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“Get back here!”
Tommy lets out a sharp grunt as the jarring feeling of boots slamming against concrete ricochets up his ankles, the thick rubber soles grinding loudly on the stone. He doesn’t stop for a second, though, legs kicking back into motion after hardly a moment. A bead of sweat drips down his temple, but the sixteen-year-old is grinning as he sprints for his life, trailing neon orange and blue from the glowing accents on his gear. Even under the endless void of the night sky, his movements are swift and practiced, as if he knows this long-dead cityscape’s terrain by his very heart.
Shifting his attention to his pursuers behind him, Tommy can catch the faint sounds of footsteps — three distinct pairs, all light, fast, and in no state of jadedness despite how long they’ve all been running. Tommy’s smile falters as the adrenaline begins to lose its effect, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in. He’s been racing across the rooftops for miles already; if the hunters were willing to show any semblance of mercy, they would’ve stopped chasing him not long after Tommy had entered the neutral territory of the city. His teeth dig slightly into his lips. Clearly, I’m not getting out of this without a scratch, I reckon, he muses bitterly, biting back a yell as his feet nearly miss the next rooftop. Tubbo’s gonna murder me for this. Actually, no, scratch that, Wilbur’s gonna ruin me in front of the entire L’manburg coalition when I get out of this alive.
He decides not to think about what might happen if he doesn’t make it out of this alive.
His heartbeat pounds in his ears with the strength of a thousand drums, drowning out the sounds of blaster-fire behind him as he scampers down another upper alleyway. Sparks of emerald, cyan, and vermillion dance across the dark stone, illuminating the dense forest of concrete like a deadly fireworks display. Tommy suppresses a scream as he narrowly escapes being shot in the head for the fifth time that night, rolling out of the way and landing onto what seemed to be what remained of a fire escape. Sliding down the old, rust-coated ladder, he makes his way back down to ground level and sprints down to the end of the alleyway, the three gunmen behind him following in quick succession. In any other situation, Tommy might’ve received some approbation for his skilled maneuvering in the dark environment. It seems that the only praise he’s receiving tonight, though, is a barrage of neon bullets through his chest.
“You know,” Tommy huffs, not bothering to look behind him, “you really don’t have to chase me this far down, Dream! I’m sure you’ve got more important things to deal with, isn’t that right?” His heavy breathing makes it difficult to snark at the green hunter, but he forces it out of his lungs anyways. “I don’t see why you can’t just, you know, let me go? Show a little mercy for your fellow man, eh, Big D?”
The innuendo of the nickname elicits an irritated growl that Tommy can tell is from Sapnap, the fiery orange hunter who was currently firing showers of bullets at the teen as they ran. An impish smirk quirks at Tommy’s lip. The short-tempered inferno of a man was always fun to poke at, even in near-death situations. The other two hunters, Dream and George, remain stoic, but out of the corner of his eye, Tommy can see the latter blue hunter whispering to his teammate and seemingly trying to assuage the man’s annoyance. His heart misses a beat as a focused beam of orange light narrowly misses his shoulder, and his racing thoughts don’t register the fact that the only colors that remain in his vision are suddenly lacking in bright cyan. The concrete walls begin to stretch higher around him, stone shifting from tight alleys to narrow walls and dark alcoves. With a grimace, Tommy notes that the base is still a few dozen blocks away from here, as well as the fact that the hunters weren’t ending their chase any time soon despite being in enemy territory. Shoot, I need to get back to our base, now, or I don’t think I’m gonna outrun these bastards.
Tommy can’t cut off the wild shriek of fear that bursts out of his mouth when half of his vision suddenly becomes filled with the neon green afterimage of a glowing sword, and he jerks his head back to see Dream’s iconic smiley face mask looking back at him, the porcelain betraying no emotion to the world. Tommy becomes distinctly aware of a small burning sensation prickling across his cheek as he whips around the corner, droplets of something wet slowly trickling from a half-cauterized cut. He looks back in alarm to see that Dream had, at some point, gotten much closer to him, and was now only a few feet away from reaching him. Another green slash streaks past his right knee, eliciting a pained yelp from the teenager because wow that hurt like a bitch. It’s okay, it's okay, he thinks to himself, skidding around another corner as what feels like burning tar bubbles in his leg. I just need to go through the shortcut, and then everyone will be there, and then we can—
An azure-accented figure suddenly appears out of the darkness, and Tommy is forced to skid to a screeching halt when he finds himself staring down a long, blue, and glowing barrel that hums with condensed energy. Behind him, Tommy can hear Dream and Sapnap step around the corner, their footsteps slow and calm like predators stalking their prey. His pupils dart across the area, mind working in overdrive to find any way out of the situation. Backwards is out, the entrance is blocked. Downwards? No, there are no manholes around here, and even if there were, Tommy’s not sure if he could make it down before getting shot from either direction. Upwards, maybe, but there’s nothing to climb within these walls. Forwards? George is too good of a shot to let Tommy slip by, having seen too many hackneyed fighting moves for him to catch the sniper off-guard.
