Work Text:
Tommy’s house had been quiet for some time during the war for L’Manberg’s independence. Now, with the fighting over, that seemed to have changed.
Dream paused on the Prime path as he heard a loud clanging sound echoing from within. Mining? He stepped off the path, footsteps silent as he approached the hobbit-like house. The ‘door’ was open, as always.
Sure enough, Tommy was hard at work, swinging a pickaxe into one of the walls. The place was a mess. One of the cobblestone walls was riddled with holes. Whether or not that was from Tommy’s doing was unclear. The kid was chipping away at a disjointed patch of granite embedded in another wall.
He had yet to take note of the new presence behind him. Dream watched him a moment longer, before finally making himself known.
“What happened here?”
Tommy jumped, smacking his head into the low block he was peering under. “Fuck—!” He whirled on Dream, brandishing the pickaxe.
Dream inclined his head.
“What the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me?” Rather than lower the makeshift weapon, his fingers tightened around it. “What are you doing in my house?”
“I thought I’d check up on you.” Dream lifted a lazy hand, two fingers nudging the pickaxe aside. He didn’t fail to notice the way Tommy tensed. “What’re you up to?”
“Big man shit. None of your business.”
“You’re renovating?” Dream stepped around him, ignoring the way the pickaxe twitched back up. The stone wall was broken away in some places, chunks of cobblestone scattered on the floor. “What’s the occasion?”
“People keep breaking in and fucking with my things.” Tommy scowled. “Someone replaced all my lovely cobblestone with nether shit and all that granite. Then a creeper came in and blew another wall up.”
“Well. It might help if you added a door.” Dream looked toward the gaping hole that made up the entrance.
Tommy elbowed past him to get to the damaged wall. “Fuck off,” he said as he slammed the pickaxe into the jagged rock. “That’s victim shaming, that is. You come in here, all ‘hmm, my name is Dream! I like going and bothering people about their houses! Even though I don’t even have one myself!’”
“I have a house. You just haven’t seen it.”
“I bet that’s what you tell everyone.” Tommy laughed, and it sounded a little breathless. He took another swing, and struck one of the cobblestone blocks instead. He swore.
Dream studied him more closely. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his blue eyes dull and a bit unfocused. As Tommy swung again, his attention caught on his right arm. The new angle let him see that the red of his upper sleeve was bleeding down onto the white covering his forearm. Literally.
“Hey, you’re hurt.”
Tommy froze as Dream grabbed his arm, pulling it out to the side so he could see. The teen yanked it away, eyes flashing.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Did the creeper get you?”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter!” He grimaced. “Please just fuck off.”
“You should at least cover it. You’re just asking for an infection.” Dream accessed his inventory, sorting through its contents until he settled on a certain bottle. “Sit down.” He pulled him over to a shabby little table in one of the corners.
“Hey!” Tommy dug his heels in.
“I’m helping.” Dream nudged him to sit, then gestured to his own arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Tommy shot him a sour look, but did as he was told.
Dream looked over the wound. It wasn’t too bad, stretching long on his arm, but not deep. Flying debris could easily have caused it, or simple carelessness.
He set the potion he’d found in his inventory on the table. Tommy’s eyes widened as they flickered to the warm pink color.
Health potions weren’t usually something to pull out unless a wound was serious. One had to be well off to use them for something as trivial as a nasty scrape.
“Do you have any clean cloth?”
Tommy’s gaze was still fixed on the potion. Huh. Maybe they had become even rarer for the L’Manbergians, war-torn as their base and supplies had become.
“There might be some in the middle chest.” Tommy made to get up, but Dream kept him down with a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll get it.”
He didn’t have much hope as he assessed the condition of the storage area on the back wall. The bottom chest had been blown off its hinges, some of its items still scattered around it. The middle chest was a bit singed, but as he pulled it out, he found its contents were intact. There wasn’t much inside—random bits and bobs, some of which had likely been stolen from other members of the server. Tommy did have a nasty habit of getting his paws on things that didn’t belong to him.
He pushed aside a pile of signs threatening his own demise in several different languages, and found what seemed to be clean scraps of fabric. Dream gathered them up. He went and pulled the other chair over to sit beside Tommy.
He held out his hand on the tabletop. Tommy’s eyes flickered from his open palm to his mask.
“Let me see.” Dream’s fingers curled, coaxing.
