Archive of Our Own

Tommy couldn’t remember who he’d been before: his family was an unfamiliarity; he had no clue what skills he had buried deep under muscle memory and his body was covered in hundreds of unfamiliar scars. His sole comfort was the fact that he wasn’t alone – and what a big comfort it was. 

Dream, like him, had ended up standing beside an unfamiliar tree one warm afternoon, the sun setting slowly as they desperately mined wood and stone and coal, acutely aware of the danger that awaited.  They’d agreed to be friends that day, and Tommy had to say it was one of the best decisions of his life  – not that he could remember that many. 

Even so, things were looking up – where on that first night they’d hid from the mobs, screaming their arses off till they realised all the cool shit they could do, they had a whole area built: the designs came easily enough, like they were retracing their own steps; revisiting ideas they’d explored a lifetime ago.  They’d named their new land the Tommy SMP, named after the coolest person on the server by far  (even if Dream – the prick – refused to call it her real name) and they’d already built a whole church for fun. 

Life was a flurry of pleasures; a constant revisitment of ideas he felt an intense connection without context. And soon it wasn’t just him, Dream and that guy: (Tubbo, he thought his name was) there were others, like Sapnap and George! Sapnap was great fun to mess around with, though George was a bit harder to get along with because he slept all the time but the new faces were fun nonetheless. 

It was a funny occasion when they all collectively relearned what a woman was when Allyssa showed up, slightly miffed to be the only woman involved in whatever was going on (they all preferred to ignore whatever had happened before) but they made her feel welcome anyway. 

In fact, despite all the griefing and pillaging, Tommy felt safe in Dream’s company: really, they were inseparable, with Dream dragging him to George and Sapnap’s houses before they went out and pranked someone. It was a great comfort to know that if anyone tried shit with him, Dream could stab the shit out of him – he’d seen what he could do to animals. 

But the best times with Dream were those tender moments in the evenings when he and Dream found themselves in their shared bed, holding tightly onto each other to fend off the nightmares. Somehow, unless faced with a reminder of how great Dream really was, his brain got all fucking stupid and thought that Dream was actually a big dick’ead.

Dream, wearing a blood-stained mask, rot seeping out from behind it, accosted him in those terrifying moments where his mind drifted from the safety of his body; his hair was a great white and as he looked down to inspect it, Dream’s axe would surge through his heart, iced suffering gouging his insides out. 

And as he looked up again, he’d see what nobody would ever want to see: laughter, fucking laughter at his own suffering, and he’d wish he could just throw himself into the lava lake (yes, a lake of sheer fire ) that surrounded him on all sides but instead, trapped in that fucking corner like a rat, he’d be forced to dig his fingers deep into the obsidian ground, anything to distract him from his dying. 

But it was never enough. 

At least Dream being around made it better – maybe it was his smell, subconsciously telling Tommy his dreams were a load of bollocks, or perhaps it was the way he’d grab onto Tommy like he was going to lose him, connecting them like otters floating through a vast and deadly sea, protecting each other even in their wakeless hours. 

Dream, too, had his nightmares – a strange man with a strange eye seemed to be his personal boogeyman, and Tommy hoped that was what he’d remain as, never to jump from his weakest moments to reality, appearing in front of them, snatching Tommy away from Dream as he was left to rot, rot, rot in the hellhole he’d been trapped in. 

It was a quiet morning, one which hadn’t been interrupted by any screaming or yelling, and Tommy had been content to play their (his, but Dream wasn’t ready to admit that he’d spotted them first) music discs on repeat the whole morning – Cat; Mellohi; Chirp; Far, the whole lot – as he sewed himself a new bag to keep all his shit in (his inventory was so cluttered it would take ages to sort out and he didn’t have the patience to deal with it at the moment) when there came a knock at the door. Tommy suspected it was probably Sapnap, as he’d been trying to get closer to Dream (though it hadn’t really been working) but when he walked up to the door, he noted through the stained glass that it was an entirely unfamiliar silhouette. 

Well, their home was closest to spawn for a reason. 

“ Dream! There’s a new guy!” Tommy called out, swinging the door open without any further delay.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the man in front of him. Like everyone who’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere, he looked very strange, mostly because he was fucking green. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was fluffy as well – though not in a pillowy way, more like thin yet sharp grass.  He had an axe made out of some strange stygian material which glowed a royal purple yet was taken over on interval by a vast white which reminded him of… well, he wasn’t really sure, but it felt too powerful, like something which shouldn’t be fucked with. 

The deep crack that passed as a mouth on this man’s face opened. “I’m here for Dream.”

“Oh, you already know him?” Tommy asked. 

