Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was pretty safe to say that things in the prison were absolute shit. Tommy just wanted a simple visit and now he was fucking trapped with Dream of all people. It could honestly be described as hell, especially with the way Dream insisted on mocking him nearly every waking moment. 

“Where are your friends, Tommy?” “Why haven’t they come to save you yet, Tommy?” “They don’t even care, Tommy.” “I’m the only one who cares about you.” And more of the same bullshit, over and over and over again! He felt like he was going insane with how the words would bounce around in his skull, even when Dream himself was silent. There were a few times he even snapped when it was quiet, and those moments only caused Dream to laugh and double down on his efforts. 

Really, it was only a matter of time before Tommy truly snapped, lashing out with more than just words. The first few times, it was a small scuffle, a punch or a slap that quickly ended with him pinned to the obsidian floor. 

Eventually though, Tommy got the courage to escalate instead of yielding. He was weak, physically, which was in no way helped by the way Dream would hoard the only food source they had, only offering Tommy a potato when he ‘deserved it’. And sometimes it was only half, or less! Despite the malnourishment, Tommy managed to get a small upper hand using a trick Techno had taught him once; using the momentum of his body as it was falling to release himself from Dream’s grip, and swipe at the man’s legs while rolling away. 

Just a few moments was all Tommy needed. “Take advantage of the moment your enemy is down.” Techno would always say. “If you can’t run, use that time to do as much damage as you can, aim to knock them out, and you can use that time to try and figure out what to do, or find a way out.”

And Tommy followed that advice to a T, springing back to his feet and tackling Dream. His punches were a bit more wild than he’d like, but that was fine, it still did damage. He could see cracks appearing in the mask, good, maybe a shard would fall into his eye or some shit. It was almost easy. That wasn’t to say Dream didn’t put up any sort of fight, of course he did, but for those few short moments, he was confused.  

Eventually, Tommy managed to land a rather good hit on the mask, watching with a victorious grin as it cracked and crumbled into shards or porcelain under his fist. That was probably when things went wrong, if he had to pick a single key moment. It wasn’t like Tommy had never seen Dream’s face, of course he had, many times. It was one of the key aspects of exile, one of Dream’s little manipulation tactics. Using it to make Tommy feel like he was special, and it did, for a little while. The effect kind of lost its glamor after Tommy escaped his exile.

It was that small glimmer of victory, watching blood trickle from Dream’s nose and the shock on his face, that was Tommy’s initial slip up. One moment he was caught up in the euphoria of the victory, the next he was being sent across the small room and could feel his head smack against the obsidian. 

Tommy watched, heart pounding and eyes blurry as Dream rose back to his full height, swiping the blood from his face and staining the sleeve of his prison uniform. Dream laughed, and the hair on the back of Tommy’s neck raised. He knew what that laugh meant, cold and unnamused, oh, he’d fucked up big time.

“You know,” Dream started, with a small shake of his head. “For a minute, I really thought I’d taught you well enough not to do that, but clearly I was wrong.”

Tommy scrambled away, back hitting the wall as Dream took a few steps forward, only pausing to lean down and sift through the remains of his mask and taking a shard that was good enough for… Whatever it was that he had planned.

“What do you think, Tommy? Are you proud of yourself? Do you think you’ve been good lately?”

“Wait- wait, wait, wait-” Tommy put his hands up. Fuck, fuck, how could he have thought he’d get away from this unscathed? “Hold on, Dream, just-”

Dream scoffed, crouching down in front of him in such a way that he felt trapped. “Why? You didn’t even bother to wait and think before trying to attack me. Are you happy? Because you shouldn’t be,” He rolled the large shard around in his hand, contemplating. “Maybe I should remind you of what you are, how about that?”

“No, no, no-” He tried in vain to back up further towards the wall. His claustrophobia flared painfully as he tried to find a way out to no avail. “I- I’m sorry, okay? Fuck, don’t, please -”

“Tommy,” Dream said, sickly sweet as he grabbed his arm, pushing up his sleeve. “It’s too late for apologies. I’m only doing this to help you, you should know that by now.”

The shard was dug into his skin, curving in and dragging along. Tommy tried to struggle away but Dream just pulled him back into place. “Stop moving, you’re only going to ruin it. What, do you want it to be there and ugly?”

Prime, Tommy wanted to cry, wanted to tear his eyes away, but he just couldn’t. At first, he didn’t understand what Dream was doing, then he saw the first letter take shape. It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad. He had no way to escape now, each time he moved Dream found some way to pin him in place. 

By the time it was over he was outright sobbing. Annoying, scrawled across a small section of his arm. It honestly wasn’t the worst thing to have gouged into him, because it was obvious. For fuck’s sake, that was his introduction sometimes. That didn’t mean he didn’t fucking hate it. He moved, shifting to get up, but Dream held tight.

“What? You think that’s it? After the shit you just pulled?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy’s breaths were heavy as he tried not to focus on the burning pain. Fuck, the letters were deep. He couldn’t even see it under the blood pouring from his forearm. “That’s- this is fucking worse than what I did to you!” Of course it was. If Tommy took an inch from Dream, the masked man would repay it in a mile.

“You think this is worse?” Dream asked, incredulous. “Worse than forcing me into prison? Worse than abandoning me? And then coming here to tell me to my face that you’re going to try and do it again? No, Tommy, I’m being fucking merciful with you. This might be a punishment now, in this very moment, but guess what? Once it’s all done, all these words will be here to remind you of what you really are. Now, are you going to keep acting like a fucking crybaby or shut up and let me finish?”

Tommy stayed silent, his gaze stuck to the floor, but he could still hear the smile in Dream’s voice as he spoke. “Good boy.”

The next however long it was passed for Tommy in a daze, staring at the floor. At some point he was maneuvered around so that he was propped up against Dream’s chest, apparently it was too difficult before or some shit. Tommy glanced up every now and then, checking the progress of the words. Pest and Puppet were scrawled along his arms in his- his friend’s? His abuser’s?- perfect cursive font.

He let his head fall once again, but Dream nudged him “Hey, pay attention. This one is important, alright?”

All he could manage was a soft whine through his painfully dry mouth. The world was spinning already, and he could swear the blood had pooled around them. The world was spinning around him, and his hands were trembling like there was an earthquake. His heartbeat was a drum inside of his chest, too quick, too loud.

Dream maneuvered him so his neck was unprotected, and the painful process began again, worsened because of the blood that started pouring out of his neck, making everything worse. Every time he gasped for air, he felt the sharp tip of the porcelain dig further into his flesh. He had no idea what this word was, but he knew it probably wasn’t good. 

Every few seconds his eyes would drift closed, and Dream would shake him back into awareness. “No falling asleep yet, I’m almost done.” He scolded lightly.

Tommy felt so trapped in his numb body. He wasn’t able to control anything anymore, to the point where Dream had to keep him upright with one arm. There was so much blood. So horribly much blood that he was sure every inch of his skin was coated in the sticky red substance. But the shard of glass was finally pulled away, and Dream’s bloody hands graced his face, holding him in the few moments he had left before he inevitably died.

Just like his second life, Tommy was left to bleed out while the voice of the one who had made the wounds crowed (crooned) victory.

—

Let it be known that Tommy Innit hated death. He hated dying, despised Limbo, and, if it was possible, felt just as awful coming back. He was covered in dried, crusted blood that hadn’t been cleaned off, despite the clear efforts to. Every sensation was far too much, and he was aching all over. Any amount of water would never be enough to soothe the severe dehydration he was going through as well.

He was hot-cold and in so much pain, pins and needles pricking his entire body. But the fucker keeping him upright and talking at him just wouldn’t stop.

“-back with me? I can see you breathing, you know.” Dream’s voice filtered through the muffle in Tommy’s ears.

“Fu- uck,” he croaked, sounding about as good as someone who’d been chain-smoking nonstop for a year.

"There you are." Dream said, sounding pleased. About what, Tommy had no clue. "So, how was it?"

He let out a confused mumble, and Dream clarified, “death. How was it?”

“Shit,” he managed before erupting into dry coughs. Probably from the mucus at the back of his throat. “‘Was shit. Painful.”

"Aw, that's too bad." Dream cooed. "But I bet you're glad you didn't kill yourself in exile now, right? Otherwise I would have let you sit in there much, much longer."

He had a point, and Tommy was very upset at that fact. So instead, he tried to sit up and away from the bastard, resulting in him only falling back to the previous position, his head on Dream’s shoulder. 

He had several expletives he wanted to tell that green prick, but he was too weak to deal with the aftermath. So instead, he sucked up, breathing pleadingly, “water?”

Dream snorted, shifting Tommy so he was propped up against the wall and stood. "Fine, but Sam will probably be back soon, as long as he's done overthinking what a failure he is."

Tommy didn’t respond. He didn’t have the thought process or the words to. But he found he had plenty of energy to snatch the newly-refilled bottle from Dream’s hands. He couldn’t give less of a shit checking whose it was by that stupid chip in the side; it could very well be covered in gunk and he would cherish every sip.

He downed it probably too fast for his own good, amidst Dream’s laughter, and forced himself up to the sink to refill it again, taking greedy gulps of the warm water to soothe his aching throat. It didn’t seem like enough, but he was starting to feel weird and bloated, so he didn’t dare risk taking more. Instead, he dipped his face in the standing water of the basin, relishing the feeling of blood flaking off his cheek and from his hair,

When he resurfaced, the water was cloudy with obsidian dust and months (days?)-old blood, but he could still make out his reflection. His cheeks were sallow, hair matted for blood save for a silky white streak in the front. Black dust was smeared over his face, which looked more like a corpse’s than a human’s.

He looked disgusting. He felt disgusting. But nothing was worse than the backwards word that he could see on the visage’s neck.

Mine.

He barely had time to make it across the room to retch in the toilet, expelling the liquid he’d taken in far too quickly. As he sat back and gave a full-body shudder, he saw Dream wrinkle his nose.

"I'm not getting you more. If you want it, you can do it yourself." 

“Fuck you,” Tommy panted, wiping the edges of his mouth.

"Do you really want to start in with that again? Because trust me, I can make it a lot worse." Dream threatened.

He paled and nearly scampered back. “Okay- okay, I- sorry. Sorry.”

The thought of that scar on his neck made him sick. He had no doubt that Dream would try worse than even that, make Tommy his little possession once and for all.

Dream nodded. "Good. Now, I have no idea when Sam is coming back, but it'll probably be soon. So before then, we have a few ground rules to lay out, alright?"

“Ground rules?” The blonde echoed.

“Yeah, like for one, keep these out of sight,” He motioned to the words carved into Tommy’s skin. “Those are for you, not anyone else. However, I do want you to keep track of the things they say about you out there. Then, you can either put them down yourself, or tell me so I can when you visit.”

“Put them down?” Oh. Oh, no, no, no. He’d already died from the blood loss. He was not carving more words into his skin, especially when everything was so much right now. Now that he was focusing, he felt his shirt, dry and crusty with blood, shift against his skin. He felt his wounds throb gently. He felt each beat of his heart, each blink, each inhale. “You- you want me to- to cut words into my own skin? Why the fuck would I do that?!”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Dream shrugged. “You just have to come back here and let me do it for you.”

“Obviously, I’m not going to do that! I’m never coming back, Dream! Ever! I’m done!”

“Then I’ll just kill you again.” Dream said easily. “If you fail to visit at least once every… Let’s say every week, that’s another time that you die. And I know you, Tommy, you’ll come crawling back to me eventually, do you really want that reunion to be filled with nothing but you dying, over and over and over again? I don’t think you do.”

“I’m not going to- I-” His breath caught. “I’m not coming back. You’re not my friend. This was the final time.” The words were a repeat of what he’d said almost three months ago now. As if everything hadn’t changed.

"See, that's what you keep saying, and yet you're still here. Come on, Tommy, it's pathetic! You keep pushing away the only person who gives a single fuck about you, and clinging onto everyone who doesn't! It's only going to end with you getting hurt."

“Like it doesn’t with you?! You killed me three times!” He blinked back tears. No way was he wasting fluids that easily and making himself look weak in the process.

“Only because you didn’t listen. If you just do what you’re told, you’ll be fine!”

“I’d rather be alone than with you!” Tommy shouted. Dream’s features softened into something faintly amused. 

“We both know that’s a lie.”

His breath caught, and Dream took that moment to grab the cloak he’d stored in the chest all this time. It was thick, colored a deep forest green, and in a moment, it was tossed over his shoulders and clasped over the mark on his neck by nimble fingers. 

“I hear the mechanisms in the walls. Sam is coming soon. Remember to visit at least next week. I want a word… let’s say every other day, yeah? The rest of today and tomorrow you get off, but the day after, you’d better get something.”

The lava was falling now, and Tommy couldn’t move. In fact, he could barely speak, if only to say two words.

“Yes, Dream.”

—

Sam didn’t question his dazed state while walking out of the prison. He got to say hello to his old friends, it just- it didn’t feel the same. Not when the smiling clasp over his throat and heavy fabric was the only thing keeping his shame from being displayed to the world. He couldn’t wave, or reach out, or anything, because if he showed his arms, they’d all know. They’d know what Dream did to him. 

The thought made him faintly sick. 

So, the end of the day was spent in his own home with the door locked, trying desperately to wash his face and hair of the blood that was so worked into it. Eventually, he just gave up and decided to take a full, scalding-hot shower to remove himself of the crawling feeling underneath his skin. It hurt, sure, and it was fucking awful, but the cool water felt too much like the void. So, hot it was.

When he was done, he permanently discarded the once red-and-white shirt, now turned a sickly black-brown, and replaced it with the only thing he could think of. The undershirt of his L’Manburg uniform wasn’t comfortable, and it was a bit too small now, but it had a collar that mostly hid the lines etched into his skin. The rest of it, he hid with the torn and stained bandanna that had once sat so comfortably around his neck. Techno had convinced him to stop wearing it, but that didn’t mean that he threw it away.

It didn’t feel like enough. He felt so exposed, like a stranger in his own skin. But he didn’t have anything else. So he gave a shaky smile and pretended it was okay.

The feeling was a lot better, anyways. He felt fresh for the first time in ages.

(No, he didn’t. Even though his outside was clean, there was something inside him that was rotten. Soon enough, he would be corrupt again as it seeped from his new scars. He still tasted death.)

The next day was spent holed up in his house, pulling off his sleeves once in a while to stare at the words. It still didn’t feel real. It still wasn’t sinking in. But there they were, printed so neatly, like something out of a shitty bullying flick. He went to sleep crying that night, after doing nothing but staring at the ceiling and having an existential crisis all day.

The day after, Dream’s orders rang in his head. He needed to get a word. He needed to print it on his skin. He’d just- he’d print it really light. That way, it wouldn’t stick, but Dream would know he did it. Shakily, he took a breath and touched the cool porcelain shard in his inventory.

No time like the present, right?

So, as much as he dreaded it, he marched towards the hotel, feet set in position. Fuck. Fuck, why was he doing this?

It was finished, but still undecorated. Empty and void of life. Hopefully he’d be able to fix that soon. Or, well, maybe not entirely. There, right at the doors, stood the one and only Sam Nook. Tommy gasped upon seeing it, practically running over to greet the robot.

“Sam Nook!” 

The raccoon-themed robot lit up- quite literally- and greeted him. “Hello, TommyInnit! I’ve been awaiting your arrival! Would you like to start work on the hotel?”

"Uh… sure. Can we start off with something light, though?"

“Of course! Go inform Jack of your return and change the sign back. In your absence, he has taken over the hotel,” Sam Nook informed him.

Tommy frowned. “What? Why would you let him do that?”

“It was against my wishes,” the robot informed him. “He did not seem to understand that you would be returning.”

Of course, Tommy should have expected that. He should have expected that someone would try and take away the one thing that made him happy. “Thanks.” He muttered, stalking into the hotel. It didn’t take long to find Jack, the guy was sitting right at the front desk, just about to call out a greeting, but his face quickly fell when he saw Tommy.

“Get out.” Tommy growled. He wasn’t going to put up with any more shit than he had to, not today.

Jack, at the front desk, jumped and paled dramatically. His yelp was piercing. “What the fuck? ”

“I’m not doing this again today, Jack. Please, just fucking leave.”

“No- no, no, Tommy, you’re supposed to be fucking dead! How are you alive?!”

“I’ve already told every fucking person I’ve seen so far, and I’m really tired of having to explain it, so if you wanna know, go ask one of them.” 

That seemed to piss Jack off. “He fuckin’- of course he revived you. That dickhead. Well, you were dead long enough for your shit to be voided, so if you want to take it up with court, get a fucking lawyer.”

"I literally built this fucking place! Are serious that took my fucking hotel within a week of hearing that I was dead?!" Tommy snapped. It was still hard to believe that it had only been days that he was dead, but… well, Tubbo said it. Still, it hurt, knowing that life had moved on this fast. They didn't care for him while alive, and lacked any fucking respect for him dead, it seemed.

“You were dead! You should be dead!” Jack snapped. “I grieved for you, man! After everything, I grieved! And now you come waltzing back in demanding my hard work back!”

"Your hard work?! I fucking built this place from the ground up! Did you ever even get a single stack of resources?" Tommy shot back.

“ Yes! ” Jack shouted. “I did! Fuck off and go accept being treated the same way you treated me!”

"What the fuck do you mean?! I never did anything to you!"

“Prime, you’re so selfish,” Jack spat. Tommy’s mouth went painfully dry.

Selfish. It would be right at home next to the insults carved into his skin. He didn’t realize he was backing away until his back hit the door.