He saw the refusal on Tommy’s face. Then hesitation.
Slowly, Tommy laid his arm on the table, a few inches away from Dream’s hand.
A faint smile touched Dream’s lips. That was something.
He poured some of the health potion onto the cloth. Gently, he began dabbing it on the cut.
“How long have you been working?” His voice was quiet in the hush of the room.
“A few hours.” Tommy’s volume matched his own. The potion gave the faintest hiss as it came into contact with the cut. He winced, fingers giving a small twitch.
“You could have asked for help.” Dream swiped the cloth higher. The edge of it brushed over a scar that already marked Tommy’s arm. It was pink now where it had once run scarlet. A souvenir from the war. Dream remembered it well.
“I don’t need any help.” Tommy lifted his chin.
“Everyone needs help sometimes.”
“Not me. Not anymore.”
“Since when?” Dream asked, tone light and teasing.
“Since— always. Big men like me don’t need nothing from no one.”
“No one from L’Manberg offered?”
Tommy was an open book before him. The frown that flickered across his lips, the tic of a muscle in his jaw. Uncertainty read as clear as ink on paper.
“They’re just busy with their own shit.”
Dream hummed. He reached up, fingers catching the side of Tommy’s face. He gently tilted it into the light. His gaze traced over the dark circles beneath his eyes, the paleness of his skin.
“You look tired,” Dream said. “Has Wilbur been busy a lot?”
For a few fleeting seconds, Tommy just blinked at him, frozen. Then his face scrunched up into indignant anger. He shoved aside Dream’s hand.
“The fuck do you— He hasn’t— That’s none of your business!”
“Ok,” Dream said, hand falling back to his side. “It’s just, I find you here alone, blood pouring down your arm, and I can’t help but wonder how things have been going.”
“Fuck off,” Tommy elbowed him as he got back to his feet. “L’Manberg’s none of your fucking business. We’re independent now. And I’ve got shit to do.”
“If you let me help, it would go faster.”
“I don’t want you messing with my stuff. Now please kindly fuck off.”
Dream watched him for a moment, silent and still. Tommy ignored him, retrieving his pickaxe and going back to his messy wall. When he finally did glance back at him, that unease was closer to the surface than before.
Behind his mask, Dream’s lips twitched upwards. He rose to his feet. Took one step forward, and pretended not to notice Tommy taking a half step back.
“Don’t work yourself too hard, Tommy.”
He turned, and left the little hill home.
The low rumble of thunder rattled Tommy’s pounding heart. He pushed through dense undergrowth, twigs snapping and dead leaves crunching under his feet.
You weren’t supposed to make so much noise in the forest. Every wild creature out here knew that. It was the easiest way to attract a predator’s attention.
Tommy didn’t have time to pick his steps more carefully.
He hadn’t planned to run when he woke up that morning. The sea water had choked his lungs as he fought to get to the surface, the same routine he always woke to no matter where he curled up at night. The urge had first come then, sticking to him like the cloying sea salt as he’d crawled onto the beach. He’d finally given into it during mid-day, when he’d found himself out in the field, stones digging into his knees as he stared off into the forest.
The trees called, and he’d risen to his feet and run into their shade without thought.
Stupid.
He didn’t know what he was running towards. He just knew he had to get away.
The first drops of rain dipped the leaves above him. Tommy shivered as one dripped onto the back of his neck. The rain grew steadier, the dark clouds bringing about nighttime faster than the setting sun.
Every gust of wind sounded like the singing of a trident. Tommy held back a whimper—Prime, he was so pathetic—and pushed onwards.
He tripped over tangled roots, stumbling back to his feet as soon as he did. He desperately wished he could slow to scan the branches above for an apple, but he couldn’t stop. Not even for a second.
Far behind him, a twig snapped. Tommy’s breath seized in his chest.
Probably a bird or something. Squirrels and shit.
The rain picked up. He ran faster.
Pounding footsteps off to his right. They were there one second, and gone the next.
He ran into a tangle of low branches, fighting his way through even when their dozens of sharp little fingers tried to scratch at his eyes.
Lightning flashed. Its glare caught a figure watching from the brush.
Tommy clenched his teeth over a scream.
It wasn’t real. If it was real, he would already have been caught.