That leaves just one choice…
Heaving a long and exaggerated sigh, Tommy raises his hands in surrender and pulls up a familiarly unctuous facade to mask his anxiety.
“H-Hey, Dream, my friend,” Tommy drawls, slowly turning around to face the masked man behind him. “Nice to see you again, ‘innit bruv?”
Dream tilts his head curiously, scrutinizing Tommy in a way that made him want to fidget, before sheathing his sword. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, the man raises his hands, and begins to clap — a long, slow, round of applause, that has Tommy and even everyone else blinking in confusion. The green hunter walks closer to Tommy, before stopping just a couple feet away. And the man speaks.
“My, what an excellent performance, TommyInnit.” Dream began, causing Tommy to tense slightly at the use of the full codename. “I must commend you for your meritorious skill. The fact that you’ve outrun us for this long... for a child, you’ve truly transcended my expectations.”
Tommy bristles sharply at the comment, but a voice that sounds suspiciously like Wilbur tells him to calm down. He swallows back his umbrage and meets the printed eyes on Dream’s mask with a steady blue gaze.
“Yeah, well, you know me, Big D. Always gotta be in tip-top shape, am I right? Now, I reckon that I have some unfinished business to attend to—"
“Not so fast,” George scowls behind him, digging his rifle harder into the back of Tommy’s neck. “We’re not done here.”
Sapnap moves forwards to stand beside Dream, blaster held up and ready in case Tommy tries anything. Tommy suppresses the urge to flinch as the gun whirrs to life, orange energy glowing under the metal pieces of the firearm. Distantly, he can feel his injured leg burning from the strain of holding himself up for so long.
“You have something that belongs to us, Tommy,” Sapnap hisses, raising his gun threateningly as the barrel shines with a dangerous glow. “Hand it over.”
Tommy laughs nervously, the false smile still plastered onto his face. “I-I don’t know what you could be talking about, Sapnap; I was just scouting out and I wasn’t paying attention and— and you know how hard it is to tell where the borders are at night, you know? It’s truly just a simple misunderstanding, you know I would never do you guys any harm—” Tommy rambles on, the friendly and relaxed tone only becoming increasingly difficult to simulate as all three rival faction members continue to stare him down.
“— so, I thought I was still in the neutral zone, but turns out I just so happened to be right beside your base — crazy, right? And so— “
Tommy cuts off as Dream suddenly leans forwards, his gloved right hand reaching back to rest upon the hilt of his energy sword. “You don’t have to lie to me, Tommy,” he intones softly, a simulated tone of gentleness and peace ringing through his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you as long as you cooperate. Just listen to me, and you’ll be just fine, alright?”
Tommy glares back at him with a vaguely petulant expression, displeased by the man’s condescending tone. “And what if I don’t, huh, bitch?” he challenges, annoyance clear in his glaring eyes. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
Dream hums, before unsheathing his sword in a showering arc of green sparks. “I could always just stab you until you cooperate,” he replies in a cheery tone that was starkly juxtaposed with the lurid implications of his words, and Tommy’s relaxed facade falls away entirely as the rapid sensation of fear suddenly charges its way into his beating heart.
“H-Hey, don’t you think that’s just a little bit too much, Dream?” George reasons from behind Tommy, concern filling his voice. “We just need to get back the gear, and then we can let him go.”
Dream turns his gaze towards his faction member, and Tommy can feel George shift uncomfortably at the sudden attention. “Noisy dogs don’t stop barking unless you teach them to obey, George.” Dream responds darkly, his sword glowing with a poisonous green color. Tommy is suddenly hyper-aware of just how much intense heat is coming off of that blade.
“You know,” Tommy swallows, attempting to expostulate, “if you do anything to me, Wilbur will kill you, right? You’re better off just letting me go and leaving unless you want to deal with him.”
Dream scoffs, “You think I’m afraid of your pathetic older brother? That man can barely wield a sword, let alone a gun. What makes you think he can do anything?”
