Chapter Text
“Tommy,” the Man-with-the-pale-mask breathes out.“You can speak, can’t you?” Tommy stops. His teeth ache and his arms burn, but he can’t help but stop at the sound of his own name. He hasn’t heard it in so, so long. How does this Man know his name? The other Man, the one with the gun, has empty eyes. He’s silent as he holds Tommy against the ground, but his grip shifts at the question. Tommy hisses. He doesn’t like how the Man-with-the-pale-mask says his name. Tommy has heard the stories. He knows who they are: the Last Men. Sam taught him well. If their long, dark clothes and partially covered faces didn’t give them away, the way they tried to shoot him on sight certainly does.
Tommy's ears still sting from the growl of the gun pale-mask now throws over his shoulder. The strap curls around him, away but not out of sight, as he kneels down into the mud. Tommy doesn’t understand why, and he really doesn’t understand when a fingerless, gloved hand reaches out towards him. The Man holding him down suddenly speaks, and Tommy tenses up at the nervous, almost concealed lilt of his voice. “Dream—”
“—Shh...” pale-mask says as cuts him off, and Tommy strains his head to be able to see the hand. He can’t focus on the rest of what is said, but he can feel the way his breathing begins to pick up. If that hand reaches any lower, Tommy is going to bite it. Pale-mask isn’t going to fucking touch him. He tries one last attempt to twist away, but the grip on his arms tightens again and the hand is there and Tommy swears to god he’s going to take a finger off— “Tommy, shh…”
Tommy stops again, because he can’t help it. Tommy, shh, I’m here nookling. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the hand doesn’t tug or pull — it gently pushes through his hair. This isn’t Sam. Sam’s not here, but the words are so familiar, and the touch remains. It’s safe just like Sam always was.
Tommy doesn’t know what to do when he feels a rumble start in his chest. These men tried to kill him only a few minutes ago. These men would have killed him if he hadn’t accidentally cussed them out. These men are the Last Men, but as the hand pushes through Tommy’s hair again, a purr finally breaks free from his throat. He opens his eyes and looks back up at that pale mask. The smile carved into it stares down at him.
Pale-mask asks him to speak again, and despite everything Sam taught him about this crumbling world overrun by nature and Men, Tommy answers.
•════════•
Tommy wakes to a hand against his mouth. He flinches, ready to sink his teeth into it before his vision adjusts to the face in front of him. It’s Sam. It’s Sam’s hand. “Ppham?”
Tommy’s eyes were made for the dark. He can see the way Sam jerks his head from side to side in a very clear sign to shut up. There’s a creak above their heads that makes his ears twitch, and a cold rush settles over him. Tommy suddenly understands. Someone’s here. Someone’s in their house.
Sam finally moves his hand away. “Stay close,” he whispers. He switches a rifle from over his back and into his hands and arms it with a click. Tommy’s ears twitch at the sound. He doesn’t want Sam to have to shoot it. The growl is loud and it hurts his ears. Tommy looks up at Sam and nods anyway. He grabs Henry off the bed and holds him close as Sam leads them through the dark with quiet, calculated footsteps.
Tommy tries to listen for more creaks, but it’s difficult to hear anything over his own breaths — short and weak with a fear he can’t quite drive back. He clings to Sam until they reach a staircase.
Sam carefully lifts the handle concealed on the underside. The staircase makes no noise as it opens, and once the space is big enough, Sam pushes him inside. Tommy stumbles but crouches down into the dark just like he was told. The only problem is that Sam isn’t coming too. “Sam?” he whispers shakily.
“It’s going to be okay. Do you remember what I taught you?” Sam’s voice is serious, just like all the times he’s tried to teach Tommy something. This time, though, there’s no lightness to it, and Tommy shakes his head frantically.
He squeezes Henry with one hand and grips onto Sam’s sleeve with the other. “Don’t go! What if it’s the bad men?”
