Chapter Text
Oxygen isn't quite reaching his lungs. Breaths are coming in too quick, in a way that causes a sharp pain just under his ribcage. A stitch.
Tommy throws himself between trees, legs burning, pushing to go faster, even though his head feels too light. One thought plays in his mind on a loop, one terrifying, heart stopping thought - run.
Uneven ground makes him lose his footing, and he stumbles, scarred hands gripping bark in support. Splinters worm their way under his skin, but the sting barely registers when he's running again, eyes skirting the tree line for movement.
Thunder booms above and splits the sky in half.
It starts raining. His field of vision blurs as water, cold and harsh, needles his face.
The tree line breaks into open land, and Tommy doesn't have the time to turn back, so he launches himself across the fields, ground slippery from the rain. Mud cakes his sneakers and trousers, and his bare arms rise with goosebumps. He doesn't even know where he's running to.
Far. He's going to go so far no one will ever find him again, no one will ever know where he's gone or if he's alive.
One foot in front of the other, as fast as he can. He can see the trees in the distance again, covered in a thin layer of frost and snow.
Something causes his feet to stumble, and he goes crashing face-first into the mud. Wet dirt sticks to his face, and he wipes it with the back of his arm, smearing it around more than anything. He can barely see through wet hair plastered to his forehead, and the cold wind isn't helping.
He pushes off from the ground, every muscle aching in protest. He just has to get in between the trees; then maybe find a cave, and he'll be safe.
Safe is a relative term, but it's the most he can hope for.
He's just about to set foot into the snow, the cold already turning his nose red, when movement catches his eye, and despite himself, he falters.
Something is glinting in between the trees that wasn't there a second ago, something fast-approaching. Oh god.
He shouldn't have stopped. Because that's the tell-tale sign of someone in head-to-toe netherite armour.
"Tommy."
Tommy cannot hang around. He recognizes that voice, and the way it sends him into a panic, only has his feet moving faster.
"You know you can't outrun me." That voice, that's haunted him for years, that hurt him and loved him and everything in between.
Tommy's nine years old again, putting on stained armour as Wilbur hands him a sword so he can fight for his country.
"What's the point of running? Do you think you can outrun death?"
He sure as hell will try.
It's harder to navigate between thin birch trees, and the frosty ground almost makes him fall over, but he grits his teeth and keeps going, because the alternative is worse.
"Okay. You've had your fun." Something sharp presses to his stomach, and he barely stops himself from getting impaled in time. "That's enough now."
Tommy's eyes slowly rake up the glinting netherite, to land on that smiley face mask that he was certain was destroyed.
Dream.
"What do you want?" Tommy really tries to steel his voice, to square his shoulders and puff up his chest despite the fact that he's freezing now, but he still shakes. He feels weak.
"Oh, Tommy," Dream tuts in disapproval, pushing the tip of his sword against Tommy's sternum. "I want to be your friend."
Tommy blinks tears out of his eyes. "We are not friends."
Dream tilts his head, thick rain drops, almost snow but not quite, rolling off the mask. "Aren't we? That's very hurtful."
"You hurt me!"
"I'm only trying to help you be better. Don't you want to go back to your friends? You can't do that unless you can prove to me you've changed."
Tommy's eleven again, handing Dream his prized discs for his independence. "I hate you!"
The sword pushes deeper into his chest, and he feels his skin give in.
"Now, now." Dream steps closer, close enough that Tommy can almost feel his body heat. "That's not polite. You know what happens when you talk back."
Tommy shakes his head, panic swelling up in his throat now. He's been running for hours, and his breaths are still coming in unevenly.
He's not prepared for the fist that connects with his mouth. He's forced back, barely able to keep upright from the sheer force of it. Iron fills his mouth and he spits it onto the stark white snow.
"Say that you're sorry, Tommy." Dream taunts, circling him like prey.
Tommy shakes his head wordlessly, head still spinning.