Dream was right, Prime, he was fucking right. Tommy couldn't go even a single day before having an insult thrown his way. "Fine!" He snapped. "Stay in the fucking hotel, I don't care!"

He needed out, he needed out. Before he heard something else, one new scar was enough. He didn't want to die in the prison again.

He shoved the doors open, stumbling out and not even bothering to say goodbye to Sam Nook as he made his way down the prime path. He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to prove Dream right when he called him a cry baby. That one would suck for sure to have carved in. 

He had no idea how long he walked for, but it was clearly a while, the sun low in the sky- he wasn't even on the prime path anymore. In fact, he had next to no clue where he was. It was forested, trees and flowers scattered all around. It was nice, peaceful even.

He was tired too, surely a quick nap wouldn't hurt him, then he could find his way back home. Yeah, that sounded nice.

There was a nice tree, a large dip in its roots that curled protectively around a mini alcove of soft grass. A perfect spot to lay down if Tommy had ever seen one. The moment he was curled up, his eyes were caught towards the porcelain shard in his inventory. He took a deep breath, hoping not to psych himself out.

“Okay, Tom. Just a little prick.” His heart was hammering as he lifted his sleeve slightly, even though he hadn’t even taken out the stupid shard. With shaking hands, he moved to grab it from his inventory and place it to his wrist, just underneath annoying.

As soon as it was to his skin, the moment it drew blood, he almost passed out, dropping the shard all too suddenly. Memory of that same sharp tip gouging into his skin made him sick. Fuck, he couldn’t do this, he- he couldn’t do this. He’d stitched up his own damn wounds before, but he was now squeamish at the sight and feel of blood. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if pathetic ended up joining the rest soon.

Tommy took a forced inhale and grabbed the shard again. He’d hide it, bring it into the prison with him. And then Dream could do it for him. It was awful, he hated the thought, but he couldn’t do this to himself. He just couldn’t. One little pinprick and he was already on the brink of a full-on meltdown, head spinning. He tucked it into his inventory again and swallowed in an attempt to calm himself.

“Tommy?”

His heart flew and fell at the same time. Quickly, far too quickly to be normal, he pulled down his sleeves, praying she hadn’t seen the disgrace he’d been forced into. “Niki,” he laughed, a bit too shaky as he noticed her eyes harden. Right. The whole nuke plot. She’d wanted to kill him, too. 

"Why are you here?" She said, words laced with bitterness.

“I just found it, and I was tired, so I- I took a nap. Is it yours?” Tommy asked. He could feel the blood on his arm, and it was really, really messing with him.

"Yes, it's mine." She hissed. "And I don't need you here, crushing my flowers, being lazy and destructive!"

Tommy felt his stomach drop at that. No, no. Prime, no. Of all the things she could do- Dream was going to have fucking field day next visit.

The lump in his throat grew. “I didn’t mean to, honest. I’ll leave, I- I think I need to talk to Sam anyway. Sorry about the flowers.” It was hard to stay nonchalant when his world was spinning. He’d almost doubled the amount of words. Fuck, he’d have to beg for mercy, for Dream to allow him three days for three words. Maybe even six, since he’d said it. And he’d have to plead for them to be light, too.

Niki rolled her eyes. "Right, just hurry up."

Was she always this cold?

 He could cry. Hell, he already felt tears welling up, ones that he blinked away. He wasn’t going to lose his shit over an insult. Even if Dream was waiting. Even if-

Fuck, this was going to be awful, wasn’t it?

—

“I said no, Tommy. You’re not getting into the prison.” Sam was imposing, crossing his arms. The warden was always stubborn, even when Tommy needed this. Didn’t he understand that Tommy’s life was on the line, since he was too cowardly to even bring the shard to his skin? Really, after the glade incident, he’d tried over and over and ended up having a meltdown that ended in him nearly passing out. But if he didn’t do this, Dream would be so- so angry.

"Come on, Sam, I need to see him! It's just a quick visit!" He needed a reason, something believable without revealing the truth. "I- I have to figure out why he uh- why he killed me! Come on, are you really going to deny me closure on this, big man?"

“I can ask him for you.” The creeper centaur crossed his arms. “He’s dangerous, and I don’t want you getting stuck in there again.

"Sam, I need this. I need to ask him myself. You at least owe me that much."

That caused Sam to waver. “Tommy…”

"Please, Sam. Just do this one thing for me. I can handle myself, I swear." Tommy pressed, unwilling to give up.

“Do you, or have you had any reason at all to let him out?” Sam asked.

Tommy snorted. "No, obviously not. He killed me, Sam. You really think I'm about to set my own murderer loose?"

“I’ll give you ten minutes. No more. You can have privacy, but I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you visited.”

"Alright, sure." Tommy agreed, and hoped that it would be enough time. "Ten minutes, I can deal with that."

(uhhhh skippy skippy logistics stuff and warnings)

“I’m not lowering the bars. You can ask through them. Be careful on that side. I’ve already checked you have nothing in your inventory, so it should be okay. Notify me if he makes any threats towards your health.”

The porcelain shard weighed heavy against his chest from where he’d tied it on a string. The eyehole had been useful for that, even though it wasn’t technically needed due to enchantments on the whole item.

“Got it. I’ll be safe,” he lied. 

“Okay.”

And the lava lowered.

It was far too warm with the lava, his sweater, and the long-sleeve shirt he bore, but fuck, he needed to do this. And as the platform slowly crossed the lava and Dream looked up at him, it might as well have been the world Tommy was giving for him.

“You’re actually back,” the prisoner noted once Tommy had crossed and the lava had fallen. “Didn’t expect this soon, but I’ll take it. How’d you get him to let you in? He’s been furious at me.”

"Just that I uh- needed closure, and that he owed me." Tommy answered, wrapping his arms around himself in a protective hug. "He said I can only be here for ten minutes, though."

“I can work with that. If he asks, I’m making amends. I’ve apologized to you. Now, what did you want. Have you gotten a word for me?” Dream grinned.

Tommy bit at his lip, nervously. "Three, actually."

He seemed delighted. “Three? That’s perfect. Prime, fuck the time limit. Whenever you hear a word, you should etch it in. Habits and all that. You don’t need to do repeats.”

 "I- I can't," Tommy protested. "I tried, but it- it just doesn't work."

“It’s easy. Hand me the shard, I’ll show you.” His voice was actually rather… soft. Gentle.

Slowly, Tommy pulled the twine around his neck, lifting the shard from where it was hidden under his shirt and warily passing it over to Dream. "I'm not sure I can do it. Plus, my handwriting is pretty shit."

Instead of grabbing the shard, the prisoner took Tommy’s hand through the bars, hand coming to rest gently but firmly on his own. “Where do you want it?”

"I- I don't know," Tommy choked out. "That's kinda a big choice, isn't it?"

Dream guided it towards the sleeve, which he rolled up with one hand. “Let’s try the arm. Now, what was the first word?”

"Uh, J-Jack called me selfish." And he could hear his heart thudding in his chest. What if that wasn't good enough? What if he needed something worse? Would Dream be disappointed?

But instead, the man smiled. “Good. Now, take a deep breath for me, Toms. We’re gonna do this together.”

It sounded almost like when Wilbur and Phil first taught him how to cook. Phil read from the cookbook, while Wilbur held his hand and showed him, slowly and steadily, how to peel and chop potatoes. By the end of the day, he was a master, and the skill had stuck with him since.

Tommy nodded, steeling himself and trying not to think too much about what he was doing as the blade dug in. It  nearly made him sob, but he forced it down, even as his brain reminded him over and over about how this was wrong. The first few letters, he looked anywhere but at his arm, eventually though, Dream scolded him lightly.

"You'll never be able to do it yourself if you can't see it, Tommy." 

"Right, sorry." Tommy muttered, bringing his eyes to the cuts and trying his hardest not to gag with each new slice. It was agonizing, it had to have taken forever.

“I’m trying to mimic your handwriting here, since I know you don’t write in cursive,” Dream told him. And… fuck, he was right. That was kind of scary, just how accurate it was to his own writing. “So it’s probably going to be harder, since you have to make a lot of cuts for one word instead of a single line.”

Tommy winced. "Yeah, maybe uh- maybe you can teach me some time or some shit." It was mostly a joke, but he'd be lying if he said the chicken scratch on his own skin wasn't fucking excruciating.

“We can try. There are some good cursive books if you look around. I’d ask Eret. But for now, let’s go with what you’re used to. I want you to try more on this one. I’ll be guiding your hand, but I want you to do the work.”

"Okay," Tommy agreed. "It was uhm, Niki said I was lazy, a-and destructive, too."

“Let’s try destructive, and then you can do lazy on your own. Another deep breath,and quit that trembling. You look like a newborn faun.”

"Sorry, sorry." Tommy apologized again, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. Dream's grip was far lighter this time, but still firm enough to keep Tommy's hand on track. 

It certainly wasn't easier, especially not when Dream would press down, causing the blade to sink in deeper. But somehow, Tommy felt better about it with the fact that he had some form of control. Sure, the blood still made him nauseous, but that could be remedied. Especially when he'd be at home, he could take breaks to clean it off or something.

It was far slower than the last word, both due to Tommy's lack of confidence, and how many letters there were, but it was over fairly quick. He breathed out a sigh of relief at the small reprieve.

“Almost done. You think you can handle the last one?”

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, I think I can manage."

And his hand was released. He did feel a little bit dizzy, though, so he decided to sit down and lean his back up against the wall. He tried to sit in such a way that Dream would still be able to see, because obviously the sick fuck would want that. 

He took a deep breath, and dug the shard of porcelain in again. It hurt like a bitch, but that was probably due to him going a bit too deep.

“Good,” Dream whispered. “You’re doing well. Keep going.”

Each slice was jagged and slow, Tommy too scared of fucking up he somehow managed to do worse. At some point Dream had reached out, carding a hand through his hair. It was a horrible moment, but Tommy would take any hint of comfort or affection in it. 

With the last line done, he felt close to passing out. Maybe Dream would allow him to rest his eyes in the short moments before Sam would show up again.

“Shit- Tommy, stay awake.” Dream pulled up his sleeves, and faintly, he registered that he was getting blood on his uniform. It wasn’t the first time, but it still hurt. “Remember our ground rules. Don’t show it to Sam. That includes passing out on him.”

Tommy whined. "Can't I just lay down?"

“No.” His voice was firm and harsh. “You can’t. We need to clean this shit up so he doesn’t find out. Tourniquet and bandages should work fine. Use your clothes.”

Tommy huffed, sitting up straighter. He hated this, more than words could describe, and he resolved that the moment he got home he was going to sleep for as long as his body would physically let him. He untied the bandana from around his neck, wincing at how it stung to move his arm, and he did what he could to clean away any blood that stuck to his skin before wrapping it loosely around the cuts. “Is that good?”

“Tighter,” he demanded. “That stops blood flow.”

“Kinda hard to do with only one hand.” Tommy quipped.

Dream reached through and easily pulled it taut, causing the blonde to hiss in pain. “There. Now let it dry, and when Sam comes, pull the sleeve over it. Not ideal that it’s white, really. Try to bring something darker next time. Maybe my cloak. And a regeneration potion left with your items for the blood.”

“You don’t think Sam will get suspicious if I keep bringing regen, right?” Tommy asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Just as a small way to keep himself occupied. 

“Not if you keep it with your stuff back at the lockers. Once you get out of the security measures and away from Sam, you can drink it.”

Tommy nodded. “Right, yeah. That sounds good.” Maybe it would help reduce some of the scarring too, but he didn’t mention that to Dream, it would probably make him change his mind or some shit.

“Time’s up,” Sam called across the lava, which was starting to drain. Against his better judgment, Tommy felt a little sad.

(Abusive, manipulative bastard, his mind all but screeched. He’d gone through this before. Why was it happening again?)

Quickly, but carefully, Tommy tugged down his sleeve. He glanced back at Dream, tapping his foot as he waited for the lava to finish dropping. “See you later, I guess.”

“I’ll see you later,” he echoed back.

(When he was back with Sam, the warden’s eyes didn’t even skim over the sleeves or his collar. Instead, he asked, “are you okay?”

Tommy only answered with a soft, “I’m coming back next week.”)

Chapter Text

The amount of words on his arm grew, each more smooth than the last.

Clingy, from Tubbo, after he’d tried to visit Snowchester for the third time that week.

Traitor, from Techno, due to a run-in in the arctic.

Chaotic, from Phil, at some stupid antics- that one wasn’t too bad, but paired with the others, it left a bad taste on his mouth,

Unpleasant, Bastard, and Dickhead, from Jack. His were more swears, but fuck, did he say a lot of them.

Inconsiderate, from Niki, from when he read through an old letter of hers from near the exile period.

Cruel, from Connor, when he found the man in his house and kicked him out.

Stupid, from Punz, when he tried to joke about a farfetched idea.

Insufferable, from Fundy, after he’d called his nephew a furry for the tenth time.

Awful, from Ranboo. It was said as a joke, but it was still something that he should write.

Pathetic, from Dream. That one needed no explanation.

Insult after insult was written on his skin, and though he wrote them small, it was getting pretty damn crowded on his left arm. But that wasn’t his biggest concern. It was that feeling that he got when he was called a name, something between dread and excitement, because as fucked as it was, Dream would praise him, and hearing the kind words almost made him forget the cursive and chicken scratch scars littered all over his body.

He’d come to wear a blue cardigan, made from Friend’s wool. Ghostbur adored it, so he couldn’t really say no. Since his L’Manburg shirt was ruined, he’d returned to his red-and-white tee, insured by the jacket and bandages wrapped all around his arms that his shame would never be revealed. As for his neck, he tended for a green scarf now, since the bandanna was ruined. It was a bit odd in summer, but not a lot of people questioned it after he lied that death had made him permanently colder.

Jack was as annoying as ever, but Niki had pretty much disappeared from the grid. 

Oh, well. Less people to hate him.

If only it didn’t make him feel so lonely.

—

Tommy had been back for a while now, and while it had certainly taken some time, Jack was able to start warming up to his presence again. As much as he could, at least. It’s not like he wanted to spend time around Tommy, but it was inevitable, given how the blond still wanted the hotel and there was no way Jack was going to try and fight with Sam Nook. That robot was fucking terrifying.

So he was forced to settle with letting Tommy think he ran the place. Really, given how often Tommy would run around, throwing himself off ledges or the near daily visits to the prison- Which Jack found extremely suspicious, by the way- it was only a matter of time before Tommy died again. He just had to wait it out until then.

Of course, there was a chance that Dream brought him back again. But at this point, that was something Jack was expecting. He was half certain that they might be doing some fucked up experiments with that book, but Jack hadn’t seen any noticeable changes in Tommy that would point towards that.

Currently though, that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. No, apparently Sam Nook had something important to do, and because Jack was the nearest person, it had assigned him the duty of ‘looking after Tommy’, as if that was something he could do, even if he wanted to. But he didn’t argue, instead he’d just taken to sit at the front desk and listen. Tommy was a generally loud person, so if something was wrong, he’d let the whole damn world know. After just a few minutes, Nook would be back and Jack wouldn’t have to deal with being put on babysitting duty anymore. 

Honestly, it was quite peaceful, Jack thought as he leaned back and kicked his feet up on the front desk. He had no idea what Tommy was up to, but at least he was being quiet at the moment. Really, it was unlike him, there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could make him this quiet. Hell, Jack knew from experience of living in L’Manburg that Tommy didn’t even sleep quietly. 

Actually, that was what he was supposed to look for, wasn’t it? Of course, a peaceful moment could never be just that when Tommy was involved. 

Jack stood with a sigh. If he was lucky, Tommy just decided he’d leave and jumped out the window with a water bucket. And hopefully he didn’t miss, because Jack did not want to be held responsible for such a stupid death, not did he think that would be something that he’d want to see.  

He climbed the ladder that led up through the hotel, making sure to check every floor, just in case. It would be quicker going up to the top anyway, he’d be able to see more from up there, and would be able to know for sure whether Tommy had done something stupid and died. 

Luckily- or maybe unluckily, if you looked at it from the point of view that Tommy was still there- Jack only had to get to the top floor to find the blond. The stupid fucker was still wearing a goddamn scarf and sweater in the middle of summer in a space that acted like a hotbox, when Jack knew damn well that being cold after death was a lie. 

The surly-overheated idiot was up on a step ladder, threading redstone together, swaying in place. Really, it looked more like he was holding onto the electronics for support instead of actually working on them. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, crossing his arms. “You’re going to kill yourself and set this whole building on fire in the process if you keep messing with that shit.” Like a hamster, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

“‘M almost done setting the lights up,” he mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet. He was almost panting between each word.

“You’re like, two seconds away from slipping and pulling down the entire circuit board. You’re going to end up killing the both of us that way, so get down.” Jack wasn’t all that concerned about Tommy, but he had no idea if he’d manage to get out of the building before something happened, so he figured it was better to play it safe.

To his surprise, Tommy complied, stumbling down from the stool and straight into Jack, who, by sheer instinct, caught him. Oh, fuck, he was out of it, wasn’t he? Heat exhaustion. It had to be. That stubborn motherfucker.

“God, what the hell have you been doing all day? Have you even had any fucking water- and why are you wearing a sweater right now? It’s like, the middle of summer!” No, Jack wasn’t worried about Tommy, he was worried what would happen to him if he just tried to feign ignorance to this shit. Really, it was funny how his own self preservation could weigh out his hatred.

“Fuckin’- hot, yeah, but I can- I can handle. ‘M not lazy,” he mumbled, not making any effort to get out of this place or take off the cardigan.

