Chapter Text
Tommy knew no one believed him.
It was unsurprising, as the townspeople were all fucking dumbasses.
They barely took him seriously, shifting his words and twisting them into some kind of laughable inside joke they would come around and giggle at. How humiliating. Having to hold his cry in front of these animals. Having these people sneer at him while not acknowledging what he'd been through. The choking feeling Tommy would always have on his throat whenever it happened, as he ducked his head in shame.
Despite that, Tommy shook away the thought, letting the irky rats run their little wheels in his mind for some time until they were eventually replaced with the new idea of taking down the place that caused him his life's worth of misery. That bakery.
Dream's bakery.
Oh, how everyone loved his freshly baked pastries and warm suppers. Leaving one's mouth practically drooling over the sweet, delicate taste as it savors down the throat, unknowingly giving away an awful picture right under their noses without their realization. Every hybrid that walked right into that hellhole won't make it alive. They wouldn't escape the urge of sweetness, churning their stomachs before eating them away.
The funniest thing about this whole scheme was no one ever guessed what was inside his food. How the owner of it could make a divine meal for such a small bite, holding in the consumer with strings reeling them deeper and deeper. Making sure they want more. One bite of that thing will leave the sensation of a need . The feeling of whispering fondness in fulfilled mouths seriously gagged the shit out of Tommy.
Even Tubbo liked Dream's shit.
He should've never shown him. Never. If going back to the past was an option, then Tommy would've prevented his best friend from stepping foot into that place. Though, that was impossible.
Tommy had a hard time convincing these hybrid dickheads since Dream was such a people pleaser. Compared to Tommy, he'd say the townsfolk would believe Dream rather than him. Tommy would say he was jealous, but he wasn't. Definitely not. That kind of 'power' was what he ached for the day after the incident , and talking to people nowadays was troubling. Yes, jealousy didn't fit the context, it was annoyance.
The incident… fuck.
That memory from his brain had been blocked out for a while. The boy never wanted to even remember. How unfortunate that his mind wasn't on his side as he could recall his scrambling legs running from the pink building, desperate eyes searching for safety, anything away from that monster. He tried telling them. Pleading and begging fell on deaf ears as they all turned their backs. Why couldn't they believe it? Why couldn't they believe him? That Dream was a liar and they had been eating their friends and nobody cared and he was going to come back to that freezing baseme—
He snapped his eyes open.
"I was doing it again." Tommy said to no one, lightly rubbing his face and scoffing heavily as he looked around his surroundings, with shoes touching a pathway leading to the main road. He controlled his breathing when he realized he was hyperventilating. There were barely any people here, and the atmosphere in this part of the town was sickening to many, yet Tommy found his comfort in it.
The main part of the town was too noisy and too perfect for Dream to strike him at any hour. The statue gave everyone warmth and a sense of safety, with kids running in circles as laughter rang throughout the air. But to Tommy, it was a giant reminder. A horrible reminder.
Tommy wondered if being the only human in the community drew a target on his back.
Thankfully, Dream's place wasn't that close. This town was small, but in his search for a place to live, Tommy had found this abandoned home no one knew about. Since then, he decided to take shelter there. Working non-stop for three days straight while trying to avoid eyes shooting from others. Although he couldn't exactly avoid it as they were everywhere .
Marching his foot to the stone, he then turned to head back inside. It was nice to get some fresh air, but he needed to pay attention to time as it was his biggest enemy. On normal days he wouldn't exactly mind the bullying and mocking. Easy to ignore and push away. Right now, Tommy's mood was too low for that, and he was afraid of lashing out at people who were just unaware, who just followed others to look- oh, whatever. He didn't care.
Tommy traced his hands over the wooden walls, its plank scratching skin as he winced, though he wasn't bothered by the slight pain. Bouncing his feet to the right, he then made his way into the kitchen. The materials in sight were near their end, moths eating away the original form of the shape. The only thing crossing his mind was how unhealthy this house is.
At least Dream's place was clean.
Tommy paused.
He really needed to stop thinking about that bastard.
Tubbo once told him, on one sunny day, that he met a friend through letters.