The ground sloped upwards. Tommy didn’t spare it a second thought as he struggled up the rough terrain, beaten boots scrabbling for purchase in the dampening soil.
He just had to get far enough, and then— and then—
Dead leaves crackled behind him. The trees chanted whispers in the wind, catching his nerves like cat’s claws.
Tommy ducked under a low branch blocking his way, throwing himself forward. The dirt gave way to slick mud. He slipped, yelping as the ground disappeared beneath his feet completely.
The world tumbled over. Tommy’s heart leapt into his stomach and then back into his chest as he fell. The ground reached up for him, cruel and hard. He twisted to meet it.
His right leg caught his weight first. Tommy felt something crack. He cried out.
He collapsed to the floor, rolling to his side to try to escape the blinding pain radiating up from his ankle. When he reached for it, he could hardly bear to touch it.
Tommy swallowed the bile creeping up his throat. He looked around, and found that he was at the foot of a small cliff. The nearest tree was several dozen feet away.
One miserable attempt, and he discovered he wouldn’t be able to stand without something to lean on. He clawed one hand forward, then the other. Dragging himself across the ground.
The crunch of footsteps behind him made him shudder. Netherite boots stepped in front of his face, forcing him to stop.
A tsk came from above him. “Now look what you’ve done.”
It took Tommy a moment to summon the courage to look up. He was met, as always, with the blank smile of the mask.
Dream shifted, circling to stand beside his broken leg. Tommy started to roll away, but one boot planted on the back of his other knee, pinning him in place.
The cool leather of gloved finger tips drew up his pant leg.
Tommy’s fingers squelched in the mud as they sought purchase. He was shaking too badly to make his arms more useful. Whether from the freezing rain or the fear, he wasn’t sure.
Dream prodded into the flesh surrounding the break. Tommy hissed.
A low, disapproving hum.
“Come on. Get up.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here on the ground, let the cold numb everything away. Sink deep into the wet dirt and forget.
A hand grabbed the back of his collar. It yanked him up to his knees.
Tommy flailed. Dream’s hands caught under his arms, hauling him up. The teen yelped as his hurt leg caught under him. His good knee buckled, and he would have crashed back to the ground if he wasn’t pulled against Dream.
“Le’me go,” he wheezed, forehead pressed into the damp fabric of his hoodie.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Dream muscled him into place at his side, Tommy’s bad leg between them. He began walking, and Tommy had no choice but to hobble with him.
“Wait— wait—”
He didn’t wait.
Tommy slipped, slamming his full weight into Dream by accident. There was a huff from beneath the mask. Low and impatient.
“Stop acting like a child.”
“I— I can’t,” Tommy panted. His head was swimming, the cold biting harder into his veins. “H-hurts.”
“And whose fault is that?” The hand on his shoulder clenched down.
“Fuck you.”
Dream let go.
With a startled cry, Tommy fell.
There was a tree right beside him. It was his only saving grace. His back crashed into it, left leg barely managing to brace beneath him. His right leg screamed in agony, but he refused to let himself fall to the ground again.
Glaring at the porcelain mask before him, he reached into his inventory with trembling fingers. He didn’t have much. Everything had been destroyed the day before.
A mirthless chuckle was Dream’s response to the stone sword that was lifted toward him.
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Tommy bared his teeth in a silent snarl. The words stung more than a reprimand.
“I’m not going back.”
“No?” Dream tilted his head. “What do you plan to do? All out here by yourself. With a broken leg and no supplies.” He took slow, measured steps forward as he spoke. A cat stalking an injured mouse.
“It’s still better than— than staying with you,” Tommy lifted the blade higher as he got within arms’ reach.
“Oh, Tommy…” Dream sighed. One hand drifted up, pinching the flat of the blade between two fingers. Tommy’s hand jerked on reflex, but it was useless. Dream pushed the blade to the side like it was nothing.
His hand slid down the flat of the sword to close around Tommy’s wrist. He leaned closer, and Tommy pressed back into the tree, breath freezing in his throat.
“Are you cold? You’re shaking like a leaf,” Dream murmured.
Tommy swallowed a whine. The grip around his wrist twisted, and the rough blade pressed beneath his own chin.
For a second, the tightness banded around his chest loosened. Tommy drew a softer breath in, eyes slipping shut.
Dream’s fingers dug into his wrist.
The sword clattered to the ground.