“Okay? I didn’t say that, but whatever.” Really, it was like Tommy was always looking for an argument. “It’s better to be lazy than have shit end up in a fuckin’ trainwreck.”

“You didn’t. Niki did. Same as- as destructive and inconsiderate.” As he spoke, Jack moved him to the single window in the attic and cracked it, letting airflow in.

Jack tsk’d, rolling his eyes to himself. What the hell did Niki have to do with any of this? “Okay, well uh, why don’t you go to the bathroom up here and wash your face or some shit.”

“I’m gonna be real, man,” Tommy laughed. “I think I’ll fall if I try to climb down.”

“Well then just- just fucking sit or something! I don’t know.” There was no way in hell Jack was going to completely baby him over something he did to himself.

Tommy complied and sat down, tugging at his scarf. It was clear he wanted it loose, but something was stopping him, something that made him pull it tight again.

“You know, you’d probably have an easier time cooling down, if you stopped wearing so many fucking layers.” Jack pointed out sarcastically. 

The blonde’s face soured. “I’m not taking them off. I like my cardigan. Knitted it myself.”

Jack wrinkled his nose at that. “Have you even fucking washed the damn thing?!”

“I wash it!” Tommy sputtered. “Just because I’m fuckin’ sweaty right now doesn’t mean I don’t dunk it in water once on a while!”

“You call that washing it?! You need to use soap and shit, man! You’re probably a walking bacteria minefield!”

He reddened. Or maybe that was just the heat. “Piss off, I use soap! Prime, what do you want?”

"I'm trying to make sure you don't fall dead right in front of me, otherwise that fucking robot will kill me!" Jack explained. Really, he didn't want to be here any more than Tommy wanted him to be.

He tugged at his sleeves again. “I’ll tell Sam Nook I’m fine. Fuck off.”

And logically, that should have been the end of things. Jack wasn’t in trouble, Tommy was away from the wiring. But there was something in his behavior that was just… off. It made him suspicious.

Definitely not concerned. Not at all. He didn’t care that the boy’s wide grins didn’t quite extend to his once-blue eyes, or the dark circles that pointed to a lack of sleep. He didn’t give a single shit about the way Tommy’s smile dropped when he thought he was alone. Nope. Jack didn’t even notice that.

"Something is clearly up, man. What the fuck are you hiding?" Jack asked, tone accusatory.

“What do you mean, what am I hiding? I’m not hiding anything! Not anything that’s your fucking business, at least!”

"Why is it so important if you're not, though? You're literally going to end up dead if you keep this shit up!"

“I’m going to end up dead if I don’t!” Tommy spat, before his jaw clicked shut and he looked away.

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Now it was edging into concerning territory. Well, concerning enough for Jack to actually somewhat want to pay attention. "In what world does heat stroke prevent death?!"

Tommy just shouldered past him. Jack grabbed the teen’s sleeve, not missing the way he just froze.

“Let go.”

"Just tell me what the fuck you're hiding!" Jack insisted, keeping his hold.

“Let me go,” he repeated, even though, if he needed to, he could have easily slipped off the cardigan and gone already. It had to do with that, it seemed.

"You look two seconds away from passing out. If you couldn't get down from that," Jack pointed to the step ladder Tommy had been using earlier. "There's no fucking way you'll reach the ground floor without falling. Just take off the sweater and take a breather, man."

“I’m not taking it off!” Tommy blurted, just a bit too defensive. 

Jack knew arguing was futile. And yet, he still dreaded doing this. But it was necessary. He needed to find out what Tommy was hiding. It wasn’t hard to wrestle it off of him, even if the kid had lanky-ass arms that were hard to maneuver around. As they struggled, Tommy wailed like he was being killed, trying in vain to push Jack off.

But the cardigan came off, and the boy fell to the ground. Immediately, he noticed what was underneath. Bandages covered his arms. Long, thin strips of fabric wound around the skin and bones of both limbs, but they weren’t all white. No, there was red-brown amongst them, coloring that didn’t belong to redstone. Especially on his left arm, the bandage was dirty and covered in dry blood. The freshest looked to be only a few hours old. With a rush of cold, he realized that those were the easiest places for the teen to reach.

Tommy brought it close to his chest, pale and wide-eyed and terrified. Jack had never seen him look so scared. 

“It’s not- why did you have to…?” Tommy whispered, each breath shaky. “Why are you doing this?”

“Tommy,” Jack started quietly, trying not to spook him further. “What the hell have you been doing to yourself?”

The blonde wasn’t looking him in the eyes now, focused on the floor. “Look, you don’t- you don’t get it, okay? I told you to let it go.”

“You expect me to just let it go when you’ve been doing whatever the hell this is? Fuck, those bandages don’t even look clean, you’re going to get an infection!”

“I’m careful to eat a gapple after. The bandages are just to stop extra bleeding,” he explained, as if the implication wasn’t horrible. “I wouldn’t have done it myself, it’s just- Dream’s gonna get out eventually, yeah? I don’t want it. I’m not trying to make it happen. It just will. And when he does, I want to make sure I keep him happy. This is a small price to pay for preventing dying over and over.”

“What the hell- he convinced you to do this? Is that why you’re always going in and out of the prison?” This was too much for Jack to handle on his own, too much for him to handle at all. But chances were it wouldn’t end well for him if he told Sam Nook. Whether it be the robot doing him in, or Tommy. “Alright just- you need to at least change the fucking bandages, man. I don’t care if you’re using other shit to help speed up the healing, that looks weeks old, and doing it daily is ideal.”

“Alright. I’ll have to craft some out of cobwebs,” he mumbled. “I don’t have any on me right now.”

Jack sighed. “I can get some, just… sit down for a minute.” Chances were, if Tommy hadn’t been changing the bandages, he wasn’t doing much to clean the wounds either. He didn’t have enough supplies to get it all himself, and if Tommy wasn’t using any of his own, he doubted he did either. So he opted to shoot a quick message to Niki, asking her to bring as many supplies as she could carry, mostly because he wanted to make sure Tommy would have enough in stock later, so there’d be no repeats.

“Alright, come on,” Jack prompted, holding out a hand for Tommy. “We’re going down to your house, since I’m pretty sure Nook is still working on the water filtration system.”

Did Tommy have one of those, actually? His house had been blown up or griefed or changed in some other way shape or form Jack really wasn’t sure anymore. That was a problem for later though, right now it just served as an excuse as a way to get to a slightly easier meeting spot with Niki, as well as somewhere that hopefully Tommy wouldn’t be as skittish.

Tommy took his hand and helped himself up with a soft groan. “Can you give me my fuckin’ cardigan back? I’m not looking to have my shit aired out everywhere.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, then handed the piece of clothing over. “Fine, but only until we get there. I don’t trust you to not do it yourself with how irresponsible you’ve clearly been so far.”

“Irresponsible,” Tommy huffed out a laugh. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to add it to the collection.”

Jack huffed. “Right, let’s get down from here before you pass out, because I seriously don’t feel like carrying you.”

Another, more genuine laugh, and Jack almost smiled. Things would be okay.

—

Niki stared at her communicator for a long moment, heart thudding. Jack had asked her for all the supplies she could carry, and told her to meet him on the prime path by Tommy’s shack and hotel. She wasn’t sure what it was about. Had he hurt himself trying yet again at one of his- quite frankly stupid- plans to kill Tommy? Had he hurt Tommy himself and regretted it? She wasn’t sure, but at that moment it didn’t matter. Her friend was asking for her help and she would do everything she could to deliver. 

She luckily had plenty of excess in her medical supplies. Bandages, disinfectants, healing and regeneration, you name it. Hopefully she’d gathered enough. Jack did say all that she could carry, but didn’t specify what was most important. 

She sighed, standing and stepping out of her storage room. It was a bit of a long walk, even taking the nether, but hopefully she’d be able to reach her destination soon. Mentally, she made a small note to invest in getting a few horses. Maybe one of the other syndicate members would be willing to help her out with that.

It was nice, idle travel to the main SMP. She might’ve even called it peaceful if not for the fact that she was sure to be walking in on a bloody mess. Half of her wondered if anyone else had found Jack yet and helped him, she hoped so, she’d hate to think someone might’ve seen another person, let alone her friend, that was hurt and just ignored it.

The moment she stepped back through the portal, she quickly rushed down the path, through the community house and up towards Tommy’s dwellings. There, on the edge of the little fenced in area that Tommy had claimed as his own, stood Jack. He actually looked… Perfectly fine. Not even a scratch on his head.

“Jack?” She asked, now confused. “What’s wrong? Why did you call me all the way up here?”

He seemed to be a bit sheepish. “Alright, so there’s been a bit of a situation-”

Just then, Tommy strode from out of his house. “Okay, Jack, thanks for-” His eyes met hers, and his smile suddenly dropped. He turned towards the man, looking betrayed. “I told you not to fucking tell anyone!”

“I didn’t!” Jack argued back. “I asked her for supplies because I don’t have any, and I know you don’t.”

Niki was… confused. Both of them looked completely fine. What the hell was this about? Did she really panic for nothing? She turned a glare on them both. “What is this about? This better not be some- some prank.” Oh, she was already upset, but she would be livid if that were the case.

“It’s not!” Jack assured her. He turned back to Tommy and asked, “she’s here now. Are you going to tell her, or should I?”

The boy hesitated, opening his mouth, and then sighed. “Fuck. Niki, you have bandages, right?”

“I do,” She answered. “That’s what I was asked to get, wasn’t it? I also have a few other things too, disinfectant, some potions, and a small amount of things for stitches, if they’re needed.”

He shook his head. “Come in. I’ll show you both what happened, if you swear on your fucking life not to breathe a word to anyone.”

Niki shared a glance with Jack, who shrugged. He knew more than she did, but apparently he was still relatively clueless. 

“Alright,” She agreed. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Tommy led her inside, along with Jack, then wordlessly removed his cardigan. Underneath it were bandages, covered in days or weeks-old blood that was in just the perfect spot that Tommy could reach it. She opened her mouth to say something, to ask him if he’d really been hurting himself, and why. He was so happy! He was always so fucking happy, it didn’t make sense! He was supposed to be unbreakable, a fire that nobody could put out. And yet, gray eyes silenced her, more tired than she’d ever seen him.

“It- when I died,” he started, slowly removing the scarf. His hands were trembling. “Right before, I broke Dream’s mask. We got into a fight, and I wasn’t thinking, and it shattered.” Tucked into the scarf, deliberately, was a bloody shard of porcelain that she barely recognized as the eye part of Dream’s mask, now stained mahogany. “And he got… upset.” He struggled for words for a moment, eyes foggy. “I’ve- I’ve never told anyone. It’s so- it shouldn’t be, I know that, but it’s just… embarrassing. Just give me a second, I don’t know how to say it.”

The way he spoke about Dream was concerning. It was like the prisoner was some sort of authority, a force to be reckoned with and not ticked off. What the fuck had happened?

“It’s okay, Tommy. You don’t have to tell us if you aren’t ready.” She assured, but at the look Jack gave her, she quickly tacked on, “But we can probably help, if we know what it is.”

He shook his head and fiddled with the scarf, loosening it but not quite exposing his neck. “Ever since exile, he’s been…” The boy took a shaky breath. “Possessive, I guess. He was my only friend, and even though I wasn’t his, he really enjoyed that dynamic, I guess, ‘cause ever since, and- and even before, because of the tunnels, but he- well-” Another deep breath. He looked like he was going to cry. “While he was killing me, or before, or- or because- but he- he took the mask shard, and-” Finally, he removed his scarf to show a new death scar flush on his neck, in the shape of a simple word.

Mine

Niki felt her stomach churn. God, is that what Dream was like? No, through her all her interactions with the man, she really couldn’t recall him ever acting so… What was even the right word? She wasn’t sure. But the more she thought about it, the more times than she could count that there was some sort of conflict- one that had everyone involved, where Tommy was the only person addressed. Sure, sometimes Wilbur, or maybe Tubbo’s name would be thrown in too, but whenever Dream had something to say it always, always, had to include Tommy in some way, shape or form, even when he wasn’t a part of the conversation. It was- it was obsessive.

“Oh, Tommy, I’m so-” She was cut off by Jack before she could finish, her friend laughing nervously.

“Tommy, if that’s there, what, uh, what exactly is it on your arms?” And if the previous reveal caused her stomach to drop, that caused a full body free fall. There was more?

“Okay, so- so, for my death, he gave me four words. Descriptors. And when he brought me back, and before Sam came to get me, he- he told me- he gave me an order. Two. One, to visit him in the prison at least every week. And two, to- to carry on what he started. Every time someone describes me, or I hear a word that people use against me, I’m supposed to- to write it down.”

Before she could ask, he was unwrapping his left arm, revealing nearly-overlapping words, a mix of Dream’s neat cursive and his own messy chicken scratch. Nasty, awful words covered them, painful to even look at. Some of them, she could pinpoint. Clingy was most certainly Tubbo, and Chaotic had to be Phil, but a lot of the other words, she couldn’t tell.

At least, not until her eyes landed on a seemingly-old word, shakier than a lot of the rest.

Destructive

Jack looked stricken too, guilty. And she was certain he’d seen something from himself there too. She wanted to apologize, over, and over again. Make amends. But was that even deserved? Would he allow it? Should he allow it? Probably not.

So instead she opted to do what she knew she could, and started taking out all the supplies she’d brought, piling them on the floor. “Can I see?” She asked, holding out a hand.

He crept forward with a nod, swallowing. “Sure. But please, please don’t tell anyone. It’s already embarrassing that I have to listen to him, that he’s right about all this, I don’t want everyone knowing. But it’s not like I can stop, because when Dream gets out- because eventually, he will- I don’t want to die again. It was so fucking- gods, Limbo is the worst thing you could fucking imagine. It’s awful. I can’t go back.”

It cracked her heart, hearing him. How could he think that any of this was shameful? That he was in any way bad for being hurt by a man who was certifiably abusive and awful for him? And if the only other option was dying, well… Her little trip to Limbo due to XD hadn’t been pleasant. It had to have been worse, dying for real.

“I won’t, but Tommy, if this happens again, or even if you’re just changing the bandages, I need you to pay attention to what I’m doing now and I need you to repeat all of it, as best you can, okay?”

“Okay.” He looked nervous, near-terrified, and she realized a moment too late that it probably sounded a lot like what Dream had told him.

“And if you can’t,” Niki continued as she took the disinfectant, putting it on a clean piece of cloth and carefully dabbing it over the freshest looking wounds. “You can either message me, or come find me, and I’ll help you, okay? I promise.”

Somehow, the assurance only seemed to make it worse, and she internally cringed. Hopefully he wouldn’t take it in bad faith, or at least would realize after she was done that this was something to help him- an apology, a way to show that she well and truly cared. 

She went over each gash, scab and scar, making sure it was all cleaned to the best of her abilities. Then she repeated the process, this time with antibiotic cream, and after that, finally finishing it off with fresh new bandages held securely in place. “There you go,” She smiled, then started sifting through her items again. “But first, there’s one last thing I want to add on, and this is the most important part, alright?”

God, he was still shaking. At this point she wasn’t sure if it was due to what she’d said earlier, or if Dream had somehow instilled that many trigger words. Honestly, with what she’d seen, she wouldn’t doubt it.

“Alright,” he whispered, looking rather pale. As she took his arm, he made an aborted flinch, teeth clenching tight. Oh, this was definitely another trigger. He looked seconds away from a panic attack.

She took a pen, uncapping it with her teeth, and then carefully held it over the bandages. Where to start… Quickly, she scrawled down the first couple of words that came to mind.

Helpful

Courageous

Loyal

Funny

Tommy was staring at her. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” Nikianswered with a smile. “He can take as many mean words as he wants, ones people tend to toss around carelessly, but these are the ones that really, truly matter. Things people think, but never say, or don’t say often enough.”

Devoted

Talented

Another shaky breath. She ignored the way his free arm scrubbed over his eyes. “But you hate me,” he breathed. “Don’t you want me dead?”

“Not-” Not anymore? No, no he’d absolutely take that the wrong way. He’d think she was only caring out of pity, and everyone knew how much he hated that. “No. I thought I did, but… I was misguided, and not in my right mind. And I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” he told her immediately, and it shocked her just how honest the words were, even though he should hate her.

Genuine

“Jack,” She prompted. “Do you have any?”

“Hard-working?” He offered up, sounding hesitant. He wasn’t that good with expressing deep emotions, but he was trying.

She chuckled, jotting the words down, then offered the pen. “Would it be easier if you just wrote them yourself?”

“I don’t know what to write,” he mumbled.

“That’s fine,” She assured, even though it kind of hurt that his spark had been so dampened that he couldn’t even think of something good to say about himself. “We have time to think of something. Oh, and before I forget, are there any more that I need to take care of?”

“I’ve been trying a few on my ankle, since my arm’s started to get crowded,” he admitted.

“Right, is it okay if I see, or do you want to try getting it yourself?”

“I can get it. Those are the ones that- that I don’t want people to see. Even more than the other ones.”

“Okay, just remember to take care of it, and change the bandages regularly.” She reminded. It was all she could do, she didn’t want to do something to make him scared of her, or find her untrustworthy- though, she’d already done that, hadn’t she?

Tommy nodded. “I will. I promise.”

She stood, lightly clapping her hands together. “Now, how about you go have a nap? I’m sure today has been pretty tiring. I can put these away for you.” She gestured to the pile of medical supplies.

