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.”)