Tommy stared down at it, a deep pang of loss shuddering through him. Anything to avoid the permanent smile inches from his face.
Dream stepped back. He held out his hand.
To anyone else, it might have looked like an offer of help.
Tommy saw it for what it was. The order to heel.
He let himself lurch forward. Dead weight.
Dream caught him, like always.
His arm slung around Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy had to reciprocate, clinging to Dream like his life depended on it. (And it did.)
Tommy tried not to fall this time. He willed the pain and cold to blur together into incoherency. Dream was warm beside him as they moved. Tommy didn’t let himself lean into him any more than he had to.
Any mobs that dared to shuffle after them met the glint of a netherite axe. Through it all, Dream never let go of him once.
Tommy kept his eyes low. Partly to make sure he didn’t trip, and partly to avoid acknowledging the same landscape he had fought through passing by in reverse. When his eyes finally did flicker up, he could just make out a familiar shoreline in the distance. The pikes of Logstedshire stuck out like a jagged crown.
His foot caught in a patch of slick mud. Tommy lurched. Dream caught him at the last second, pulling him back upright. It happened again a few steps later. Tommy cringed as his injured leg caught the brunt of it.
Over the rain, he heard Dream’s soft hiss of frustration.
“I’m trying,” Tommy bit out. It was meant to sound sharp, but ended up more ragged and whiny than anything. His legs trembled with exhaustion.
The next time Tommy stumbled, he found himself being dragged forward anyway. He yelped, scrambling to get his foot under him again. Dream was moving too fast for him to get the chance. His injured leg bumped along the ground, sending jolt after jolt of agony through him.
“Dream! Stop!” Tommy begged for the second time that night, reaching to scrabble desperately at him. “Please!”
Dream stopped abruptly. Tommy was so dizzy from the pain, he hardly felt the arms that grabbed him around his middle. They hoisted him upwards. What little air was left in his lungs was knocked out as he landed over Dream’s shoulder.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Dream’s mutter was barely audible over the rain.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut.
Dream moved much faster now that Tommy wasn’t slowing him down. Every step hurt, but Tommy bit down his complaints. It was better than the alternative of being dragged.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Dream finally slowed. Tommy heard the rustle of fabric as the flap of the tent was pulled back. The rain cut out above their heads, muffled by worn canvas as Dream pushed into the dim torchlight.
With no warning, Tommy was pitched forward. He expected to land on the ground, but found himself dumped onto his bed instead.
Dream turned away. He walked back towards the open tent flap.
“Dream?” Tommy stared after him, nervous. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“But my leg— I can’t walk—”
The mask glanced back at him. “I’m sure you’ll figure things out. You seemed certain out there.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. He looked down at his ankle, trying to imagine how he would get food, or do anything. When he looked up again, Dream had disappeared out into the night.
“Wait!” His resolve crumbled into dust between his fingers. “Dream!”
The silence dragged on for an impossibly long moment. His heart dropped, certain the man was gone.
Then, a shadow loomed in the tent’s entrance.
Tommy stared up at the mask, breath coming in soft pants.
“Stay?” he trembled. “Please.”
“Why should I?”
“I…” Tommy swallowed. His pride burned his throat all the way down. He didn’t want to say it.
Of course, Dream was going to make him say it anyway.
“I need help,” Tommy said in one rush of breath.
The mask tilted slightly.
“Please help me.”
Dream was still for what felt like an hour. Tommy could feel the tension growing, like waiting for lightning to fork down and strike the tent.
As if reading his thoughts, Dream moved forward with the next flash of light. He didn’t stop until he reached the bed. Tommy stared up at him as he loomed over the teen.
His friend sat down beside him. One hand was placed in his lap, palm held open.
“Let’s see.”
It wasn’t a question. Letting out a shaky exhale, Tommy pulled his bad leg up. He gingerly set it in Dream’s lap. Just that simple movement hurt. His heart quickened as Dream took hold of the limb.
Like he had in the forest, Dream rolled up the cuff of Tommy’s pants. He prodded around the ugly swelling around his ankle. Tommy tried and failed to quiet a pained sound as he felt around the bone.
“Is it broken?” He asked meekly.
“Fractured. Not broken.” He grabbed Tommy’s shoe, loosening the laces. A hard yank, and it was wrenched free. Tommy bit the side of his palm.
