Archive of Our Own

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*click*

September 20th, 2022. Xxx xxxxx police station. I’m Detective Sneeg here with Thomas Innit-Wastaken under confession of the ‘Smiley killings’.

The little tape recorder that the detective was tentatively holding up to his mouth was nonchalantly placed down onto the table in front of them. There was nothing else on the table, which left the cold linoleum to reflect the bright and accusing lights that beat down from the ceiling.

The room was plain all around. Plain cream walls, plain tile floors, plain cheap chairs. It all made Tommy feel like he was in a new bedroom. Something welcoming and open, ready for him to inhabit and decorate. 

Barely would he ever decorate them, and if he did, then all of his posters would be taken down in no time.

All of this to say, the room made Tommy feel cold. 

Sniffing, he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, having his mud covered sneakers prop up against the end of the chair. He was sure that it made him look like a small child.

He felt like a small child, so maybe that was okay.

The room was quiet as well. Was he supposed to say something? This was an interrogation after all.

“Would you like some water,” the detective spoke, setting his voice to be something comforting; approaching him like he was a stray dog. Tommy looked up at him owlishly.

“Um, yes please,” his own voice was quiet and fragile. The detective nodded and got up from his seat. The door to the room gave out a little click when the man left, and Tommy’s eyes drifted to a security camera nestled up in the corner of the room.

He remembered, back with his br- back with Wilbur, they would sit down on the living room couch and watch shitty crime shows. The ones that were more acting that actual crime, but it entertained them nonetheless.

Wilbur had leaned over to his ear and said, “Those cops in that room do nothing but find evidence against you. No matter what they say, they are not your friends.”

At the time, Tommy had joked with him about why he would need that information.

The detective made no show of returning back into the room, placing the water bottle onto the table next to Tommy.

“Thank you,” he whispered underneath his breath.

The detective nodded, something curt and short. He took a pen out of his coat pocket and started fidgeting with it. Clicking it methodically. The sound echoed throughout the room, shooting against the walls and the table, and then ricocheting into his eardrums, vibrating all up in his brain.

“So,” the other man spoke up, “Eight confirmed kills. That’s a hefty number for a seventeen year old.”

He spoke so casually, as if he was talking about the weather, or a sports game. 

“So do you not believe me?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be in this room if they didn’t,” the detective replied smoothly.

“I don’t care about what the police department or whatever thinks. I’m asking if you think I’m innocent,” Tommy urged. There was something about the man’s eyes, how they looked at him. It reminded him of how Phil used to look at him when they first arrived at the Watson household.

There was a moment where the man thought of a reply, and then he said, “Looking at you now, I do not think you did it.”

Tommy frowned, “I think you’re optimistic.”

“Maybe I am. But you look like a good kid.”

“This isn’t the movies. This is real life. And just because I’m a teenager doesn’t mean I didn’t do all of the things I did.”

“And what did you do?” Tommy’s eyes flicked towards the camera in the corner of the room once again. This would be it. If Tommy continued down this road, the court case was as good as final.

“I killed all those people,” he responded simply, “I’m the Smiley killer.”

The man clicked his pen some more, as if lost in thought. But Tommy knew that everything in this room was intentional, every action that would go down, was for a reason.

“ Why ?” he decided to ask.

That’s what Tommy wanted to know, if he was being completely honest.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “Cause I could. Sick satisfaction. I don’t think serial killers really have a reason for doing what they do.”

The man nodded.

“Well then what made you confess?”

Tommy gulped, “I um, the last victim showed me that- that um,” he breathed, “That hurting people is bad. And that it needs to stop.”

“Did you feel regret, hurting these people?”

Inhale, exhale.

“Yea.”

“Then what made you continue?”

Inhale .

“I dunno.”

“Why did you leave that mark on the bodies?”

Exhale.

“I don’t know.”

He drew his knees closer to his chest and tugged at the space blanket around his shoulders. It made a prominent crinkling sound as it moved.

“Do you have parents?” The sudden change in topic stuttered Tommy’s brain as he looked back up at the detective. The question was odd, but he still prepared his tongue to answer.

“No. No I don’t.”

“Any guardians?”

“No. I uh, I grew up in foster care.”

“Foster care? Do you wanna talk about that?” The detective urged, sitting forward in his chair. In return, Tommy sighed and leaned back. Pushing his back against the chair aggravated his sore, bruised back, but he didn’t fight away the pain.

“Well, both of my parents died when I was a baby. So I don’t really remember a time out of foster care.”

“Do you miss your parents?” Now, Tommy knows that the man is trying to look for a motive, but to Tommy it just sounded like he was in a therapy session. The prospect made him laugh a little, something small and breathy.

“Well, I never really knew them. And If I’m being honest with you, I don’t really give a fuck. Now what I do miss- or- what I’ve been searching for, was family.”

“Did you find one?”

Tommy smiled, “I have a brother, Ranboo. Not by blood. We met in foster care when we were four. Stuck so close together that we refused to be placed separately,” he reminisced, something sad in his tone, “It didn’t matter if the house was good, or the house was shitty, we were attached at the hip, and I would always protect him. I would do anything for Ranboo.”

And he would, even if that meant he found himself stuck and sitting beaten and in an interrogation room.

“That sounds very sweet,” The detective smiled as well, “I would do anything for my own brother as well.”

It was long past midnight by the time the two of them made it back to the group home. Despite being the middle of summer, the night air was cold and dewey. Tommy hated the way it stuck to his skin.

The two brothers returned to the group home so many times at this point they had their own private room nestled deep into the back corner. It was small- barely the size of a bathroom, but the two of them preferred to share a bed anyway.

There was a bed, a table, and a single light. That was all they had to their name besides their trash bags, and it was more the state’s than theirs.

The single light was dim and yellow, it barely fought off the shadows in the corner of the room. But the familiar sight of it was welcomed as Tommy pushed open the door with his good arm.

Ranboo rushed in first, and sat down on the end of their bed, looking down at his lap. Tommy didn’t take too long to put his things down and sit next to him.

Tommy looked at the cast on his arm. It was pretty cool if he did say so himself. And if he learned anything from his twelve years of living on this earth, it was that his opinion was the only one that mattered.

(Ranboo’s did too, but he would never admit that out loud.)

The cast was clunky and bright red. The doctor said that the color hurt their eyes, which only made Tommy like it even more.

The cast had two signatures, one from their social worker, swirly and smiley, and a small drawing of a cat from Ranboo.

“Do you think that the ladies will swoon over my cast?” he asked, nonchalantly, “They’ll ask me how I got this cast and I’ll tell them that I was fighting off a bear! And that I fucked the bear up!”

Despite Tommy’s rant, Ranboo still looked down at his lap, sulking.

Tommy frowned, “What’s wrong?” he nudged Ranboo’s arm with his elbow.

“You’re hurt,” was all Ranboo said.

“Not that bad, Boo. I can’t even feel it,” he tried to reassure.

“But you still got hurt trying to protect me. I was the one that should have gotten hit, I was the one that forgot to do my chores!”

“Boo,” Tommy scooched forward, “It’s my job to protect you. I would gladly take a hit from you any day. I’m too strong to get hurt anyway.”

“But why would they do that?” he aksed desperately, “They had to have known that it was just a mistake.”

“People are bitches, Ranboo. All that matters at the end of the day is that we have each other.”

“But,” Ranboo sniffled, “Why won’t anybody love us?” and with that, the taller broke out into tears, sobs ripping through him as he curled in on himself. 

Knowingly, Tommy was quick to wrap his arms around the other, tight and reassuring. He buried his face in Ranboo’s hair and closed his eyes.

“Listen Ranboo, we don’t need anybody else. Okay?” he spoke softly, “Fuck everyone else.”

Ranboo nodded, “Yea. Screw everyone else.”

The two went to bed that night in each other’s embrace. The next morning they would be taken to a new emergency placement. 

Tommy nodded, “I guess that’s where ‘this’ all started in the first place.”

“This?”

“The killings,” he clarified, “Like- like you might say that it started when I killed that first person. But honestly, I think it all started when me and Ranboo stayed at the Watson home.”

“The Watson home?”

“My second to last foster before now; a father and two sons. We weren’t meant to be a long term placement, but we just- got along- so well that we just stayed.”

“Were you happy in that house?”

“Of course. In the two years we stayed there, I believe truly and wholeheartedly that we were a family. We watched movies together every Friday, we had dinners together every night. They bought us clothes and stuff, they went to our school events. Hell, Ranboo got injured when he was a kid, and has memory issues and shit, and they even took the time to help him with that. We were at the point where I was genuinely convinced that we were gonna get adopted.”

The stars were way prettier here than what they appeared to be when Tommy lived in the city. He supposed that light pollution had something to do with it, but he would also like to think that they were prettier on account of change of character. 

That maybe now that he was finally happy, the world got brighter.

Happy is a stretch of the word, of course he was happy before now. He was happy when he was around Ranboo, and he was happy when he was playing sports with his friends, and when he got good grades in school. 

But now, now he was at peace.

Wilbur was right next to him, looking up at the sky silently. His milky brown eyes were absorbed in the glittering stars sprinkling the wide expanse in front of them.

The two of them were sitting up on the roof.

Phil had strictly told them not to; that it was dangerous and that he did not want them slipping, falling, and breaking their bones. But Phil wasn’t here right now, and the roof was suspiciously easy to reach from the window of Wilbur’s bedroom.

Every now and then, the two of them would sneak up just to look at the stars.

One time, Tommy had asked if Wilbur had ever done this with other foster kids, to which he said:

“No, this is special.”

