Chapter Text
A year and a half.
It had been almost a year and a half since Tommy had been exiled from L'Manberg. And it had been exactly a year since he'd seen another person's face, heard another person's voice, except for Dream's. Dream was the only constant in his life at this point; Ranboo's visits had stopped rather abruptly, not that long after his letters stopped coming in. Dream told him the enderman hybrid was simply busy with L'Manberg, helping Tubbo and doing his own thing, having fun; Tommy hadn't wanted to believe him, wished he didn't, but in the end, what else was he meant to believe? It was just another bump in the road, another instance of him getting kicked while he was already down. Dream had pulled him into a side-hug that day, ruffling his hair and telling him he was the only one he needed, because he was the only one who actually cared. Tommy had wished at the time that he didn't believe that so easily either, but how could he deny the truth? Dream was the only one who bothered to come by at all. And, sure, now he knew why-
("He was only here to watch me.")
-but, fuck, even that was better than nothing. Even that was better than being completely alone. Dream cared about him, he had to care, he had to care to some extent to even bother with this.
(Because if he didn't care, what was the point? Why did he want to come watch him? Why did he come by nearly every day, put this much effort into… into what? Into being his friend? How did he benefit from something like this? How did he benefit from having to see him every day, how did he benefit from coming by just to watch him… exist? No, he had to care, he had to care because even his real friends hadn't bothered to put in the same amount of effort Dream was.)
And at this point, he'd take what he got. Maybe Dream wasn't his friend. Maybe he hurt him, scared him, blew up his things, blew up Logstedshire and made him rebuild everything from the ground up, but dammit, he was there. He was there, and Tommy didn't want to be alone anymore. He didn't want to be out here by himself, knowing he couldn't return to the place he once called his home, to the people he once called his friends. At least when Dream was around, he had company; at least when he was in a good mood, he was nice, and friendly. Maybe he hit him with his axe sometimes (more so out of boredom lately now, Tommy recognized quickly, because he'd long stopped doing anything that ran the risk of agitating the man), and maybe Tommy's heart plummeted into his stomach every time he saw Dream's hand raise, every time the man moved toward him too fast, and maybe he flinched a lot more often and maybe he apologized for practically every little thing even if he didn't exactly do anything wrong and maybe he still wished sometimes that he could just dive into the lava in the Nether or that he wouldn't wake up one morning and Dream would find his body in the ocean and maybe he was tired, so fucking tired and so fucking scared and trapped and there was no way out and-
But he'd long stopped looking for a way out. There was only one preferable way to escape this, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't do that to Dream. Because Dream was his only friend, and Dream did care about him, maybe, probably, kind of, he didn't know, but he still couldn't do that.
(Dream had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't allowed.)
Either way, it had been nearly a year and a half now, and Tommy learned the rules pretty quickly. Dream didn't exactly lay them out for him; he expected him to pick up on them himself and accommodate, and Tommy made sure to do just that. He figured he was doing a pretty good job, because Dream seemed much less annoyed with him these days. Which was a good thing.
Especially considering Dream was living with him now. After Logstedshire's unfortunate demise, Dream had pitched in to help with rebuilding, somewhat. It was mostly Tommy who did all the work and got all the supplies and actually did the building, but it was Dream who instructed him on what to build and where to build it and how to build it. His tent was traded in for a moderately small cabin just big enough for the two of them, and once it was completed, his 'friend' had revealed his intention to move in with him. Tommy's initial reaction was excitement, because it meant Dream would be around more, it meant they'd be spending every day and night together.
His second reaction was horror, and then fear, for those very reasons; Dream was going to be around more and they would be spending every day and night together and he couldn't leave.
Look, it wasn't a secret that Dream scared him. Nowadays it was painfully obvious in the way Tommy couldn't control his reactions around the man anymore; he was too tired to hide the way he flinched when Dream approached him, the way he shuddered and shook when he laid a hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, the way he spouted apologies on a whim if he thought he'd done or said something to upset him - he couldn't hide these things as well as he used to, and he noticed. He knew Dream noticed, it was impossible not to notice how scared he was.
So some part of him, a small part of him, was thrilled at the prospect of living with Dream.
The rest of him was scared, because he knew it would suck away whatever freedom he had, if he had any left to begin with; he knew it would be the end of him, the nail in the coffin, and he knew Dream would have him spun in his web of strings in an instant. He wasn't blind to the control the man had over him, he wasn't blind to how quickly and easily he'd started to bend to his will, and he wasn't blind to the fact that spending more time with him was only going to solidify the fact that Dream was the puppeteer, and Tommy was his not-quite-so-willing puppet.
He was right, of course. Dream slowly, steadily became a little stricter, a little harsher, quicker and far more eager to jump straight to punishments before Tommy could even realize what he'd done wrong. And now that they were spending more time together, those punishments were…
They weren't kind. Dream controlled everything. Food and water, basic resources, Tommy. The easiest punishments were… withholding food and drink for a few days (three at the max, at least when it came to water, Dream never let it get so far he died or anything). The worst punishments were being locked up. His room was small, big enough to fit a bed with maybe a few blocks of space between it and the wall and the doorway, and one of Dream's favorite punishments was to add obsidian along the wooden walls, effectively trapping him in the already-cramped room and leaving a single hole to pass food and water through every so often.
(Once, Dream kept him there for a whole week. A whole week. He fed him, gave him water and made sure he was okay, but for an entire week, Tommy remained trapped in his small room.)
It was easy, after that, for Dream to mold him into whatever he wanted. Tired and resigned and terrified, he was willing to do just about anything to avoid being punished, so he simply complied. Compliance was his best bet; compliance meant Dream was happy, and as long as Dream was happy, he wasn't being hurt, or starved, or locked away, and that was a win for him.