Tommy is unable to suppress the rage that builds up in his chest, and he snarls fiercely, “Don’t you dare call him pathetic, Wilbur is more of a man than you will ever b—”
Painful heat buzzes across his front, the scent of burning metal and fabric suddenly wafting into the air as Dream presses his blade forwards so that the energy hovers diagonally across Tommy’s ribs. “What did I say, Tommy?” Dream whispers in a tone that was far too delicate to be genuine. “‘As long as you cooperate, you won’t get hurt.’ That was a promise, not a threat.”
Tommy opens his mouth to retort, ‘Of course that’s a threat, you’re just being a bitch!’ but he clamps his jaw shut to grit his teeth when he feels Dream’s burning blade begins to bite into soft flesh. He can’t move anywhere with George still restraining him at gunpoint, but at this point, he can’t tell if being cut in half with an energy sword is a better alternative to getting shot.
Dream continues to hold his sword there — and for a horrible moment, Tommy thinks that he’s going to slash down the whole way — until slowly, he backs off of the blonde teen, twirling his sword almost contentedly. The young blonde releases the breath that had been building up in his lungs, wheezing with the relief of his chest being free again. Dream doesn’t seem to take notice — or if he does, he doesn’t care — and continues with an almost gleeful air about him. “Now, let’s try this again,” he smiled. “I’m going to count down from ten, Tommy. If you give us what you stole, I’ll let you go free. If not….” Dream trails off menacingly, and Tommy gets the distinct feeling that Dream is smiling underneath the mask.
Dream chuckles darkly, and then he speaks.
“Ten.”
“Uh, Dream, I don’t think this is a good idea—”
“Nine.”
“Come on, Tommy, just give us the gear back!”
”Eight.”
”Dream, are you sure about this—”
“Seven.”
“I don’t have it! You’re all just being assholes!”
“Six.”
“Dream, come on. He’s just a kid.”
“Five.”
“If you don’t give it back, he’s going to kill you.”
“Four.”
“What the hell— I didn’t even do anything!?”
“Three.”
“Dream, stop!”
“Two.”
“Just listen to him and we’ll be done with this!”
“One.”
“Why should I have to listen to any of you fuckers?!”
“Zero.” Dream 'tsked, shaking his head. “I expected better of you, Tommy.”
Tommy frantically twists to try and escape, but Dream is already closing in, and George is still too stunned to move out of the way.
“Looks like some dogs just need to be kicked, after all.”
He brings the sword down—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Dream falters, and his sword stops its descent mid-swing. Just below it, Tommy blinks at the new voice. The tone is low, with a mix of protective anger and bold assertiveness within the words of the newcomer. It’s familiar, distinctly so, and Tommy can’t help but be reminded of—
Oh.
Oh.
Wilbur Soot, you absolute madman.
Tommy breaks into a triumphant grin as the hunters try to locate the source of the voice, blue eyes sparkling with barely repressed joy and gratitude as a figure descends from the rooftops, landing directly on Sapnap. Acting on instinct, Tommy whips around and whacks George’s rifle upwards, forcing the man to miss his shot as Tommy rips it out of his grasp and rams it hard into his face. George crumples to the ground; he’s stunned, but not completely unconscious. On the other side of Dream, Sapnap is also sent sprawling to the ground as the figure trips the gunman, before slamming a steel-toed boot into his ribs. Tommy can’t help but wince slightly at the move, but he smiles when the figure turns around to reveal the hardened face of Wilbur, his expression full of barely-concealed anger and wrath.
Wilbur’s face shifts when he catches sight of Tommy, beginning with fear and worry, before relief, then lingering on concern until it finally decides to settle on protective fury. The taller man turns to face Dream, staring at the green hunter with suspicious eyes. His trench coat sways gently with his movements, accents glowing with a golden yellow color that lines the edges of the dark fabric.
“Dream. I don’t think I need to tell you why you shouldn’t be here,” he growled, hands clasped tightly behind his back.
Dream stares back at him. “Wilbur Soot. Head of the L’manburg faction. Didn’t think you’d really show up, to be honest.”
The man in question scoffed. “Am I too simple-minded for your standards? Because I can assure you that the more provincial one here is the man currently abusing his power as the leader of the most powerful faction to control everyone else.”
“I literally own the land you decided to steal from me, you liar.” Dream scoffed, shoulders tense. “This sector — and the rest of the sectors that you claim to own — all belong to me as the leader of the SMP.”
“An interesting thought,” Wilbur expostulates, “because I distinctly remember that I owned that land while I was still in the SMP faction, Dream.”
