Runaways: A Dream SMP AU

5

October 19th

Pogtopia smelled like fire.

Fundy tried hard not to think about the things that smell reminded him of— blazing arrows fired mercilessly at him during the revolutionary war, the country detonated beneath his feet, and, worst of all, the L'Manburg flag burning at his own hand: ash and soot staining his fur, smoke clouding his lungs, and guilt and betrayal lodged in his heart.

Silently entering the ravine and climbing down several flights of slippery, railing-less staircases, Fundy reached the floor and took in his first real look at Pogtopia.

Dim lanterns lit the caves, their dull glow casting more shadows than light. Wooden bridges had been built across the upper parts of the ravine, and paths had been carved into the jagged rock face. Burning campfires warmed the air— that explained the scent of flames. But most notably, there was a feeling of cold emptiness filling the chasm, enough to make Fundy shiver despite the warmth of the fires.

It was like a haunted paradise.

Despite the despairing loneliness that hung thick in the air, Fundy could somehow sense it hadn't always been this way. He could imagine it alive with activity: Tommy stealing everyone's stuff, Wilbur chasing after him to get his things back, Technoblade closed off in a cave farming potatoes, Tubbo playing ukulele and laughing by a campfire.

Now it was a phantom of the past, ghosts clinging to the rough stone like cobwebs. All that lingered was cold, isolated misery.

Despair comes from a feeling of loss and tragedy so great, there's nothing left.

Fundy wondered what had been here before.

But whatever had happened, Fundy knew Tubbo couldn't be here. Happiness followed Tubbo like a lemming does its' leader. His smiling, sparkling presence didn't allow sadness to taint the air as it did here.

Well, Fundy had discovered what he needed to know. He started for the staircase as quickly and silently as possible. If he could get out of here without having to speak to Wilbur...

A hauntingly familiar voice from the shadows stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, if it isn't my little traitor."

***

October 20th

Trauma is more than a noun.

Trauma is an experience.

For Tommy, it was so many experiences.

Too many experiences.

He'd wanted to leave those behind.

But running away didn't change reality.

You couldn't escape memories.

A life that had seemed so bright, so hopeful and promising, was sinking into darkness.

Happiness was easy under the light of the sun. Tommy could work on his tower, help Tubbo build out the treehouse, listen to the discs. He could smile.

But with the eternal blackness of night draped across the sky, Tommy found only endless horror in his dreams. Dream's arrow puncturing his chest, over and over again. The L'Manburg flag, burning to ashes, Fundy's silhouette outlined in the flames of betrayal. Wilbur's voice, low and maniacal, whispering, "Let's be the bad guys." He woke up in a cold sweat every morning.

The only comfort he sustained was that Tubbo wasn't haunted by these nightmares. But that wasn't enough. Tommy had watched Tubbo collapse in the field. He knew his best friend was just as affected by the memories as Tommy was.

We can't move on, Tommy thought, lying in bed at night, staring at the treehouse ceiling. He didn't dare risk falling asleep. Why can't we move on?

"Tommy?" a quiet voice called from across the room. Tommy froze. "Tubbo?" he called back, equally quietly. "I can't sleep," Tubbo admitted. Tommy squinted through the darkness as Tubbo got out of bed and pushed his bed so close to Tommy's the mattresses were touching.

Tubbo slipped back under the covers, then reached out and took Tommy's hand under the blanket. In a moment's time, he'd fallen sound asleep. Tommy waited for the familiar irritated fondness at Tubbo's clinginess, but to his surprise, all he felt was... relieved?

And when Tommy slipped into slumber, his dreams were finally happy.

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I don't even know if this is angst or fluff anymore