So, the months went by. Tommy fell into a completely submissive state, and Dream thrived on it. Tommy knew it, he wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. But he was dependent, in so many different ways, and there was nothing he could do about that. It was easier to do what Dream wanted. It was necessary for his survival, which in the long run wasn't too important - but again, he wasn't allowed to die. If this was the only way for him to live, he was going to make it as easy as he could. He knew what to expect, he knew the rules, and as long as he… as he behaved…
… then… he was fine. It wasn't ideal, but it was the only thing he could do.
Tonight was… it seemed to be a good night. They were sitting in the living room, Tommy cross-legged on the floor and Dream lounging on the couch watching Tommy stitch up one of his hoodies. Dream had gifted him the new clothing not long after they'd moved in together, several of them; each one was red, with a green smiley face stitched into the back of each one, the same smiley face imprinted on the mask Dream wore. It was to solidify their friendship, he said.
It was to solidify Dream's ownership of him, but Tommy wasn't about to say that out loud.
There was music playing somewhere in the background. He recognized the melody, humming along quietly as he worked. It was Cat, one of his Dream's discs - Dream let him listen to it sometimes, only when they were together, and only when Tommy had been extremely good.
At this point, he was happier about that then he was about actually being able to listen to the disc; he knew whenever Dream pulled it out that he had done something good, something worthy of a reward. It didn't matter what the reward was, nothing else mattered except for the fact that Dream was pleased with him, and as long as he was pleased with him, he was safe.
(And maybe it tickled him for another reason, deep down. Maybe it satisfied that part of him that actually, genuinely wanted Dream's approval - not out of fear, but… out of friendship, really.)
Because that was what they were, weren't they? They were friends.
"So," Dream spoke up suddenly, suddenly enough to make him flinch. The hand holding the needle slipped a little, pricking his own finger by accident, but he was quick to return to his task without bothering to check the wound. It stung, and a good amount of blood was welling up and starting to trickle down his skin, but it wasn't going to kill him, and he'd had much worse anyway. Still, he let out a soft hum to let Dream know he was listening, and the man hummed back at him in response before continuing, "I was thinking, you know, it's your birthday tomorrow, right?"
Tommy paused at that, glancing up. He couldn't explain the sudden feeling of dread that pooled in his stomach at the question, and the undercurrent of excitement that surged up along with it.
He'd gotten used to that particular combination of emotions lately. "Yeah."
"Well, I was considering," Dream drew the word out briefly, stretching out on his back on the couch and crossing his arms under his head, "taking you into L'Manberg, temporarily, for a… you know, a visit. A birthday gift, y'know- I figured since you've been pretty good recently…"
At that point, Tommy had stopped stitching completely, his heart pounding. There was no excitement now, just pure, complete terror. It was a trick, this was a trick. Dream was waiting to see how he would react, if he'd respond with excitement, if he'd regress. It was a trick, it was a trap, it was a test but what if it wasn't, what if Dream was really just trying to be nice, what if it was just a gift and what if Tommy made him upset by not getting excited, what if he got angry-
Dream turned his head, green eyes sparkling with curiosity as he turned his gaze back to the teen. He couldn't read his expression, even without the mask on, but he- he seemed genuine…
"What do you think?" He prompted, and it was a test, Dream didn't care what he thought.
"Um." Tommy froze, wracking his brain for a proper response. Prime, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to say, what to think for that matter. Nevermind the confusing emotions that burst to life inside of him at the idea of going back to what used to be his home after so long. He didn't even know if he wanted to go back, knowing he'd just be ripped away again in an instant. Knowing there was nobody back there who even cared about him anyway, why should he go when he knew nobody wanted him there, why should he go when he wasn't even welcome?
"I-" His mouth was dry. "U- Uh, but, but they don't want me-?"
"Maybe," Dream drawled, a brief smile tugging at his lips. "But, you know, you've changed, right? You're calmer, you're… honestly Tommy, you're a lot more tolerable. You're better now. Maybe once they see how much more likeable you've gotten, they'll actually want you around."
The words didn't sting, words he'd heard a million times before by now. What stung was the fact that Dream was right; they would like him like this, quiet and calm and submissive and terrified.
"But Tu-" Tommy bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, dropping the hoodie to clasp his hand over his mouth. Dream didn't like it when he talked about Tubbo, he couldn't say that.
Dream heaved out a sigh, clearly growing agitated, fuck, "look, if you don't want to-"
"No, I- I will, uh, if you want, thank you, that's, um-" Tommy was really out of his depth here, scrambling to pick up the pieces before the situation could escalate. Dream swung his legs over the side of the couch to sit up, and he flinched, summoning every ounce of his self-restraint not to scramble back and cram himself into the corner. He could fix this. "It sounds- it sounds nice, that would be nice- thank you, Dream," he breathed, swallowing back the lump in his throat.
Thankfully, fucking thankfully, Dream seemed… oddly pleased with that response. "You're welcome," he responded smoothly, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. "Go ahead and get some sleep then, we've got a big day tomorrow." He left with that, and Tommy sucked in a quiet, relieved gasp, the weight lifted off his shoulders the second the man left him alone again.
Quickly, he fumbled to put the needle back into the pin cushion and scooped his things up, heading to his room and calling a quick 'goodnight' to Dream. That interaction was over, and tomorrow was going to be so much worse. It was going to be terrifying and confusing and Tommy couldn't put one foot out of line because Prime knows what would happen- what Dream would do, or even worse, what they would do if he showed even a flicker of his old self again.
Dream was right. He was better this way. This way, he wouldn't get hurt; he'd be fine.
He'd be fine.
This was fine.