Chapter Text
Tommy’s old four poster bed had been carried off months ago. Since then, he’d been forced to lie on some hay his father had bought from the market. He understood why - his father loved him, really, but after his mother’s death, times had been hard.
His bedroom was large but empty, a gutted-out room in a manor house that had once been great. Tommy remembered life before his mother had fallen ill: twenty course meals, new bedding every week, all the luxuries he could ever ask for. But Tommy knew he would never see that life again. The demise of the Craft Family had long since begun, his mother’s great legacy with it.
His wardrobe had gone last week, finally sold at the market for a price far lower than his parents had bought it for. But his father, wracked with grief and guilt, was in no bargaining state, especially when he discovered Tommy’s childish scribbles inside the drawers.
He was sixteen but he felt much older. His brothers had grown up in luxury and managed to build lives for themselves, going to university and getting well-paying jobs as a lawyer and doctor. He would not be afforded the same experience. He was to either rely on them for the rest of his life or bring his father to ruin. Tommy didn’t know which his father could best stand. He lay in wait for the day his father would call him downstairs, tell him that he was to pack his bags and travel to London where his brothers had settled.
There was no place for him in the country anymore as anything more than a farmer and though he felt that he didn’t mind a simple life, his father believed otherwise. His father had not grown up wealthy himself, a poor farmer living on land his parents had worked for hundreds of years. He’d heard the story a million times before - he’d met Kristin, his mother, and been hurled up in the world by her status alone.
And yet now his mother was gone and it was like the glamorous life they’d lived was nothing but a dream.
Tommy sighed, itchy hay digging into him as he slept. He owned nothing nicer than his nightgown these days. Such was life.
“Tommy?” his father called, a sound he’d become used to since the servants had been let go.
He obediently stood up, unashamed to be wandering around in just his nightgown. It had been different when the house had been so full of life and people, when the walls had eyes and the eyes had teeth. It was just him and his father, the laughingstock of the town, left living in the big, empty house he knew his father would never be able to hold onto.
He could hear his father in his study, likely poring over financial paperwork and everything else that created stark white streaks in his hair. His father wasn't well, not in the slightest. Tommy doubted he would die like his mother but he clearly wasn’t living well.
He pulled open the heavy oak doors, gut sinking as he entered the room. His father, blonde hair balding like a moulting bird, was indeed just as stressed as always.
Nervously, he regarded his father with a nod and waited for him to speak.
“Thomas, you and I both know we won’t be living here for much longer,” his father declared, staring at the pieces of straw caught in his hair.
“Yes, father,” Tommy replied, tired eyes averting from his father’s own.
“There’s a way we can hold onto Craft Manor, though you might have to go away for a few years,” he declared.
Tommy flailed back in shock before composing himself once again. Tommy honestly hadn’t thought it possible considering their poor finance. Really, he should have put more faith into his father but it was hard when you were watching strange folk cart away your belongings every other day.
“I will do it, father,” Tommy decided,”for you.”
Despite all his words, he knew he didn’t have any say in this. If his father sent him away, he was to go away. Still, it was better to end things on better terms. It might not change his own life but to his father, it could mean the difference between life and death. Men his age weren’t supposed to be so gaunt.
“Thank you, Tommy. You have been nothing but a dutiful son to me,” he announced, standing up from his chair.
He staggered over to the alcohol cabinet which had been significantly depleted in the past few years.
“Drink with me, my son. One last time.”
He was horribly hung-over when they made the trek to the village the following morning. Tommy had seen the best and worst of his father. They had laughed and cried but it was all over now.
As they walked into Little L’manberg, dressed in their finest outfits (which happened to be their travelling cloaks for obvious reasons) Tommy regarded each of the villagers with suspicion. Who here had purchased him? Who here wanted a young man of his age so much that they would pay to keep him?
His brothers had joked all those years ago that nobody would want him - if he was to be carried off into the night, he would be returned just as swiftly. Tommy didn’t know if he wanted them to be right.
His eyes threatened something resembling tears but Tommy refused to upset his father. Maybe in front of his new master, whoever they were. Maybe not even then.
