using the prison as a base, Tommy wouldn’t have put it past him to use his old cell as his center of operations. He would look there first.
He didn’t have to go that far. When he saw a flicker of green move through one of the windows in the main cell block, Tommy’s heart hammered harder against his chest in warning. It engulfed him like a wave and his whole body began violently shaking. His whole trek here, he’d been talking himself up—kill Dream, kill Dream, kill Dream, this must be done, everything will get better after this—and in an instant, the very ground he stood on became so much more real.
Tommy drew closer, holding his weapon close to his chest. He crouched from wall to wall until he was outside the open threshold of the cell Dream was fumbling around in. There were tables and boxes inside. A map? A picture board? Papers taped to the walls? None of that mattered. With Dream preoccupied and his back turned, leaning over the table and reading something in his hand, Tommy held his breath and slipped through the doorway. Frantic, repetitive thoughts echoed in his head. Dream hadn’t noticed him. It was like Tommy was invisible and he hadn’t even used his potion. The attack would be so clean. Tommy raised his axe.
This will end.
Dream blinked. Dream saw him. Dream moved. With lightning-fast reflexes, he ducked away from the attack. Tommy’s axe grazed his cheek in the process and a line of blood dripped down where he had struck. “Tommy?” Dream exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. You need to die! Tommy didn’t say anything, but his breathing grew vicious. He dove forward again, swinging a second time and a third. He wasn’t going to fuck this up. Not again. Clean attacks. Don’t slip, don’t make a mistake. One of them will hit.
Swing after swing, he chased the vague shape of Dream around the room. He grew frustrated as Dream slipped by his attacks one after another, but a few narrow misses kept Tommy’s writhing, foul hopes up. Dream reached past the table to retrieve the sword that was leaning in the corner of the room. When Tommy charged for him, his axe splintered the table in half. Dream was barely able to seize the blade’s handle and dodge again.
“Tommy!” Dream said his name again, almost chiding in tone. Tommy tuned it out. “Are you really doing this?”
“Shut up and die, Dream!” Tommy shouted at him, raising his weapon for another attack. He needed to be more practiced. Dream had a sword now. Dream glided to the side, slashing towards Tommy with a double-handed grip that Tommy barely avoided. Dream followed up quickly with another swipe and Tommy had to block it with his axe.
“Are you all alone?” Dream asked, the metal of their weapons scraping against each other. “Did you come here all alone to kill me, Tommy?”
Tommy used the weight of his axe to drive Dream away from him. “I don’t need help.”
“Oof. I didn’t realize that was a nerve,” Dream replied with a scoff. “Don’t you usually get Tubbo to help you with things like this?”
Tommy bared his teeth. With a jolt, his fingers curled around a small bottle at his waist that he threw by his feet. Its contents fizzled through the air and seeped into his skin. “I’m not here to talk!” Able to move much faster than before, he crossed the room in the blink of an eye, aiming for Dream’s neck again. It nicked Dream’s jaw as he dodged again. Another swing grazed Dream’s temple. Dream’s movements seemed sloppy today. It was to Tommy’s benefit. He wasn’t complaining.
With blood running in thin lines down his face, Dream ducked out of the doorway to run as Tommy’s axe raked against the wall above Dream’s head. Tommy could feel his blood boiling red-hot as he chased him out. Dream was already out of sight. He must’ve used a pearl; fuck, where did he go?
Tommy pulled his shield from his back and held it close to his body, his eyes darting every which way to spot his target. “You aren’t running, are you?” he called out. There was no response. Tommy’s nostrils flared as took a deep breath and stalked down the hallway. “Dream.” He let the head of his axe hit the ground, scraping behind him on the obsidian tiles. “Come out where I can see you.”
The swiftness brew in his veins was making his senses run on hyperdrive and wrought a frenzied trembling under his skin. Was it the potion? Was it adrenaline? Was it terror? He tried not to think about it. He knew Dream was going to appear at any moment. Dream never ran. There were times Dream didn’t bother to fight back, but he never ran. It made Tommy suspect that Dream was scheming something. He never wasn’t scheming something. But, perhaps, with that buzz in his bloodstream, Tommy would stand a chance. He didn’t have to be scared. He could show Dream he wasn’t.
“Where have you gone, Dream?” Tommy called again, drawing out the words so they would reverberate like the axe he tugged in his wake. His heart might’ve been beating a little too fast. “Scared I’m gonna kill you? Dream! Remember that time you fuckin’ chased me through the woods?”
“Oh, is this retribution for that time I definitely didn’t kill you?” Dream’s voice came from near the ceiling. Tommy’s bloodshot eyes zeroed in on its source. Dream was crouched on a high balcony. “It was just tag… with weapons. Good times!”