Dream rose, leaving Tommy’s leg to slide off and nearly fall to the floor. The teen barely caught it in time.
There was a shuffling sound to his left. The clatter of wood from where Tommy kept a meager supply for the fire. A fire sounded nice. Tommy was vaguely aware of himself shaking, still soaked from the freezing rain.
The bed dipped. A hand snagged his shin, reclaiming it.
Dream had brought back a thin yet sturdy piece of wood. He held it even with the back of Tommy’s leg, then began wrapping it in place with bandages. “You won’t be going anywhere any time soon,” he muttered.
Tommy’s eyes lowered.
Dream tied the splint off, but did not release his limb. Tommy didn’t dare pull it back.
“Tell me why things went wrong.”
Tommy squirmed. “I…”
Dream’s hand curled just above his ankle. “Tell me.”
“Because…I…”
Fingers caught under his chin, pulling it up so he would meet Dream’s hidden gaze. “Say it clearly.”
“Because I ran away,” Tommy stumbled, heat prickling behind his eyes. It was just because of his ankle, he told himself. He tried to believe that.
“Why did you run?”
Tommy drew a shuddering breath. There was nothing he could say to make this right.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The grip tightened around his leg. Tommy swore he could feel his bones grinding together.
“I-I just,” Tommy panted through the pain. “I couldn’t take it anymore, being out here, without anything or-or anyone.”
“I haven’t been enough?” His voice was neutral, but the weight of the words pressed on Tommy’s chest like an anvil.
“No, that’s not what I—”
Dream finally let go of him. He rose to his feet, beginning to pace. “I’ve been trying, Tommy. I’ve given you food, and shelter, and stayed out here with you, even when it hasn’t been convenient.”
“Dream, I—”
“I’ve tried my very best to be patient while you’ve moaned and groaned about L’Manberg, and all the people there who have never even bothered to visit you.”
That deep, familiar pang sank into his chest at the mention of his former home. Tommy’s mouth searched for words he couldn’t find.
“All that time we’ve spent together, and you run away and pull a sword on me when I’ve just been trying to help you.”
“Dream, please!” Tommy stared up at him, wide-eyed. He cringed as he realized he had interrupted him.
But the masked man had stopped to watch him, waiting.
“You…you have been enough, Dream.” His voice was weak in his throat. He bowed his head. “I just…I was being stupid. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
The patter of the rain was the only sound in the tent. Tommy didn’t hear Dream move until he was standing beside him. A heavy hand landed on his wet curls. Tommy gave a small flinch.
“I want to trust that you are. But it’s going to take a while before I can trust you again.”
Tommy swallowed. Dream had yet to tell him what his punishment would be. He didn’t like to be asked, though.
They stayed like that for a few moments. Dream’s hand felt warm against the chill of his wet hair. Despite his fear, Tommy found himself leaning into the touch. He missed it the moment Dream took his hand away.
The older man turned, going to the chest nestled against one of the tent walls. He rustled through its scarce contents, before throwing something at Tommy.
Tommy startled, only to discover it was a bundle of fabric. His only other set of clothes.
“Get cleaned up, you’re a wreck.”
Moving was the last thing Tommy wanted to do, but he didn’t dare disobey.
He fumbled with pulling off his shirt, shaky hands and wet fabric making him clumsy. If changing his shirt was difficult, the pants were near impossible. He saw stars burst before him a few times when he shifted around his ankle.
Dream paid his struggle no mind. Tommy noticed him swapping out his damp hoodie for a fresh one from his inventory. The inside of it looked fuzzy.
Tommy finally sat down again, exhausted just from the simple act of standing. He yelped as something was dropped over his head, blinding him. It was…soft? A towel.
Tommy reached up for it, but a different pair of hands beat him to it. They began to ruffle the towel over his hair, drying it. It made his throat close up in a weird way.
Dream didn’t have to come after him, or bring him back. He didn’t have to bind his ankle and dry his hair.
He didn’t have to do a lot of things, and yet here he was, helping Tommy.
Dream pulled the towel away, leaving Tommy blinking in the soft torchlight.
“Get in bed.” He rolled back the thin blankets. Tommy crawled beneath them, gingerly setting down his injured foot. He wished he had something for the pain.
His head had just touched the pillow when it was pulled out from beneath him. Tommy silently mourned its loss. The thing wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but it was better than nothing.