“Shh, I said it’s going to be okay, nookling. If I hear a growl?”
Tommy grips the shirt-sleeve tighter. The first three things Sam taught him were probably the first three things Tommy ever remembered him saying. He wasn’t a particularly fast learner, but by his second birthday he could recite them by heart. This time is no different. “I will duck,” he whispers.
“If I hear a voice?”
“I will run.”
“If I see a human?”
Tommy lets out a low, quiet chitter, but he answers. He knows he has to answer. “I will hide.”
“Good,” Sam says with a smile, and the staircase closes. Tommy hugs Henry as close as he can and curls his tail around himself. He tries to imagine it’s Sam — still here and not out there with the bad men. There are a few cracks in the wood that let him see part of the room, but by the time he looks through them Sam is gone. Tommy hears the growl of a gun go off. He’s so scared, so sure this is the last time he’ll ever see Sam again.
This time it’s not.
•════════•
"If you act like a wild animal we'll treat you like one," Dream says all matter-of-fact like. It really pisses Tommy off, but he holds back another growl. The rope on his skin itches, and his jaw hurts from the gag they forced into his mouth. It’s not his fault that he bit Punz. He’s not a wild animal, but he isn’t just going to let someone, Last Man or not, touch him like he’s some Pre-Crumble zoo animal. Fuck that.
"That's because he is one," Punz retorts, voice low and clipped. His eyes flicker to Tommy and then back down at the fire. The bandage on his hand has already started to bleed through.
“Fuh ooh, bhih!”
Dream suddenly gets up from the log he was sitting on, and Tommy stills. The steps are quiet even as they get closer, but he can hear every single one. They crash in his ears until Dream stops in front of him. Tommy doesn’t like that he can’t see past the Man’s mask. He doesn’t like how unsafe he suddenly feels. He doesn’t like Dream.
“You’re not a wild animal, are you, Tommy?” Tommy curls in on himself and shakes his head as he looks up at the Last Man, and Dream nods in approval. “And you aren’t going to bite anyone again?” Tommy hates the questions, but he agrees because he knows something bad will happen if he doesn’t.
Dream reaches down to slowly take the gag off, and then he shoves it back in one of his many pockets. Tommy wants to say something about how gross that is, but he can’t get any words past the dryness in his throat. He coughs a few times to try and get rid of the feeling, and there’s suddenly a hand in his hair.
“Good boy,” Dream says. Tommy shudders. The glove should feel rough as it brushes against his forehead, but it’s not. Dream pushes the hair out of his eyes and the touch is just as gentle the first time. This time it doesn’t remind him of Sam. He couldn’t even pretend if he wanted to. It’s nice, but it’s bad too. How can something feel nice and bad at the same time?
“Now, we want to know how you can talk."
“Bullshit,” Tommy mutters, and Dream's hand stops just below one of his ears. There has to be more to it than that. There’s something wrong with Punz, and there’s something doubly wrong with Dream. The Last Men don’t just keep a hybrid alive, and even if they can talk, they definitely don’t treat them like this.
“Do you think I’m a liar?” Dream’s hand suddenly leaves, and Tommy doesn’t know whether to sigh or whine at the loss. The words that pass through his throat burn.
“You always fucking lie, you’re Last Men.”
Punz chuckles from his place over by the fire. “Seems like someone taught your pet his stuff, Dream.” Tommy tenses at the word. Pet. Sam never talked about pets when he talked about the Last Men. Pets were from the Pre-Crumble. They were kept by humans for entertainment. Tommy growls. It sounds wild — and maybe that’s what it is — because Tommy will happily be a wild animal before he ever becomes someone’s fucking hybrid pet.
Dream's laugh is short and breathy. “You’re right,” he agrees, “but he’s not just a pet.” There’s a smile underneath his mask. Tommy doesn’t have to see Dream's face to know that now. “He’s so much more important than that.”