“Are you sure?” He blinked, seeming astonished that she would want to help with a mess of her own making. Of course she would, though. Seeing all that, seeing his pain, it was the least she could do. And, looking around, the place wasn’t too tidy, either. There were little spots of blood, a scent in the air that suggested there was mold in one of his chests, and plenty of stuff just haphazardly thrown around. He was a teenage boy, sure, but it used to be cleaner than this.

“Of course,” She told him. “You deserve help, Tommy.”

“Thanks.” He must have been exhausted, if he didn’t put up a fight. “I- I really appreciate this, Niki. More than you know.”

She smiled, nodding. “Come on now, you need rest.” And she gently took his hand, guiding him to his bed, which was in just as bad of condition as the rest of his house. But hopefully she’d get a chance to wash the covers later, or her tidying the place up a bit would prompt Tommy to do it on his own.

He let himself be gently pushed down into the mattress, and Niki winced to herself as she took the slightly grimy feeling blankets- how was he able to sleep like this? Well, it was an issue later resolved, she reasoned and tucked it around him as best she could. Finally, she leaned down, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. 

“Sleep well, Tommy.” She whispered.

—

Tommy woke up as he usually did: in a cold sweat, images burned into the back of his eyelids. Images of blood flowing down, down, down until it consumed him, until his lungs burned, until red was the only thing he could think of seeing anymore. It took a long moment to calm down, spent staring at the ceiling and letting his sleepy mind start to reboot.

Prime, why does it have to be like this every time? The traitorous thought kept coming back again and again and again. Why can’t I just stop existing? Why can’t I never have existed in the first place? It’s not fair. Dying is just as bad as living, and I can’t stand either.

Wilbur, a long time ago, shared with him the true meaning of the line to be or not to be. It was the soliloquy of a man broken by life, just as scared of existing as he was of death. In the end, he chose nothing, and by extension, being. But fuck, Tommy wanted to not be. Not to die, just not to be. He hadn’t understood, all that time ago when he was bright-eyed and stupidly optimistic, but that fire had been choked out a long time by Dream. His own personal Claudius, the one that everyone seemed to believe over poor Hamlet until the latter was driven insane. Or perhaps a Laertes, joining in a toxic pact to destroy each other until there was nothing left. 

Gods, he sounded like Technoblade. Technoblade, who he’d betrayed, and for what? Tubbo didn’t look twice at him anymore. L’Manburg was a crater. Everything was ruined and it was all his goddamn fault. 

He choked back a quiet sob and turned in his bed, facing the wall. Maybe he’d just sleep the day away. That sounded nice. He’d visited Dream already, two or three days ago now, so he didn’t need to do anything. Jack would take care of the hotel. It wasn’t like Tommy wanted to see him anyways, what with all the shame he’d gone through in that stupid conversation. Fuck, Dream would be so mad. He’d probably add a word on there himself.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. “Tommy?”

Oh. Oh, fuck, why was Niki still in his house? Maybe he could pretend to be asleep again, but that didn’t seem fair to her. Not after she was so kind. But all kindness had limits, and hers was probably coming close.

May as well get it over with now. He moved the pillow to the side of his head so both his ears were more or less blocked, though the muffling was questionable at best. He felt fucking disgusting in the unchanged sheets, but the only thing he’d had passion or energy for was the hotel, partly to spite Jack. When it came to himself… did he really need or deserve a clean place, especially if he was too lazy to put in the energy?

“Tommy? Are you awake?” She called out again. “I made food, if you want.”

Should he respond? Probably, but the weight of the world was on his shoulders, sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He moved to look at the scars, the words he knew were true, but he was met with penned words on bandages. Kind words. 

His breath caught, and before he could think, he was sitting up and calling through. “Yeah, ‘m up.”

“Alright, want me to get a plate ready for you?”

“Uh- yeah.” That was sweet. Really sweet. His diet in the last few weeks had pretty much only consisted of carrots he plucked haphazardly from his farm and bread that had now gone stale and moldy. “Thanks.”

He could hear the sound of metal on metal, then some running water and after that, a few thuds on the table. Finally, he was able to tear himself completely from his bed, going out to where Niki had cleaned and set food on the table. She smiled as she saw him. “There you are! I’m glad to see you up.”

Chin up, Tom. You already embarrassed yourself once in front of her.

He managed one of his trademark grins, even though he knew it probably seemed fake. He had to at least try. “Morning, Niki! Lovely to see you up. You-” His eyes were drawn to what should be the mess around them, and found it all neat, like he’d never let it slip in the first place. He couldn’t help the slight waver of surprise and vulnerability in his voice as he said, “you cleaned up the place.”

She laughed, sounding a touch nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, I just- I didn’t want to leave you by yourself quite yet and I needed something to busy my hands.”

“No, no, it’s- I really appreciate it.” He looked around, then back to her, though he still felt rather exposed. And speaking of which- “where’d you put my cardigan, by the way? A big man’s gotta have his style. It’s part of the brand now.”

“Oh, I washed it. It’s still drying, but it should be done soon.”

Oh. That wasn’t good. He already felt mildly uncomfortable with only the bandages on display, and not to mention the fact that he didn’t even have his scarf. Dream’s claim was bold on his throat. “And the scarf and the shard?”

“The scarf is also drying but… I wasn’t really sure what to do with the shard, so I just set it on the counter.” She answered.

He glanced at the counter, and sure enough, there it sat. It had been cleaned off, but not thoroughly, like Niki hadn’t wanted to touch it. With a quick stride over, he grabbed the string that it was mounted on and pulled it over his head, tucking it underneath his shirt like he once had with the compass. It was kind of funny, they almost felt the same. Sorrowful, dangerous in its temptation, but precious all the same.

“Okay. Thanks, Niki, you’re the best.” He gave her a smile.

She looked upset, sad somehow. “Come on,” She muttered. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

He turned towards the table in his fucked-up system of tunnels. It was somewhere between the bedroom and the spawner room, and it was just a piece of scaffolding, but hey, it worked. Atop it were fluffy pancakes and eggs that he almost melted at the sight of. He didn’t need to be told twice to dig in.

Breakfast was a mostly silent affair. It was so, so much richer than anything Tommy had had in ages. Before the prison, at least. His bread was more like hardtack, and the carrots were barely tolerable, but it was soft and warm and better than anything he could make.

Unfortunately, that only meant he could stomach about half the meal before he had to push it away, lest he get sick and waste it. It felt awful, because part of his mind was still in ration mode, and this wouldn’t be a food that lasted. It should be eaten as soon as possible to save it from going bad and to use every resource.

But he had to slap that thought away, because he still had food! He had carrots, plenty of them. He wouldn’t starve if he didn’t eat all of this, like he had in the prison, competing for food with Dream.

“So…” Niki finally spoke up. “I was wondering- and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to- but… Why? What led up to all of this, Tommy? I mean, usually when Dream was involved, you’d find some way to rally everyone up and help and- Tommy, you know if everyone knew what was happening, we’d all do that again, right?”

His breath hitched. “No, no, he’d- he’s fuckin’ smart, okay? And I hate that. I hate it so much. Because it means that he knows exactly what strings to pull to get his way. He’s a spider in a web, just waiting for his chance, and when he gets it, when someone eventually flies into the web, there’s not even a chance to react before everything is turmoil all over again. That’s how he got me during exile. Everyone knew it wasn’t that big a deal, what I did, but he’s like Wilbur. He just has this- this way with words, that makes you question everything you know. 

“Exile is fuzzy, it really is, but he just- he had this way of making me think that everyone hated me, even when I’d get visits from others, and that he was the only one that could love me, could- could fix me, even when he destroyed everything I’d worked for every day and hit me around with his axe and-” He took another breath, trying in vain to calm down. “You just can’t stop someone that can make you question everything you’ve ever known with just a few words.”

“People like that only stop when they’re dead, I guess.” She muttered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I’m sorry that I didn’t try. But, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try now.”

Tommy just gave a sad laugh. “I know he’ll never stop. I know. But I think, after everything, I’ve just accepted that. Tubbo was right. All good things must come to an end. At this point, I don’t think anyone can help. Not against him.”

“Maybe we don’t have to go against him to help you.”

He had a feeling Dream wouldn’t like that. But he just gave Niki another fake grin, all teeth. “Well, you’ve done pretty great so far. Seriously, is there anything I can do to pay you back?” 

It was a not-so-subtle question of what’s the catch? Because there was always, always, a catch.

“Tommy,” She started slowly. “This is me paying you back.”

“For?” He asked, confused.

“Tommy, you know I tried to hurt you. And I was incredibly wrong for that. I know you’ve been hurt, you’ve been hurt a lot. But not every act of kindness has to come with stakes.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that. Plenty of people have hurt me. Maybe not tried to kill me, but, like, fuck, pretty much everyone has betrayed me at least once. Eret, Tubbo, Techno, Wilbur, Schlatt, Fundy, Jack, Phil, Bad… maybe not Ranboo or Puffy, but I think that’s pretty much it. You really don’t have to, like, give me a life debt or whatever. An apology’s fine.” For some reason, she just looked really, really sad. Hurt, even. Why? He was trying to make her feel better, not worse!

Niki ran a hand through her hair, letting out a small sigh. “I know, because of all that you’ve been through, that you don’t understand yet, but that's not fair to you, Tommy. It’s not the slightest bit fair, or okay. You deserved better than that. You’re forgiving, Tommy. Honestly, I think you are a little too much for your own good.”

Forgiving. It was to a fault, so it still counted, right? That would be the next one, then.

He hadn’t even realized he was touching the porcelain shard under his shirt until Niki’s voice broke him out of it.

“Tommy- Tommy, no! That’s not what I meant.” She said quickly. “I meant it in the way that you’re a good person, but sometimes you allow yourself to be hurt, because you see a silver lining when you should be upset.”

“I mean, if I didn’t, I’d just be fuckin’ miserable, right? I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone.” He laughed, though there was a waver to it, even in his own ears. Honestly, he didn’t think he had it in him. He’d tried so hard to be mad, for so long, but with Techno, with Tubbo, with Wilbur- hell, even with Eret, he couldn’t stay mad for all too long despite his best efforts.

“You’re too good, Tommy. Better than most of us.”

He couldn’t help but redden slightly, in the middle of flattered and bewildered, because really? TommyInnit, good? Those weren’t words that usually went together in people’s mouths. At best, it was hero and villain, but to describe him as a genuinely good person, after everything, was…odd. Kind of nice, if he was honest. 

“I’d bet a few people would fight you on that,” he laughed, shifting to pack up the food for later in a glass bowl he’d made in the L’Manburg era. He’d been so proud of it.

“You think I can’t beat them?” She countered with a grin.

“Fair enough.” He grinned back, then softened a bit. As he stood, he spoke again. “Thanks, Niki. Honest. I really appreciate it.” The kindness would be gone soon, but he could love it while it lasted.

She nodded. “Is there anything else that you need? I know your food supply is pretty low, but there might have been a few things that I missed.”

“I’m okay. Once I get the clothes back, I’ll be okay.”

Her smile was nice. It made him feel bad that her hard work was going to waste.

Chapter Text

“It’s been a while, Tommy.” Dream’s cool voice rang out across the lava as he crossed it via platform. “I missed you. Have you been busy?” 

His words would sound clingy to anyone else, but to Tommy? They were a warning. A warning of you disobeyed me. You stayed away for half again what you were supposed to.

“I- I ran into Jack, and Niki.” Tommy answered nervously as the lava curtain fell behind him. “They uh, Niki insisted on staying over for a while, because her base is pretty far.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you kept up with your words.” The prisoner leaned against the bars. “I’d like to see them.”

“Uh, w-well, I started running out of room on my arms so…” Tommy trailed off, leaning down to tug up his pant leg. There were fresh bandages, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to write anything on top of them. He quickly unraveled them, revealing the few fresh new wounds he’d collected.

Irresponsible

Forgiving

Trusting

Depressed

Those were the only ones he’d been able to get, because Niki was so kind to him now, and those were all the closest thing to flaws he’d been able to pick out. The last one was from Puffy, because Niki had brought him to her girlfriend’s place to get counseling. Therapy. Not about the scars, but about how he had a hard time trusting or getting excited about anything anymore.

Dream, evidently, didn’t think it was enough. He scowled. “Are you serious? You’re slacking. Show me your arms.”

Tommy hesitated, Dream was already mad. He would be pissed when he found out that Niki and Jack had found out. “It’s- I didn’t really get out much, so I didn’t hear a lot…”

“Show me your fucking arms, Tommy,” Dream hissed.

“Okay, okay!” Tommy complied, and with shaking hands he slowly rolled up his sleeves, revealing bandages covered in words scrawled on with ink from a glittery gel pen.

Dream didn’t look mad. He didn’t rage, or scoff, or show any emotion. Oh, he was mad . That kind of special fury that meant that, if he were in exile, would end up with him beaten at best and Logsted destroyed at worst. 

“That’s not your handwriting,” he pointed out sweetly.

“No,” Tommy admitted. “I uh- Jack he- he thought I was hurt, so he got Niki and they uh…”

“And you broke a rule,” Dream finished, scarily quiet. “One of the ground rules.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Tommy defended, it wasn’t like he actively went to seek them out to break it, honestly, it was entirely out of his control! “They just… wouldn’t leave. They promised not to tell anyone else, though!”

A slow, nerve-wracking laugh. “But Tommy… none of this is true. None of this-” He pulled on the bandages to unravel them, causing dull pain to spark on all the old injuries. “None of it is right. They only wrote this down out of pity, at best, but I don’t think that’s what it is. No, I think…” He inspected the fabric. “I think you’re like me.”

"What do you mean?" Tommy asked, genuine. Sure, he and Dream had similarities, but there really weren't many.

“You’re manipulative. You manipulated them.”

His skin went cold. Surely, it wasn’t that. He wasn’t manipulating them, he was just telling the truth. And yet… Dream had told the truth, he had, he just… didn’t add some facts, just like Tommy hadn’t. Niki seemed so devoted, staying around with that same kind of love that Tommy had once had for Dream, and oh, fuck , he was, wasn’t he? He was hurting her, manipulating her. It was just a matter of a time until he lost his temper and hurt her.

"What- what do I do? How do I fix it?" He asked, panic seeping into his voice. There had to be a way to, right?

“C’mere,” Dream crooned, putting a hand to his cheek through the bars. Tommy leaned into it, despite how the back of his brain screamed to pull away. “Give me the shard. We’ll make this work, okay? All you need is some stronger reminders.”

"O-okay." Tommy obeyed, pulling the string over his head and letting it fall into Dream's hand.

“Hold out your hand?” The man requested (demanded), and when Tommy did, he placed the tip of it to his palm. “This is for your own good.”

And then, he sent it down. The blade tore into his hand, and he could fucking swear it hit bone. He opened his mouth to scream, to wail, to do anything to express the utter agony he was in, but Dream’s hands came to block his jaw, muffling the sound until it was just a faint whimper. He noted, with no short amount of horror, that the shard was sticking through his skin, upright all on its own. It was torment to feel it within his skin, an interloper among more or less unmarred skin. But as much as he tried, his muscles wouldn’t stop spasming, renewing the torture anew. 

Dream gently shushed him and removed the blockage from his mouth. Tears were streaming down from Tommy’s eyes, but he didn’t dare make a sound.

“This is only what you deserve,” the prisoner whispered. “This is how they felt when you played with their hearts. Do you understand?”

Tommy nodded, certain that if he tried to reply verbally, he’d end up a sobbing, screaming mess. And that was the last thing he wanted, for several reasons. He felt horrible, and that little traitorous part of him prayed that Sam would show up, or check the cameras or something. But he knew he wasn’t good enough for that. Wasn’t deserving of it.

“Good.”

And slowly, he began to cut, but only a simple curved line instead of the cursive he was used to. None of it was as deep, but it was still sickening, despite Dream putting the bandages over his palms, annotated side down. He stabbed the shard down twice more, leaving Tommy reeling, before bandaging it so tightly that he feared his fingers might soon turn purple. A smile bled into it, even through the layers. “You have more bandages. I think a few more words are in order. I want you to write them yourself.”

Prime, it was going to hurt to hold the stupid fucking shard. “Okay,” Tommy answered, tears blurring his eyes. “Where?”

“I don’t care, but it should be somewhere where you can see it.”

Tommy frowned. That was confusing, and wasn’t it besides the point of what Dream wanted? “Aren’t I supposed to hide them, though?”

“From others, sure, but not from yourself. Try the back of your hand.”

Fuck, Tommy could barely move his hand. It didn’t really matter which one he used, or wrote on, it would fucking ruin the one already wrecked. Really, all it came down to was whether or not he wanted a hand that remained functioning. Which, he did, of course he did. But he’d have to learn everything over again. Whether that be writing, drawing shitty scribbles on the corners of notebooks, or this.  

Or well, it also depended on what Dream wanted, right? Obviously he was supposed to hurt himself more, but did he have to try and go to the extreme of that? Is that what his redemption was supposed to look like? 

Honestly, that was probably it. He doubted that he’d be able to hold any sort of weapon again after this, at least not for a long time- hell, he probably wouldn’t be able to gather resources either. And that was most likely the whole point. A way to control him that much more from inside the cell. Tommy could almost laugh at how eerily similar it was to exile.

He took a deep breath, holding the shard as tight as he could with his damaged hand without crying (which really wasn’t that strong of a grip at all), and knelt down to place his other on the floor. He paused right before digging the shard in. “What’s it supposed to say?”

“Manipulative,” Dream answered, and Tommy almost sobbed. Fuck, that was such a long one, too. He could barely hold the thing, how was he supposed to write that?