Stale air hung between them. “... Yes?” 

A laugh burbled from Tommy lightly. “He didn’t tell me anyone new was around! Love that guy, but  he’s a real wrongun sometimes, you know?” 

“I know, Tommy.” 

He was so serious, Tommy almost shivered. A real wet blanket of a man. Still, he stepped aside to allow him into their living room. Couldn’t be going about being all inhospitable, could he? Even a strange,  vaguely rude person needed to be invited in sometimes. As Tommy settled on their couch, the stranger paced. “Hey, if you know my name, I should know yours, right? Just seems fair to me.” 

Awkward tension stung between them. This guy really, truly, had no fucking fun at all. Where the hell was Dream, anyways? If they knew each other, maybe they’d built some kind of rapport and he could be saved from this shit. Eventually, though, the man said, “I’m Sam.” 

“Pog,” he said, because there was little else to say in response to that. “I don’t know where Dream is right now, feel—uh—feel free to go look for him. Maybe in the farms? With the sheep. Or he’ll  probably be home for lunch soon, too.” 

Lunch sounded really fucking good, actually. Sometimes he forgot he was still growing, being as large of a man as he was. Getting some nutrients and shit into him seemed very wise, though. Maybe a nice sandwich. 

Despite having sat for maybe two minutes max, Tommy rose again. “Make yourself at home, big man.  I’m gonna make myself lunch.” Then, “Do you... want something?” 

He was getting great at this whole “hosting” thing. Everybody thought he was very kind and considerate, and also very cool. Sam didn’t respond, instead seeming to take ‘make yourself at home’ to mean ‘go through all our shit’. Whatever. He and Dream knew each other, it was fine. Maybe they were best friends already! Either way, Tommy pushed through the door to their little kitchen and threw a bit of meat onto a pan over their wood stove. Sandwich making was an art, and Tommy was a true artist.  Dream found his masterpieces ‘gross’, but that guy hardly knew anything about anything— let alone how tasty a seaweed-egg-potato sandwich was.  

An important part of every sandwich was getting distracted at letting something burn. Thankfully, the wealth of berries in their icebox gave him plenty of opportunity. He grabbed a handful and sorted out the sweetberries from the salmonberries, then decided he wanted both anyways. By then, a nice char had built up on the bottom of his unidentified meat, so he flipped it, cursing. Then, he watched it as it  

cooked until done. He sliced a few pieces of Dream’s freshest baked bread (even though there was older bread he really should be using instead) and dumped his sandwich fillings onto them.  

There was no time for a first bite, as he heard the shatter of glass from the living room.  He burst out. “What the fuck—”  

Dream lay on the floor, shards of glass glittering around them. Sam stood over his friend, breath perfectly even. He looked up at Tommy’s hollering. “Tommy—” he started. 

“What the fuck ! What’d you do that for?” Tommy yelled, rushing forwards. 

He’d forgotten Sam’s fucked up super-axe until the head of it came up to block his advance. Reeling backwards, Tommy stumbled and fell onto his ass. “Tommy,” Sam said, perfectly calm. “I am doing this for you. For the safety of everyone.” 

At his feet, Dream’s eyes slid closed. “The fuck did Dream ever do? He—we’ve been taking care of  each other since we woke up here.”

Free hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, Sam sighed. “I know this seems random to you, but —Dream’s bad . The way he treats you is not normal, friends don’t hurt each other—or burn each others’ items. And he’s done just as bad to others too.” 

“What are you even fucking talking about? He’s never fucking hurt me, bitch. Not once ,” Tommy protested. “You’re killing him over—over nothing !” 

“I’m not killing him. I’m arresting him. While he’s in prison, you’ll be able to see he’s been manipulating you. And he’ll be able to recover.” 

Tommy managed to scramble to his feet. He couldn’t drag his eyes off of Dream, looking so small laying there on the ground. “Recover from fucking what? Who even are you? How do you know any of this shit?” 

Flinching, Sam said, “You’ve really forgotten me?” 

“ Forgotten you? I’ve never seen you before in my entire fucking life, dickhead! Leave me and Dream alone, and get the fuck out! Or—or I’ll get Sapnap to fuck your shit up! And then Dream will wake up  and he’ll fuck up your shit, too.” 

For a moment they were totally still, caught at an impasse. The glowing axe remained in the air— Tommy wasn’t sure how Sam could hold the massive weapon so steady for so long. Tommy just wanted to eat his sandwich so badly, just wanted Sam to have never arrived.  

The axe moved as Sam holstered it at his waist. He stooped and pulled Dream’s limp form over his shoulder. “Someday you’ll get it, and you’ll thank me,” Sam said, and pushed out the front door.  