Tommy could understand why. The night sky, it was so beautiful.

But at times like this, it could also be so lonely.

It really showed you how big the world could possibly be, and how small you are.

“Wil, can I tell you something?” Tommy spoke into the quiet of the night.

“Of course, anything,” Wilbur replied, still leaning back and looking forward.

“I really care about you guys,” he admitted, voice small and sounding like a young child.

“Aw, Tommy.”

“But- but I feel like I always lose everything I care about. Like- like if I admit that, you guys will die or something, or foster care will take me away, I dunno .”

“ Tommy -”

“I just don’t want to lose you guys,” Tommy let his eyes tear up. Immediately, Wilbur moves forward and engulfs him in a bone crushing hug. Tommy shoves his tear covered face into his brother’s collarbone. It’s not that comfortable, but he needed it nonetheless.

“Hey, hey,” Wilbur murmured, clutching onto him, “You aren’t going to lose us, Tommy. You’re not gonna lose us. Look at me.”

The two broke apart from the hug, Tommy’s watery eyes met Wilbur’s.

“You’re not getting rid of us any time soon, okay? You’re stuck with us, that’s what family’s for.”

The promise was not one to take lightly, and it made Tommy’s heart burn like a thousand suns. But he choked down his saliva, and nodded with a new birthed determination.

He fell into a hug once more, and the two of them watched the stars until the sun stole them away.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Well,”

This was it. This was it! Tommy bounced up and down as he sat in the dining room chair. All of his other brothers were out of the house at some club activity he couldn't be bothered to join, which left him and Phil to their own devices. He thought that the older man would spend all day in his office taking phone calls, but he was quick to call Tommy downstairs for a ‘talk’.

Tommy knew what was coming. Of course he did, his family had been hinting about it for some time now. It was the perfect set up! Sure, it was a little odd that Ranboo wasn’t also there to receive the news, but maybe they wanted to give it to the two of them separately.

Ever since he was a baby, he always dreamed of the day that someone would adopt him. The perfect family that would pick him up, and love him for everything that he was. It seemed so unreachable for all of his life, but looking at the Watsons now, he knew that they were the only family he would say yes to.

Phil sat down across from him, quietly. There was something unreadable in his eyes that almost brought the mood of the room down, but nothing could stop Tommy from kicking his legs back and forth excitedly. He couldn’t hide the dopey smile on his face.

For some reason, that only made Phil frown more.

“Mate,” the man started, holding his hands out across the table. Taking the hint, Tommy brought his up as well, and allowed them to be met and held in the middle.

This was it. This was it. This was it. 

He was going to be adopted!

“I just got off the phone with Sam,” his and Ranboo’s social worker , “And um- and there was some news about our home.”

Tommy’s smile dropped, his eyebrows quirked up curiously. But other than that, he urged the man to continue.

“He said that,” Phil breathed out, “Our home is not compatible to foster two children at once anymore.”

What?  

Tommy’s mind swirled, each piercing thought refusing to admit what the man was trying to say. Uncharacteristically, Tommy didn’t say anything.

“And you know this is not a decision I would make willingly. I- never would I dream of ever thinking- but Ranboo is fragile,” they were talking about Ranboo now? Tommy didn’t like the way his heart was sinking, “His brain is still working towards getting better. And in order to do so, he needs a calm, constant, predictable environment. And-”

“Phil, what are you trying to say?” Tommy cut him off, looking him directly in the eyes.

Phil looked at him like he was the saddest thing he had ever seen.

“You’re going to have to go back to foster care for a while.”

Oh.

Oh.

Of course.

No matter how much Tommy was (or thought he was) a Watson, he was still a foster kid first. And the foster kid in him should have known that this was going to happen eventually. It was stupid of him to let his guard down.

Phil’s hands tightened around his, while Tommy’s own fingers went limp. His entire body did, in a sense, numbing down into some dumb sense of acceptance. There were no tears, there was no yelling, not yet. Instead, all he said was,

“Oh.”

“I promise, Tommy, I promise that I won’t stop fighting for you. The second we get this house back under correct inspection, we’ll get you back,” All of Phil’s hollow promises fell on deaf ears. Tommy had been through this song and dance before. He knew the motions.

“When does Sam come to get me?” he asked quietly, eyes trailing lazily down to the table below him.

“Late tonight,” Phil replied guiltily. Tommy nodded.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this until I’m gone. I don’t wanna say goodbye,” was all he said, standing up from the chair. It made a horrid screeching noise as it rubbed against the ground, but nothing hurt more than the cramping feeling in his chest.

“Tommy-” Phil tried, raising his hand up in front of him.

“I need to go pack my things.”

Tommy ran up to his and Ranboo’s shared bedroom. Soon to be only Ranboo’s.

“They sent me back.”

The detective said nothing as Tommy continued to speak.

“I had cried for like, the entire day. I tried to be quiet about it but I’m pretty sure Phil could still hear. Hell, I’m surprised that I looked even somewhat presentable by the time we made it to dinner, cause when I made it downstairs, no one seemed to notice.”

Phil had made chicken and waffles.

It was Tommy’s favorite meal.

A couple of months into their stay at the Watson household, they had all gone out to this fancy restaurant that had advertised the dish. They had gone in hopes of trashing on the absurdity of it, but Tommy had ended up ironically loving it; devouring the entire thing.

The problem with that was that the rest of the family hated it.

He could tell immediately when the mood dropped as Techno, Ranboo, and Wil walked in.

Tommy had situated himself in his usual seat long before the three had gotten home from their club meeting. His legs were drawn up to his chest, crushing him between the chair and the table, it made him look small, but he didn’t mind. No words were exchanged between him and Phil, not even any sorry excuse for small talk.

When Wilbur’s eyes landed on what Phil was making, his expression morphed into a scowl, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he exclaimed to himself as he stomped further into the kitchen.

Ranboo slid down into his usual seat next to Tommy, drawing down near to Tommy’s ear and whispering, “He’s in one of his moods.”

“I’m not in a mood . You’re just being a jackass,” Wilbur bit back, slumping down into his chair on the other side of Tommy.

Tommy slouched in on himself, uncomfortable with the tensity on either side of him.

“Boys,” Phil admonished, “No fighting at the dinner table.”

Phil was acting so normal considering the circumstances. Tommy doesn’t know why that makes something bitter squirm in his gut. He was the one to ask Phil not to bring it up. This is what he wanted. So why does he still feel so bad?

Too busy staring down at his empty plate, he didn’t even notice when Techno and Phil also nestled themselves at the table. The only thing to break him out of his stupor was the food being shoved onto his plate.

Instead of eating, he focussed on how everyone else tackled their dinner.

Techno had separated the chicken and the waffles, cutting them up into small pieces and eating them as if they were two separate meals.

Ranboo ate the chicken and the waffle combined, but cringed at the taste every time. If Tommy were in any other situation, he would have laughed.

Phil looked down at his meal with sad eyes, occasionally looking over the entire table like everyone at it would disappear if he didn’t.

Wilbur grimaced down at his meal, stabbing into the waffle pieces. He didn’t even put any chicken onto the plate.

Everyone was quietly eating their meals. Not even talking about the day they had at their club meeting. It really made Tommy realize that he was the one that brought noise to the dinner table. Without him, it was such a peaceful silence.

He knows that Phil said he didn’t want to give Tommy up to foster care, but he still couldn't stop his mind from collecting piles and piles of evidence to reason just why they chose to get rid of him.

He was annoying, that was for starters. He talked far too loud and far too much. He was selfish, always dreaming for things that no one could achieve. He never did any school work, he’s messy, he has little emotional intelligence. 

As Tommy looked down at his plate again, he knew there was a reason he’s gone through so many homes.

“Are you gonna eat something, Toms?” Phil broke the silence of the dinner table, looking over to his youngest. 

“‘M not hungry,” he mumbled, curling in on himself more.

“Good lord,” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“What?” Tommy questioned.

“Literally no one likes this shit but you,” he gestured down to the half eaten food on his plate, “And you’re not even going to eat it. You’re so full of yourself.”

“Dude, I’m literally just not hungry. What’s your damage?” That was another point to add to his list. He was so quick to anger, running his mouth until it got him in trouble.

“My damage is that you think you can just come waltzing into our home acting like you own the place!” Wilbur’s voice began to raise as his hands clenched onto the table. 

Tommy knew that the older had problems with anger. It was a talk he had received near the beginning of his stay. That when Wilbur was like this, he didn’t really mean anything that he said; lost to uncontrollable emotions.

But that didn’t stop the words from hurting.

“What does that fucking mean?” His voice lifted up an octave with emotion.

“It means I’m- I’m tired of you ! You’re tiring, Tommy! Good fucking lord-”

“Wilbur!” Phil cut in between the two of them, his voice sharp and commanding. Techno and Ranboo looked equally uncomfortable watching the scene in front of them.

“Why am I the one in trouble?!” Wilbur shouted, focussing his attention onto his father.

(Tommy knew that Wilbur was just sending his aggression wherever he could. He knew this and it still hurt so bad.)

Wilbur was still yelling, other voices butting in. But they were all mumbles in his own ears. With everyone now honed in on the argument, Tommy took it as his chance to escape.

Slipping silently out of his seat, he wasted no time running up to his bedroom and slamming the  door.

He fell into his bed- the bottom bunk, top belonging to Ranboo- and curled in on himself, letting out a pained sob. His hands wrapped around the upper part of his body, entangling in his curly hair.