Tommy clenched his teeth and slammed his axe into the wall. “GO TO HELL!” he shouted, reaching to snatch a pearl from his belt.
Dream stood up. “Or maybe it’s not just about that. It’s something else.” He swung his arm and Tommy braced himself. Dream appeared behind him, a netherite axe of his own raised over his shoulder. Tommy quickly lifted his shield to block it as Dream’s axe slammed through the wood. Tommy cursed when he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to back away. “I can’t say you look well, Tommy. Where’ve you been?”
“Yeah, well, you look like shit, too!” Tommy barked back, taking a swing at him while Dream wrenched his axe out of Tommy’s shield. The swiftness hadn’t worn off. He was still faster than Dream. He was faster, right? Despite this, Dream narrowly slipped out of harm’s way. “You broke out and you’re still rotting in here. Only a psycho would come back here!”
Dream tilted his head slightly. “You came back here.”
No, no, no. Not again. Dream was doing that thing—he was egging him on. He was trying to make him talk. He was trying to get into his head. He was trying to distract him.
“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” Dream continued. “Well, aside from how bloodshot they are. That’s pretty new. Do you not wanna talk about it?” He ducked under a swipe. “Weird,” Dream let out in a breath. “You brought it up.”
Tommy felt his movements grow sluggish. The potion was wearing off. He needed more. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” he snarled. Dream was trying to fucking stall him—is that what it was? Was he waiting for the effects to wear off? Would Tommy really be able to beat him if he could just turn off his brain for one second and resist Dream’s taunting? He couldn’t listen to Dream. He couldn’t. That voice was about to disappear. He was going to make it disappear forever.
Then he would be safe.
Dream laughed as Tommy charged for him and something snapped in Tommy’s head like fraying thread. He blocked and dodged a number of Tommy’s attacks, backing away one step at a time. He swung closely enough to slit Tommy’s cheek and warm blood dripped down from the cut left behind. Tommy’s head spun with sharp pain. It wasn’t just painful; it was disorienting. The corners of his vision were fuzzy. He was too vulnerable.
Tommy blinked through his split-second confusion to see Dream standing on the far end of the hallway. “You’re it,” Dream called before turning on his heel and running. All Tommy could think to do was give chase. It was the only reality he could see.
His feet carried him deeper into the prison. Despite his innermost thoughts resisting the notion of seeing the central cell block ever again, he followed each glimpse of Dream he caught in the overgrown corridors. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but Dream seemed to be slowing down. Tommy didn’t only think he would catch him—he knew he would catch him. His vile hope returned. He wondered if he should spill the contents of his second swiftness potion to shorten the time until he inevitably cornered Dream, but he didn’t know if he would need it minutes from now.
“Geez, you’re persistent,” Dream told him, turning on a heel. They were in the room outside the main cell block. Tommy knew this place too well. Normally there was a curtain of lava blocking the way to the central cell, but most of the lava was gone. There was a dense layer of cooled magma in its place, lining a floor. “You could’ve left, you know.”
“There were plenty of times you could’ve done that, too,” Tommy said, his footsteps heavy as he trod into the control room. “And never once did you do that.”
Dream let out a huff of air. “What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding perplexed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“You could’ve left me alone! We could’ve—I don’t know!” Tommy lost the words the moment they started to come out. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to. “I don’t care about any of that. All it would’ve meant was just—more lies. Who knows what the fuck you would’ve done. You’re a fucking monster no matter what happened.”
“Is that what you tell yourself in the mirror every day?” Dream scoffed. “I’m not the one who just broke into someone’s base, fully intent on murder! I was leaving you alone, Tommy! I was doing exactly what you say you want, but you’re still here!”
Tommy’s axe bumped the ground. “That’s only because I’ve been invisible! Nobody could find me! That’s the only reason!”
“What?” Dream exclaimed. “I wasn’t even thinking about you! Do you think the world revolves around you? How completely self-absorbed do you have to be to draw that kind of conclusion?”
Tommy felt his cheeks flare with anger and chagrin. “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever said anything to make me think otherwise, you fucking psycho! The second you broke out of this godforsaken prison—”
“Would you have preferred it if I’d been trying to hunt you down, Tommy? For fuck’s sake—this is ridiculous. Did you want me to just come in and have a nice little chat? Is that what? You would’ve just been like ‘oh Dream, you’re such a little green bitch who lies all the time, get out of my house before I scream for Phil or something’! And then you just scream for Phil anyway!”
“What would you expect me to do when you have a reputation of trying to kill me? Nothing you say makes any fucking sense, Dream!”