He had to start on his wrist, he didn’t think he even had enough room on his hand to write it. It was slow, painstakingly, agonizingly slow. It hurt like hell and that wasn’t even counting the few times Dream had told him it wasn’t deep enough. How was he supposed to go deeper, with tendons and bones in the way? 

He was somehow both numb and hyper aware of the pain, but he didn’t think he was going to die again, as much as a creeping part of him wished to. It wouldn’t help him escape this, Dream would just bring him back, and probably do worse because of it.

It felt like a daze, only the pain and occasional note of Dream’s voice keeping him tethered to reality. By the time he was done it felt so ingrained that he’d started the first line of a new letter before he’d realized.

“Oh,” Tommy muttered, slowly pulling the shard away from his skin, then looking up to Dream. “Is there- should I put more?” He wanted to get it over with before the haze left.

“Rulebreaker.”

Tommy answered with a hum, turning back to his hand. Honestly, it was a lot easier this time, the haze fogged out the pain until it was just miniscule. He felt far away and hyper-aware of everything all at once. 

The new word went right under the first, and he was able to use that as a sort of guide, given the similar length. Sure, he zoned out a few times, and Dream would either have to get his attention, or he'd have to press just a bit deeper to keep his mind from going too far away, but it was fine.

It looked a bit sloppy by the time he was done, but it would have to do. It was already there anyway. 

"'S that good?" He asked, holding his hand up a bit so Dream would be able to see it better.

“Could be deeper, but wrap it anyway. Say you mined a little too long if anyone asks,” the prisoner demanded, and Tommy’s heart sank. All that for approval, and he still got none?

"Right," He muttered, taking the last bit of bandages he had with him and securing them around his hand as tight as he could- which was nowhere near as well as Dream had done, but at least this time he still had circulation in his fingers.

Now it was just a matter of waiting until Sam came to get him. 

—

Apparently, Dream had forgotten to tell him a crucial detail of his punishment. At least, not until he checked his communicator and actively choked on the water that had been in his mouth. Because seriously, what the fuck? It was hard enough having one person that he loved that had hurt him irreparably, so why, why did Dream have to do this?

WilburSoot has joined the game.

That was two days ago now, and as Tommy’s hands were healing (though two of his fingertips were suspiciously numb and dull to hot and cold), he’d put on gloves and ignored every knock or message on his comm, because he was not in the right headspace to deal with fucking Wilbur, of all people.

Another ping from his communicator broke him out of his thoughts, and when he opened it, he was bombarded with messages.

WilburSoot whispers to you: I’m back, did you miss me?

WilburSoot whispers to you: Why aren’t you answering the door?

WilburSoot whispers to you: Tommy?

WilburSoot whispers to you: It’s been a full day, don’t you want to say hi?

WilburSoot whispers to you: You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?

Nihachu whispers to you: Hi Tommy! Small reminder that you have therapy today with Puffy. Stay safe <3

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. Well, it was about as good of an excuse as any to get out of the house and talk about his feelings. Maybe he could work up the courage to talk to his brother. His should-be-dead brother, who scared him so much in Pogtopia that he could still remember the terror and betrayal to this day, even though Dream’s was much worse.

He pulled on his gloves with a sigh, shifted his cardigan and scarf, and pretended like it was winter instead of fucking May.

Tommy sighed and ventured down the Prime path, down to Puffy’s office. Nothing much happened on the way, but when he got close, his breath caught, because what the fuck? It was pretty much the first time he’d heard Wilbur’s voice in years, and it had to be right when he was avoiding his problems and trying to make Niki happy with this whole therapy thing.

“No offense, Puffy, but I don’t think this has much of a market around here,” he heard Wilbur snort. “Like, do what you want, but I’m curious. Have you gotten any customers?”

"I have, actually. Not that it's any of your business." She answered, and while she almost sounded as calm and collected as she usually did, Tommy was able to pick out the subtle hint of annoyance.

“Huh. Who would have thought?” The man hummed. “Who?”

"Like I said, none of your business. If they want to tell you, they will. But I'm not going to break a patient's trust just because you're nosy."

He laughed, sounding entirely unbothered. “Sorry, sorry. Just making the rounds. Seeing what’s changed. Speaking of which, have you seen-” Wilbur glanced around, and Tommy forgot to back away, because his eyes landed right on the blonde. He looked so different, and yet exactly the same. Hell, the only differences were the white streak and the faint features that seemed a bit older. “Tommy, my man!”

Well, shit. No getting away now. He huffed out an annoyed, “hey, Wil.”

“Hey. Wasn’t aware we were preparing for a snowdrift in May,” Wilbur quipped. “Should I have brought a puffy jacket?”

“Oh, fuck off. What the hell do you want? I’m trying to get therapized.”

That caught Wilbur off guard, before he huffed out a laugh. “You’re fucking with me. Makes sense, after you’ve been ignoring me for so long. Either that or you want someone to complain to.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Prime, Wil, not everything has to be about you! Maybe I’m just not ready to talk yet, ever think about that?”

He got a little pout in return. “But Toms, I’m back from the dead! C’mon, remember the good times we had in Limbo? Can’t I be allowed to see my baby brother again?”

“Good?! Limbo was fucking horrible!”

“Wilbur,” Puffy interrupted. “Maybe you can have this conversation another time, but me and Tommy need to have our session soon.”

“Well, what were you thinking of talking about? I can’t imagine Tommy has much. We could have some good old-fashioned family therapy, eh? Might make your payments worth it,” he said wryly.

I suppose that could work…” Puffy muttered. “What do you think, Tommy?”

Tommy just huffed, crossing his arms. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course-”

“Nope!” Wilbur chirped, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

“Great.” Tommy muttered, and Puffy just opened the door, leading them inside with a shrug. Traitor.

Puffy sighed, gesturing to the seats, and taking one for herself. “So, what is it exactly, that you wanted to discuss, Wilbur? I assume because you think it warranted interrupting the session I was about to have with Tommy, that it’s pretty important.”

“Tommy’s been ignoring me. I want to know why,” Wilbur sank down into one of the seats himself. “It’s been fuckin’ years, I would have thought my resurrection meant something.”

“Years in Limbo,” Tommy shot back. “You had plenty of fuckin’ time to process shit, it hasn’t even been two yet for the rest of us!”

“Oh, please, you’ve had plenty of time. What, do you want me to wait thirteen more for you to decide that you want me around again?” Wilbur crossed his arms, looking actually… a bit hurt.

“That’s not what I meant! I’m still processing the fact that I’m alive again! I was only dead for like- how long was it?” Tommy paused, looking to Puffy for the question.

“Three days.” She answered.

“Three days! If I haven’t gotten over my own death, how the hell do you expect me to be able to deal with this yet?”

“‘Cause you’re Tommy!  You can deal with, like, fuckin’ anything, man.”

Tommy scoffed. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not quite coping with the fact I got to watch my brother kill himself after telling me he wouldn’t!”

“I never said I wouldn’t!” Wilbur argued. “I can do with my life as I damn please.”

“You said if we won, you wouldn’t go through with that stupid fucking plan! And yet, you still did! At that point, it’s not even your life anymore, when you’re pulling the rest of us into it by blowing up our homes!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind, Tommy! You wouldn’t understand! You think I wanted to struggle every day with who was my friend and who was my enemy? Limbo helped me get past that, but you won’t even look twice at me now!”

“Because you’ve had time to get over all the shitty things you did! You haven’t even apologized for any of it!”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want? An apology? Or do you just want to hold a grudge because you’re a child?”

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you fucking serious? This is why I don’t wanna fucking talk to you! I try and be fucking honest and you have to turn it around so you don’t need to shoulder any of the goddamn blame!”

“I know I take the blame, but you’re not exactly an angel yourself!” His brother argued.

“Oh fucking trust me, I know I’m not! I am reminded of it every fucking time I have to look in the mirror! I’m a shitty person, I know that, but I’m not trying to deflect it! You wanted to know why I was avoiding you because you have to find some way to twist the answer I give you to make it so that you can’t blame yourself!”

Wilbur’s look of anger softened, almost dropping entirely. “Wait, wait, wait, back up, what ? Yeah, you’re fuckin’ childish, but you’re not a shitty person. I’d say you’re more of the hero than the villain.”

“You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!”

“Are we the bad guys?”

“You don’t have to say it! Everyone else has said plenty.” Tommy muttered. “I mean, come on Wil, I was exiled twice. Not really hero behavior.” 

“Tommy,” Puffy interrupted. “That wasn’t your fault, we’ve been over this.”

“That’s what you say, but there’s a common factor there! This time only proves it.” Tommy said, mumbling the last part. Apparently not quiet enough, because Puffy looked at him with worry.

“What do you mean, ‘this time’?”

He quickly shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, no. I’m curious, too. You’re not exiled right now. You ignored me, and that’s shit, but I wouldn’t have thought you would blame yourself. What the hell is on your mind?” And though he was being abrasive, Tommy caught a hint of concern.

“It really doesn’t matter.” Tommy repeated, shoulders coming up to his ears.

Puffy sighed, and she seemed hesitant for a moment, then she spoke up. “No, Tommy, I think it does. From all that I’ve learned, exile was really bad, and if you’re comparing it to something going on now, I think we should know, for your own safety.”

“I’m plenty safe, nothing is going on! I just misspoke!” Tommy tried. Fuck, he couldn’t let them know. He didn’t even want to begin to think about what Dream would do if he found out.

“I’m calling bullshit,” Wilbur laughed, but he sounded a bit uncomfortable. “What the fuck are you on about? I don’t- what the hell do you mean by another exile?”

“Uh, w-well,” Shit, he had to think. He needed some way to push this a bit more in his favor. Wilbur didn’t really know much about the exile, right? That might work. “You see, after you died, some things happened. Like accidentally burning down George’s house with Ranboo, which made Dream upset so he made Tubbo exile me and I was kind of stuck on an island for a few months.”

Puffy snorted. “That’s oversimplifying it.”

“The, uh…” Wilbur snapped his fingers repeatedly. “I could swear I remember something like that when I was coming back. Probably the ghost. Kind of weird that he’s still around, but it was useful. Anyways, wasn’t that a vacation?”

Tommy shook his head with a dry huff. “That’s what Ghostbur wanted it to be. But it had to be the worst fucking time of my life.”

“What happened?” And this time, Wilbur seemed to be listening. Actually listening, not just deflecting.

Honestly, Tommy really hadn’t thought this far. He’d barely skimmed over what happened before. “Well, when I got there, to the island. Dream he uh, took all my things. Well, actually, ‘taking’ implies he kept them. He blew all of it up. It’s fuzzy, but I know a few people visited me at the start, but they just stopped coming around after a while. So I was pretty much on my own, aside from Dream. He insisted on showing up every day.”

He risked a glance at Wilbur, who looked upset, almost angry. “What the fuck ? I mean, at least he was there, but fuck, why didn’t anyone show up for you?!” 

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. No one’s told me and I don’t like talking about it so…”

“Most of us were told that you just didn’t want visitors.” Puffy answered. “And while I wish we didn’t listen, back then we thought we were just respecting your wishes.”

“That- why did he say that? Dream can be a dick, sure, but he’s not like that. He brought me back!”

“Well, given the fact that he brought you back to try and make me upset, it was probably because it gave him some sort of leverage.”

Puffy frowned at that. “Why would he be trying to make you upset? I thought you were trying to make amends, that’s why you visit him so often, isn’t it.”

Shit.

“Oh, well,” Tommy forced a laugh. “You know, it was just a small little quarrel, that’s all.”

“I feel like I’m missing something here. Why were you guys fighting? What the fuck hapopened with exile?” Wilbur glanced between the two.

Prime, Tommy really didn’t want to explain this. “When I was in exile, Dream would visit me, right? Well, usually, what that meant was he’d show up, every day, take all the supplies I’d managed to gather, and blow it all up again.”

The brunette’s face fell like he’d just been told Christmas was canceled. “Why-?”

“Fuck if I know, he just did!” Tommy exclaimed, then he paused. He was making Dream out to be a really shitty person right now, wasn’t he? Absently, he rubbed the back of his hand at the thought. “I mean, things could be… good sometimes, too. Like when he showed up to the party and let me use his trident for a bit. Or- or when he let me keep my armor for a few days.”

Wilbur cast a look to Puffy that he couldn’t quite understand. “Tommy, you- you do know that fixing a problem he caused isn’t kindness, right? That’s just basic decency. You could have gotten a trident on your own with that time. But, I mean- it just… doesn’t add up. He’s been an ass in the past, but he brought me back, and he helped with Manburg. I don’t understand this.”

“I don’t know, I can’t really explain it. He just… does what he does, I guess.” Because Tommy really didn’t know, and if he said anything else, well, that was a slippery slope to two more people finding out about the words, which would really suck for Tommy in the future.

“You go visit him a lot, yeah?” At Tommy’s nod, Wilbur suggested, “maybe we can go together next time. Try to get answers.”

Tommy shook his head, speaking a little too harshly as he rushed to get the words out. “ No .” He took a breath, and then said, a bit quieter. “We- that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Wilbur pulled back, blinking. “Woah- Prime, okay. Just a suggestion. Fuck, man.”

Puffy glanced between both Wilbur and Tommy for a moment. “Well… Is there anything you wanted to talk about, Wilbur…?”

He stood. “Well, I think that dilemma is solved. We should catch up sometime, Tommy. Really.” There was something in his voice, something a bit odd. It wasn’t like the mania in Pogtopia, it was like… a rehearsed line. Something that Tommy was supposed to know, but he didn’t.

“Uh… right, sure thing, big man.”  Tommy muttered, then turned to Puffy. “I’m guessing I won’t be getting much therapy today, since the time’s almost up.”

She nodded, an odd look on her face. “No, but I’d like to talk about some of the things you said today next time, alright?”

Ah, shit.

He flashed a small smile as he stood. “Of course, see you later then, Puffy. Thanks!”

“See you soon.” She called out lightly behind him as he pushed open the door. Prime, he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

—

Ghostbur quite liked existing, if he was honest. He liked the beautiful indigo flowers, the bright aqua sky, the royal blue lapis. There was nothing that compared to the beauty of existing, of living in this stunning world. But the only problem was that, well… people just didn’t seem to like him . 

Sure, they were nice! Very, very nice. Phil had called him the best musician, and Tommy accepted all of his blue, and Technoblade gave him that fond little smile, but… it was hollow. Just like he was. They all just wanted Alivebur back. The man was gone too soon, mourned by even those who pretended not to.

And he was okay with that. Really, he was. A little sad, of course, but he’d miss the ones he loved if they died, too. Maybe the resurrection attempt made him so sad that he started forgetting Sally, a bright spot in his life, but that was just his poor memory. It wasn’t Phil and Techno’s faults! 

Three days ago, he’d felt it. He’d felt a train stop, he felt Alivebur get on it. And he thought that, maybe, his time existing was up. He would fade like seafoam on the wind, blooming like one of the flowers that he loved but gone within the day. 

But to his surprise, a surge of defiance had gone through him, just like Doomsday. He’d thought no. No, I’m not disappearing like this.

The train had buffeted him, the conductor had tried to grab his arm and pull him onto the platform, but he’d fought back. And at the end of it, he was still standing. The aftermath was a bit odd. He was kind of worried nobody wouldn’t want him anymore, but when Phil saw him still around, along with Alivebur’s message, he’d pulled Ghostbur close and murmured that that just meant that he had another son to love.

Alivebur was distant, too. He seemed discontented, put off by Ghostbur’s presence, but he’d seemed to warm up, because he’d messaged Ghostbur’s brand-new communicator with the one he’d reclaimed after his revival. Curious, the spirit pulled it up, halting in his waltz across the Prime Path. The chatlog came up.

WilburSoot whispers to you: Why is my communicator blue now?

You whisper to WilburSoot: its pretty :D

WilburSoot whispers to you: Does it come off?

You whisper to WilburSoot: probably!

WilburSoot whispers to you: K

WilburSoot whispers to you: We should meet up. I have things to discuss with you.

Alivebur seemed upset. Maybe that was the very, very faint twinge of worry on the other end of the link that they’d had ever since the train, but something was making the man sad. He needed some blue.

You whisper to WilburSoot: ok! im in the prime path tunnel! 

WilburSoot whispers to you: Coming.

You whisper to WilburSoot: see you soon. calm yourself <3

It didn’t take Alivebur even ten minutes to show, looking every bit annoyed and worried. Ah. So he was using anger to mask his underlying fear. Ghostbur could get that, because Alivebur was kind of also himself, and he kind of almost remembered that. Or maybe not. It was weird.

“Hi, Alivebur!” He chirped, trying to seem as friendly and approachable as possible. “You said you wanted to talk?”

"Yeah…" Alivebur hesitated. "I was wondering if you knew anything about Tommy's exile, or Dream?"

“Exile- oh, you mean his vacation? That was very fun, but we went through a lot of blue. He seemed very sad.” Ghostbur frowned. He’d tried to cheer up Tommy all he could, honestly, but he just seemed so despondent all the time. “I made him a house, but he just stayed in his tent all the time, and sometimes, he wouldn’t get up.”

“Really?” Alivebur seemed more upset now. “He said Dream was there too, do you remember what Dream was like?”

Ghostbur pursed his lips, trying to remember fuzzy memories. “He- um- He had a game, I think? With Tommy? Where they exploded things every day. It was like a little tradition. He’d dig into the ground and Tommy would drop stuff, and sometimes Tommy would light the TNT, too. And Tommy had a party once, and Dream sent me out with the invitations. He showed me the way, but I think he was bad at directions, because I almost got melted in the snow.”