•════════•
Sam comes back into the room with a giant ball in his hands. It takes Tommy a few seconds to figure out what it is, both because he’s only seen it a few times, and because he’s warm and comfortable curled up half-asleep on the couch. Henry is tucked snuggly in his arms. “Tha—” Tommy tries to ask only to be cut off by his own yawn. “—That the Earth?”
“That’s right,” Sam says as he lugs it over to the couch and sets it down on a cushion with a huff. Tommy diverts his attention from it the second Sam sits back down. He jumps onto Sam and presses his head into his chest. One of his hands bunches up Sam’s shirt and the other holds Henry close. “—Ooph,” Sam exhales when Tommy falls on him, “you’re getting big.”
“‘Course I am, m’ a Big Man! Anyway, I already know about the Earth,” Tommy huffs. Sam chuckles and sets a hand on the back of his head. The touch is warm and Tommy sinks into it.
“I know, my nookling, but there’s more I wanted to tell you.” Tommy still doesn’t know what the nickname means, but his purr crackles into the air. It’s been the same one since he was barely old enough to know he could even purr at all.
“Why do you call me nookling?”
Sam’s face scrunches up, and Tommy resists the urge to laugh. “Well, the Earth here might help me explain, actually.” Sam takes the Earth off the couch cushion and sets it on the floor below them. Tommy looks down, and his eyes trace the grooves and lines of the place they apparently live. “You remember those bad men I told you about?” Tommy looks back up at Sam and nods. “They weren’t just bad men. Bad people used to rule the Earth.”
“Humans?”
“Yes, humans. Now, these humans, these people who ruled did what they wanted and took what they wanted from the planet. They were greedy, self-destructive, only out for themselves.”
“Is that why we have the Rule?”
Sam nods his head, but it’s no longer enthusiastic. “Yes, that’s why we have the Rule... Nature made everyone sick, and she wiped away as many as she could, but a miracle also happened. Hybrids were born. No one knows where your kind came from or how, but many, many people died.”
“The bad people?”
“Some,” Sam muses. "Some of them weren’t just bad. Some of them are still bad. The bad men are meaner now, angrier. They fear hybrids because they think you made everyone sick, but you didn’t, Tommy. They just fear you because you’re different.”
Tommy thinks for a moment. “Hmm, they’re just stupid then! ...But what does this have to do with you calling me a nookling?”
Sam sighs, and he pushes a hand through Tommy’s hair. “Life used to be much different, but it also used to be kind of the same too. You know the stories we make up together?” Tommy hums in agreement, and his eyes slip shut before he can stop them. “There was this character that I used to like called Tom Nook, and he had two sons, or maybe nephews. I’m not sure actually. They were called Timmy and Tommy.”
Tommy’s eyes shoot open and he looks up at Sam with a scowl. “Tommy?! But that’s my name!”
“That’s who I named you after. He’s also a raccoon,” Sam explains, and he must look down at the expression on Tommy’s face because he laughs. It’s high and breathy, and despite the way the sound makes Tommy warm, he won’t put up with it.
“Wha— stop laughing! I wasn’t named after him! He was named after me!”
“I don’t know…” Sam says as he finally stops, “Technically, you were born after the game came out.”
Tommy chitters. “Fine! If I have to be Tommy, then you have to be Tom Nook— you have to be Sam Nook!”
Sam presses their foreheads together. “Alright then, Big Man, I can be Sam Nook.”
•════════•
Dream’s grip is tight on his arm as they approach the giant wooden doors. What did Punz call them earlier? A check… a checkpoint. Tommy doesn’t really know what that means, but he does know it’s the only way to enter and exit out of this place. He glances back at Punz, who’s been trailing behind them as they walk. The Man raises an eyebrow at him, and Tommy can practically hear the words even though he doesn’t say anything: What are you gonna do? Nothing. He wants to cuss the Man out some more — maybe bite him again, but he knows what will happen.