Suddenly, his father locked eyes with a gentleman in an ivy cloak so great on the gentleman that his face was shrouded in darkness. Tommy prayed silently that this strange man was not to whom he was to be sold.
“Philza?” The man asked, hood rising and falling as though his father
“That’s me,” his father confirmed, eyeing the man with some suspicion.
More concerningly than the cloak, the man had a large axe strapped to his belt. While weapons weren’t the most uncommon, Tommy wondered why anyone would bring one of that size to pick up a young man such as himself. It had a slightly red hue on its blade, as though a person had been crushed under it. Tommy hoped it was a self-inflicted injury as the alternative was too shocking to even imagine.
“So, are we still on for the trade?” Phil whispered, clearly trying to avoid the attention of the townsfolk.
Tommy assumed that made him all the more noticeable.
“Of course. I get the help, you get the money,” the strange man agreed, reaching out to shake his father’s hand.
With some hesitance, his father clasped his hand in the man’s own and had some awkward interaction resembling a handshake with him.
The man passed Phil a check, one Tommy noted was a large sum for what he could provide. What did the man want with him specifically? He was unskilled, untalented and unremarkable besides his noble origin. Really, what did he have to offer that made him so desirable?
“I’m Dream,” Dream declared,”I’ll be your new master. I’ll treat you well enough and in exchange, in five years time we can evaluate your pay - if you want to stay,” he lied.
Tommy looked at this man up and down, reading the million signs which screamed ‘danger’. He was scared - very much so - but the hope of returning home in five years a skilled and educated man and to a healthy father was too much to pass up, even from his perspective.
“Alright, have you got any more stuff?” Dream asked, sparing a glance at Tommy’s small bundle of items.
“No, sir,” Tommy answered, blushing some at his meagre belongings.
“We’ll be off,” Dream announced, pulling on Tommy’s shoulder so hard it burned. He wanted to pull Dream’s arm off but he knew that his father would suffer if he did. Dream was the only chance of him having a good life even if Tommy could see what a creep he was.
Tommy looked back at his father with pleading eyes as Dream dragged him forward.
“Goodbye, father!” Tommy exclaimed.
“Good luck,” his father said simply.
With that, his father marched off, leaving him with Dream without another word.
He turned back around, walking with Dream though the man didn’t let up on his hold. It was like he wanted to cause as much pain as possible already. Or maybe (and Tommy felt guilty even thinking that way) he was testing Tommy. Testing to see if he was assertive and strong or weak-willed and common.
“Dream, might you unhand me?” Tommy asked, summoning as much power into his voice as possible, which wasn’t much for a boy of sixteen.
“Tommy, flattery will get you nowhere. You have work to do now, you can’t rely on the maids anymore,” Dream mocked in a tone that said ‘kindhearted’ though without any of the softness it should have had. His words cut through Tommy’s composure like a dagger. This was it, wasn’t it? The end of his noble life.
“Of course, Sir, but might you unhand me?” Tommy demanded, panic mixing with regret as he realised what he’d just done.
Dream obediently unhanded him, though he raised his hand a second time and without hesitation, slapped him across the face.
The breath fled helplessly from Tommy’s throat, shaking it around till he couldn’t breathe at all. Then, panicked inhales entered his mouth but Tommy was sure they were doing nothing for him as no sooner than he’d inhaled, it was forced out again.
Tommy looked up at Dream, shaking as he took in the man he’d be living with for the next half-decade.
“Fuck you,” Tommy declared defiantly.
Instantly, Tommy regretted saying it. He didn’t need to say that. In fact, he could have let the situation wind down but he hadn’t, seemingly incapable of following orders.
Dream didn’t feel an ounce of empathy for him, grabbing Tommy by the neck with his deceptively strong arms.
Tommy went limp in Dream’s hold, all resistance gone as he received his first glimpse of his ‘master’s’ eyes. They were a toxic, inhuman green, something more animal than human. Tommy got the idea that Dream wasn’t from this world, perhaps some form of Dreamon or other dark entity. The name would make sense.