“Oh, that's… nice. Did he ever seem… mean, to Tommy?” Alivebur asked, and Ghostbur wasn’t quite sure what all these questions were doing to help Wilbur.

“Mmm…” Had he? “Maybe? I can’t remember. Sometimes, he had bruises or cuts. Tommy, I mean. Dream seemed nice, but he never helped with them.”

The brunette seemed far more worried at that. “Were the injuries bad? Or- or like things from accidents, like tripping or something like that?”

“I don’t remember,” he admitted. “I’m really sorry, Alivebur. I think they came from mobs, but it always made me so sad.”

Alivebur sighed. “That’s fine, Ghostbur, but would you be willing to do me a favor? You’re a ghost, you can do ghost things like being invisible and stuff, right?”

“I haven’t tried.” Oh, this was much more cheerful. He liked this better than the old conversation topic, and so he straightened like a flower in full bloom again. “I don’t think I can, unless I get all melty, but I can phase through things if I try, ‘cause I’m only semi-solid.”

“That might work,” Alivebur muttered. “Alright, here’s what I want you to do; I want you to keep an eye on Tommy, alright? And I want you to tell me anything you can remember that seems important. You don’t have to be invasive just… See where he goes and if he looks happy or upset after being there, does that sound good?”

Ghostbur nodded enthusiastically. If it would make Alivebur like him, he’d do just about anything. “Okay! Are we planning a surprise for him?”

"Not really… I'm just very worried about him." Alivebur explained. "But we probably could, if you think that he might like that."

“Oh. Why are you worried for him? I see him almost every day! Going towards the prison, mostly, but I do.” Dream and Tommy were such good friends! Tommy spent a lot of his time at the prison, just to talk to Dream!

Alivebur frowned. "Does he? Well, I suppose I can stop by at some point. Are there any other friends of Tommy's I might be able to talk to? Anyone that he's been with recently?"

“Niki and Jack hang out with him a lot, because Tommy and Jack run a hotel together. There’s also Sam Nook, I guess.”

"The hotel by Tommy's shack? Okay. Well, that sounds like as good of a place as any to look. That you Ghostbur." He seemed pretty happy, very different from the Alivebur that Ghostbur remembered.

“I’ll check in his house!” The phantom grinned, then ambled off towards Tommy’s place. As he got closer, he heard voices.

“No- Niki, seriously, you don’t have to come over, you already made the commute back. I’ve been keeping up the words on the bandages, and it’s still clean. Really, you don’t have to.” 

Interest piqued, Ghostbur cracked the door open, listening closer. It seemed like Tommy was on a call on his communicator, pacing. And thankfully, he didn’t have to guess what Niki was saying, because the communicator was plenty loud. Tommy’s hearing hadn’t been the best lately, after all.

"Well, can you at least go to Jack?" She asked. "I know you two have had your… differences, but he is willing to help."  

“It’s fine. I cannot stress to you how alright this is.” He sounded almost nervous. “The gloves are just ‘cause they spilled over, and I want to be careful, because anyone could see if my sleeves shift.”

"That better be all it is," Her voice was threatening, but in that way that meant she was concerned. "I'm just worried about you, Tommy. I know you've been visiting him a lot, and now, knowing what he does… I just want to make sure that you're alright."

A soft hitch of breath. Ghostbur risked a peek, and Tommy was sat atop his chests, looking up. His hands were ungloved for the first time in days, one holding the communicator and another pressed to his chest. He looked… stressed out. “I know. I know, it’s for my own good. But I promise, I would let you know if I thought something was actually wrong.”

"If you're sure, but I do want to visit again soon. Or maybe you could come over here and stay with me for a little while. I've done a lot of building, I think you might like to see it." She suggested.

“I can’t, I need to be able to go to the prison,” Tommy murmured. The boy took his hand away from his chest and looked at the palm of it, face scrunching slightly like he was in pain. He curled it into a fist, but two fingers didn't quite close entirely.

"You don't have to go there every day, do you?" She asked, worry clear in her voice. "Tommy, if you're being hurt that much- it's already bad enough as it is. What if you lose too much blood?"

“I bring regen every time so I can drink it when I get out. And it’s not every day, but I should- I should still try, because if I stop going, I’m not going to want to go again. Momentum, innit? Besides, he was already pissed enough that I missed all of last week.”

The words didn’t make any sense. Why was Tommy being hurt? He and Dream were friends!

Niki sighed, sounding a bit sad. "Just… be careful. I'll try to visit again soon. Honestly, I've somewhat missed going to the main SMP."

“Really, you don’t have to-” he tried again.

"But I want to, Tommy. It gets… lonely out here, even with that new mushroom place popping up. I miss being able to see you and Jack and everyone else."

Tommy hesitated, then whispered. “Are you sure?”

"Of course I'm sure, Tommy. I know I haven't been the best at showing it, but I care about you."

“Okay. Okay, you can- you can come, then. I’m not in charge of you.”

"And no one is in charge of you, either." She pointed out.

“You’ll have to take that up with Dream.” He huffed out a soft laugh.

"I just might," Niki muttered. "But you stay safe, alright? I know you've been a bit stressed with Wilbur being back, so try to take it easy."

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a salute, even though he couldn’t be seen. “Okay, I think I have to do some mining, so I’ll see you later.”

"See you later, Tommy." She laughed.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then hung up. The moment the call was over, he put his hands over his eyes and sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. And right there, on the back of his left hand, were two words cut into his skin, in Tommy’s own handwriting.

—

“Wilbur Soot?” The robot in front of an undead man tilted its head. “Are you alright?”

Wilbur took a deep breath, trying to will away the shock and horror he’d just felt from the link. It was stronger than anything he’d felt thus far. Fuck, it seemed Ghostbur had found something bad.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m okay. What were we talking about?”

Sam Nook held up one finger. “We were talking about TommyInnit. You asked me if I’ve seen any unusual behaviors from him. My answer is that he has exhibited signs consistent with several mental disorders including but not limited to depression, complex PTSD, and anxiety, as well as other behaviors linked to possible toxicity in close relationships, insomnia, malnutrition and self-harm. However, such symptoms are not confirmed and should not be taken as fact.”

"Oh, right." God, Wilbur felt sick. Was that from Ghostbur too, or just because of what he was hearing now? Maybe a combination of both. "Have you brought that up to him? Or maybe Puffy? She's his therapist, apparently, but I didn't really see much happen." 

Probably because we were yelling at each other most of the time we were there.

“The information has not been disclosed due to a lack of demand,” the robot explained. “You’re the only one that has asked.”

"Well, sometimes it's better to say something." Wilbur snapped, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Sorry. I just mean that if you're worried about him, it's probably a good idea to bring it up to other people that you think are trustworthy, to keep an eye on him."

“Trustworthy and untrustworthy are hard to quantify. Tommy trusts Jack Manifold and Niki Nihachu despite their past attempts on his life.”

"Their what?" No, no, the robot had to be mistaken, or maybe it misspoke. Sure, maybe Jack would do that, but Niki?

“Jack has tried to crush Tommy with multiple anvils, and he spoke of Niki leading him under false pretenses towards an explosion.”

Wilbur took a shaky breath. "Right, but you think he trusts them now? Do you think they can be trusted now?"

“He trusts them, but I am unsure whether he should or should not, as he spoke of them helping him recently.”

"Did he say what with?"

Sam Nook just shook its head. “I don’t believe so, no. I suggest speaking with him or them about it.”

"Well, keep me updated on that, I guess. If he tells you anything you find concerning, please say something." If there was one thing Wilbur didn't want, it was to find out something happened to Tommy and he couldn't be there to help in time.

“To continuously update you, I’ll need his consent. A singular request for information is one thing, but consistent check-ins on his physical and mental health require his agreement.”

"I know you don't want to cross his boundaries, Sam Nook," Wilbur started slowly. "But there are some things that people need to know about, even if the person it's about doesn't want anyone knowing, because it very well could end up with that person hurt, or worse. I'm not asking you to tell me everything, but sometimes it's easier to know when he might need support."

“Wilbur Soot, your intention cannot be calculated. I’d rather err on the safe side, as his safety is my utmost priority. Sam programmed me to keep him safe and happy.”

"He might not tell you everything! Listen, Nook, sometimes to keep a person safe, you have to take risks. No, not everyone in the world is a saint and wants what's best, but not everyone wants to hurt either, and sometimes you need to risk a little bit of his safety for a chance that he might be more safe."

Sam Nook hummed discontentedly. “Give me a way to verify that claim, and I’ll easily update you on his status, but Tommy has been through far too much for his young age. I cannot be sure on who intends to hurt him or help him.”

"And if he intends to hurt himself? What then?"

“Again, I’d be happy to keep you updated if you are able to verify that you mean good.”

Wilbur sighed, frustrated. "Well how can I do that? It seems pretty subjective given how people can lie."

“That’s not my burden of proof-”

Wilbur would have listened, or perhaps Sam Nook would have continued, if the former wasn’t almost bowled over by a distraught ghost looking two seconds from sobbing. Or, well, his head buried into Wilbur’s shoulder as he pulled the resurrected man into a tight hug, but somehow, the brunette knew anyway. “Alivebur- Tommy- he- he- his hands-”

Ghostbur shook his head tearfully. “Don’t make me think about it,” he all but wailed.

"Well, it had to do with Tommy, right? Can you at least tell me where he is?" 

“His house,” the phantom whispered with a shudder. “I can’t remember, but- but he was hurt, and- and there were words, I think?”

Wilbur had no idea what that meant, but if Tommy was hurt… He couldn't risk just waiting around. "Alright, I'm- I'm going to go check on him, okay? But I'm sure he's fine."

There at least wasn't a death message, so that had to mean something.

Ghostbur seemed to understand, because he loosened his hold and whispered, “protect him.”

"I will," Wilbur replied. "I promise." 

And with that, he pushed himself fully out of the ghost's arms, and quickly stormed away from the hotel. It was probably one of the shortest walks he could manage on the server, going between the hotel and Tommy's house, yet to Wilbur, it felt like hours. Like he was wading through some sort of thick jelly, or tar. 

The moment he got there, he didn't even bother knocking, instead just throwing Tommy's door open. 

"Oh, Tommy," He singsonged. "Your wonderful big brother is here for a… visit…"

Wilbur’s smile dropped all too suddenly.

Chapter Text

“Get out of my house, Wilbur.” 

Tommy’s voice was higher and reedier than he meant it to be, heart thudding against the confines of his chest. Fuck, he should have thought to lock the door, especially after seeing it slightly ajar earlier. Closing it wasn’t enough, not when he was changing his bandages. Thankfully, he was turned towards the chests and not to Wilbur, so his little… habit… wasn’t on display, but it was dangerously close, especially with discarded bandages around him and a fresh word reading childish on his right wrist. It was bleeding sluggishly, but if he moved too much, his brother would see , so all he could do to grip it firmly, biting back a hiss of pain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wilbur needed to go, now . Tommy didn’t want to be like Dream. He didn’t want to manipulate anyone, accidental or not.

"Tommy, what's wrong? What- what happened? You're hurt!" Wilbur cried, coming even closer.

The blonde pulled his arms flush to his chest, hoping and praying the other man wouldn’t see. “Get out. Leave my fucking house, Wil.”

"No, Tommy, I'm not just leaving when you're very clearly hurt. What happened, Tommy, who did this? Because there's no way a mob attack warrants that many bandages."

The blood was starting to seep through his fingers. The shard was still in front of him, too, coated in red. “Please, just- just go. I’ll explain later.” 

"Just let me help, Tommy." Wilbur seemed hesitant, taking another step forward and crouching down, just a few feet away. "I won't be upset, whatever it is. Not at you."

“You don’t know that.” It was a miracle he hadn’t already seen it. Fuck, Dream would be so upset. He’d be so, so pissed, seeing Tommy had made such a stupid mistake.

"Yes I do, Tommy. I know it might be… scary, but it's a lot easier when someone is there to help, trust me. Don't just try to hide it away because you're worried about what everyone else might think."

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, do you?” He laughed, all too shaky. Because he had to, right? He had to. Because if everyone just… knew he was hurting himself, they just didn’t care. And obviously, they wouldn’t, but fuck, he was selfish. He wanted someone to notice the warning signs, to care enough to stop him, but at the same time, he was terrified.

Because this wasn’t his choice. This was Dream’s. And Dream didn’t want anyone to know.

"You're hurting yourself." Wilbur said. It wasn't even a question to him. "And would I be correct to assume that there are other, external forces that make you feel like you need to keep up the habit?"

Oh. Fuck. He did know. “I don’t just fuckin’ believe, but I’m not going to tell you. ‘S not like you’ve been a great older brother. Who’s to say you won’t just tell everyone?”

“What reason would I have to do that?” He asked, and he sounded earnest, but Tommy wasn’t sure if he was willing to take that risk yet.

“What reason did you have to fucking blow up all of your hard work? Our homes? You don’t need to have a reason, Wil. You just destroy.”

Wilbur frowned. “Well, that’s a bit hurtful. But I wasn’t really… in my head, if you will.”

Tommy stared down at his hand, now almost covered in blood, and tried not to be sick at the memory of bleeding out. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”

“What excuse do you want, then?” And it wasn’t sarcastic, like how a question like that would usually be, it just sounded like… well, a question.

“I want something . Some reason why you decided to- to throw me to the side like trash. You tried to make me fucking president, Wil. President of a country that you planned to blow up not an hour later. How is that not spiteful? How is that okay ?!”

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s not. It wasn’t. And I am sorry. Sorry I let… whatever this is happen to you.”

Tommy moved slowly, carefully, to pull bandages out of his inventory and start wrapping the wound, but his hands stained the roll, shaking all the way and not as dexterous as they used to be. “You don’t understand , Wil. You never will.”

“Try me,” Wilbur said, spreading his arms open wide. “Come on, throw it all at me, everything you’ve got.”

“No. Because I don’t want to be-” His breath caught, and he stared at the hand covered in blood. There was still chicken scratch written on it, the word taunting him.

Manipulative.

He must have stared a moment too long, because Wilbur scooted forward to see. Tommy pulled his arms close again, though Wilbur was definitely in the position to see the words on his arms now. The cursive, the mess. Judging by his choked gasp, he did.

“Tommy, why would you-?” And then he stopped, several emotions crossing his face. “Not all of that is your handwriting.”

“I said it wasn’t just belief, didn’t I?” Tommy’s voice cracked. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to.” 

As he spoke, blood dripped down his right arm, down to his fingers, the ones that had been ruined. Prime, Dream had ruined so much . So fucking much.

“Who?” Wilbur asked, his tone deathly serious. “Just let me know and I promise, Tommy, I promise, they’ll be gone.”

He gave a bitter smile. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’re going to end up killing your savior , even if you tried.”

“My savior- Dream did this?” Wilbur asked, and he sounded genuinely shocked. Like the idea never could have possibly occurred to him, even after the mess that was ‘family therapy’. At least that meant Tommy did pretty good on his damage control.

“I never explained how I died, did I? Obviously, he killed me, but he decided to- to have some fun while he did. Turns out, bleeding out is awful. And having death scars that are too humiliating to show is even worse.”

“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur sounded wounded. “I- Why are you still visiting him? Why are you even able to go back and see him at all? And- and this? Hasn’t Sam noticed any of it?”

“Because it’s not my fucking choice! If- when he gets out, I can’t deal with another fucking death. He’s the most powerful person on the server, and his main goal is just fucking with me. If he sees me as a dog, I might as well beg like one, because my pride is worth less than his mercy.” Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat and returned to trying to bandage up his arm. Wordlessly, Wilbur took the roll from his hand and moved to wrap it around Tommy’s bleeding wrist.

"He's made you fall pretty far, hasn't he?" Wilbur asked. "Hurt you in a lot of ways, and put himself up on a pedestal. I'd ask how long it might take for you to start thinking of him the way I have been, as a savior, but… I think you already have, haven't you? You think he's something high and mighty and completely untouchable, even when he's all locked up in a little box."

Tommy tried not to let the tears fall, but a few slipped out anyway. “I’ve already been taunted plenty, Wil. Don’t you think it’s enough? Or do you just want to hurt me more? See how long it takes me to break?” He swallowed again. “I’m already broken. If Limbo wasn’t worse than life, I’d have jumped into lava a thousand times already.”

"I'm just saying that he's made himself out to be better than he is, to everyone, in different ways. Even to you. You might not see him as a good person, but you think he's stronger than everyone else, even all the people that care about you combined." 

And Tommy, like the thoroughly-trained pet he was, just hummed, staring at the floor. His gaze was unfocusing, and privately, he hoped that meant he would go into that state where he just kind of… shut down. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with his older brother mocking him.

"He's not, you know. No one man is that powerful, Tommy. I'm sorry that we all let you even begin to think that. Or think that this-” Wilbur gestured to Tommy's arm. "-is okay. Because it's not. It never should have happened. It shouldn't still be happening."

Oh. That wasn’t cohesive with the message. He tried to take a deep breath, coming up shallow, and then breathed, “I thought you agreed with him.”

Wilbur sighed, leaning back where he sat and staring up at the ceiling. "Tommy, I was just happy that he brought me back. Limbo was hell, you know that as well as I do. But I had no clue what he was doing to you, alright? If I had known, I wouldn't have thought as highly of him as I did. I thought I owed him a debt but… Now I know he owes me more than just my life, because he hurt my entire world, Tommy. He hurt you, and I don't take that lightly."