He already tried to escape from the camp earlier — bit through the rope that tied his hands and feet and made a run for it. Tommy can still hear the disappointment like poison in Dream’s voice: “We’ve treated you good so far, Tommy. Better than we could have. But maybe you should learn what it's like when we’re not so generous.” His stomach still aches. Dream didn’t give him any food that night.
He looks up at the armed men atop the wall. Some of them wear dark clothes. Most have half, if not fully covered faces — just like Dream and Punz. All of them are Last Men. It’s an entire place full of Last Men. It doesn’t matter what Tommy thinks now. If he couldn’t get away at the camp, he’s never going to get away from here.
“Open the doors! It’s me!” Dream yells up at one of the men. He looks down at them, and his eyes are covered by two circular things. The Man nods, and not a second later there’s a groan. Tommy’s ears flatten at the noise, but it drags on and on and doesn’t stop until the doors are completely open. He peers inside, but what he sees is nothing like what he expected.
It isn’t dark or filled with fire. Sam once told him that nature set the rest of the Earth on fire, but some of the bad people are still out there, Tommy, in the flames, waiting. He later told Tommy that that wasn’t true — not at all. It was just an easier way to keep him from getting too curious when he was younger. Some part of Tommy never really stopped believing the story.
Roof-topped houses lined with front yards, just barely visible down the street, tell him a different one though. He thought this place was a Last Men camp. He thought it’d be filled with cages and weapons or maybe a bunch of enslaved hybrids. Why are there houses here? Surely The Last Men don’t live in them.
“Dream,” a calm voice greets, and the Man with the circles around his eyes jumps down a ladder that rests against the side of the wall. He wipes an arm against his forehead as he walks up to them. The Man is clearly about to say something more, before his eyes shift onto Tommy. “Wow. I’ve never seen a raccoon one before. Why is it still alive though?” It — like he's some kind of animal.
Tommy glances up at Dream’s face, and the grip on his arm tightens. It's a warning, and Tommy listens He keeps his mouth shut. “More profit that way,” Dream finally answers, but it isn’t what Tommy expected. Why would Dream lie about him? Does he not want the other Last Men to know why he’s here, or if he’s here at all? Is Dream even lying?
The Man looks at Dream for a moment. Tommy has a feeling he doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything either. He just shrugs and turns his attention past their heads. “Nice to see you too, Punz.”
“George,” Punz states, voice flat but not entirely unfriendly. George. That must be this Last Man’s name.
“Oh, and George? Tell Bad I need to speak with him,” Dream requests as he pulls Tommy’s arm forward again. It’s not towards the houses. He wishes they were going towards the houses.
George’s posture suddenly straightens, and his eyes don’t quite fall on Dream as they did before. “Yes, General,” he responds. It’s terse. It’s obedient. Dream wasn’t asking. He was ordering. Tommy’s gut sinks. There’s something wrong with this place.
•════════•
April is Tommy’s favorite month. He loves to pick yellow wildflowers and put them in baskets, his ears never itch from the heat, birds flit around the trees, and bugs crawl out from under their rocks. “You want to know why April is my favorite month? Because it’s when I found you!” Well, maybe there are a few more reasons, but that’s beside the point.
His point is that April is awesome.
That’s why Tommy swings a basket filled with flowers in his hand as he walks home. He’s not quite able to hold back a yawn. He’s tired, but he can’t wait to see where Sam puts all the flowers he picked this time. Sometimes he’ll place them around the house — on sills and shelves still annoyingly out of Tommy’s reach. Other times, he likes to put them in his hair. Tommy always laughs when he sees Sam walking around with a bunch of flowers sticking out of his hair.