“Tommy, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dream demanded, swinging him about like a ragdoll. Tommy felt absolutely helpless as he was snapped back into consciousness.
As Tommy remembered where he was once again, Dream pressed down on his throat, shoving his finger into it so far that it blocked his windpipes. In no sooner than five seconds, he was already beginning to suffocate.
How could he have been so foolish? Tommy didn’t understand it: he had been told time and time again by his father to behave, to comply with any orders Dream had given him but it was like his body refused. He got the sense that he’d been here once before, as if he was subconsciously recalling an event from many years before. The idea scared Tommy beyond belief but as the life drained from his eyes, Tommy recognised this wouldn’t be the last time he met Dream.
He was somewhere else, now. Hoofbeats hammered the ground with the force of a hundred footsteps, bashing Tommy around on the floor. He looked up only to see that he was inside a cart.
Memories of the previous day (if it had even been that long, anyway) flooded back into him like air.
Tommy shook as he went through every horrific moment spent with Dream. His father had never once laid a hand on him and yet Dream had done it twice already. More, if Tommy included the way he’d dragged him away from his father.
And now he was…somewhere.
Tommy thought it wise to sit up - allowing himself to be beaten up by the floor itself was clearly not the best for his mind and a surefire way to give himself shaking baby syndrome a decade and a half too late.
Slowly, he rose off the tired, nailed-together wood of the cart and onto the plush pillows of the seats. His back was relieved almost immediately, no longer forced to jolt about uncontrolled. His bottom could handle it, reliable thing that it was. Usually, Tommy could think of something funny relating to his bottom but after what felt eerily like a kidnapping, Tommy wasn’t sure he could be funny at all.
“Tommy, I know you’re awake,” Dream declared.
Tommy jumped at his voice, unaware of where Dream’s mocking call was coming from. Then it hit Tommy: Dream was driving.
“Hey, Dream,” Tommy said, voice cracking as he succumbed to a level of nervousness he hadn’t reached since his friends had abandoned him.
“We’re a few hours away from home at the moment. You hit your head pretty hard. You should go back to sleep,” Dream suggested, though they were both aware it was no suggestion: it was an order.
“I will,” Tommy replied obediently, still reeling from Dream’s previous attack.
If Dream had known how fucked his head would get from the floor, why would he even put him there? His head was the least of his worries after what Dream had done to his throat.
His throat still stung like a hundred bees descending upon him every second, a neverending throbbing and aching sensation. Tommy could hardly manage the few words he’d spoken so far and he doubted he’d be back to his proper self for days. Until then, he’d have to do as he was told lest he get the shit beaten out of him again.
Tommy had hoped to to that thing the heroes always did in stories where they pretended to be asleep but were really watching out for whatever schemes the villain was up to but he was too tired. Instead, Tommy fell asleep almost immediately into something that was neither a rest nor a relaxing experience.
When he finally escaped wherever he had been trapped, Tommy forgot the entirety of his dream but he had the vague impression that it was something he should have paid attention to.
When he next came into consciousness, the cart was going down a straighter, flatter track. On one side, Tommy could see bright flowers growing in a very square-shaped, artificial meadow filled with green flowers. He hoped it belonged to Dream, if only to have the place to explore.
Tommy sat up properly, watching as the forest on one side disappeared, turning into another meadow, this one with blue flowers though it looked significantly abandoned. Most of the flowers were withering away, clearly left without water for days. Tommy wondered if that was the meadow Dream owned. Tommy reasoned that Dream was a massive flower hater and had built an entire area to watch the plants rot away. It seemed like something Dream would do, anyway.
And then, in the distance, he saw it.
If he craned his neck out of the window, he could see a huge manor, twice, even thrice the size of his father’s. Unlike his home which was in a state close to disrepair, the manor in the distance appeared to be so shiny that Tommy wagered it could attract the gods.
“Tommy, put your neck back in the cart. Do you want to lose your neck?” Dream asked, banging something against his seat.
Tommy gulped, sitting down on his plush seat.