The blonde took a shaking, desperate breath, and leaned against his brother. He blinked back all the tears that were welling in his eyes. “It’s so pathetic,” he whispered. “It’s shameful, and I hate it, but I’m so scared all of the time, and I don’t want to manipulate anyone into caring for me, or take pity, or even fucking exist anymore. There’s no way out.”

Wilbur raised a brow, looking down at him. "Who have you manipulated? Certainly not me. I'm going to need some examples of who, and how before I believe you have the heart."

“Niki and Jack. They found out, and I- I must have done something, because they hated me before. They tried to kill me. But Niki’s been so nice, and it must have been something I did.” He stared down at the back of his bloody hand. Wilbur must have caught his stare, because he put a hand gently over the scabbed-over words.

Wilbur clicked his tongue. "See, that's the thing. You have to make a conscious choice to manipulate someone. Making a mistake, or saying something you whole-heartedly believe, isn't manipulation."

“But he said-”

“What he said was a lie, Tommy. He’s a real manipulator, and he’s damn good at it! I mean, he convinced you that  you were!”

Another desperate breath. He was trying so, so hard not to break. Fuck, he wanted to comfort so badly , but he knew that taking it would only make the hurt worse. To force himself to give it up, he leaned away, but Wilbur pulled him back again, and he was too weak to try again. “I know. I know he’s manipulating me. I wouldn’t have escaped exile or put him in prison if he wasn’t. But what am I supposed to do. Kill him? Stay away? Wil, you haven’t been around long enough to see, but my life is a trail of bad luck. If I try something, it never works. Not without a catch. And I can’t afford to fail, because I’m already broken.”

"You used to be ready to get as many people as you could to help." Wilbur muttered. "What changed?"

“You died. You betrayed me. Dream took his chance. That’s what changed.”

Wilbur lifted his arm, putting it around Tommy's shoulders and pulling him closer. "Was it just him? Or is there anyone else I should keep an eye on?"

“I- I don’t think there is. But I don’t think there’s anyone that likes me very much. Techno’s pissed at me for betraying him, and Sam left me to die in the prison, and Tubbo’s gone with Ranboo and gotten married like I never even existed-” And maybe it was the mention of his best friend, but Tommy couldn’t help a strangled sob at that.

"I'm still here, I heard Niki and Jack have also been around a bit, and Puffy seems pretty well intentioned too." Wilbur told him quietly.

The blonde held out his arms, despite the bandages on his right. “These aren’t just random. They’re all shit people have said to me. This was Fundy, this was Jack, this was Ranboo, this was Niki- And they’re all recent. They’re all within the last month.”

"I've- none of them are from me, right?" Wilbur asked, then quickly shook his head. "No, that's a stupid question, of course I've said something without thinking, or that I didn't mean. Guess that really goes to show that we forget what we say, but not what we hear, huh?"

Tommy just looked away and mumbled, “the one you just bandaged. ‘T was ‘childish’.”

Wilbur huffed sadly. "Of course it was. You know I- not everything someone says about you has to be bad. Sure, the words can have bad meanings, sometimes but… they can be used affectionately too."

“I know,” he sighed. “But I’ve got to put them down anyway.” 

As he spoke, he moved to the bloody shard of porcelain on the ground, but Wilbur pulled it easily out of his hands. Despite how he reached for the edge, his brother kept it away.

“Wha- Wil, give it!”

"No. I'm not just letting you hurt yourself, you can be pissed at me if you want, hell, you can tell Dream too, and if, if he gets out, you can point him right to me to keep yourself safe, alright?"

“He’s just going to be more upset at me! Wil, please, please- ”

"No, Tommy." Wilbur said more firmly. "I'm not letting you do what I did, and I'm absolutely not going to let another person force you to hurt yourself! If he wants to hurt you, fine! He can do all that when I'm fucking dead, and when everyone else on this server is dead too."

Tommy’s stomach dropped. “You’re- you’re going to tell them?”

"I might," He answered honestly. "If that's what it takes to see you safe, yes. And I won't stop until he's dead and gone, for good."

“ Please don’t. It’s fuckin’ stupid. Even if they accept it and Dream’s not mad at me for breaking the rules, it’s embarrassing ,” he begged.

“Being hurt is nothing to be ashamed of, Tommy. You shouldn’t feel bad about this, he should! For everything he’s done! If it was one of your friends, like- like Tubbo, having this happen, would you not do the same thing?”

“It’s not about being hurt- well, kind of, it’s about how he makes me do it, and that I’m too pathetic to fight back. Plus, it’s all of my flaws, and I don’t want pity, and I don’t want them to think that I’m just some depressed fuck cutting his skin because I have nothing better to do.”

“You do have better things to do,” Wilbur agreed. “But both he and this are keeping you from being able to do that, and eventually, if it keeps up, you probably won’t even be able to continue it. I saw your hand, Tommy, that- it’s probably going to cause permanent damage. Each time you do this, you risk hitting something important.”

He turned his palm up so the smile faced the front. “That wasn’t me. Dream was pissed because I told Niki and didn’t come back for a week and a half. That’s why he brought you back, too.”

“I really piss you off that much, huh?” Wilbur asked with a small laugh. “Well, that sure backfired on him, now didn’t it?”

Tommy settled close to him again, not sad enough to cry but too scared to laugh. Softly, as softly as he could, he whispered, “I hope it does. I hope he gets what’s coming to him.”

—

Snowchester was cold, probably the coldest place in the whole server- well, minus Technoblade’s little cabin, but it’s not like Tubbo would ever willingly go out of his way to go there again. He did find the frigid air comforting, it was grounding, with the way it would nip at his skin like Enderchest or Benson. And not to mention the company. Three of his favorite people in the world were here, right by his side.

“Peekaboo!” Ranboo looked so silly, crouching down with all their might and playing with their piglin son, all smiles and laughs. As always, Michael was bowled over with giggles, tiny hands reaching up for his parent. 

“Boo!” The toddler grabbed Ranboo’s horn, and the half-enderian beamed. 

“That’s right. It’s Boo. You wanna say hi to Bee, Mikey?”

The toddler, seemed to consider that, and then waddled up to Tubbo, pulling at his sleeve with a demanding, “Bee!”

“Well, hello there. What’s got you out here, hmm?” Tubbo teased, lifting Michael up into his arms.

“Boo,” he pointed to Ranboo again. “Peek- boo.”

“Oh, peekaboo, huh?” Tubbo laughed. “Did he teach you that? Is that what it is?”

The toddler nodded with a look of that’s so obvious written all over his face. It was hard not to laugh, because it reminded him so much of Tommy.

And suddenly, it wasn’t as funny anymore. 

Fuck, he really missed Tommy. The boy was still around, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Whenever he’d invite him over, it was always a polite rejection, a mention of how busy the hotel made him. A mention of how he had to go visit Dream.

Tubbo never, ever thought he would be jealous of Dream, but, well… here he was. Jealous of Dream.

“Bee? Sad?” The piglin reached up to Tubbo’s cheeks.

"Not… sad, really. Just thinking." Tubbo explained. "Just missing someone a bit, that's all."

“Tommy?” Ranboo mouthed from the other side of the room, and he nodded.

“Dun’ be sad, Bee,” Michael demanded.

Tubbo huffed a small laugh, smiling. "I'm not, I promise. But you know, it's a good thing to let yourself be sad sometimes. It might not feel great in the moment, but it'll help you feel better later on." 

He wouldn't let Michael grow up suppressing his emotions and never expressing how he felt. Honestly, that's probably where most of the problems on the server would arise, with people bottling shit up until it erupted and got everyone caught in the crossfire, or fizzle out and leave the one upset unable to feel anything at all.

It was one of the things he could admire about Tommy, sure, he caused trouble sometimes, but he would speak with his heart. Even if that would make him a bit difficult to understand at times.

Michael nodded. “Okay! Be sad.”

“That’s not-” He erupted into laughter. “That’s not what I meant, you silly chicken.”

Michael beamed at him and put his little hooves up to his father’s face, shouting, “happy!”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” He put a hand on Michael’s head.

All too suddenly, he got a ping on his communicator, disrupting the domestic moment. He was frustrated, for a second, until he read it. 

TommyInnit whispers to you: hey are you busy

You whisper to TommyInnit: not really, why? Is everything okay?

TommyInnit whispers to you: yeah yeah i just wanted to tell you somethingcause wulbut said i should

Now that was an opportunity if Tubbo had ever seen one.

You whisper to TommyInnit: want to come ovr to talk about it?

TommyInnit whispers to you: you sure??? you prob have muchael and ranboo to look after n shit

You whisper to TommyInnit: we have time, ranboo can watch Michael if you're rlly worried about that

There was a moment of typing, where the dots went off and on, before Tommy answered.

TommyInnit whispers to you: its ok idm if ranboo is around but i dont want michal to hear

Oh, so it was something serious then, that or Tommy was being conscious about his swearing habit, but Tubbo highly doubted that.

You whisper to TommyInnit: alright, we can have him take a nap, or talk outside

TommyInnit whispers to you: ok. Coming over then

You whisper to TommyInnit: K, see you soon

With that, he put his communicator back in his pocket and turned to Ranboo. "Tommy's coming over, he said he had something to talk about."

Ranboo turned, wide-eyed. But instead of anxiety, it was happiness, echoing Tubbo’s own. “Tommy’s coming? Really?”

“Unca Tommy!” Michael babbled, echoing his parents’ excitement.

Tubbo gave him a small, apologetic frown. "Sorry, Michael, you're gonna have to sit this one out. We have grown-up things we need to talk about." 

“Nooooo,” the piglin whined. “But unca!”

"If I can get him to stay a while, you can see him after your nap, alright?"

Michael puffed out his cheeks. “No nap! Unca!”

Ranboo huffed softly and stepped in, picking the toddler up gently. “If you pinkie promise to take a nap with your chicken, I’ll give you a golden carrot before bed, okay? How’s that sound?”

Prime, Ranboo must have been born with a magic power of talking to children, because immediately, the brewing tantrum was averted, and Michael was kicking his legs in delight. “‘Kay! Carrot!”

"Thanks, Ranboo." Tubbo smiled. "Do you think we should put something together? Like food, or- or tea? I haven't seen him in so long, I don't even know what he likes anymore."

“I’d say go with what you know. You said he likes gapples, right? I have plenty, go ahead and slice them up while I get Michael all ready for bed,” he advised.

Tubbo nodded, heading to the kitchen. "Right, yeah, that works."

Fuck, it had been so long he was panicking. He'd started forgetting the things Tommy liked. Ranboo was remembering more than him!

“Bee, it’ll be fine. You two are friends. Whatever happens, it’ll work itself out, yeah?” Ranboo called out.

Tubbo took a deep breath, trying to calm himself out as he got one of the golden apples and started preparing it. It seemed like such a small meal, honestly, he'd been with Ranboo and Michael for so long, not doing something a bit more substantial just felt out of place. Then again, he had no clue how long Tommy would be around for and the few times he'd seen the blond in passing, he never looked well. He might not even be able to keep a full meal down at this point. So, Tubbo supposed he'd just have to settle for something small and tempting.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he forgot why he was doing all of this, getting startled by the light knock at the door. Which was a bit odd, considering Tommy had a tendency to make himself pretty loud, especially in Tubbo's presence after the disaster that was the festival. 

He quickly made his way to the front door, throwing it open and pulling Tommy into a tight hug, not missing the way the other boy flinched. "Tommy! Fuck, man, it's been too long, how've you been?"

Tommy hugged back, a bit too hesitantly for Tubbo’s liking. “Hey. It’s been okay. Hotel and shit, y’know. You’ve been okay too, right?”

"Yeah, we've been good, just… here, I guess. Not really much to do when it snows all the time." Tubbo pulled away and shrugged. "Speaking of which, you should get inside, it's cold as hell out there."

The blonde followed him inside, seeming to notice the golden apples on the table with a small smile. “Well, you’ve got a kid, yeah? Michael? How’s he been?”

"He's been good, Ranboo is trying to get him to take a nap right now, but they should be down any minute. Has Wilbur been… good? I heard he's back, but I haven't gotten the chance to see him." That was partly true, it was more so the fact that Tubbo had been avoiding him like the plague.

“Oh, yeah, that was, uh, partly what I was going to talk about.” Tommy sat down. “I kind of want to wait until Ranboo’s down. They’re a fuckin’ loser sometimes. But… they were also there for exile, so I feel like they should know.”

“Well, that’s rude,” Ranboo quipped from the ladder, a small smile on their face. Tommy looked up with a small, nervous grin and waved. 

“Hey, Ranboob. ‘Bout time you joined the party.”

"Uh, hi Tommy." They smiled. "It's been a while, have you been doing okay?"

“Funny, your husband asked the same thing,” Tommy pointed out. “Answer’s the same. I’ve been okay. Just talking with Wilbur, and… Well… Uh, okay, how do I say this… He told me I should probably share something with you, ‘cause you’d want to hear it from me. So here I am.”

"Oh?" Ranboo tilted his head, curious and birdlike. Tubbo's pretty sure they picked it up from Phil. "What's up?"

Tommy seemed to realize the resemblance too, but he looked away instead, looking just a bit bitter. It would be unnoticable if Tubbo hadn’t known him so long.

“So… you know the prison, right? How I’ve been visiting so much? It’s not just ‘cause I enjoy Dream’s company.”

A bit of annoyance sparked within the goat hybrid. He said it so casually, and the just really put him off. Tubbo would not be jealous of Dream, that was totally unfair. Dream was a dick! He killed the blonde multiple times! Gods, how could he stand to be around him at all? He was acting like…

Like Dream didn’t deserve to be in prison at all.

But surely not, right? Surely not. Tommy hated Dream as much as anyone. He’d never even think about that! But then, why would he be visiting so often? What kind of news would he have to give, if not that he was planning a breakout?

"Yeah… why? What's he gotta do with this?" Tubbo asked suspiciously.

“ Fuck , how am I supposed to- shit. Okay. Okay. So, um… I- when he killed me- after he killed me, I was pissed, right? Pissed and- and really scared, if I’m honest. The power to bring people was legitimate, and you know, he has a lot of power. Way too much for one person. Even without it, I’ll be honest…” He laughed nervously. “I don’t think he can stay in prison for too long.”

Tubbo leaned in closer, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean? You're not, like, plotting something, are you?"

“Plotting-” Tommy’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “ No . No, no, never. Not ever . I don’t ever want that bastard released from those fucking prison walls.” It was said with such vitriol and fear that Tubbo was taken aback. Wasn’t he just saying Dream would be released? Didn’t he visit every day?

"Then why are you going there all the time?!" Tubbo wasn't really snapping, he was just… loudly confused.

"Yeah, I don't really get it either." Ranboo chimed in, far softer.

“That’s the thing. He’s been- he’s been making me. I guess I could stop, technically, but if he ever got out, he promised me he’d kill me again for every week that I missed. And Limbo was fucking awful , Tubbo. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And if I don’t go, if he gets out, I’d have to die over and over and over , and I can’t deal with that. I just… can’t.” His voice broke.

Tubbo shared a quick look with Ranboo, before turning back to Tommy. "Well, what happens when you visit him? I can't imagine it's just a bit of small talk."

“If I’m lucky, that’s most of it. If I’m not…” He moved to take off his left glove, revealing a sickeningly new, deep scab on his palm in the shape of a smile. Before Tubbo or Ranboo could speak, he explained, “I broke his mask, right before he killed me, and the edges are sharp. He has me bring a piece in every time so either he can hurt me with it or I can hurt myself. And if I don’t, I’ll die. Sooner or later, he’ll get out, and I’ll die.”

Ranboo looked stricken, but he was still able to manage more words than Tubbo. "That's- how bad does it get? If you don't mind saying, that is. I completely understand if you aren't ready, or don't want to."

“No, no, it’s okay. That’s why Wil wanted me to talk to you. He found out. He, uh, came while I was changing the bandages, and figured it out.” Tommy heaved a heavy sigh. “But to show you, you’ve gotta know one other thing, too. It’s not just- just lines, or whatever. It’s whatever bad things people have said to me. So I need you to promise not to feel guilty and shit, because I know you’d never say anything like that seriously.”

That… was not at all what Tubbo was expecting to hear, but after another shared look with Ranboo, they both nodded quickly. "Oh, yeah, of course not. We, uhm, we promise."

Tommy took off his blue cardigan, and Tubbo almost threw up at the horrific words scrawled so closely all over his arms that there was barely even unmarked space left on it. “Here. It’s not all of it, but it’s all I want to show.”

"Holy fuck, Tommy…" Tubbo gaped, it was horrible, he couldn't even begin to imagine what it had to have felt alike. Sure, he had scars, horrible ones, but it all happened at once. This was something repeated, over and over again. 

"He did all this?" Ranboo asked, ears low. They looked sad, but Tubbo could tell by how close they pinned to his skull that he was pissed.

“I wrote a lot of them,” Tommy confessed. “Mostly because he wanted me to do it. Something about taking accountability.”

Tubbo let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "And he's not fucking dead yet? How many people know?"

He wasn't upset at Tommy for not telling them, that was the farthest thing from his mind. But Tommy had died in the prison. He was killed by Dream, and yet, he was visiting the man constantly ! Tubbo didn't like it, of course not, but had he figured that there was plenty of moderation going on during those visits, and now he found out about this?

“Dream, Wilbur, Jack, Niki, and now you two. You’re the first ones I’ve told willingly.”