He had never felt pain like this before. Never, never, never. This wasn’t physical. No, he could deal with a couple of bruises or broken bones. 

This was something deep down inside of him that could never be fixed with a cast or a kiss on the knee.

This wasn’t like the times he had gotten kicked out of other houses. This was his  home , and he was being taken away because he was just that unloveable.

Why won’t anybody love him?

“Tommy?”

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“Oh Tommy,” Ranboo closed their bedroom door behind him and quietly walked into their bedroom, slowly becoming darker and darker around them with the setting sun. Tommy could feel the bed dip next to him, and a gentle hand on his back, “You know he didn’t mean what he said back there. Even though it was horrible.”

“I know,” Tommy whispered, shifting his head so that his watery blue eyes could look out to the room in front of him for possibly the last time.

“He loves you so much more than he could ever admit. We all do,” Ranboo continued.

“I know,” Tommy said again, but this time didn’t ring as much truth.

Tommy sighed. He had to tell Ranboo. Even if this family wasn’t his, Ranboo still was.

“I’m being sent back to foster care.”

Ranboo stiffened. The air in the room became unbreathable. 

“What? Wh- what? Wait, why would they send us back?”

“Not you , Ranboo. Me. I’m being sent back.”

The hand’s grip around his shoulder got tighter as Tommy hid his face again. He couldn't stand to look Ranboo in the eyes. Whether it be from shame or devastation. 

And then, warm arms wrapped around him, “No,” Ranboo mumbled with his face pressed against Tommy’s back, “ No . You’re not- you’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Tommy replied numbly, “Sam’s coming to get me tonight.”

“I’m going with you,” Ranboo shook his head, “I’m going with you!”

At this, Tommy turned around and sat up to face his brother, “No you’re not.”

“There’s no way I’m staying here while you go back alone!” Ranboo refuted, eyes already red with burning tears.

“Ranboo, this is the house of our dreams. You’re safe here, you’re happy here. There’s no way I’m letting you leave, you know what other houses are like.”

“Exactly! You can’t go through that alone. We promised each other that we wouldn’t leave the other alone.”

“Ranboo-”

“I can’t do this without you!”

“Ranboo please just promise me that you’ll stay here,” Tommy grabbed onto the other’s hands, “It doesn’t matter where I go as long as I know you’re safe,” Tommy could feel tears dripping down his face, but he let them fall.

Ranboo’s face scrunched up as he looked Tommy in the eyes, he shook his head ever so slightly, “I don’t want you to go.”

“It’ll be okay,” Tommy cried, “I’ll be okay. I always am. All you have to do is stay here with the Watsons, and wait for me til I age out of the system, and then we can be together again.”

Ranboo’s hand came up to wipe the tears off of his face, “We’ll call, every night,” he promised, “But you have to promise me that the second something happens, you’ll tell Sam.”

Tommy nodded, and hugged his brother once again. Tubbo would call the two of them clingy, but it felt deserved this time.

They spent the rest of the night with each other; neither of them sleeping. In Tommy’s memory, the night blended together into a waxy mush, nothing important was talked about, but nothing forgettable. 

Sam’s car came too soon.

It was two o’clock in the morning when they heard the telltale sound of pebbles crunching underneath wheels in their driveway. Tommy had once said that it was absurd that the man would come out and collect them so late at night. But the older had just said that if he had to sacrifice some sleep to get them out of a bad home, then he would sacrifice days.

Ranboo helped him carry his bags down to the first floor, Phil was waiting for them at the end of the hall. All of them were acting as if they were attending a funeral. The sting of it all left Tommy numb.

Numb was the perfect descriptor as he took it all in for one last time. The living room couch that was green and raggedy, the windows that had drawings taped to them as shitty excuses for easter decorations- long leftover after the holiday, the shoes leftover shoes piled up on the floor with no order.

Finally, Tommy looked at the framed photos on the wall. Family portraits all the way back to when WIlbur was a baby. He was in those pictures, smiling and laughing along with the people we once called brothers. His eyes always scrunched up when he smiled, he always thought that it made him look funny.

For a moment, he wondered if they would take the photos down after he left.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He wouldn't be there to know anyway.

Before he stepped out of the door, he hugged Ranboo one last time, hiding his face in the taller’s shoulders.

“Stay safe,” Ranboo whispered. No other words would leave his mouth that night.

Next, Phil swung over and engulfed him in an embrace. Despite being taller by a couple of inches, the man still wrapped his arms around him like he was a small child in need of comfort. Despite everything, Tommy hugged him back.

“We’ll see you soon,” The older closed his eyes. Tommy didn’t respond, because he knew that he was never coming back here, no matter how much the older insisted, “Goodbye son.”

With no other pleasantries, Tommy picked up his bags, opened the door into the warm, dark night, and limped out to Sam’s waiting car.

“But all of that’s to say: I was sent back to foster care. All by myself.”

Every time Tommy and Ranboo would leave a house, Sam would greet them both with a pat on the shoulder, and a signature, “Long time no see, boys!”

It was something cheery, more of a joke than anything. It always served to make the two of them laugh when they were younger, especially when they were kicked out in a matter of days.

. . .

Tommy opened the back door of the car to throw his luggage onto the floor before traveling around the car and slipping into the passenger's seat.

It was quiet.

Warmth bloomed as Sam placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Long time no see, Tommy,” the words were spoken mournfully.

Tommy just curled in on himself and lowered his head as far as it could go, letting his golden curled shadow over and cover his face. The seatbelt pulled against his midsection. The hand stayed on his shoulders, tightening when the sound of sniffling was heard.

“I got someone that’s willing to take a long term emergency placement tonight. You won’t need to go back to the group home,” Sam spoke gently.

When Tommy didn’t reply, Sam shifted the gears and started driving. The car made a gentle monotonous sound as it traveled down the empty road. Tommy had driven this road at this time of night many times, with Techno supporting in the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t gotten his license yet, but the older was teaching him. It was always easier to drive at night, when there were less cars to overwhelm you.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked at the familiar road one last time. Not really crying, but lacking to catch stray droplets of water that bulged out of his sore eyes.

Tommy wondered if Sam was doing anything before he came to pick him up.

He had a family of his own. Four kids that he adopted some time from before Tommy was born to a couple of years ago. The man also talked about a boyfriend that has stuck around too long to not consider engagement.  He had never met them before, but it was easy to get the man to talk about them when Tommy was trying to avoid something.

Was the family waiting for him at home? Was Tommy disrupting that family too?

Tommy curled in on himself more at the thought. 

This was going to be a long ride.

“That’s where I was sent to my last house.”

“The Wastaken house? The one where you were adopted?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“It must have been quite the family, if you signed the papers.”

“It was. . .”

When the front door opened, the first thing that Tommy’s eyes latched on to was the man’s eyes.

The house was nothing special.In fact, it was a large downgrade from the Watsons’. Back there, it was a large blue family house in the suburbs; close to the school, close to the center of town, and a nice convenience store right on the corner of the road. It had a nice lawn as well, one that led out to the woods where the boys would go out to explore in the summer.

This place had none of that, 

It was a brown and borderline dilapidated extension to a condo. Something that jutted out of the end of the other apartments, crushed underneath another one on top of it. Soggy porches stretched out of the front of it, but there was nothing on it other than some mail abandoned on the ground. On top of that, the patio from the apartment above this one encapsulated the entire front of the apartment in a dark shade.

It was dreary, to say the least.

“Are you sure this passes inspection?” he had said to Sam upon first glance of the place.

“All of the conditions were in check,” the older man had replied, looking at the building as well- then at the neighborhood around it, “Just, do me a favor and keep a hand on your phone.”

And then they had gotten out of the car, Tommy’s bags in tow, and walked up to what they assumed was the correct front door. The man on the other side had opened it after the second knock, and that was when Tommy looked up.

And saw his eyes.

He was a normal looking guy, don’t get Tommy wrong. He had dusty blonde hair and freckles splattering across his cheeks. There was a content smile stretched across his lips, and a long healed scar that carved just left of the middle. It was striking, but nothing crazy, Tommy had a couple of scars himself.

The man was smiling, but it did not meet his eyes. Bright green, like leaves in the spring, but dilated and non concentrated as they looked down at Tommy with no emotion at all.

Maybe he was tired, Tommy reasoned. It was the middle of the night after all, soon the sun would be rising.

The last time he had stayed up this late was when he fell sick the year prior. A moderate lung infection that left him sick to his stomach and delusional with fever.

Tommy coughed every last bit of air that was left in him into the toilet he was hunched over. Heat radiated off of the outside of his cheeks as he greedily sucked more air back in. There was a hand on his back, rubbing along his spine and keeping him steady.

He leaned back on his haunches as one of the aforementioned hands slid up to his forehead. The cool surface was welcomed against the sweat.

“It looks like your fever is going down,” Tommy looked back to Phil, who looked just as exhausted as he was. There were deep bags underneath his eyes and his shoulders were hunched. Which would make sense, considering since Tommy had not had a blink of sleep that night, neither had Phil, “We’ll try to get some water in you in a couple of minutes, but if you can’t keep that down we might have to take you back to the hospital.”

“I just want to go to sleep,” he whined, a rasp to his voice. To accentuate his qualm, he leaned back into the older man’s arms, letting Phil take the support of holding his body up.

“I know, but you need to drink something to feel better,” Phil replied as he hoisted the two of them upward. Tommy followed clumsily, holding on to Phil for dear life.