“Not really, Sir,” Tommy said fearfully.
“Please, Tommy, call me Dream,” Dream answered warmfly, as though they were friendly aquaintences instead of whatever the fuck they were. Tommy almost threw up at the mere idea that he and Dream were friends. He’d known that man for less than a day and already he knew that Dream was everything but gentle.
“Dream,” Tommy corrected himself, seething as he spoke.
The cart sped up and Tommy realised that they were beginning their climb up the slight hill where Dream’s manor was situated. Did Tommy even know if it was Dream’s manor? He’d never confirmed it, really. And Dream didn’t seem wealthy. Most rich people didn’t go around hurting young men for fun.
Finally, they levelled out and Tommy watched as the cart slowed to a halt.
He opened the cart door the moment it stopped, jumping out as though he was prepared to run off into the bushes.
“What are you doing, Tommy?” Dream asked, glaring at him as though he’d already committed twenty war crimes.
“I don’t know… Stretching my legs?” Tommy answered.
Clearly, that wasn’t the answer Dream wanted.
He marched over to Tommy, eyes practically glowing with rage and raised his axe.
“Do you want me to hunt you down in the fucking woods, Tommy? I promise you, I will,” Dream snapped, irate.
Tommy realised then what kind of man bought someone for as high a price as Dream did: a madman. Dream was absolutely off his rocker.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Tommy pleaded, desperation filling his eyes like fat tears. He shivered again, the phantom pain of his slaps and squeezes attacking him for a second time. The very real pain of his throat swelled as he became aware of the suffering all over his body. He was an island of agony, trapped with nobody to help him.
He blinked, looking up at his surroundings for the first time in an attempt to calm himself down.
Dream’s manor looked, on closer inspection, far better than his father’s. It had hundreds of fancy windows, all as large as twelve bears. Ivy draped over the walls artistically, kept conveniently away from the windows and doors. It was obvious that this place was somewhere well-kept, though Tommy doubted Dream did it himself.
The hill reached higher than Tommy had realised on the ground, giving Tommy a view of the flat plains at least a hundred miles into the distance. Tommy didn’t know where this place was but it surely wasn’t his village. Tommy doubted there was any sign of civilisation for miles, the memory of humans lost to the animals here who lived in a simpler world.
Apparently Dream didn’t like him being calm, as evidenced by the fact that his neck was once again stuck in Dream’s very tight grip.
“Tommy, are you paying attention?” Dream snapped, clicking his fingers in front of Tommy’s eyes.
He wished that he could have protested or explained himself or used one of the many options that he had under normal circumstances but he didn’t. Dream’s hand clamped down on his neck tighter than the smallest handcuffs, keeping him trapped under Dream’s thumb.
Desperately, Tommy made a frantic, garbled noise but Dream didn’t seem to care, still waiting for his answer as if he was capable of giving one.
“No? See, Tommy, I hired you because I needed an assistant - someone to teach my trade and maybe one day take over this place. But you don’t deserve this place. You don’t deserve shit,” Dream ranted, shoving his neck around for emphasis like he was really some shitty doll Dream had bought. He hated it - hated it so much. But what could he do when he was in the middle of nowhere held by his neck by a man with a bloody fucking axe?
Tommy gurgled out another response, hoping to win enough sympathy that Dream would fall short of knocking him unconscious this time. It seemed every time he interacted with Dream, it was him trying to cause him pain. And he hated it - of course he did. Why the fuck would he enjoy being taken to the middle of the woods and put in horrible agony by a creepy stranger?
Dream tightened his grip even more, squeezing him so tight that Tommy doubted it would ever widen again. He didn’t feel dead - he was very much aware of every sensation attacking his body: every bruise, every cut and everywhere Tommy’s airflow was blocked. He was like a bird inside a box that Dream kept jumping on, squashing him and squashing him without mercy.
Tommy didn’t even feel human, a disconcerting mix of his lapsing attention and the pain he was in. It was like he was watching his own body from third person, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. Tommy didn’t understand it but he understood immediately that the strange feeling was here to stay.