“Tommy,” Dream started again, his stance slacking somewhat. They remained several uncrossed paces apart. “Put down your weapons.”
“I’m not putting down my fucking weapons.”
Dream didn’t falter. “Put down your weapons and take off your armor, Tommy.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Wh—you’ll kill me!” Tommy’s grip on his axe tightened. His hands were shaking. “I’m done talking with you! Your presence—your existence—is the only thing standing between me and… and living! Everything will be okay again once you’re gone!”
“Sorry to hear you feel that way.”
Dream’s venomous stare, free from the dirty, cracked mask that he didn’t wear anymore, burned Tommy’s skin. He wanted to rip out Dream’s throat and disappear. He wanted to run, he wanted to live, he wanted to hide, he wanted to stop. He wanted to stop. He wanted to stop. He wanted to, the illusion of a sharp, gleaming blade pointed near his neck…
… make it all end.
A bottle shattered by his feet, his body turning comfortably invisible once more. With trembling fingertips, he tossed broken debris from his feet to another wall. Dream’s alert eyes moved away from him. Tommy thought of running. He wondered if he could run. He wondered if he could make it, if he could escape the six foot pit he so willingly crawled into.
He didn’t run.
Holding his breath, one stuttering footstep in front of the other, so slow that it was like the clock stopped in this cave with no time or sun or souls, he trod nearer and nearer. Imperceptible, as was his fate to be, he slipped closer. The clock ticked fast. The invisibility wouldn’t last as long as it used to. You’re safe, you’re safe, he thought to himself, if he could only get close enough.
Tommy only exhaled for a moment and Dream spun to strike the wall beside him with his axe, his free hand seizing Tommy’s neck and shirt in part. “You lose,” Dream said. The potion faded. The searing stare returned, joined by a violent revulsion and terror of imminent death. Tommy’s body faded back into view all too quickly. “Try again.” Dream released him, backing into the center of the magma crater their battle had taken them to, like this had simply become another game to him. He extended his arms, axe in one hand, like he was waiting for another attack.
It was that from the start, wasn’t it?
The world spiraled downwards into a blur. The corners of Tommy’s vision turned into splotches of color as he swore he held a weapon in his hand and that this was a fight he was winning. He blindly threw whatever blows he had left, infusing his bloodstream with one drug after another as the effect of each wore down sooner than the last and his body with it.
Somewhere along the way, the sound of Dream’s derisive voice returns—no, it was there the whole time, long minute after minute, but this one struck him like lightning. It struck him hard enough to reach him, hard enough to make him feel something. He wished there was a potion that numbed him harder.
“How long are you gonna keep this up for? We’ve been here a little while. Don’t you want to give up?” Dream asked. “Don’t you have friends, or pettier foes? What happened to Wilbur? Wasn’t he doing his very best to keep you safe?”
Tommy grimaced at the sound. The name might as well have been a spear through his chest. My friend, my best friend, my brother, my family, my partner, my soulmate, my life, my… careless, empty fucking liar.
Like Dream, who noticed it all; every blink, every flicker of pain, every flinch.
“No,” Tommy whispered.
A gleeful exclamation cut him off. “I get it now! Wilbur must’ve left you! He’s gone, isn’t he?” Dream sounded repulsively elated. There was a clang as the edge of his axe hit the ground—probably. “That’s why you’re all messed up in the head!”
There were so many things bubbling under Tommy’s skin, each contributing to his nausea. “… Don’t talk about him,” were the only words he could muster.
“Tommy. Oh, Tommy,” Dream’s voice got more sympathetic and goddamn distorted. “And Tubbo, too? Tubbo wouldn’t come here with you?”
“Shut up…” Dream was too far away for Tommy to continue swinging at him. Tommy would’ve had to walk, but his legs were shaking so much he was on the verge of collapse. What was he doing? Could he even fight anymore? He needed more potions. His veiny hand reached for his belt to find it empty. There was nothing left. He cursed, the overgrown hallways of the prison blurring together.
“You’re alone,” Dream continued. “Completely.”
Tommy blinked hard. The stinging cuts on his arms and face were becoming unbearably distracting. “You’re wrong.”
“You don’t want to kill me,” Dream said.
Tommy tried to take a step forward. “Yes… I… do.”
“You’re just lonely, Tommy.”
Tommy faltered and stumbled. “Huh?”
“You’re lonely and sick.”
The words gyrated in Tommy’s head. In a literal sense, Dream wasn’t completely wrong. Tommy realized, and wondered, if he was about to die. He wasn’t going to kill Dream, not like this. He was—was he here to die? Was he—why hadn’t Dream killed him yet? Didn’t Dream see how unwell he was? Why did Tommy let himself become so unwell?