Even though his head accelerated up a couple of feet, it still felt as if he was down by the ground. Crushing dizziness pressed against the sides of his skull. Something was burning inside of his stomach, and up through his torso, and his throat, and-

“Hold on- Dad- Dad -” was all the warning they got before Tommy was falling back down to the toilet seat, hacking up bile.

If the moment weren’t so overwhelming, the both of them would have realized that this was the first time Tommy had called Phil ‘Dad’. In their half a year staying in the Watson household, neither he nor Ranboo had ever treated around the idea.

But that night, neither of them had noticed. And neither of them would notice if it continued from there.

Tommy doesn’t know how long they were standing at the front of the door, but the man standing across from them had not said a single word. 

He was kind of just standing there, looking at Tommy.

Sam cleared his throat, “Hey Dream,” Ah, so that was the man’s name, “Can we come in?”

“Oh, yea,” Dream replied, finally looking over to the social worker. He stepped aside and opened up his home for the other two to enter, they wasted no time.

Tommy didn’t pay much attention in school, but he was pretty sure that this was the blatant definition of juxtaposition. 

If the outside of the house was trashy, and quite frankly unsafe to be around at night, then the inside was the most neat, put together house that Tommy had ever seen. It was a generic setup; a homey living room with a small kitchen connected to the left, and a hallway cramped in between the two which Tommy could only assume led to the bedrooms and bathroom.

What was surprising though, was the fact that it was so clean . Tommy could not see a speck of dust even if he tried, not even in the air. There was no scent to the room either. Everything that was scattered around the rooms- books, shoes, picture frames- was so perfectly even that it was unsettling. 

“The table is in the kitchen, we can all sit in there,” Dream offered. It sounded more like a command than an offer, but Tommy listened anyway. He knew the drill, and he was old enough to sit with Sam as he went over with Dream what it meant to be taking care of a new foster kid.

“Again, thank you for taking Tommy in on such short notice,” Sam started, dropping down into one of the seats. There were four seats at the table, even though as far as Tommy could see, there was only one man living in this apartment.

“Of course. I’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival ever since I got the call,” Dream sat down across from the two of them, “This is my first time fostering a kid.”

“Ah well, in that case,we should get straight into business-” Sam started, and that was the part where Tommy started drowning out everything the other two were talking about. Information about him- his allergies, his past history with other houses- boring information that he’s listened to over and over.

A part of him cried that he never thought he would be hearing it again.

Tommy never thought that he would go through these motions again. Scoping out the house, the people inside of it. Meeting new people that you would be living with. Gauging whether you would be staying there longer than a week or not.

Dream looked like a nice enough guy, but Tommy still couldn't help but hate him.

Or maybe, he hated that he wasn’t supposed to be here .

“-Well, if we’re all set here. Then this will be where I leave you,” Sam finished, placing his hands onto the table in front of them. Tommy looked over to him and frowned.

“I should be showing Tommy his room anyway,” Dream stood up, “It’s pretty late.”

Sam nodded, “Call me if you need anything,” he said to the new foster parent, but Tommy made note of how his eyes flicked to him as well. Tommy nodded to put the man at ease, and with that, Sam was gone.

Unbeknownst to him, his last savior was gone as well.

“. . .It was certainly something.”

“Was it a bad home?”

. . .

“No, it was just not like other homes I was used to. My foster parent acted so differently than Phil did. If Phil was like a parent, this new one was like a. . .a roommate.”

“For the first few days, I swear we didn’t say a word to each other. He made no offers to talk to me and I made no move to talk to him. I would say that it was as if he acted as if I wasn’t even there, but it was different than that.”

There were eyes on him at all times. No, this wasn’t just some weird feeling of being watched at night when you’re anxious. Tommy knew for a fact that someone was watching him.

Whenever he would leave his bedroom for dinner, Dream would stare at him. He swears that the man never blinks.

Dream’s eyes never left Tommy. In some weird way it was like the man was analyzing him- an obsessive sort of thing.

It was a week into Tommy’s stay at his new foster home, and he was pretty sure that this was what it felt like to be living alone.

Dinners were an awkward affair. No words were exchanged between the two, and the food was almost always just something that the older man stuck into the microwave. An artificial taste lingered on the roof of his mouth as he shoveled more mac and cheese through his teeth.

“What’s your favorite color?” Dream asked out of nowhere. Tommy looked up at the man in surprise, but took a moment to consider the question.

“Red,” he replied simply. That was always his favorite color. That was what everyone associated him with. Spunky, fiery red; that was Tommy.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What?” Tommy stuttered, not expecting the sharp response.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” Dream said simply.

“Wha- you think I’m lying about my favorite color being red?” he asked incredulously, placing his fork down into the half eaten bowl of dinner.

“You don’t look like a red type of guy.”

Well, that was something Tommy had never heard before. That was the opposite of what Tommy had ever heard before. He would be lying if he said that curiosity did not stir inside of him.

“Well then what do you think my favorite color is?” he dared.

Dream hummed, “Pink.”

“Pink?”

“Yea.”

“That’s basically red.”

“Basically, but not quite. I think that inside, you really like pink because it’s gentle, and sweet. But because you put up this bravado, you chose the manlier option.”

“Manlier option? I’m not in middle school anymore, dude. Men can like the color pink.”

“Do you like the color pink?”

“SURE! Sure, the color pink is fine. Is that what you wanted?” he relented, leaning back in his seat.

Dream smiled, something with connotations Tommy could not trace, “Yea. I am.”

“He wouldn’t let me go at night. Scratch that, he would barely let me go out at all. I mean- I guess I get it. We were living in a pretty shitty part of town. From his point of view, it wasn’t safe for me to be wandering around like that.”

“Did you ever feel unsafe?”

Tommy thought about that for a moment.

Yes, he wanted to say. But not because of my surroundings.

“Not really. The neighbors were pretty nice. I made friends with the guy that lived above our apartment.”

Tommy was one his way back into the house from collecting the mail when something fell from the skies and right onto his head. It didn’t really hurt as much as it was surprising, but the swak he let out was not something that he wanted any other person on this earth to hear.

But it seemed that luck was never on his side, because immediately after, hearty laughter erupted from above. Tommy looked up to see an older man leaning over the railing of his porch.

“Sorry about that niño. I didn’t see you there,” his voice was heavily accented and jubilant. Tommy looked down to the ground, where the thing that hit him on the head lay. 

It was a crumpled up can of beer.

By the time Tommy looked back up, the man already had another one in his hands, cracking it open with a refreshing sound.

“Are you just gonna, like, leave that on our lawn?” he shouted back up, looking between the man and the piece of trash.

“It’s not your lawn, it’s the landlords, and I’m pretty sure that guy put up secret security cameras, so I’m not doing anything to kiss his ass,” the man smiled wide and looked up to the skies. It wasn’t anything pretty, there were no clouds, and the sun was just about to set. It wasn’t even a pretty sunset, just the sky becoming darker.

Tommy didn’t know how to reply to that.

“Are you new around here? I haven’t seen you around,” the man asked, clearly not wanting to give up this conversation.

“Yea, I’m staying with Dream.”

The man scoffed at that, and Tommy made sure to stock that reaction away for later, “You his cousin or something?”

“No, I’m-”

“This shouting is hurting my ears. You want a drink niño?”

“I’m underage.”

. . .

“I have a coke,” he offered.

“Diet?”

“No.”

Tommy sat there for a moment, looking between the man on the porch above him, and the door to Dream’s apartment.

“Yea, okay.”

Throwing the mail to the floor of their own porch, Tommy ascended the stairs up to his neighbors. The wood was creaky and soggy. When he made it to the top he could finally inspect the scene.

This deck was way more furnished than Dream’s was. There was a grill in the corner, half opened and charred. Beer cans and party decorations littering the floor and railings. And half a dozen beach chairs all pointing towards each other. A boombox was somewhere Tommy could not identify, playing somber yet cheerful mariachi. 

“Come on kid,” the man hollered, stopping Tommy in his stupor, “The drink’s gonna get cold!”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, taking the cold, dewy soda can from the man’s hand and slumping down into one of the beach chairs.

“What’s your name, niño?”

“Tommy.”

“Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Alex,” the man confirmed, taking another sip of his drink, “So you’re living with Dream, eh?”

“Yea, I’m his new foster kid,” Tommy nodded, pulling his legs up onto the chair with the rest of his body.

The man took a minute to reply, as if he was thinking about the words that would follow next, “And do you like it?”

Tommy tapped his fingers against his knees, “Sure. He’s a little weird, but I’ve had worse I guess.”

“But you’ve also had better,” Alex finished for him.

Tommy chuckled at the irony, at the situation he was in, “Yeah.”

“I never thought that guy would take up something like fostering.”

“Do you know him? Like, more than just him being your neighbor?” Tommy asked.

“Nah. He really sticks to himself. If anyone around here had any luck of seeing him, he’s sneaking around as if walking around his apartment is something to hide.”

Yea, that pretty much sounded like the same guy Tommy had been living with for the past couple of weeks.

“Enough of that guy. How’s school going? I know the one around here has some. . .charm to it.”

“I haven’t been going to school.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, Dream hasn’t brought it up so I’ve kinda just been,” he looked over to a bird that had nestled into a tree across from him, “Hanging around.”

Alex hummed and leaned somehow farther back in his chair, “That has to be against the rules or something.”

In return, Tommy leaned in, “The rules? What? The foster care rules? And what would those be?”

“I dunno! Give the kid food or something.”

“Well yea . It’s the expectation that every parent gives their child food,” he jested, “But I mean- the not going to school thing isn’t great, but the guy hasn’t hit me yet so I’m not about to go tattling to my social worker.”