Another blow to his stomach and he's forced to his knees, staccato breaths barely able to force air down his windpipe. He doubles over, blood dripping from his split lip. The snow seeps through his torn trousers quickly, but his hands are so cold he can't even register the snow as he curls his fingers into the ground.
The tip of Dream's sword rests innocently under Tommy's chin, forcing his head up to meet Dream's mask. "You still think you're the hero, don't you? You still think you can fight.”
Tommy grits his teeth. Every blood cell in his body hurts, limbs screaming at him to take a break. But he pushes up from the ground on shaky legs and tries his best not to sway where he stands.
Dream cocks his head in amusement, the white of his mask taunting in the dark. “What are you going to do, Tommy? Are you going to fight?”
Tommy doesn’t wait. He swings an arm in front of him with every ounce of strength he has. Every single time Dream has hurt him, every time he’s laughed and taunted and blown up his things, it all comes crashing into him and he’s blinded with pure rage.
Dream dodges with ease, but Tommy launches himself at the man again and again and again, swinging and yelling and screaming until his throat is raw.
Dream ducks under Tommy’s arm and lands a powerful blow to his back which sends him crashing face first into the snow with a groan.
He feels Dream press his sword between his shoulder blades.
“I could kill you, you know. I know you want to die.” Dream says it so calmly, so easily.
Tommy knows he must have seen the pillar he was going to jump off of.
“Everyone would be better off for it.” Dream muses as he rakes the sword up to his neck, playing with the long hair there. “Tubbo, Ranboo, Fundy… Do you think they want you there? Do you think they want you back?”
Tommy has to collect his breath to mutter a quiet. “Shut up.”
“The only difference between a hero and a villain is perspective, Tommy. And everyone thinks you are the villain.”
“You’re the villain, Dream.” Tommy spits and tries to push himself up with bleeding hands. “I’m going to kill you.”
He’s never spoken back to Dream this way, and from the way the sword freezes as it hovers over his right shoulder, for the first time in a while he feels true fear. Without warning the sword plunges into the giving flesh, tearing through muscle and hitting bone.
Tommy screams. The sound is raw as it tears through his ruined throat, hot tears stinging his frozen face.
“Tears? How pathetic.” Dream nudges Tommy’s side with his foot but Tommy can’t even think, the pain making him dizzy.
“See, that’s the thing, Tommy. The difference between a hero and a villain is that a hero has to win every time. A villain?” The smile is audible in Dream’s voice as the sword hovers over his left thigh. “A villain only has to win once.”
Tommy’s sure his leg has just been chopped off. He can’t move his toes, can barely see through the blinding pain. His breaths are coming in wild as he screams, clawing at the ground with bleeding fingernails to get away as Dream laughs above him, the sound rotten.
“You’ve put on so many masks, Tommy, but I see what you are.” Dream crouches in front of Tommy. “Nothing but a cockroach. The question is, what do others see? A monster? A weapon?”
Tommy’s sure he wants to say something but his mouth feels like molasses and he can’t string together thoughts. His vision is swimming.
“I could have made you perfect. We could have been great together, Tommy. If only you had listened.” Dream tuts in disapproval as if he didn’t have a sword pointed at Tommy’s throat again. “But see, I have little use for things that don’t listen to me.”
Tommy can’t keep his eyes open anymore, they’re too heavy. He doesn’t even feel the cold anymore.
The moment just before you die feels like this one. Tommy knows, because he’s died twice before. He knows the cool embrace, the darkness that swarms you, the emptiness that fills your heart.
This is his final life. His final moments on this god forsaken earth.
Even fate picks its favourites. Maybe dead is better. After all, what has life ever given him?
A father that killed his older brother and another brother that wants him dead. A broken family, a broken country, a broken heart. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe now that he’s gone Tubbo will forgive him, and Dream will let L’Manburg free.
Maybe all he has to do is die for the world to be better.
Maybe all he has to do is die and in the hush that follows the world will learn how to breathe again.