Make Me Behave Like An Animal

Tommy Has A Shitter Time 2

Thanks for reading, if anyone is. Go to my ao3 account for the full version sooner.

“So, to put it quite bluntly, you’re dead, you killed yourself in the Nether by starving yourself, and your final life was taken.” Dream divulged, to Tommy’s numb shock, like he was on an island seeing the shock but couldn’t touch it, like an ice cube in the sea. He knew Dream hadn’t stopped speaking, just a quick pause before he probably dropped an even bigger bombshell, hopefully explaining why the fuck he was a cat.

Tommy thought back to his last memories, which Tommy found -if he wracked his mind- were indeed from inside the Nether. He could remember the sweltering heat of that hellscape, with his hunger and fear, the wish to merely wait for the man he loved like a brother. And more than anything, the memory of Dream’s loving embrace hit him like the planes on 9/11. The memory was soured horribly by Tommy’s consideration on whether or not it was real.

Tommy writhed in Dream’s grip, some kind of survival instinct telling him to run away, to get away from the boy – his body in the coffin in front of him. Despite how he thrashed, Dream was stronger by far, with over 100 pounds on him in weight and the coordination of someone who’d had years to get used to their body.

Even Tommy knew it was hopeless as Dream’s hands slowly moved him into a dangly position with his toes flying about, he in an odd c-shape formed by his four legs. Tommy knew Dream could have moved so much faster, could have used so much more force, but he didn’t. He didn’t, and that hurt more than an axe to the face ever did.

“Calm down, Patches.” Dream demanded, his voice deeper and more authoritative than his previous cat speak had been. Tommy’s body fell limp (which Tommy assumed was some another cat instinct) and Dream began part 2 of his dramatic speech.

“So, you’re a cat now, I assume you’ve figured that out...?” Dream asked in a vaguely expectant tone.

Tommy nodded, as he did know he was a cat thank you very much. Sure, Tommy hadn’t been the brightest child ever, but it wasn’t like he had the perception skills of a melon. He didn’t know whether it was easier or harder to hide how much he was seething in cat form, but at the end of the day, Tommy decided it didn’t matter too much. Dream was, of course, the Admin of a server which implied some level of diplomatic skills, even if he could be a bit of a bastard sometimes.
“Okay, so... This is going to sound fake, but- I guess being a cat probably doesn’t sound too realistic anyway... Uh... Okay, I have a book.” Dream declared, holding up a book. The book looked like one you’d find in the end, with its’ falling out pages, yellow looking paper and the old galactic branded onto the cover.

Unlike most End Stronghold books, it smelt repugnant, like a cross between rotten flesh and totems of undying, which in Tommy’s mind were the two most different things any one person could smell at the same time, except if you were in a posh war where people actually had totems. Either way, Tommy wasn’t particularly fond of the book, and Dream hadn’t even explained what it was. Tommy assumed it was probably some book of curses or something, because he felt quite (fucking) cursed.

“The book, Patches, brings people back to life...” Declared Dream, in a voice that made it clear he knew what an insane thing he’d said.

Not quite a cursed book, then.

Tommy almost couldn’t believe what Dream was saying, but it sounded so tantalisingly truthful. Because there was no other explanation, if Dream was lying. How else would Tommy be dead but breathing? How else could he stare at his own dead body? So, in his head, Dream had to be truthful, because otherwise there was nothing.

Though, Tommy supposed, wasn’t that how a religion formed? Man giving a solution to the problem of no answers? To Tommy, it was like Prime. If Prime wasn’t real, there were no answers, and so no safety.