“Your standards are low, niño.”

“What can I say,” he shrugged, taking a large chug of his soda. The sun was well on its way to setting now, and deep in the back of his mind he knew that he should probably get back home before Dream started to worry. But this guy was genuinely fun to talk to. Besides, he needs a friend or two in this place anyway.

“I bet I could be a hundred times better foster parent; a better Dream ,” Alex joked, “Hell, you can just call me Mexican Dream.”

Tommy laughed, “I am never calling you that, ever.”

“But despite everything, there was something wrong inside of me.”

“Do you believe in God?”

Dream had asked, cutting off the amicable silence the two had established between each other. The two of them were sitting outside, in a small clearing in the woods near the back of the condominium. It wasn’t that interesting of a place, just a dirt clearing and a ring of stone in the middle that housed the small fire Dream was now feeding. There weren't even any chairs, the two of them had just opted to sit on the ground.

The fire popped and hissed as it lit up the front of Tommy’s face, and burned at the edge of his skin.

“ I used to be,” he admitted. It wasn’t something that he told to a lot of people, but after the couple of months he had spent with Dream, he had found that the man was very easy to talk to about things like this, “I grew up in this Catholic orphanage, where the nuns basically forced that lifestyle onto us. I knew more about the contents of the bible than I did math.”

Dream stayed silent, something he did often when he expected and or wanted Tommy to continue talking. He took the opportunity, “I was really into it. I mean, all of us were. We were these little kids with no parents and the promise that God would save us and bring us to these perfect families. I would pray every night before I went to bed that I would wake up with a mommy and daddy, and a couple of siblings to call my own, that loved me.

“It was pretty hopeless how religious I was. There was no surprise that it would all come crashing down. What they didn’t tell me when I entered that orphanage was that apparently God only works his magic for those ten and under. I aged out of that place and they kicked me out onto another home. Of course, that was where I met my brother Ranboo, so I took that as a sign that someone out there was looking out for me and building that family I wanted.

“Of course, people can only hold out for so long. When I met Ranboo, I promised him that I would do anything to protect him from harm. And of course, I would do that again and again for a million years. But,” his breath hitched, and the next words that left his mouth were higher pitched and vulnerable, “It hurts , getting hurt all the time.

“One time, Ranboo had forgotten to do one of his chores, and the foster father had gotten really pissed about it. I had told him that it was my fault, and I had distracted him from continuing his chores. I was locked in the pantry for an entire night with no dinner. Sitting there, looking out the small window, at the stars twinkling in the sky, I realized that if God were real, he was a bitch.

“Well, I had probably worded it way more eloquently than that, but it was something along those lines. In that pantry, I had reflected on everything that had happened to me: my parents dying, all of the families I went through, all of the hitting, and the shouting, and the entrapment. And I thought about God, and why he would do that . Why would he do all that to me? Me, being the over trusting little shit that I was, knew that God wouldn’t do that to me if he was real. And therefore, he wasn’t real. God was never real, and he was never there for me.”

By the time Tommy had finished talking, his throat had started hurting with a grating ferocity. He had also realized that his vision had started to blur into hot and cold mixing colors alike. With a snap of his head and the blinking of his eyes, his vision shifted back to normal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to start ranting there,” he apologized, not bothering to look away from the fire in front of him. Dream hadn’t fed it in a while, and it was starting to consume itself.

Dream laughed a little, something laced with an airy wheeze, “It’s alright. I think it’s really interesting that you feel that way.”

“I would say that I’m the most interesting person I know,” he replied, eager to return the atmosphere to a more laid back manor. Dream didn’t seem to want to though.

“Sometimes I think that I’m my own god,” he admitted. Tommy looked at him curiously, “Like- like everything that I do, I have control over and no one else.”

“Is that why you took up fostering?” he dared to ask, “Because you wanted control?”

Dream was silent for a while.

“Why did you want to foster me?”

“You’re special, Tommy. You really are,” Dream replied easily.

Tommy frowned, his entire face heating up from something other than the fire in front of him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

Tommy earned no reply other than those usual eyes piercing at the back of his head.

“We had gotten into a pretty bad fight. In retrospect, it was my fault. But I left it feeling pretty. . .shaken up.”

A loud, cracking noise echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left something sharp and burning radiating across his cheek. When the ringing in his ears subsided an acceptable amount, Tommy opened his eyes and looked over to Dream, who’s hand was still held up in the air across from him.

“You hit me.” It was an obvious statement, an observation more than anything. 

Dream let the shock wear off, and then refuted, “God, all you ever do is complain.”

“You hit me! I have the right to complain about that!”

Their fight had initially started over Tommy wanting to go to school. A reasonable request if he was being honest. He has been staying at this home for a couple of months, and every day the fear of having to redo a year of high school was growing greater.

How had it escalated to this point? Tommy hadn’t known, too lost in the blur of the argument. But this was it. This was the moment Tommy had anticipated since the moment he stepped in the door of this place.

Dream had hit him. That’s how it goes. Tommy goes to a home, Tommy gets hurt, Tommy leaves. Sure, they may have cut out the middle man in the Watson household, but he left all the same. And the moment he got his hands on his phone, Sam would take him out of this one too.

Dream scoffed and turned around to one of the cabinets behind them. With a slam, he pulled out a large tupperware container, “Put your things in the container,” he commanded.

“Excuse me?” Tommy shrieked offensively.

“Your phone, your little stuffed animal, everything in the container. You’ll get it back when you deserve it.”

“You’re actually being serious right now,” he scoffed, “Henry? You’re confiscating my stuffed animal like I’m a child.”

“Do it, Tommy.”

The tone in Dream’s voice was something Tommy recognized not to mess with. He rolled his eyes and threw his phone into the little plastic box. There goes calling Ranboo every night. Hopefully the guy didn’t have a heart attack without their little five minute talks before bed.

And then, something clicked, and Tommy’s heart dropped oh-so slightly.

He couldn’t call Ranboo; he couldn't call anybody. Which means he has no way of calling Sam and getting himself out of this place.

He was trapped here for the time being.

Fuck .

“You’ll get this back when you learn how to behave.”

Tommy scoffed, not standing down despite this minor defeat. Deeming their tussle over, Tommy turned tail and stormed off to the bedroom that was decidedly his.

“After that, we just kept fighting and fighting. And for a while I was truly convinced that I hated the guy. Unlike every other foster home, I so openly expressed to him my negative feelings towards him. And he didn’t care. But despite everything, he was still there. Without him, I was alone.”

“We were both alone.”

Tommy had regretted taking his phone back almost immediately after turning the device on and seeing the overwhelming amount of notifications that flashed across his screen.

It had been around two weeks since Dream took it away, and no matter how much time Tommy took out of his day to search for the thing, the man had seemed to make it disappear out of thin air.

And Ranboo, well, Ranboo was a worryer. 

47 unopened texts and 17 missed calls from his brother, all spanning evenly across the two weeks. Though peculiarly, instead of becoming more constant and panicked as time went on, the texts seemed to become more scarce. Going from worried questions to just-

‘Text me when you can. Hope you’re doing well.’

Two days ago.

Suddenly, the arduous rants about his foster parent he had built up and prepared in his mind shriveled up. He could text his brother later.

He needed a refresher. Social media should rot his brain enough.

Scrolling through pictures of his old school friends going about their lives calmed his nerves, a sense of familiarity washed over him. Even Tubbo was up to something, posting really close up pictures of bugs on his lawn. The account for his old school was busy preparing for the upcoming prom for the seniors and juniors. He was supposed to go to that, but something tells him that he’ll be missing out now.

He kept scrolling until he came across a post from Ranboo.

The picture was nothing special, a candid of the taller boy smiling- tears lining his eyes- as he hugged all of the members of the Watsons. It looked as if they were in the middle of having a party. Was there a birthday that Tommy missed? A holiday?

It was the caption that really solidified it for Tommy.

‘It’s official! I’m a fully fledged adopted Watson. I couldn’t have asked for a better family.’

Tommy looked at the screen dully.

Oh.

He should- he should be happy for Ranboo. He should be really happy that Ranboo has been adopted into a good family- a great family. His brother doesn’t need protecting anymore.

So then why does Tommy feel so abandoned? 

For a moment, cruel thoughts creeped up screaming, that was my family. Why can’t I have a family? But he pushed them back down. This was a good thing.

He just feels really bad about it.

He doesn’t feel like going on his phone anymore. The rest of his night is spent in fantasies of what that night- that celebration would have been like if he was there. Holding his brother in his arms, congratulating him and laughing along with the rest of their family. Sighing, knowing that their fight was over, they didn’t need to worry anymore. 

He imagined, selfishly, what it would have been like for him to have been adopted.

And if someone above was listening, Dream called out for him to come into the kitchen.

Exiting his bedroom, it didn’t smell like any food was being prepared. Even when the man was just microwaving something easy, it let off some artificial aroma. But no, the only thing in the kitchen was Dream standing at the table, holding up a small packet of papers and looking at him eagerly.

The look sent shivers down his spine.

“What’s this?” he asked quietly, confused.

“Tommy, I was thinking,” Dream started, but cut off his speech, seemingly deciding that he just wanted to cut to the point, “I want to adopt you.”

“What?” the words fell out of his mouth as he stared back down at the paper.

“I want to adopt you.”

“No, no I heard that. But- but where is this coming from?”

“I dunno. You’re special, Tommy,” Dream insisted. Tommy shook his head.

“But it’s only been a couple of months. This- this feels like we’re rushing into things-”

“Who else do you have, Tommy?” Dream cut him off sternly.