“Yes, under my jurisdiction!” Dream counters, irritation building in his tone. “As the leader, I have a prerogative towards ownership of any of the land in the SMP territory! You deciding to split off and create your own faction doesn’t mean that you’re free to take my land with you!”
“I negotiated for that land fairly, and you know it, Dream! Just because you feel the need to control it all and let it contribute to your own decadence doesn’t mean you’re in the right!” Wilbur snarls, and Tommy can’t help but feel the slightest urge to intercede in the argument between the two faction leaders. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to as Wilbur shakes his head and sighs. “This isn’t important right now. What’s important is the fact that you have been pursuing and threatening my right-hand man into L’manburg territory, despite our agreement.”
At this, Tommy distinctly recalls the events of the last four days; just after one of the worse battles in the ongoing faction war between the SMP and L’manberg coalitions in the post-apocalyptic city, the two sides declared a temporary truce for the two sides to recover. As per the agreement regarding the hiatus from the battle, no violence was to occur between the two factions until the end of it. In addition, no faction member was to enter enemy territory during this period.
Well, Tommy only feels the slightest bit guilty about that.
“Well, you see, Tommy over here—” Tommy winces, “— had been found on our lands, snooping around our storage areas. As you know, that’s against the terms of the truce, which is why we were inclined to pursue him.”
Wilbur glares at him, unimpressed. “And this translates into threatening him with torture and injuring him? I don’t think so.” The man crosses his arms. “And in addition to that, you’re not allowed on our territory, either. Just get out of here, and don’t come back. Just because we have a truce doesn’t mean you’re welcome in our lands.”
Dream looks like he wants to argue, but he falters when Wilbur’s glare darkens. For the first time, Tommy notices the forms of other people on the surrounding rooftops; they’re familiar forms, and with a bit of observation he can pick out the forms of Tubbo, Fundy, and Eret. It’s clear that Dream notices them all, too, as the man steps back and beckons for the two other hunters to come with him. Sapnap fixes Wilbur and Tommy with a jaded glare before returning to Dream’s side, and he, Dream, and George disappear down the alleyway and into the moonless night.
For a moment, everything is silent, before Tommy is suddenly met with a tackling hug from the man beside him. Tommy melts into the embrace with relief, before promptly being pushed back and gripped firmly by the shoulders.
“What the fuck were you doing out there?!” Wilbur demands, his furious tone betraying hints of worry and distress. “Just because we have the truce doesn’t mean it’s going to stop Dream and his hunters from murdering you just because they can! You could’ve been killed!”
“I had to! It was— It was important, okay?” Tommy spluttered, agitated. “Besides, I didn’t die, did I? Big T, here, is too good for that, you know—”
“But you could’ve died, Tommy,” Wilbur stresses, and Tommy feels the guilt sink just a little bit deeper into his heart. “I could've lost my right-hand man tonight over a stupid boundary dispute. I don’t know what could possibly be important enough for you to risk your life like that, Toms.”
Tommy bites his lip, and sighs as the use of the nickname draws something warm and regretful out of his heart. Slowly, he reaches behind him and pulls out the items he’s been hiding for the past several hours, and Wilbur’s eyes widen.
Gear. Gear of all kinds, and seemingly of high quality, as well. The dark metal is polished and bright, with lines of glowing energy tracing through the solid material. Armor of various types and assortments fill his backpack, along with a multitude of weapons, mechanisms, medical supplies — all the things that the L’manburg faction was currently lacking in.
“I, uh, heard that we needed more gear. From you and Eret,” Tommy admitted lowly, recalling memories of listening in on their conversation after the last battle. His fists tighten. “I just— this was our only chance, okay? There’s no way that we would’ve gotten any good gear otherwise, and we needed supplies, and this was the only chance we were gonna get—”
He cuts off as he’s enveloped in another hug, as Wilbur’s arms wrap around the form of his younger brother. Something in Tommy’s heart shudders as he’s held protectively in Wilbur's grasp, and he leans his head into his brother's shoulder.
“Never, ever risk your life like that for us again,” Wilbur whispers, voice trembling. “Your life is worth more to me than this revolution ever will.”
Tommy blinks back tears. "But this all means so much to you. I can't let you or our friends get killed trying to fight for it."
"You mean the most to me, Tommy," Wilbur insists, holding Tommy tighter. "Please, promise me you won't throw your life away for this."
A deep sigh heaves through Tommy's lungs, and he nods.
"I'll try, Wilbur. I promise."