"Alright, the first two I understand, Dream for obvious reason, and Wilbur because, well, it's Wilbur. But how the fuck did Niki and Jack figure it out?" Tubbo wasn't going to say it out loud, out of fear of potentially hurting Tommy, but… Jack and Niki were suspicious at best. There was a reason he hadn't been testing the nukes further.

a

“I was working on the hotel and almost got heat stroke, so Jack forced my cardigan off and then immediately snitched to Niki,” Tommy explained, looking mildly bitter.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Ranboo's frown deepened, his tail twitching.

"And what have they been like since?" Tubbo questioned. "From what I've seen, they've both been pretty standoffish lately. Or at least Jack has, I haven't noticed Niki around all that much."

Tommy’s fingers tapped on the table, and he reached out to take a slice of golden apple with a glance for permission at Tubbo, as if the goat hybrid hadn’t specifically put them out to have Tommy eat. “They were oddly nice about it. Jack stopped trying to kill me and Niki stayed a few nights at my place to help clean up and shit.”

Tubbo held up his hands. "Woah, woah, woah, back up there a minute. Jack was trying to what?"

With a mouth half-full, the blonde answered, “kill me? Dude, he tried to drop like, ten anvils on my head.”

"What the hell, man! And you didn't think to fucking mention that to anyone?!"

“Well, it’s been happening since before I died. Not much anyone can do about it.” He shrugged. 

Tubbo was baffled, what? Did Tommy think that they'd all just do nothing? "There quite literally is! The prison is there for a reason! That's attempted fucking murder!"

“Exactly, it’s only attempted murder! If people went to jail for that, the prison would be full. You and I would both be in there.”

"Oh, please, we've pretty much only tried to kill Dream! And he's clearly fucking deserved it!"

Ranboo tapped him on the shoulder. "Actually, we did sort of try to kill Techno once, too."

“And I killed Jack once,” Tommy added. “Fair’s fair.”

"But this is your last life, Tommy!" Tubbo argued. "Yeah, losing one sucks, but there's a difference between one or two and trying to literally take someone out of fucking existance!"

“But I can understand it.” He snorted. “I’m sure plenty of people want me gone.”

"I don't!" Was he really that bad at showing it? "What, do need me to- to shower you in gifts? In riches? Just to prove it? Because I will! I mean, you see that mansion out there, right?! I have more than enough! Hell, when it's done, I'll make sure you have your own room- more than just a room, you can take half the thing if you want!"

And all the while, through his rant, Ranboo just hummed, nodding along to every word.

Tommy flushed, then ducked his head. “You have your perfect life,” he mumbled. “A country, a house, a husband, a kid. It’s fine if I’m not in it. I’m okay with that.”

Oh. Oh, no. Just like Tubbo had been jealous of Dream for taking up so much of Tommy’s time, it must have been just as bad on the other end, especially considering the time he’d gotten married. But why hadn’t the blonde said anything about it?! He was always loud about his feelings!

Or maybe, you just don’t know him anymore, a cruel part of his mind pointed out. He didn’t trust you enough to tell you on his own. You didn’t even remember his favorite food.

"Tommy, I-" Tubbo sighed, leaning forward so far his head hit the table. "I'm sorry. I haven't really been the best friend lately, have I? I mean, I know it's been rough for you, and I've been busy with… all this, but I haven't been putting in much effort. And I understand why you wouldn't want to either, between exile and, well, this." He gestured loosely at Tommy's arms.

Tommy shook his head, determination sparking in his eyes. “No. Fuck you, don’t be sorry.  It’s not your fault that I’m like this.”

"Maybe not, but I certainly didn't help prevent it either!"

“It’s not," the human repeated, more firmly. It seemed his stubbornness hadn’t gone away. “I didn’t tell you because I was blackmailed and because this is embarrassing. It’s not that I don’t trust you with my life , it’s that I’ve been fucked up lately and I don’t even know who I can trust and if it’s worth pulling anyone else into it. Sure, Wil was the one to tell me to tell you, but I didn’t even want him to know!”

Tubbo almost snapped again, to return the energy. But instead, he stopped himself, taking a deep breath and mentally counting down. "That's… fine. It's alright, that you don't blame me for any of it, but as much as you don't, I still see my part in what got you here, and I want to be able to play my part to help you out of it, and make amends. I know it's selfish, but it would help give me closure."

“How would you do that?” Tommy’s brows furrowed. “There’s nothing to- to do. It’s not like you can just fix my fucked-up brain.”

"But there are things I can do to help." Tubbo replied. "Things that can help make you happier, or more comfortable. I wanna help you, Tommy, so whatever you think will do that, just tell me."

“There’s nothing that can help,” he huffed humorlessly. “Sam’s not gonna let anyone kill Dream, and when he gets out, I’m fucked, because Wilbur took away every sharp thing I own.”

Tubbo huffed. "Good on him. Sorry, not sorry man, but that shit’s really unhealthy and I'm glad he had the balls to do it."

"And, you know," Ranboo started. "If you're really worried about it, you can just stay here. Hardly anyone on the server knows about it, and the nukes aren't just for show."

“Are you sure? Michael-” Tommy started.

"Will be fine. Trust me, you think Tubbo doesn't slip up from time to time and say a swear or two?"

“I know, I know, but you guys need to pay attention to him, and I’m no good with kids.”

"You don't have to be, we're not asking you to watch him. Honestly, over half the things we already do is with him strapped to one of our backs. We might ask you to hold him from time to time, but that's about it, and he doesn't even need that much anymore." Tubbo told him.

Tommy seemed to be wavering, teetering on the edge of being persuaded. “And you’re absolutely positive?”

Tubbo nodded enthusiastically. "Of course man! There's- Look, we have plenty of room. If you want, we can set up a room for you, or make you a cabin to stay in if you would like more personal space. I mean, once the mansion is done, that'll be the entire place. Just personal space everywhere, you know?"

A long, heavy sigh, and Tommy looked up.

“I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

Sam was a patient man. Perhaps it was his creeper heritage, the instinct to lay in wait for hours before taking down their prey. It was hard to get him truly pissed, especially considering the fact that his rather… explosive temper had caused him to mellow down and force himself to learn how to stay entirely calm.

So no, Sam wasn’t mad. It would take far, far more for him to get truly upset. But that didn’t mean three people doubting the safety of his life’s work didn’t grate on his nerves a bit.

“For the last time, I’m not letting you kill Dream,” he told Jack, with all the patience of a goddamn saint. “The prison can keep him secure without the need for violence.”

Jack scoffed. "Tell that to Tommy, I'm sure he'd disagree."

“Tommy has been visiting regularly. He’s proof that the system works. He’s been making amends, and, likewise, Dream has been far more docile lately. Not enough to let him free, not yet, but both of their behavior has been good.” Sam crossed his arms. He was rather surprised that Wilbur didn’t step in, seeing as Nook had mentioned that the man had been requesting updates on Tommy’s status. Sam had been too busy to review information he already knew, but apparently, Wilbur couldn’t see that the boy was clearly fine.

"Has he? Has he really? Because I haven't seen a single improvement with him, in fact, I think he's gotten far fucking worse! I would ask if you keep tabs on what the fuck goes on between them, but it's pretty obvious you don't!"

Another twinge of annoyance. Sam pushed it down. “Jack, there is no possible way Tommy could get hurt within the confines of that cell, not with the bars separating them. I check his inventory every single time, there and back. And if he was in any emotional distress, he wouldn’t come back. You hate Dream. You’ve hated him for a long time. But stop dragging Tommy into it.”

“No possible way?” Wilbur repeated, a bit of snap to his tone. “I would have expected a warden to be more attentive.”

“What are you implying?” Sam’s eyes narrowed.

"Dream's been hurting him." Niki said coldly. "And getting him to hurt himself, too. I would know, after having to tend to the wounds myself."

“There’s absolutely no way! Unless Dream’s been bruising him in subtle ways, nothing can get in or out. I check inventory every time, and there are multiple, multiple ore detectors in the security measures. And even if so, why would he come back?!”

"Because he's fucking scared, man! Dream's already killed him once, while inside the prison, and given the fact that you're doing such a shit job at protocol right now, I don't blame him for thinking Dream's going to find some way to break out!" Jack snapped.

"Not to mention," Niki chimed in again. "Tommy wasn't even taking a proper weapon. It's a piece of Dream's mask, you never noticed it, because it's not in his inventory! He's been wearing it like some fucked up necklace!"

Oh, that was fucked up. That was fucked up to even say. What did they know, about Tommy’s death? About the way the heavily bleeding body had drawn its last breaths in Sam’s very arms? About how Sam still dreamt of it every other night, how Fran had to wake him up and let him cry in utter guilt and despair?

Sam was a patient man, sure, but he had limits.

“I cleaned up every shard of that mask the moment I realized he was dead.” A hiss underlaid his tone, despite how desperately he tried to push the anger and pain away. “ I was the one who discovered the body and tried hard not to let him die. Are you seriously lying to my face with such an awful topic?”

"You think we'd lie about this shit?! You want proof, just check your damn cameras!" Jack spat right back.

He hardly ever checked the camaras, and never with Tommy. The boy needed his privacy, especially with something as sensitive as making amends with his murderer.

( And part of Sam just didn’t want to see a bleeding body on the red-tinted screens, laying so, so still. )

But perhaps this was the chance he needed to prove that it was going well. That the system was working. 

“Fine. One of you can come with me to check the cameras, but I’ll need you to consent to the same security measures,” Sam said stiffly. “ One of you. That’s all.”

The three of them shared a look, like some sort of mental debate before Wilbur stepped forward. "I'll go, I've been wanting a chance to see the bastard for a while now."

“If there’s no evidence to back up your claim, you won’t be seeing him at all. But fine. Come with me.”

"Oh trust me, there'll be plenty." Wilbur said, a bit snide as he started forward into the prison.

The security measures were long and tedious, especially because Wilbur wasn’t familiar with the procedure. What took ten minutes tops with Tommy took almost thirty with the brunette, especially for going into the camera room. But sure enough, Wilbur didn’t try anything. 

Sam took him to the back and through all the records of the cameras. “He visits pretty often. Let’s take a random tape, just for unbiased data. We’ll look through at least five and if there’s no instance of your claims, we’ll be done. How does that sound?”

Wilbur nodded. "Sounds good to me, I guarantee there'll be something."

Sam raised an eyebrow, then picked a random tape and inserted it into the machine. The angle was poor, due to the need for it to be hidden, but it still showed Tommy and Dream, bars separating them. Sam turned the audio up.

Tommy came to a halt outside the cell, a nervous little smile on his face. “Hey, Dream.”

“Hi, Tommy. You’ve been coming around more lately, haven’t you? This is the fourth day in a row. You’re doing well.”

"Yeah, well, everyone's been saying a lot of shit, so I can't take all the credit." Tommy joked.

“Mmm, yeah? What’ve they been saying?” Dream leaned against the bars.

It seemed so casual, Sam could hardly believe that Wilbur was even insinuating that something was wrong. But then, of course, as if the gods themselves hated him, it went wrong.

Carefully, Tommy rolled up his sleeves, revealing bandage covered arms. He spoke as he slowly unwound them, revealing scar after scar. It was hard to make out with the grainy camera, but it looked like words. "Well, I got called a pest by Bad, that guy’s been real off since he found that weird egg thing, by the way."

Sam had to stifle a gasp, going pale. Oh, that was bad. That was really, really bad. How had he not noticed? How had he overlooked this?

“You already have that on there. It was your second word, remember? What else?”

"W- well, I also got called an egotistical liar."

“Might be too long. Let’s table that one for later.”

“I- I read a letter. From Niki. It was sent a while ago, but she called me inconsiderate?” Tommy tried, and Dream smiled.

“Perfect. That’s good, Tommy. That’s perfect. You have it with you?”

Tommy nodded, reaching under the neckline of his shirt to pull out a string attached to, what looked like an oddly shaped pendant. A stone maybe? It was rusty red with hints of white. "Yeah, 'course, I always do."

And as Tommy put it to his skin in the video, Sam realized with a horrible jolt that that wasn’t a stone. It was a shard of the mask, carried into the prison, just like Wilbur had said.

Sam was a patient man, yes, but his patience had limits. And as he slammed his hand down on the pause button, there was a faint, ever-increasing hiss in the air.

He turned to Wilbur, nearly shaking, and told him with barely-concealed fury, “we’re paying Dream a little visit.”

And Wilbur smiled, wide and a touch unhinged. "But of course. Lead the way, Warden."

—

“Wilbur hasn’t been answering my comm messages,” Tommy huffed to Tubbo. He was splayed out in the main room, totally relaxed. He still had his cardigan on, but the gloves and scarf were off. He’d shown his friends everything in the few days he’d been living here, but they weren’t his only company.

No, on his lap was a little zombie piglin, looking like Tommy himself had hung the stars. Michael seemed oddly enamored with him for no reason at all, when the blonde hadn’t even been allowed to hold Fundy. Then again, that was probably because he was pretty young, but still, he didn’t have a very good track record with kids. But for some reason, Ranboo and Tubbo just allowed theirs to pretty much hang off of him. It was surprisingly cute.

Tubbo hummed, shrugging. "I think he's just a bit busy. I talked to him recently, he told me about that whole project he's been working on to piss off Quackity."

Tommy frowned. “But he usually responds. I dunno, I’m just worried about him. That idiot gets himself into trouble all the time.”

“Idi’t!” Michael echoed.

The blonde couldn’t help but huff in amusement. “Yeah, you tell him, bud. That’ll show Wil.”

"Yeah, he is a bit of an as-" Tubbo's sentence was cut off by Ranboo loudly clearing his throat. "Jerk. He's a bit of a jerk sometimes."

“He’s completely inferior to me in every way other than height and age,” Tommy pointed out. It was nice to joke again, and even funnier when he had a child who had no idea what he was saying. “Frankly? Frankly, he should be running to respon-” A buzz, and the teenager immediately opened his communicator. “Ooh! He responded! Wait, what the fuck does that mean?”

WilburSoot whispers to you: I have some news for you. Jack and Niki are with me. Are you in Snowchester?

Hesitantly, he typed back a simple “yes.”

Michael decided to take the moment of silence to repeat the word he’d just heard. “Fuck!”

"Michael!" Ranboo scolded. "You can't say that, it's a grown up word, okay?"

“But Unca Tommy said fuck!”

Tommy couldn’t help a wheeze, tears pricking his eyes at the silent hilarity of the situation. Ranboo seemed flustered, Tubbo was in between horror and humor, and Tommy just found it hilarious .

“No, no, he’s right. I think he deserves to learn about the fuck word.”

"The f-" Ranboo made a strangled sound. "Tommy! You're encouraging him! Tubbo, help me out here."

Tubbo only raised his eyebrow. "Why? He's your kid."

"He's your kid too!"

“Tubbo has a point, though.” Tommy laughed, gently scooping Michael off his lap, who immediately started complaining. “Chill, big man. I just want to wait near the door for my brother.”

"Right, okay. Tell him he can come inside when he gets here. Or tell us if you leave too!"

Tommy nodded, then hurried to the entrance, right in time to come face-to-face with Wilbur, who enveloped him in a sudden hug. And though unexpected, it was rather nice.

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s going on, big man?” He glanced up to see Niki and Jack too, both looking so warm in the cold air of Snowchester.

“I just missed you,” Wilbur admitted, and Tommy almost melted at the admission.

 “You’re such a fucking sap, you know. What an ass,” he mumbled as he hugged back, just as tight.

"I'm both? I thought those were pretty opposite." Wilbur joked.

“Fuckhead.” He pulled away, though every motion was still affectionate. “Why are you all here? You said you had some news, right?”

"Yeah…" Wilbur said, suddenly seeming hesitant. "Me, Jack and Niki all talked to Sam today."

Tommy swallowed, glancing at Jack and Niki. “And… what’d he say? What happened?”

“We weren’t there for most of it,” Niki admitted. “Wilbur knows the most, Jack and I were just there to convince Sam.”

“And moral support,” Jack added. “Lots of moral support.”

“So we’ll check in with Tubbo and Ranboo and see if there’s anything we can do to help. Wilbur, do you think you can tell him?” Niki asked.

"Yeah." Wilbur nodded. "Yeah, I got it, you two go ahead, we'll catch up in a minute."

Tommy pressed a bit closer to Wilbur, giving a hesitant smile back at the two, and then asked the thousand-emerald question. “What happened?”

"Well, you can rest easy now, for the most part at least. Sam helped me see to it that Dream won't be an issue anymore." 

Tommy could hear the hesitation, the silent caveat. His heart dropped as he softly brought his suspicion into light. Because if he wasn’t an issue, not even for the future… There was only one option, wasn’t there. “You killed him.”

The nod he got in return caused both overwhelming relief and an odd sense of grief. Dream wasn’t his friend, of course not, but sometimes, it felt like the man really did care. Like the affection and the smiles he gave were real. 

But they never were, were they? Because Dream never, ever would have encouraged him to bring that shard to his skin if he were a true friend. Jack and Niki taught him that. Wilbur taught him that. 

A warm hand rubbed icy tears off his cheeks, sympathy written into the soft motion. Not pity. Never pity. That was the one good thing about Wilbur, that he never, ever gave out undue pity or sympathy. Still, it kind of felt like a slap to the face.

In the winter air, Tommy pulled his brother into another tight hug, mourning the loss of one friend and celebrating the gain of others all in one. Tears streaked down his cheeks, but he didn’t sob. 

Four words permeated the chill, followed by one. A simple exchange in the midst of all that happened. Tommy could have asked how they killed him, or what happened next, or whether therapy would ever be enough to heal the mental scars that came with all the words on his skin, but instead, he let his brother lead. He let the topic go, like a butterfly into the wild.

Four words, then one.

“How are you feeling?”

“Free.”