Still. If little acts like this were how Dream would have him serve his time for running, he’d happily take it.
“Lift your foot.”
He blinked, and Dream was by the bottom of the bed. Tommy reluctantly obeyed. Dream slipped the pillow beneath his foot.
“Keep that elevated.”
“Ok.”
He fully expected Dream to leave at that point. The thought sent a pang of sadness and anxiety through him, despite the way his heart hadn’t settled the entire time spent in the man’s presence.
Dream didn’t turn and leave. Instead, he came closer.
“Move over.”
Tommy stared at him. “Huh?”
“Move.” The irritation in Dream’s voice spurred him into action. He scrambled over on the bed, reaching down and awkwardly shuffling the pillow with him.
He gaped as Dream climbed up beside him. Rather than lay down, he sat back against the rickety headboard.
He was…staying? Because of the storm, or because of Tommy?
There was a rustle of paper above him. Dream pulled a book out, flipping through the pages to find his spot. Tommy couldn’t make out the worn cover, and found he didn’t really care.
The bed wasn’t all that big to begin with. With them both smushed in, it was close quarters. Tommy curled an arm under his head to act as a pillow, and ended up pretty much elbowing Dream in the butt. He probably would have laughed at that, a long time ago.
He tried to squirm into a comfortable position, all too aware of every tiny movement. Anything could set Dream off, especially if he was already angry. Trapped against the tent’s wall, Tommy had nowhere to go if he did.
He was in the midst of another calculated shift when a hand landed in the middle of his chest. Tommy froze.
“Here.” Dream patted his own leg.
Tommy peeked up at him. Did he mean…?
Dream’s fingers closed around a lock of his hair, giving a decisive tug.
Tommy lifted up his head, and tentatively laid it in Dream’s lap.
Every muscle in his body was tensed, half expecting to be struck. He’d managed to keep a bit of personal space before, but now he was basically snuggled up to Dream. Tommy’s body was already greedily leeching at any body heat it could steal.
He twitched as a hand rested on his head. Dream didn’t comment. Idly, his fingers began to run through his tangled curls. Gentle.
Tommy was melting into the touch before he even realized it.
You shouldn’t, a small voice reminded in the back of his mind. He should be ready for that touch to turn bruising at any second. You owe him.
The rest of his brain was too busy lapping up every ounce of warmth, every soft touch.
Tommy closed his eyes, trying to tune out the nervous voice. Shame was its company as he tried to absorb all of this while he could. Maybe it would ward off the itch beneath his skin for the next few days, the bone-deep longing for human contact.
Dream’s fingers tilted, slowly circling his ear. Blunt nails scritched into Tommy’s scalp, and he instinctively leaned into it, a little sigh escaping him.
A quiet chuckle above him. “Good boy.”
The drowsiness blanketing his mind almost let the words slip by. But then they snagged on the last bit of consciousness, and dragged him back to the surface with white hot shame and anger.
He tried to lift his head, pull away from the suddenly stifling touch. Dream’s hand stopped him.
“Stay.”
Tommy grit his teeth. He wanted to scream. Shove Dream away, claw and strike at him like the animal he was being treated as. Run from this cage until his body gave out.
He almost pulled back. But then his ankle twinged sharply, and another tremble ran through his body.
Tommy’s eyes closed over burning tears. He lowered his head.
Dream’s hand resumed petting through his hair.
“Dream?”
“Hm?”
“Am I going to be punished?” He might as well be stabbing himself in the foot. Tommy wasn’t even sure why he asked. Maybe part of him was hoping it would piss Dream off badly enough that he’d move straight to getting it over with.
“Tommy…” A sigh. “You already know the answer.”
Tommy made a small sound that might have been an affirmative or a whimper.
Dream’s fingers twisted around one of his curls, tugging on it lightly. “I’ll decide what it’ll be later.”
If that was meant to be comforting, it fell flat. Another coil of dread added to the tangled knot in Tommy’s stomach. He didn’t want to contemplate what it would be. If he did, he was probably going to throw up the meager contents of his stomach right here and now.
He stared dully across the tent, trying to silence his thoughts. Pain drifted up his leg, a constant reminder of his failure.
Dream was warm beside him. His hand still rested on his head. As Tommy blinked back more tears, his fingers slid low enough to cover one of his eyes. Tommy let them slide shut again.
He stayed.