Down with the King- Dream SMP

8- Tommy

WARNING: Language and some blood

The sun shone through, the light dancing across Tommy's eyelids and waking him. With a yawn, he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was in his old room, the one at the house where he grew up.

"Tommy!" Wilbur called from downstairs. "Dad made breakfast!"

"Coming!" Tommy called back, throwing back the blue covers and clambering out of bed. Rushing downstairs, he saw Philza standing at the stove frying hashbrowns in a skillet.

"Good morning, son," Philza smiled, giving his son a side hug as he expertly flipped the potatoes in the pan.

"Will you teach me how to do that?" he asked, looking up at his father.

"When you're older," Philza promised him. "I don't want you to burn your hand on the stove. Why don't you go join your brothers at the table?"

"Okay!" he grinned and ran to the table. Technoblade sat across from him, head buried in a book.

"Where's Wilbur?" Tommy asked him, his feet swinging back and forth under the table in anticipation.

"He went to the bathroom," Techno replied, still fixated on his book.

"Dad?" Wilbur called from the other room. Tommy over to see his brother pause at the door frame. "Dad, I don't feel so good..."

"Wilbur?" Tommy asked, worry in his voice. Wilbur stepped into the room, arms wrapped around his stomach. Looking at Tommy, he lowered his arms to reveal the dark red stain that slowly soaked through his shirt.

"WILBUR!" Tommy screamed as his surroundings melted away. A masked man in a green cloak appeared behind Wilbur; a bloody ax was in his hands and he was laughing as Tommy screamed for his brother-

He awoke with a gasp, his heart beating furiously as sweat dripped down his neck. Shaking from the dream, he let his head fall into his hands as he struggled to compose himself. For the past few nights, his dreams had been full of Wilbur and Dream, but that had been the first time he'd dreamt of his entire family in a while. They had been happy together, once upon a time.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to forget about the dream-turned-nightmare. When he opened them, he looked over to see Dream already sitting in his chair in front of his cell.

"WHAT THE FUCK MAN?" Tommy screeched, jumping up from his cot. "Were you just sitting there watching me sleep?! That's fucked up! Jesus Christ, my poor heart is beating a million miles a minute, you ASSHOLE! Fuck!"

As custom, his outburst had no effect on Dream's demeanor nor position. He simply sat there without moving a muscle. He still couldn't tell if the Dream sitting in front of him was real or not. The short conversation with the guard on his first day in prison had tormented him night and day. Was he truly hallucinating? The past events supported that. The second time Dream had come to visit, Tommy had immediately declared that he was going to take a massive piss, but Dream remained in the room. His bathroom theory was a bust. It was endlessly infuriating to be left in the dark, to not know what was reality and what was fantasy.

"Care to speak to me today?" he asked dryly. "Bitch."

Silence.

"You're not real," Tommy said, squeezing his eyes shut. "When I open my eyes, you'll be gone."

He waited one, two, three seconds before opening his eyes to see the man in green still sitting there, staring at him. He frowned, turning away from Dream. Tommy hadn't left the cell once during his stay at the king's castle, meaning he'd taken to using the cauldron in the corner as both a shower and drinking source. Bracing his hands on either side of the iron cauldron, he looked down at his reflection in the still water.

His blonde hair was in tangles and his face was still bruised black and blue from the assassination attempt. He looked more gaunt than before, perhaps as a result from his lack of sleep. He was, to put it simply, a mess.

"You know, I dreamed about Wilbur last night," Tommy said as he washed his face. "I was at home with my dad and brothers. He was making us breakfast."

The ghost of a smile danced on his lips as he recalled just how carefree he'd felt. How he'd felt warm and safe. How much he missed feeling like that.

"I think I was about eight in the dream. Wilbur was twelve, or thirteen, I can't remember. I wanted my dad to show me how to flip the hash browns without spilling them all over the counter.

"It was a really nice dream until you showed up."

Tommy looked up at Dream, his blue eyes shining.

"Why'd you do it, Dream? Why'd you kill Wilbur?"

The king remained silent, refusing to speak to him. Tommy laughed bitterly, drying his face with the hem of his shirt.

"I know you're never going to respond to me," he sighed, taking a seat on the floor across from Dream. "I still can't tell whether or not you're actually here. Who knows, maybe this is all one big fever dream that I'll wake up from any day now. I'll find myself back at home with my family and we'll all laugh as if none of this ever happened. Because it didn't."

He sighed, eyes focused on the ground where he lazily traced circles in the dust with his forefinger.

"I do know what it feels like to lose a family member, Tommy," Dream said, his voice like a knife cutting through the silence. Tommy's head jerked up as he stared at Dream in shock, but that shock quickly morphed into an expression of fury.

"After days and days of silence, you speak to me only to try and get me to throw you a fucking pity party?!" he exclaimed. "You're such an asshole! You murdered my brother! There is nothing, nothing, that has ever happened to you in a way that you could relate to me!"

Dream was silent, refusing to speak once more.

"Answer me goddamn it!" Tommy yelled, slamming his hands on the floor. "You son of a bitch! You can't just talk to me and then go dark! Explain yourself!"

Silence.

"I really am going to kill you," he growled at Dream. "I swear on my fucking life, I'll kill you. And I'm going to smile. I'm going to smile at you, Dream, just like you smiled at Wilbur right before you killed him. And I will savor each and every moment of your death and I'll be disappointed when the light leaves your eyes because you died too quickly."

"No, Tommy, you won't," Dream finally said, leaning forward in his chair. Tommy blinked, surprised that Dream had answered him, barely managing to keep his face a blank slate of emotion. "You are never leaving this cell. You will never see your friends again. You will stay here until the day you die, understand?"

"I understand that you're a son of a bitch!" he snarled at the king. "You think you're all high and mighty with these bars between us, but when I get my hands on you, you're going to wish you'd never been born- what the hell are you doing?"

Dream stood up so suddenly that his chair flew backwards. In the blink of an eye, he stood at the bars, hand grasping the front of Tommy's shirt and yanking him up, slamming his head into the cold iron.

He moaned in pain, blinking away the white spots that danced in his vision.

"I want you to listen to me, Tommy, and listen well," Dream said, his voice low. "You are alive because of me. I am the only reason you are breathing right now. Don't make me change my mind."

With that, Dream released his grip on Tommy's shirt, allowing him to slide to the floor. His head pounding in agony, he watched through bleary eyes as Dream left the room, leaving him alone yet again. There was no doubt in his mind now that this was real.

And somehow, that was scarier than not knowing.