“What?”

“How many foster homes have you gone through, Tommy? Aren’t you getting tired of this? I mean, if the Watsons didn’t want you, then who knows if you’ll ever get adopted at this point.”

Tommy didn’t respond, whether he believed what Dream was saying or not, so the older continued, “But I want to adopt you, Tommy. All you have to do is sign these papers.”

Tommy looked down at the pen on the table in front of him. Something deep inside of him was screaming that this was all happening much too fast.

But Dream was right. What other choice did he have?

Maybe, Tommy could resign himself to this.

He looked down at the papers.

He never did like the look of his signature.

“But I don’t need to explain my reasoning to you. In the end, I was adopted.”

“Well, that is why you’re here. To explain your reasoning to me,” the officer chipped in.

“Whatever,” Tommy looked off to the side, “It doesn’t even have anything to do with the murders,” the lie slipped off of his tounge easily.

“Well, what does have to do with the murders?”

“I’m getting there.

“We were having another one of our fights when it happened. . .”

“That’s it! That’s it , Tommy! Maybe it’s time you’re taught how to behave ,” Dream growled, approaching Tommy with nothing but hatred in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, prick?” Tommy urged on. He was already far past one of the simplest rules of being a foster kid: Don’t piss off the parent.

But, Sam had scheduled a call to check up on him later tonight. So really, what was the worst Dream could do to him?

Too focussed on his cockiness, Tommy had no time to prepare for a strong fist to grab onto his hair.

“Agh! Let go of me!” he snarled. Dream was dragging him somewhere, Tommy’s feet slamming against the ground as his head was yanked towards one of the back walls. He could hear Dream throw open the door.

Now, there was one thing Tommy had learned about these condos.

There were two apartments to a section, a top one, and a lower one. And while the top one had an attic, the bottom one had a basement.

That was the only train of thought he was allowed before his head was chucked forward, and his entire body was flung down the stairs. With a slam, slam, slam , Tommy was nothing more than a heap on the dirty stone floor.

“What the fuck!” he screamed up the stairs. Dream stood at the top, with a single hand resting on the door. Tommy knew that it could close soon enough.

“Maybe you should stay down there until you learn how to act like a human being,” Dream scoffed, “Maybe this is why no other home wanted you.”

Before Tommy had a chance to yell something back, his saving grace arrived in the form of a ringing phone.

Dream flinched at the sound, and then looked down at his pocket. He swore when he saw the contact.

The man was quick to run down the stairs, rushing through places in the basement that Tommy couldn’t see. Dream’s movements were so quick and erratic. The phone rang four times until there was a sickening click, and then the phone was shoved in his hands.

Tommy dared to look over.

“Say anything and I won’t hesitate,” Dream warned, pointing a small handgun in his general direction. All of Tommy’s fight left him.

Dream was pointing a gun at him. And all Tommy could do was look at it doe-eyed.

Tommy blinked, and then answered the call.

“Hey Tommy,” Sam said casually from the other side of the call, “I thought you weren’t gonna pick up for a moment there.”

“Yea, sorry,” Tommy breathed, trying to steady his voice, “We were in the middle of watching a movie and I couldn’t hear the phone.”

He needed to think. He needed to find a way to express to Sam that he was in trouble and needed help, without Dream being suspicious.

Please , Tommy wanted to cry, Please get me out of here Sam. 

“Ah, I see. What were you watching?” Sam asked with genuine interest.

“Some- uh- some stupid fucking movie about dogs. Dream thought it would be interesting. But he’s a wrongun I tell ya’. It’s the worst,” Please, Sam. Please.

“I bet it’s not that bad. When you were little you used to love Milo and Otis.”

“Yea, but at least those guys had class . The second you make animals talk, it’s out the window.”

Sam laughed, “Well, let’s get onto the business stuff then. You’ve been adopted!”

Tommy gulped, “I have,” he acknowledged, not sounding half as excited as he should.

“How’s that been going? Has he been feeding you good? Treating you well? I trust that you would pick the right house.”

“I have,” Tommy stared at the gun, “But the weather’s horrible here. It rains all the time. I hate it.”

Tommy loves the rain. Sam knows that Tommy loves the rain. He had watched the boy throughout his entire time, looking at the drips against the window and begging to run outside and play in it.

He could only hope that that would raise suspicion.

“Ah well spring will end soon enough, and then you’ll wish it would rain with how sunny it will be,” Sam reasoned.

Fuck .

A single tear dripped down Tommy’s cheek, but he made sure to cry as quietly as possible. He could feel Dream’s eyes boring into him.

“You’re right,” he whispered.

Sam paused for a moment, “I really am happy for you Tommy.”

Tommy closed his eyes.

“You deserve a good home. It’s about time you got what you deserve,” Tommy shook his head. Tears wouldn’t stop falling now.

“You’ll keep in touch, right?” Tommy asked desperately.

“If you want me to, Tom. But you don’t need my help anymore.”

“Oh, Okay.”

“If everything’s all good, I should go finish this paperwork then,” No, no, no, “I’ll see you around, Tommy.”

Tommy took a deep breath that reached down to his gut. His face felt like it was burning.

“Goodbye Sam.”

And then the call was ended.

“Something in me broke. And I had no clue how to fix it.”

“So I went out and I talked to my neighbor.”

Tommy  was never going to leave this bedroom, ever again. That was the plan.

He couldn’t run away; the location- despite the friendly neighbors- was dangerous, and he had no clue where he could even run to. The terrain was too unfamiliar. Nowhere in the apartment was safe either, Dream could easily get to him and throw him right back into the basement.

In retrospect, this was his home, he could easily get into the bedroom. But Tommy was hoping that with the door locked and the dresser shoved in front of it for good measure, he had as noble precautions as any.

And no , he was not scared of Dream. He was just. . .hiding out until the man cooled down a little. Everybody got upset at times, that’s just human nature.

It’s not like he could really do anything about it, the adoption papers have already gone through. He was trapped here.

Here being in his bed, underneath three layers of blankets, hiding as if he were a small child afraid of the boogieman.

Sue him for being shaken.

Dream should be getting home from work soon, and Tommy had no plans of leaving this bedroom.

That was until something knocked on his window. The sound sent an anxious jolt through his entire body, but he still drew the blankets back to peek at what was outside of the window.

He was greeted with the sight of Alex  on the other side, one hand leaned against the outside wall, and the other held up, ready to knock once again. The sight of the man was a relief, Tommy needed some calm familiarity after everything he just went through.

He wasted no time shimmying over his bed to unlock the window, using a little too much of his strength just to open the heavy pane of glass.

“Alex!” he greeted excitedly, “What are you doing here?”

“Tomas! I missed you man! I wanted to see if you wanted to join me up on the deck. I bought some more soda just for you,” the man offered, holding out his hand. Tommy immediately took his hand and hoisted himself through the window. His bare feet collided with the wet grass outside, but the feeling was welcome as he rushed up the stairs to his neighbors porch. Anything to get away from the apartment for a while.

Alex followed behind slowly as Tommy threw open the beverage cooler and searched through the melting ice for a small can of cola. Finding one, he cracked it open with a hiss, and sat down in his usual chair.

And then, Alex sat down in the chair next to him. Which was a little striking, because his usual seat was the one across from him, in the far corner near the trees, but he let it slide in favor of the beverage in his hands.

“So where have you been niño? I’ve been lonely all week without your visits.”

“That’s a little sad,” he joked, dancing around the subject, “You must have dozens upon dozens of women piled on you to distract yourself from the presence of your teenage neighbor.”

“You know there’s only one woman out there for me, Mamacita-”

“Mamacita,” Tommy  said over him, used to the usual gag, “Your totally real wife that exists, and is just off in another country.”

“Yea yea, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss yet.”

“Hey! I have,” he protested.

“Your voice gets all high pitched and defensive when you lie.”

“Whatever,” he exaggerated a scoff and rolled his eyes, “You’re lucky you’re ten times more fun than Dream. I had to spend a week with that guy and now I feel like clawing my eyes out.”

“Was he treating you alright?” Alex asked, and Tommy shut his mouth. That question was a little out of the blue.

“Yea? Why would you ask that?” his tone wasn’t that convincing, but Tommy was a pretty good liar when he wanted to be.

“I just worry about you niño,” okay, there was definitely something up with Alex.

“Why are you always so suspicious of Dream?” he dared to ask, “Did he like, do something?”

Alex pursed his lips and took a chug from the bottle in his hands, “I think he’s a son of a bitch.”

“ Alex! You can’t just say that!” Tommy stood up.

“He is! And I don’t think you should be around him anymore,” Alex stood up as well, his voice way more calm and held back than Tommy’s.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he did. He did know what he was talking about, and it shook him to his core. But this wasn’t foster care anymore. Under the law he was Dream’s son and he couldn’t take that back. 

“Tommy, the walls in this place are very thin.”

Tommy’s heart stopped, his eyes widened, “What?”

“And I couldn’t help but hear screaming,” the man put his bottle down and crossed his arms, “I figured, maybe it was a scuffle. People around here are shitty, I wouldn’t be surprised. But you wouldn’t stop, and then you went quiet for days . I was scared that you were dead.”

Tommy breathed out, it felt as if he couldn’t breathe back in, “Why would I be dead?” he asked breathlessly.

“I’ve- I saw Dream do something, that I don’t think he knows I saw.”

“What was it,” he dared to ask.