A pen pal , as he would call it. The goat hybrid sang around and clammed his palms, telling him about his special bud, described with only ink on a paper. They spoke about their days, whirling about stupid things they find boring, even telling things no one knew about them. Despite it all, Tubbo had no idea who the person in the letter was. They never shared descriptions of their physical appearance, simply only having the image of them being an enderman hybrid. This was a complete stranger Tubbo had talked to.
Well, not a stranger anymore if he shared his secrets, right?
"I wish to meet them one day, Tommy," words fall from a mouth filling with blooms and flowers. Tommy listened with half-hearted interest.
In unfortunate news, the letters stopped coming, and Tubbo stopped sending.
It was a story, one that Tommy kept in the back of his mind. He never knew why he'd done that as if it was stuck and he had no idea how to get it off. It would come to him every once in a while as he cooked his breakfast. He would never miss out on it.
When one's mind is rested to sleep, the body had nothing to digest or process for the next nine hours, which made the idea of breakfast being a very important step to start the day. It didn't have to be some big, elegant meal. It could be a sandwich, a cup of tea, or even one bun would get the body to reboot.
Although, some months ago, the kid once disregarded the rule of 'the meal of the day' which made his stomach grumble by the time he was working his shift. The break was in a few hours, and he ended up losing consciousness while worrying everyone who saw. Ever since then he would make sure to eat the smallest piece of food in the morning.
The bread sat warmly in front of him, listening to his unspoken thoughts. Its aroma stung in his nose, and the table shook gently, reminding the kid to fill up his energy. But no matter how much the inanimate objects gave him unexplainable movements, they could never grab his attention as Tommy was too drowned in his head, trying so, so hard for the notion of revenge.
Sighing, the blond placed his chin against the table with a heavy groan. The easy way out of this was to leave this cursed town behind. But he knew the overbearing guilt from the possibility of saving people that were like him as if winning a lottery of getting their body parts cut off limb by limb would kill him. He didn't want anyone to suffer the same fate.
Alone in the company of other helpless victims, alone with Dream. Stuck in what he thought would be an endless cycle of death, watching all the people he knew go by, even knowing the reason why they disappeared. He was aware the people who mocked him were the same ones who were worried about their missing loved ones. Really, it was luck that saved him.
Fuck, luck was all over him, wasn't it? If it wasn't for luck he could've stayed in that basement, he could've been living in the streets not finding this house, he could've been dead.
Maybe, just maybe, luck could help him with this plan of his.
Tommy left his seat, heading to his bedroom, bread on the plate stood untouched. The air in the kitchen whispered disappointed. So much for a healthy breakfast.
Rough papers of what supposedly be notes were scattered around the broken floor of a bedroom, as a teen gripped his hair in frustration. All of the results ended up being too formal, too friendly, or even suspicious. Turned out that executing an act of revenge took more effort than he expected.
He grumbled wearily, lending his hand for another paper, unaware of how tight he was holding his pen as he drummed his fingers against the table. Tommy needed something so Dream could immediately trust him. Eh, not immediately , that would be illogical. A build of trust and bond had to be done to get Dream to trust him. So, at least close enough so he could get a response out of him.
But of course, the man would know that someone escaped a few days ago. And with how Dream acted, that guy's hands could get into the dirtiest shit until the mess was finished. He won't stop until he finds what he's looking for.
The kid badly wanted to pace around the room, perhaps a spark of inspiration could pop out of nowhere as he get his blood running. The problem was that his legs weren't obeying his mind. Moving on its own, frantically stomping on the soft carpet over and over. Tommy was tired.
It was a stupid move, to be honest. Tommy already ran away from a man with a knife threatening his life, but he couldn't just let the town spend their days oblivious to the terrible things Dream had put him through.
With just a slight risk, he could achieve his goal to expose Dream and finally save the ones that were still trapped underground. But one foot into the void and he could end up on the cold floor, again screaming to be let out. Again using someone’s sacrifice to escape the hellish underground. Again losing his state of sanity.
Is he selfish for thinking reasons that benefited him? They could be right about Tommy craving attention. Similar to a clueless child, being led through a death trap like a mouse getting tricked by a cheese, little did the mouse know the trap was laying in front of his eyes. But it was too focused on the cheese. The consequences were infuriating.