“-What the fuck do you think you’re here for? To mess around?” Dream yelled.
Tommy tried to shake his head to no avail. There was no saving him now.
Was this what his life had come to? Constant suffocation?
Tommy hoped that Dream would fuck up and kill him sooner rather than later. It was day 1 on the job but he already knew that there would be no surviving these next five years.
White dots clouded his vision, becoming more numerous by the second till his vision blurred entirely. Tommy wondered if that was it: those strange things looked like the afterlife coming into view, his spirit leaving his body as it fled for the afterlife.
He felt some pain hit his body but it was dulled, as though he was feeling his own body through a closed door. Muffled, even. Tommy was utterly unfamiliar with the feeling even though it resembled fear in many ways. It was like he was being pulled back ever so slightly.
Tommy then realised what the pain was. He had been dropped - released, even - from Dream’s deadly grip. He had a chance of surviving, then.
He knew it for certain when his wide eyes were finally rid of the strange blur, allowed to see what was going on for the first time in what felt like hours.
Tommy wanted to rejoice, to celebrate his newly-found life but with his regained awareness came the full force of his neck injury. If something wasn’t broken or otherwise crushed, Tommy would have given up his last things. It was like an axe had swung through his neck a million times or like someone had jumped on his windpipe till it bent.
He could feel where he was, even begin to control fingers, feet and toes. Tommy realised he was on the floor, in a heap. Below Dream, he looked pathetic. Mud and dust covered more of his person than his cloak, which had been mostly cut away at some point. Tommy didn’t understand fully what was going on even though he’d just experienced it. All the pieces were there but Tommy didn’t have the rules as though his had been hacked to pieces by Dream.
“Are you sorry, Tommy?” Dream asked in such a way that Tommy could describe simply as painfully condescending. He wouldn’t even speak to a toddler the way Dream addressed him but it appeared that Dream had his head so far up his own bottom that he couldn’t understand something as simple as how normal people spoke to each other.
Despite his clear hatred for Dream, Tommy nodded, fighting back the tears as he stared at Dream.
Dream moved closer and he backed away, though he stopped the moment he noticed Dream’s hideous tutting.
“See, Tommy, it’s not that hard to behave, is it?” Dream asked, as though he was disciplining a small child instead of torturing a sixteen-year-old.
There were not words to describe what Tommy thought of Dream, no phrase in any language either. To get even close, Tommy knew he’d have to line up a million different insults and then - and only then - could you come even close to the level of hatred Tommy felt.
Tommy said nothing, the threat of further punishment too much for the noble boy.
Dream outstretched an arm and Tommy hesitantly took it, if only because he was unsure if he could get off the ground unassisted.
He felt dizzy just standing up, the lack of oxygen mutilating his co-ordination like Dream had taken a dagger to it and hacked away at his muscle memory and years of practice. It was like Dream had burned his brain or perhaps eaten it for himself because that monster with little intelligence of his own needed to feel as though he was actually smarter than a single person.
Dream opened the door which he had either left unlocked for multiple days or always kept open with the knowledge that his servants would deal with any unwanted visitors. From what he’d heard so far, the place looked deserted.
Inside, it was clear Dream was really weird. It looked for a moment as though Dream had about as many personal possessions of his own as Tommy had on him but then he noticed the large chests filling the wall with millions of different things spewing out from their heaps. Tommy wagered that no more than five percent of it could be things that he actually used or needed. Though Tommy didn’t have the words to describe it, it was clear from even his cluttered cloakroom that Dream was a huge hoarder.
Throughout the house, Tommy’s attention was stolen only by Dream’s chests. He couldn’t make out what was actually in them, the world a blur still as he attempted to keep himself upright. It was like they were behind schedule even though Tommy couldn’t see another person to schedule with.
Tommy realised then that he hadn’t seen a single servant. Throughout the strange manor decorated in green, there was simply himself, Dream and Dreams’ mountains of items. A terrible thought struck Tommy: what if Dream had servants once? What if they were all buried under the floorboards or cut up in many of those chests?
Prime, Tommy realised, he was next…