Alex looked at him as if Tommy was something fragile, “About a week before you came here, I was on my way home from the liquor store. I usually park in this small back lot so no one would mess with my car. It’s a little bit of a walk to the condos, and it was the middle of the night.”

Tommy looked out into the night sky, the trees below it that swallowed up the lack of light and consumed the hidden contents inside. Something about it scared him.

“It was there I saw Dream, in the dark with no light. He was dragging something. When I got a closer look, I realized that it was a body.”

Tommy took a step back, his eyes growing impossibly larger. 

No. Alex must be lying. That’s crazy . It’s- it’s almost as if he’s implying that Dream is some murderer. That the guy who locked him in his basement is a murderer that could have- and still could- kill him at any moment.

“He was dragging that dead body off to bury it. And he acted as if it was nothing; something casual. I don’t know what he did to you, but I was scared that I was never going to see you again.”

“He locked me in the basement,” he revealed quietly, “He- he locked me down there, and he hit me, and- he- he- oh God is he gonna kill me?” he wrapped his arms around his torso in a panic.

“You’re not gonna die niño,” Alex placed a hand on his shoulder, looking more mature than Tommy had ever seen him.

“Why didn’t you call the cops?”

“At the time I was too scared to. But then as time went on, there was no news of the girl he killed. No missing persons poster, no worried friends or family. No evidence. That’s when I realized that Dream knows what he’s doing. And that I shouldn’t mess with him if I want my life,” Tommy looked at him in the eyes, searching for any semblance of guidance, “But I’m not going to falter now. We need to get you out of here.”

“Wh-what?”

“We need to get you out of here, far, far away from Dream before he can do anything more.”

“I can’t!” he protested, “He adopted me already.”

Alex cussed, “We can’t deal with that right now. You deserve to be somewhere safe.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to think back to his old home with the Watsons. Waking up every day in his own bed, surrounded by a bedroom he had decorated himself. Going to school every day with his friends, trying every method possible to avoid the boring lectures. Having family dinner every night, even if they missed other meals, dinner was always something sacred.

He wanted that back.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Okay. We gotta get out of here then, Dream is on his way home from work,” he stepped back, readying himself to move.

“Is there anything important you need to grab from the apartment?” Alex asked.

“He has my phone somewhere, but I don’t know where he could have put it. We’ll have to-”

And that was when it happened, seemingly out of nowhere. As if one of the shadowy creatures hiding in the woods crawled out from the trees and appeared out of nowhere, Tommy had no time to shout as a kitchen knife went plunging into Alex’s neck.

“I killed him.”

The man fell to the ground almost instantly, sparing only one moment to look Tommy in the eyes desperately. He was gone before he even hit the ground.

Tommy had never felt fear like this before. It was as if he was suspended in air; falling from the world’s tallest cliff. All of his muscles tensed up as he breathed in. And as if his body was moving without his consent a horrible noise- a scream almost- left his mouth from deep inside him.

That was until two hands shot forward, violently covering his mouth and trapping his head against someone’s chest.

That didn’t stop him from screaming though, some of the sound still leaked, muffled from in between the fingers. His own hands came up to claw at the person holding him, flailing and kicking, utterly panicking as his eyes were glued to the now dead body of his friend on the wooden deck floor.

“Shhh, Shhh,” the person holding him hummed calmly into his ear, “Be quiet, be quiet.”

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks involuntarily as he tried to hyperventilate through his nose. Nevertheless, he stopped screaming, and the hands let go of his face. When Tommy looked up, he wasn’t surprised to see Dream standing across from him, weapon in hand.

“ What the fuck ,” he shuddered, “What the fuck have you done?”

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. Any minute now he would wake up from this nightmare, and laugh about how terrifyingly absurd this situation was.

Dream looked down at the body in a numb state of shock, and then down to his own hands. As if the man himself was surprised with what he had done. For a while, no sound passed between the two of them as Dream looked down at the body, and Tommy stood paralyzed in place.

And then, Dream looked over to Tommy.

“Look what you made me do!” he exclaimed.

“What?” he replied fragily. 

“That man was going to take you away from me. He was feeding your mind with lies, who knows what he could have done to you,” Dream held his hands out in front of him, trying to walk over to Tommy and touch his arms in some sense of comfort.

The second his hands moved, Tommy flinched away with a short screech. He was full on sobbing now, his face surely a red, splotchy mess. He felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Get in the car,” Dream’s expression hardened, immediately moving to action. He dropped the knife, making room for both of his hands to grab onto Alex’s shoulders, dragging him along the ground.

Tommy couldn’t watch, he was going to be sick.

He looked across his neighbor’s porch for probably the last time. His eyes trailing from the streak of blood.

“I stabbed him.”

To Dream, dragging the body across the back field.

“I hid his body. And-”

Up the walls of the condo, to something that he had never seen before. There was a reason he missed it, it was hidden, camouflaged amongst the wood. The only thing that gave it away was a dim, blinking red light. After that, it was easy to see the lens of a security camera, pointed right at the scene.

Tommy looked at it numbly.

“Tommy!” Dream shouted from afar, “The car!”

Without a word- 

“-I ran away.”

Tommy had been sitting in the passenger seat of Dream’s car for about forty minutes in the dark before the door swung open, lights turning on to accompany it. Though the time felt like it went by in a blink as he stared numbly at the dashboard in front of him.

Dream slumped into the driver's seat with a sigh, jamming something into Tommy’s hands.

Henry.

Tommy held onto the raggedy fur.

“Did you hide the body?” he whispered despite himself.

“I did,” Dream replied simply, shifting the gears in the car and backing out of the driveway.

“What about the blood, did you clean up the blood?”

“No. I left it there.”

Tommy looked over to Dream, who had his eyes on the road, “You want to be caught,” it was half a question, half a statement.

“I want to be known .”

Tommy spoke no more, leaving the car in a dark, driving silence.

He turned around to face the passenger window, hugging into his stuffed animal as tight as possible as tears crammed this throat.

Dream didn’t do anything as Tommy sobbed right next to him.

“Why did you run away?” the detective asked, Tommy rolled his eyes a little, just enough for him not to notice.

“Because I killed someone,” he replied as if it was obvious. To be fair, it was, “And I guess I panicked. By the time news of the murder had spread, I was already far out of the state.”

‘A symbol representing that of a smile was carved into the stomach of the body. With the suspect still at large, we took to asking the landlord about the victim. He refuses any questions at this time. As for the-’

Tommy laid curled up in the far corner of a shitty motel bed. The blankets were scratchy and stained, and the air conditioning unit to the right of him was spitting freezing cold droplets of water at him. His body was curled protectively around his stuffed animal, Henry. His only sense of comfort as he looked dully at the news broadcast playing on the television in front of him.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion, but he was filled with a strange sense of resignation. Dream was in the bathroom center washing up, it was a whole different building a couple of rooms down from this one.  Tommy was entirely alone, he could easily run away if he wanted. He could run as far as his legs could take him until he found a phone booth. He could call up Phil, begging for forgiveness; for him to pick Tommy up, and this would all be over.

But herein lies the catch.

He’s scared .  

He’s not a hero. If anything, he’s just some princess captured by the dragon, in need of saving.

Except no one knows he needs saving. The only person that did is dead.

An Idea arose in his head. 

Making haste, he moved throughout the motel room, opening and closing drawers, searching through them for anything he could write with; anything that somebody could have left in their stay here.

The main room was no luck, he was quick to check through the bathroom. And by bathroom, a toilet and a sink in a cramped closet. Despite this, it came up promising.

A half used container of lipstick, red, vibrant, and writable.

Tommy checked the door, making sure that Dream had not returned yet, before dropping down to the dirty, carpeted floor, and crawling underneath the bed. He had to squeeze to turn himself over onto his back, but when he did, he was face to face with the wooden bottom of the motel bed.

He popped the cap off of the lipstick, and got to writing.

5/27/22

MY NAME IS TOMMY 

DREAM WASTAKEN HAS KILLED PEOPLE 

HELP ME

Hopefully he got the message across. He had no time to dawdle underneath the bed. He was quick to throw the lipstick back into the bathroom drawer, and snuggle back up into the position he was laying in before.

At some point he had switched the channel over to some old kid’s cartoon, something that you would see in a waiting room. The bright colors were enough to calm down his brain and his racing heart until the door opened.

Dream walked in, hair still wet. He dropped what looked to be a plastic bag on the desk near the door, and rummaged through it. Once he grabbed what he wanted, he wordlessly walked over to Tommy’s spot on the bed, and dropped something in front of him.

A Lunchable.

“Bon Appetit,” Dream said jokingly, and dropped down onto the other bed next to him. How could he be so casual after everything that happened tonight. Last night? Sparing a quick glance at the clock, it was three in the morning. Regardless, Tommy didn’t dignify him with a response, and instead sat up and peeled open the Lunchable.

He spread out the tomato sauce and cheese, and ate a pitiable little pizza next to Dream as they watched the cartoons in front of them. A devastatingly casual affair.

He took a bite of the pizza, and couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Tommy was so tired.

Tommy had to think about this next part for a moment. He had to get his facts right. Technically, this would be the third killing, but the first girl Dream killed had never been found, let alone classified under the Smiley murders.

“I was pretty spaced out for the second killing, but I remember that it happened a couple of days after the second one.”

“Are we there yet?” Tommy asked, looking out of the window of the moving car. Trees blended together into an amorphous green blob as he imagined a little man running along the power lines across from him. 

“No.” Dream replied sternly. They had spent hours on the road at this point. They hadn’t stopped since they had left yet another roadside motel, and the sun was just now starting to set. Tommy’s legs were starting to cramp up from sitting there so long.