It’s nearly dark by the time Tommy gets home. He pulls the door open and fills his lungs with as much air as possible. “Oh, Sammy! I’m home!” Kicking his shoes off without a care as to where they fly, Tommy shoots into the kitchen. Sam is sitting at a chair by the bar table. His back is to Tommy, but he doesn’t turn and look at him like he normally does. He doesn’t greet Tommy with a yell or a ruffle of his hair. Tommy freezes. “Sam? You okay there?”
Sam turns his head, but there’s a weird look on his face. His eyes are blank, but he must realize because a smile quickly covers up the expression. Tommy’s ears fold. The basket in his hand falls to the ground. “Seriously,” he presses as he rushes over to Sam’s side, “what happened? Someone didn’t try to kill you, did they?” Tommy tries to joke, but it comes out wrong. His voice shakes too much.
“I love you, Tommy. I always will,” Sam states, but his voice breaks as he lifts a hand up. Tommy is about to ask what’s going on. Why would Sam say that? He looks down at Sam’s hand, and a sob crawls up and out of his throat. It’s such a small thing, but it's still noticable. It's still there.
Sam told him what it means when your fingers begin to shake. That’s the first sign — one so powerful that it made the entire world crumble underneath it.
“No! No, this can’t be happening! Nobody lives here but us! Sam—”
“—I know, shh,” Sam whispers as he reaches up and places a hand on Tommy’s cheek. He wipes a tear away as it falls, but more come after. “I know, but nature takes whoever she wants. And sometimes it isn’t just the bad men.”
“I don’t— I’m scared. Sam, I’m scared,” Tommy whines. He doesn’t want Sam to go. He doesn’t want Sam to die! Sam is going to die, Sam is going to die— What is he supposed to do without him? He won’t survive, he won’t survive by himself—
“—Shh, it’s going to be okay, my nookling, because you are smart, and so, so special, and I taught you everything I know. If I hear a growl?”
Tommy crashes into Sam’s chest and buries his head in the crook of his collarbone. He refuses to answer the questions. He sobs. He begs Sam not to leave him. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he ever sees Sam. It can’t be the last time.
This time it is.
It’s the last April they ever have together.
Tommy stops liking April.
•════════•
Tommy doesn’t know how long it’s been since Dream locked him in this room. He paces the walls like a caged animal in search of escape and wonders if maybe that's what he is. There isn’t one: no cracks in the walls, no windows, and no vents. He can’t tell what time it is. He can’t even see the sky. A simple bed with a side table pushed up against one wall, and that’s it.
It’s the first time Tommy has been stuck with his thoughts in a long, long time. In the past, he’s always had something to do. Something he’s had to do to survive after Sam— Now, it’s too quiet. Too still. Tommy has always had a hard time not thinking when it’s quiet.
This room reminds him of the houses outside, because he’s finally realized what they are: a town. — like the ones that existed before the Great Crumble. Tommy still doesn’t know why they live here. He doesn’t know why he’s here. Dream still hasn’t told him, but he did say he would “be back soon.” Whatever that means. Whenever that means. Tommy wouldn’t particularly mind if he never saw the Last Man again if it didn’t mean he’d slowly starve to death in here.
The quiet makes him think about Dream too.
Dream was the first Last Man to ever find him, and George had called him “General.” Tommy doesn’t know what that means, but it has to be a title. Who is he though: leader of the Last Men here, or all Last Men? The thought of either scares Tommy. He wishes he could ask Sam. He wishes Sam were here.
His ears raise and he backs away from whatever breaks the silence. It’s someone turning the doorknob. It's Dream. “Tommy,” he greets as he steps into the room, and the door closes with a clack behind him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t lock it this time. Tommy doesn’t respond. He curls his tail around his leg and waits to see what Dream will do. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he scolds. “I know it was a little boring, but I wasn’t gone that long.”
“Are you gonna tell me why I’m here?”
“I am,” Dream agrees, and he reaches into his pocket. Tommy backs up more, so sure it’s going to be something bad. It is. It’s a purple flower that barely fits into the palm of Dream’s hand. “Whoever took care of you taught you a lot, but I want to know how much. Do you know what this is?”