If Dream was the trapper— well, technically he was one. He wouldn't build just a mouse trap, no , he would do something much worse. He liked seeing the smiles of his customers, knowing his hard work paid off. But he loved screaming of damnations, laughing as his prey streamed tears down its face. He liked the obedient ones, staying in one cell for his job to be easier. But he also loved the hybrids who fought, who didn't listen to what he said. Because conquering that kind of thing made him feel triumph. Apparently.
Tommy thought it was to ease the guilt when Dream struck down his knife to the bird's throat because the bird fought against him and Dream could use the excuse of 'self-defense'. But he doubted the idea of Dream having any guilt .
Why can't he just forget his friend's scream why can't Dream's laugh stop ringing in his ears it's been weeks it would be easier to forget why can't he forget why can't he forget why can't he forget—
Dream liked challenges. Perhaps he'd see this as one.
So Tommy started to write.
Dear Dream
Hey, man! I've been a fan of your establishment since the day I tried that delicious meat bun! I was hoping to get to know you better, but talking to you without getting nervous has been a problem. So passing this note is the only alternative I have to talk to you! If you happen to know what a pen pal is, then I'd be the perfect person for it. Lots of things can be done when you have a pen pal, like telling about each other's interests, the ups and downs in our lives, and… who knows, perhaps we could share our secrets. Or you can just project your complaints onto me! I’m all ears.
I'd be delighted to hear back from you! :)
Sincerely, your biggest admirer
It took the moon to rise from the ground for Tommy to finish. Not exactly satisfied, but he felt like going insane if he continued more. The texture of the note was a little rough, hands filled with faint papercuts. The writing inside had a sense of friendliness, in some way, one that a sick, demented person like Dream would understand. Seriously if he gave this to a normal person they'd freak out.
He hated the fact that he knew Dream so, so well.
Standing in the back of the pinkish wall of the bakery, Tommy converted his eyes to the fallen leaves, trying not to cause any noise. The paper was neatly folded in his hand with a small love sticker to keep it from opening, followed by a smiley face for 'not being suspicious at all.
Dream's place was bright. Too bright for a guy like him.
He crouched to the nearest window, the inside sparking its indoor lamp so the light bounced out. Tommy just needed to avoid the area where the light reached. He studied the floor before crawling to the front door. Risky move, but if he were to go to the back door, it'd never be opened until the next morning. His head craned upwards for the door handle. Too good for this spot to not have any street lamps. The only glowing source was this bakeshop, making it impossible for Tommy to get caught.
His head was under the doorknob while his figure hid in the blanket of darkness. Fingers carefully stretching and grabbing the handle, he then slowly pulled it downward. The iron palm wouldn't budge, Tommy didn't have time for this. Everything could go wrong in so many ways. Dream would be showing in a matter of minutes, someone could see him, the door could creak when he opened it. The potential of failure was overwhelming.
Sweat wouldn't stop coming, or maybe that was his imagination. Too stressed by the headache and unstoppable frantic breathing. No one was able to hear it other than himself. His chest was restless as he nervously bit his lip and gritted his teeth. The weight on his shoulders was heavier than lifting a roof but the nightly wind against his hair eased his cords and Tommy was getting frustrated but before he could complain, a sound broke the thunderstorm causing his nausea.
The door clicked.
Tommy rushed inside.
In a matter of seconds, he quickly dropped the paper beside a decorative plant.
His feet clashed against the checkered floor, definitely making noise. He didn't even need to do anything when he ran outside as the door automatically closed by itself, allowing Tommy to breathe and relax his nerves. He was too out of reach to hear if the sound was loud. The trembling legs made his running slower, that was a good thing. All kinds of emotions set off around him, adrenaline, fear, anxiousness, even excitement.
Lanterns brushed past him, everything felt like a blur. His lips slipped into a chuckle, teary eyes and clumsy pace and his mind were fuzzy. The emotions were too much but it was good, it was great . He grinned into the sky.
It felt as if time altogether stopped. The clouds stopped moving and the wind stopped dancing on his shoulders and his hands shook as he was faster than speed itself and his heart was about to be ripped from his body—
A young boy tripped on his own feet, falling on a plot of soft grass.
Tommy laughed quietly, celebrating his small victory before burying himself in the green field without a care in the world.
But he couldn't see what danger was ahead of him.
A few hours went by, and a man with freckles came to the front door, reading a small note with an curious smile on his face.