Who did he have left? What would killing Dream do?
Save
the…
—his
world. Right?
His head would be clear.
“Tommy,” Dream said once more. He’d barely spoken, but it already sounded like a command. “You can’t fight anymore.”
You won’t fight anymore. You’re not going to fight anymore.
Do not fight anymore.
When did Dream get so close to him? He was within striking distance. Tommy’s shield was already broken, all of his potions had worn off completely and their aftereffects were like lead in his veins. He was bleeding, his knees were buckling, and he thought maybe Dream would be slicing off his head right about now.
Would Dream revive him again? Would he look him in the eye and rebuke him? How many times would he do it?
Tommy collapsed, but he couldn’t quite tell what had prevented the impending embrace of the floor.
“That time…” Tommy mumbled. “In your fucked up little museum… I should’ve finished you.”
“That would’ve sucked,” Dream said nonchalantly. Why was his voice so close?
Dream was the one who had caught him. They were on the ground. Then they were by the wall. Tommy’s axe wasn’t in his hand anymore. Maybe he dropped it a few feet away. Why was he still alive? Why did it feel like the world was about to end?
“It’s not very nice to take things out on me,” Dream told him. Tommy felt a palm wiping some of the grime on his face aside. “Could’ve made a call instead if you weren’t feeling so good.”
“Stop that—” Tommy said hoarsely, wincing. “Talking like that. You’re the only thing that stands between me and… the rest of my life.”
“And Wilbur wasn’t?” Dream continued. “Was wandering around in his shadow until he left you a life? What are you trying to achieve here?”
“I don’t—I don’t know,” Tommy rasped. “I just want everything to be… okay. And… and I can’t, not until…”
Dream brushed Tommy’s tangled, dirty hair from his eyes, his hand lingering heavily atop Tommy’s head. Tommy’s vision resisted clarity, but Dream’s stare met him dead-on. “You’re never going to kill me,” Dream said. “No matter what gear you have, no matter how much you grow up, no matter where we are.”
Tommy’s skin was crawling. “Then why can’t you give me another option?”
Dream’s expression had grown cold. “You always had a choice.”
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t just gonna let you toy with me. I’m not…” Tommy sucked in air, his blood boiling, fighting his dizziness. “I’m still not gonna. You lie, you… you skew the truth, you like hurting people… you think the world… is yours to take.”
Dream was quiet for a few moments.
“How’s that any different from you?” Dream’s voice started feeling like some auditory equivalent of hot coals. “You lie, you start fights and try to kill, you laugh and you steal and you rip up the dirt beneath your feet everywhere you go, Tommy.”
“I know, that’s why I—why I went away,” Tommy said, barely finishing the sentence. “No one even came looking for me. I… I’m not like you. I don’t play fuckin’ mind games. I don’t fuck around with forces that… I don’t even understand… I don’t chase people down until they have nightmares…” He caught his breath. “So, please… look at me and tell me… tell me that there’s the slightest sliver of a possibility… that we’re the same.”
Tommy tried to reach up and take Dream’s hand off his head, but he gracelessly fumbled around it, seizing it by his fingers and dragging it down until both hands fell on the floor. Tommy found a whole lot of himself hurting like hell and he knew he was close to passing out from exhaustion and too many fucking potions. He had a few wounds, but none of them were particularly dangerous. He should’ve had worse wounds, but he didn’t. Was too many potions really that bad? Evidently, they might’ve been.
“You sound like you want me to say yes,” Dream told him.
“Maybe, then… maybe you…” Tommy mumbled, “wouldn’t be so bad…” His eyes drifted away. “You gonna kill me?”
Their fingers were still intertwined up on the ground, dirt, grime and blood smothered between them. “I dunno,” Dream said. “I might still be a little mad about what you did, breaking in here, but… this is just sad. When you know where I am, you just can’t resist dropping by.”
“You too. At least I don’t just… leave notes and shit. I just… come in…”
“Guns blazing, without fail.”
Tommy’s vision was greeting him with increasingly hazy shapes. “Maybe one day I’ll do it right.” His eyelids fell shut. The noise around him turned into mud. He could barely discern Dream’s voice as he slipped from consciousness.
“Idiot.” Fingers on his face, wiping off blood and filth. Bleary, yet unmistakable closeness that pronounced itself slowly. There was breath near his face, then the sensation of skin. “Like I’d just leave you here.” There was an eternal pause before the floor disappeared from beneath Tommy’s body.
To hell, to hell, to hell. Tommy blacked out in Dream’s arms.
He wasn’t dead.
He figured he deserved much worse.