Tommy hesitates. “How do you know I didn’t just teach myself?”
“No hybrid that can talk is self-taught. Someone had to have taken you in and raised you. What is this?” Tommy looks at the flower again.
“It’s… a flower.”
“I know you’re lying,” Dream sighs. Tommy tenses at the disappointment, but he has nowhere to go as the distance closes between them. His back is already up against the wall. His ears are flat. His tail is curled around his leg. It couldn’t be more obvious that he wants Dream to stay away, but the man doesn’t stop his approach until he’s right in front of him. He’s too close. His hand is too close.
“Don’t touch me!” Tommy growls out. He doesn’t want Dream’s hand to push through his hair. He doesn’t know why he ever let it happen to begin with. It isn’t comforting. It isn’t. The bruises on his arms burn.
“You’ve been alone for a long time. Was it poachers… or was it this little flower in my hand?”
Tommy grits his teeth, but the words shoot out of his mouth anyway. “Shut up! You don't know anything!"
“But I do. I do understand. You see, there are two types of people in this world. Those who simply let this dreadful, ugly, monstrous virus kill them and their loved ones. Just like your guardian, Tommy. Then you’ve got soldiers. People who are willing to do whatever it takes to beat this disgusting disease, take back control, reclaim humanity… Guess which one I am.” Dream raises his hand high enough to make sure Tommy can see the flower clearly before he crushes it underneath his fingers.
Tommy’s chest burns, but not at the action — at the realization. His hands shake. He’s scared. He’s angry. He wants to hide. He wants to kill Dream. He wants Sam. “You’re not a person, you’re a monster,” he whispers.
Tommy finally understands why he was brought here, and he bites Dream deep enough to leave a scar.
•════════•
The ribbon twirls in the air, tied to one of the spaces in the fence Tommy has never dared cross before. It’s bright orange — a stark contrast against the cloudy afternoon sky. He sees it by accident, and his hands clench white against the strap of his leather bag. There’s only one reason why there’d be a ribbon here, but he doesn’t want to believe it. He has to be sure. There's another one a little further down, and another, and another. Fuck—
Tommy runs. His feet pound against the still damp earth. His heart beats wildly, but the feeling is covered up by broken, shuddery breaths. As his feet crash onto the wooden porch of their— of his house, he can suddenly smell it. The wind tries to blow the scent away, but the rain holds it down to the earth long enough to wash over him.
Tommy slams the front door open and it crashes harshly against the wall. He was never smart enough to fix the broken hinge on it anyway. His leather bag slides off his shoulder and hits the floor. It’s useless now too. Sam— Sam warned him about this.
It was his fourteenth birthday when he was told more than just the truth. Sam told him as much as he knew. It’s been two years since then, but Tommy remembers well. The ribbons can only mean one thing. It means this place has been marked.
He can’t hide here any longer.
The Last Men have found him.
Tommy stumbles through the house — through so many memories that don’t matter anymore. Henry is sat on the couch, and his black button eyes stare up at Tommy. He looks at the little red cow one last time.
There’s an emergency pack hidden at the other door of the house. It’s filled with anything Tommy could think of in the event that he has to leave this place for good. He made it after— he made it after. There are a few water bottles in it, a canteen, a sleeping bag, as many preserved snacks as he could get his hands on, and the hunting knife he got on his tenth birthday.
He finds the bag right where he left it. There’s a gun that rests on the wall with a couple of bullets already loaded inside. Tommy shoves them both over his shoulder as fast as he can and slams the next door open with his arms. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he has to get to the opposite fence line from where the ribbons were. He has to break the Rule.
The scent of the Men is closer by the time he reaches the perimeter, but he doesn't think they're close enough to spot him yet. If he hurries, he might get out before they ever see him.