Tommy wanted to give chase, wanted to stab the guy himself. But that axe felt worse than even the one that haunted his sleep. Instead, Tommy crumpled and Tommy cried . In a large masculine man way.  Trust him.  

Life alone was strange. And that’s what life without Dream was– alone. Sure, there were other people here, notably George and Sapnap, but it wasn’t like talking to them helped much. Sapnap seemed a little standoffish without Dream here, and it seemed like George was sleeping even more than he had before. Because the others kept to themselves mostly, that’s how he ended up so alone.

Tommy was still an expert at a lot of things: Sewing, sandwich making, and for some reason, arson. Still, even playing pranks didn’t feel the same as it had before. Maybe it was because Dream wouldn’t be there to fuck Sapnap’s shit up when he was caught, or maybe it was something else that made it lose its flair. The days dragged on into agony, the fun he’d come to easily live by extinguished, and the nightmares not letting up whatsoever. In fact, they only seemed to worsen.

In fact, this Sam guy was in them now.

Sam seemed more like an ominous, ghostly presence than anything, someone Tommy seemed desperate to please or at least solicit in these dreams. He’d beg Sam to help him, or to help someone else, faces blurred except Sam’s prickly green one. Sam would turn away from him, the axe blocking his way to safety, and he would awake sweating, clutching the blankets, alone, and feeling more helpless than ever.

A week crept by. Maybe two. It was hard to tell, these days. Eventually though, Tommy couldn’t take it anymore. He was like a pent up spider, shoved into a corner with nowhere to climb. After the third night straight chewing halfway through his crafting tools as he worked, he decided that he couldn’t get through this forever, and he (unfortunately) couldn’t get through it alone. He would have to solicit help, somewhere, somehow.

He decided on Sapnap. He needed someone Dream had trusted, actually trusted. He was a little hesitant to head over to the guy’s house, considering his latest arson job had been a little sloppy, but when there was something to get to the bottom of, Tommy Innit was not one to stop until he hit bedrock. 

He suddenly felt a lot more nervous than usual, standing in front of Sapnap. His feet shuffled, and he averted his eyes, in a way that if you asked him very very quietly, wasn’t very Big Man-Like of him. “Someone came to take Dream away.” He mumbled.

“What was that?”

Tommy squared his feet, willed himself to speak louder. A lot louder. It was without really meaning to that he ended up shouting. “Someone fucking–came to take Dream away!” The words felt almost like they were going to get caught in his throat, but he pushed through. “I don’t know where he went, I don’t know where they are!”

“Someone came to… huh?”

“This…this Sam guy, prickly green bitch, came with his big fucking axe and knocked Dream out, took him away like a bag of fucking potatoes, and I– ” Don’t know what to do? “Don’t know where they are!”

Sapnap cleared his throat, looking as awkward as Tommy felt. “Well, have you tried the huge obsidian box about 1000 meters from spawn?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it again. Forget feeling awkward, now he felt downright fucking ridiculous, like some sort of shit fish. Then, he said quite genius-ly: “Oh! Uh--uhhhh--yeah, I totally knew that was there! Gonna go check it out in T-minus right now, actually.” 

Great going, Tommy. Now Sapnap probably thought he was crazy and stupid. With a huff, and no thoughts at all about how sheltered this must mean he’s been, Tommy set off in the direction that Sapnap had weakly pointed without giving it another thought.

(And no stopping at all. He didn’t have time to hastily punch down a tree, and make a crafting table, and fasten an iron sword out of what he had on him, so he absolutely did not do that.) 

The ‘huge obsidian box’ Sapnap had mentioned didn’t really look as impressive as Tommy thought it was going to. Not that he was really one to speak, but just because he didn’t build the best bases didn’t mean he couldn’t judge other people’s. In fact, the box only looked about halfway done, the right side of it less a box and more a mess of scaffolding and dirt. 

There were more important things to worry about, though. For one, he spotted Sam on top of the whole structure, and unfortunately, Sam had spotted him right back. In better news, The green bitch didn’t do much more than raise an eyebrow in Tommy’s direction, though he did shift his posture a bit. Whether or not that was to make his axe more visible, Tommy couldn’t really be sure. 

There was an even more important thing to worry about than even that, though. Nearby to the half-to-giant obsidian box, there was a much less intimidating box, made of glass. And like some bug on display, inside the box was Dream, Tommy’s friend, crumpled in on himself and looking worse for wear than Tommy had ever seen him. Dream was imposing, strong, powerful enough to fend off Sapnap’s sword and Tommy’s demons. But not here. Here, Dream would almost look asleep, if the strange contortion of his limbs didn’t say otherwise. Sleeping potion.

To continue the fishy train of thought from earlier, Tommy pressed his nose right up to the glass, hit it with his fist a few times as if that would be enough to break it. He knew it wouldn’t do him much more good than some bruised knuckles, but he’d be fucking idiotic to not try, at least! “Dream?” He shouted, and his voice definitely did not crack, because that wouldn’t be very manly at all. “Dream, wake up!” He banged his fist on the glass again, once more just for good measure, and didn’t even flinch a bit when Sam effortlessly landed in the grass next to him (and he’s serious, this time--too consumed by his efforts). 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked without saying more, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You can’t do this.” Tommy turned to Sam, his aggression seeming to pivot to where it belonged. “You can’t take him from me!”

“Tommy, in time you’ll understand.”

“You keep saying that!” Tommy’s fingernails dug crescents into his palms, hands balled into fists at his sides. “You keep saying I’ll understand, but I fuckin’ don’t! The only person I see in my nightmares is you!”

There was a real moment of hesitation from both of them. Tommy didn’t entirely know where to go from here, but to his relief, it didn’t look like Sam did either. “Listen.” Sam said eventually, his shoulders sagging. He rifled through his inventory for a moment, and eventually pulled out a book. It looked ordinary, but Sam looked at it like it was anything but.

“This is called the memory book.” He elaborated. “Like--like a real memory book.” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking--”

“Nevermind.” Sam huffed. “It’s a magic book, if you could believe that. Given to me by a friend. I can use it to bring back your memories.”

Tommy looked from Sam, book in hand and axe on his back, to Dream, crumpled and near-lifeless in the glass box. “I…” He started, stepping back against the box. “What if I don’t?”

“If you--” Sam looked shocked that Tommy would even suggest such a thing. “You would rather not know?” 

“I don’t KNOW!” Tommy’s hands had moved by now, one of them clutching at his hair and the other fidgeting with his bandana. “I don’t know what to--” He turned back to the box suddenly, frantically, throwing everything he had into slamming his fists against the box one last time. He came back with knuckles bruised to hell and back, but three other things at the same time:

1. A crack in the box.
2. A crack in Sam’s facade.
3. A Dream who was very much not asleep anymore.

Dream looked more dazed than anything, rubbing at his eyes but still pushing himself to his feet as quickly as possible. “You’re up!” Tommy practically screamed, unsure if he could be heard through the box but not wanting to push his luck either way. “Dream--Dream will know what to do.” He directed towards Sam.

“Dream won’t like what happens when you get your memories back.” Sam said as if it was the simplest thing in the world, and not the most confusing Tommy had ever fucking heard. Meanwhile, Tommy had heard enough of his craziness, and was leveraging his sword in the box to try and crack the glass.

It worked, somewhat. At the very least, the glass shattered. It just came with a small side effect of glass going absolutely everywhere when the hole became big enough for Dream to kick through, Tommy luckily thinking fast enough to shield his face from the damage.

“Sorry.” Dream said, stepping over the last shards holding him prisoner. “What’s going on?”

“Sam wants to give me my memories back.” Tommy explained. “With some kind of magic book.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed. He looked up and down Sam with an air of curiosity, standing in between Tommy and the trespasser. “Hey!” Tommy shouted, trying to push past Dream, but despite his height, Dream had always been the more muscular of the both of them, and it wasn’t much good.

“No.” Dream said, steadfast. “No. Give me my memories back instead then, if you’re so desperate.”

Sam only laughed at that. “Absolutely not. In fact--” And only then did Tommy notice the splash potion Sam was pulling from his belt-- “I think it’s time for the prisoner-to-be to go back to sleep.”

Well, Dream might have been the more muscular of them, but Tommy had always been faster. In a miraculous quick thought, Tommy darted the other way around Dream, causing his friend to lose his balance. It was fortunate, really, because Dream falling down caused the potion to go right over his head, landing on the grass beyond them. And before Sam could grab another one, Tommy had initiated the best game of tug of war the Tommy SMP had ever seen, this time with the weirdo magic book.

“Let go.” Sam growled, pulling backwards to leverage himself. This probably wouldn’t last long on willpower alone. If Dream was the more muscular of him and Tommy, Sam had them both bested. Luckily, what Tommy lacked in muscle, he was making up for today with wits. 

“I’ll rip the book!” He screamed, frantically. “Let go, you dickhead, or I’ll rip it in half!”

That seemed to knock some sense into Sam. Apparently, a book in the wrong hands was better than no book at all. Reluctantly, he let go, causing Tommy to clutch the book close to his chest. He looked at Dream sideways, trying to weigh the options in his head.