His muddy boots slot into the spaces of the fence, and Tommy climbs. The weight on his back slows him, but he lands on the other side without dropping anything. He's out, and the thought makes him freeze for a second.
What do we never, ever do?
He broke Sam's rule. He finally did. His feet are on the wrong side of the fence, and although it doesn’t look any different than usual, it feels different. It feels like the rest of the world is wide, open chasm, and he has no idea what exists within it other than danger.
Tommy doesn't look back until he reaches the sign.
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK
There used to be a house, protected and locked away in the remote wilderness of some Pre-crumble park, and there used to be a man who lived there named Sam. He was Tommy’s entire world. His caretaker. His protector. His dad. Eventually, though, everything crumbles. Everything is overrun.
Tommy looks back and says goodbye to his home for the last time.
He makes it two days before the Last Men find him.
•════════•
His foot hits the ground with a crack, but even if he didn’t hear the impact, Tommy would know by the way the pain burns up his leg. It’s fire. It’s wrong. It makes him want to keel over and puke, but he can’t stop. He can’t. His foot is wrong, but nothing has been right for a long time, not since Sam died, not since Dream— not since Dream found him.
Tommy presses all the momentum he can into his good foot and takes another step forward. He doesn’t know how long he keeps running, but he manages to get just a little further away from that place before he hears a scream. It sounds far away and yet so close. It sounds familiar. “—mmy! Tommy!” It’s his name. It’s Dream. Tommy drags the whine that wants to come out of his throat down. He doesn’t want to imagine what Dream will do if he finds him. He doesn’t want to imagine how he’ll survive without Dream either. He’s nothing without Dream. He shouldn’t have ever left.
Tommy keeps running anyway.
He can almost touch the forest ahead of him when his ears raise. “Fuck,” he whispers, and ducks into the grass as low as he can. The unmistakable green of Dream’s cloak hits his eyes not a second later. The man emerges from the forest just ahead, gun held light in his hands. There’s another man behind him with another gun in his hands. It’s like the first time he met Dream all over again: Punz is still by his side.
“I know you’re here, Tommy,” Dream says as he tilts his head up. Tommy clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle his gasps. This can’t be it. He can’t be caught now. He’s so, so close to the edge of the forest. If he can just make it through the treeline, he can lose them for good. Dream will never be able to hurt him again. “I know you’re scared, but if you come back now, it’ll all be okay. I won’t be mad. I’ll protect you.”
Tommy shakes. The wind brushes against his ears, and it feels like a gentle pair of hands. Sam’s hands. Dream’s hands. Dream is lying. He’s a liar. Is he? The gun he holds goes back over his shoulder in some sign of safety, and Punz reluctantly follows a moment later. Tommy hesitates. What if he does go back? Dream said he wouldn’t be mad, but— no Tommy can’t. That’s wrong. This is wrong. He remembers all the other times Dream said that to him. There are scars on his legs and finger-shaped bruises on his arms. His stomach aches. He can still hear Bad’s voice in his head and the scratch of pencil on paper. He still feels guilt, so much guilt for leaving.
Sometimes Dream reminds him of Sam. His Sam Nook. That scares him more than any kind of pain ever will. Tommy is scared of the day he won't want to leave at all, and that's why he has to.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Punz states. His eyes are still empty, and Tommy knows now that they always were.
“A new Wave is coming, Tommy, and you understand better than anyone why we need to find a Cure," Dream stresses.
Tommy does, and he doesn’t. He hates the Sick. The Sick took Sam away from him. He doesn't want anything like that to happen to anyone ever, but this isn't right. He doesn’t care how many people it will save. What the Last Men doing to him, what Dream is doing to him — it isn’t right.
Tommy hates the Sick, but he hates Dream more. That’s why when the wind shifts again, he crashes into the forest line and runs.
The growl of a gun goes off and a bullet flies over his head.
Dream screams.
Tommy keeps running, forever, always forever, and then he feels nothing at all as he hits the ground.