It should have been easy. Painfully easy. Tommy trusted Dream, farther than he could throw any ender pearl. The look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t worried; it seemed cold, calculated, even resigned. But that resignation…it was bone-chilling. It made Tommy feel a chewing type of nerves, something that felt like it was boiling him alive, grounding his bones down to dust. It was almost enough to have him give the book right back where he got it and tell Sam that he was ready to face whatever lay inside it.

Almost. (No one locked his friend in a glass box and got away with it).

“Fuck you!” Tommy shouted in Sam’s direction, the boiling feeling turning into fury. He handed the book to Dream, who actually did look kind of worried. “Fuckin’--work your magic! Just tell me what’s going on!”

Dream looked at the book like it had just sprouted two heads. Tommy felt his heart somewhere in the bottom of his stomach.

“Do you…know what to do?”

“Give me a second.” Dream muttered, staring deeply at the pages. After a moment had passed, he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah. I think I do, actually.” He runs his hand down the spine. “Not sure why.” He looked sideways at Tommy, examining him. Tommy examined right back. His first and oldest friend. The only one he’d ever remembered having. “You sure about this?”

Well. They could change that, hopefully. “Yeah. Go for it.”

An air of complete concentration came over Dream, focus written on the lines of his face as he ran his fingers over the words on the pages of the book, words Tommy couldn’t even make out. For a moment, in the shadow of that obsidian box, everyone held their breath.

It barely made any noise, when the book collided with the grass. But the look in Dream’s eyes was loud enough.

As he took a step back, Sam took a step forward. His hand was already reaching for his weapon. But Dream, who had always been one step ahead of the fight, had other plans. His eyes weren’t on Sam’s axe, but rather on Tommy. As unguarded as that made him, he had an air about him Tommy didn’t recognize. He didn’t recognize Dream, posture straighter than ever, mouth stern, and eyes hidden in the trees’ shadow. 

“Goodbye, Tommy.” He said. Then he was gone.

“ Wait--!” Tommy shouted, almost taking off, but Sam grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Tommy tried to wrestle out of his grip, but…see earlier point about the dude’s muscles. 

“Do not. Don’t go after him.”

“But I--” Tommy couldn’t find the words to finish his sentence. Dream had said that-- Goodbye, Tommy --with more finality than Tommy had ever heard. If he had felt the odd sensation that something bad would happen if he gave Dream that book, he knew it with certainty now: for one reason or another, if he went now, he would be turned away. Dream wouldn’t want to see him. 

As much as that stung, and as embarrassing as the reality was, Tommy had never been a person who could make it by on his own. He sagged in Sam’s grip until Sam planted him firmly on the floor, and he could only hope Sam would listen to him from this point forward. Did he make a bad decision? Probably not. Bad for him, maybe. He didn’t know what to make of Dream, now. Maybe he never would. Maybe he would and would regret it.

Only time could tell.

“So…how bad did I fuck up?” Tommy scratched the back of his neck.

Instead of answering, Sam just turned away from Tommy, returning to work on the stupid box. 

“Bad, I guess.” Tommy laughed. No answer.

“Come on, Sam! Whatever you need to do with Dream, you can still do it, right?”

“He’s never going to let his guard down again.” Sam mumbles, slamming a chunk of obsidian done with a particular amount of force.

“So…what are we gonna do?”

“ I,” Sam punctuated the word way more than necessary, “am going to keep working on the vault.”

“And meeeeee?” Tommy drew out, habit more than anything as he rocked back and forth on his heels, a nervous energy building inside him.

“You should…” Sam stared at the layer of obsidian he’d just put down before taking his pick to it, sculpting in careful shapes. The craftsmanship was honestly kind of impressive. “You should go find Tubbo.”

“Wh--what’s that guy gotta do with anything?”

Sam cracked a smile, the first one Tommy had seen from him. “Quite a lot, actually. I’d stay away from that book.” And then, after a pause-- “If you want to.” 

“Fine then.” Tommy grabbed the book off the floor, sticking his tongue out in Sam’s direction. It probably wouldn’t do much, though. He didn’t seem to feel the same spark around it that Dream had. “I’ll go find Tubbo.” 

Sam doesn’t do much more than hum in response, and Tommy figures that's that. There’s still something he can’t shake though, and he turns over his shoulder before leaving the clearing. “If…what if Dream comes back? What will we do?”

(It’s not like Tommy wants him to come back. Not at all.)

Sam placed another brick on the one he’d just placed. Rhythmic. Familiar. “We’ll be ready.”