“Where even are we going?” he had asked the question at least a dozen times before.

“I told you Tommy, I don’t know. Why can’t you just let an adventure be an adventure,” Dream squinted as he looked at the road. Empty, as it had been for the last couple of miles.

“This isn’t an adventure, Dream, it’s a crime scene getaway,” he murmured.

“What’s got you all pissy?”

“What, besides the murder?” Tommy bit.

“Jesus, Tommy.”

“We’ve been in this car all day. I’m getting claustrophobic, I need some air.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll pull over and we can stretch our legs for a couple of minutes. But then we have to get back on the road, I want to find another place to sleep before nightfall.”

Soon enough, they were slowing to a stop at some paved road off to the side of the highway; an overlook to the rolling trees below. The second the opportunity arrose, Tommy swung open the door and jumped out onto the sweet dirt outside.

“I’m thirsty, do you have any water anywhere?” he called back to Dream, who was still in the car.

“Yea, there should be some bottles in the trunk,” the man called back.

He walked around the car to the trunk at the back, and thoughtlessly lifted it open.

The water bottles were in there, but so was something else peculiar. If it were anybody but Dream, Tommy would have thought nothing of it.

But there was a black plastic garbage bag crammed in the back of the trunk. It was large, and oddly shaped. How long had that been there?

Still, Tommy grabbed one of the bottles.

Something brushed against his hand.

“Tommy! You almost ready? I want to get back on the road,” Dream called out from the front of the car. 

Tommy shut the trunk and quickly walked back to his seat in the car. Dream might have said something, but all he could think about was the pale, limp hand that was sticking out of that garbage bag.

“I killed them and stuffed them in the trunk of my car until I dumped them off a couple hundred miles away.”

“Did at any point your parent try to get a hold of you?” the detective asked.

“No. I had left my phone back at the house when I ran. No one could get a hold of me.”

Back near the beginning of Tommy’s stay at the Watson’s, he had been facing a couple of bullies at school.

Well, Ranboo had been facing bullies, but Tommy had found out pretty quick and punched them in their stupid noses, therefore the targeting was redirected at him.

It was nothing big, just name calling and taunting. He had faced way worse in his time. No one needed to know that a couple of dickheads were using them as their schooltime entertainment.

Until one day, when Ranboo was home sick, and Tommy had to wait for his foster brother to pick him up alone.

A handful of the bullies had cornered him on the sidewalk, ready to instigate anything that they good.

And, well, Tommy is still very hot-headed to this day.

To make a long story short, Techno had pulled up to the school just in time to see Tommy get socked across the face.

Oh, but it was so worth it to see the look on those bitches faces when big bad Technoblade came up and gave them a taste of their own medicine.

‘Are you okay?’ Technoblade had asked once they were alone on the side of the road. 

‘I think they may have dislocated my nose,’ Tommy responded, attempting to wrub at his nose, but hissing as the touch sent a shock throughout his entire face.

Techno had let out a deep sigh, and gestures for them to walk to the car, ‘Alright. Let’s stop by the urgent care. Hopefully they can get it reset by the time dinner is ready.’

Tommy nodded, and followed the older man to the car. Once they were fully situated inside, Technoblade spoke again.

‘Why didn’t you tell anybody that you were getting picked on?’

Tommy shrugged, ‘It’s not that big of a deal. They’re just some jerks.’

‘Some jerks that broke your nose.’

‘Whatever man. I can handle myself.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘What?’

‘I- I’m bad with words.’

‘Really? You’re an English major.’

‘Shut up. Anyways, what I’m trying to say, is that if you ever need protection, I’ll be there. Okay?’

‘Really?’

‘Yea. Really.’

‘Thanks, Blade.’

It was foolish to hold out hope that some small conversation between foster brothers would actually hold any meaning, but something inside Tommy still cried for Techno to come save him.

No one was going to save him now.

Dream had killed six people. At least, six that Tommy knows of.

Six families and friends that have lost someone dear to them, and Tommy hasn’t said a word about it. He could have told the police by now, or at the very least someone else. But he hasn’t.

Does this make him as bad as Dream is?

Dream is like a chugging train, speeding towards a cluster of unsuspecting people. And Tommy has his hand on the lever. He could change the train’s trajectory any time he wants.

And he hasn’t.

Tommy sat on the guard rail of a mountainous overlook, the night sky surrounded him. Dream was sitting to his right, looking up at the starry night sky. 

He doesn’t know how the two of them had made it to this point, sitting here in a general silence. They had been driving into the late hours of the night when Dream had suddenly stopped the car and stepped out onto the overlook. Tommy wasn’t far behind, sitting next to him and taking in the scene. He didn’t ask why he had stopped the both of them there. In the moment, it felt as if he got it.

He got it, in a way. The two of them were a train, chugging down the railway system like a well oiled machine. They needed to get each other, or the train would crash.

The stars were more beautiful than ever.

Back when he lived with the Watson’s, they resided on the outskirts of a city. A small town enough, but just close enough for the artificial light to leak into the sky and steal the stars away.

Tommy never really liked stargazing anyway.

But in front of the stars right now, he found himself with more courage than he had ever had before. Something sizzling along his bones that gave him the courage to ask a question that he would have never asked before.

“Why do you kill people?”

It was childish, really.

Why does the sun set? Why is the ocean blue? 

Where do we go when we die?

Dream was silent for a moment, but not the type of silence that hinted that he wasn’t going to answer, but something that signified that he was honestly thinking.

“My entire life has been really. . . simple ,” he started, the word sedimentary on his tongue, “I grew up in this small town, with my small group of friends, and that was all I had. If we’re talking real friends though, it was just me and Sapnap; the two of us against it all.”

Tommy thought about his past friendship with Tubbo. They had only met when Tommy had moved in, but it felt like the two of them had known each other for their entire lives.

“When something shitty happened, when something good happened, when someone died, when someone got into college, we were there for each other. We were brothers,” Dream sighed, and then shifted his sitting position so that his left leg was now perched up on the guard rail, and his right leg was now draping over the edge, “And then, a couple years ago, he died.”

“Shit,” Tommy says sympathetically.

“It was snowy on the highway, and his car got into a wreck. It was a total accident. He was dead and that was that,” a deep breath, “And it was like everything inside of me just disappeared. All of my emotions, something broke, and I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even feel sad that he died.”

Tommy broke his gaze from the sky over to Dream. He had never seen the man so vulnerable before. Gone was the fearless, calculated facade that was Dream.

The next part was spoken in a whisper, as if it was never supposed to see the world.

“When I kill people, I feel so scared. But I feel something again.”

And that was that.

That was all that was.

“What would Sapnap think if he saw you now,” Tommy whispered back.

Dream chuckled, “He would call me a monster,” he said the word with scorn, “But the truth is I’ve never felt more human.”

Tommy closed his eyes. 

“Tommy, if you want to go, I’ll go with you,” Dream said out of nowhere, tone almost desperate.

“ What? ”

“I know the foster system is hard, and it must be tough after what happened with your last family. Hell, I can’t even begin to comprehend what you’ve gone through, especially now,” the man was speaking so fast, Tommy could barely understand him, “If you want to leave , I’ll go with you.”

Tommy took a moment to let the words digest. When they finally did, horror settled in his gut.

“Are you. . .suggesting a suicide pact?” he asked breathlessly.

The silence was answer enough. 

Tommy turned his head to look back at the stars. The offer weaved throughout his veins.

“I killed my second to last victim behind a motel in the Pacific Northwest.”

He had let it happen, really.

Tommy had wanted a breath of fresh air after their hours on the road, and the pool sign advertised on the motel sign was tempting enough to take up that offer.

By the time he had made it out to the back of the place, a group of teenagers had just finished up their usage of the pool. Slapping each other on the backs and screeching as they wrapped their dripping bodies up in towels.

One of them had decided to linger, shouting off to their friends that they would be back inside in a couple of minutes. The group had raced off, leaving them to float around in the over chlorinated pool.

Tommy couldn’t tell you what happened next.

When the edges of his vision finally unblurred, and his consciousness was returned to his body, Tommy knew that the teenager would not be returning to their friends.

Tommy looked up to Dream. Through the blood and the sweat, he saw his friend. 

“Maybe I should have thought this through a little more,” Dream heaved through repetitive breaths,”This place is crowded tonight.”

“You need to get rid of that,” Tommy responded back numbly. In truth, every inch of his body felt as if it were wading through sickness. This was wrong, he felt wrong.

This person, this kid around his own age, was dead. And Tommy had talked about their body as if it was some tossed out piece of trash.

He was fucked. The least he could do was check the premises, help his friend clean up the mess, and go to bed as if this never happened.

For a moment it became apparent that in killing all these people, where it made Dream feel more, it made Tommy feel less.

Leaving Dream to his own devices, Tommy crept along the back wall of the motel, grasping onto the brick so he could peer over the side and survey the front.

If he could look upon the worst possible outcome, then he did.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, ” he whispered to himself. There, at the entrance of the motel, was a police officer, leaned over against the hood of his car, talking to the person who looked to be the one that checked them in.

Luckily, it seemed that the cop was just there for small talk, at least, if his relaxed demeanor had anything to give off. He strained his ears to try and hear what the two of them were talking about.

“-I swear if it gets any hotter, I’m gonna have to pull over one of those ice cream trucks,” the cop jokes. The other person chuckled at the sentiment.

“Well, I do have a pool out back. I’m pretty sure those kids just got out of it, so you’re free to use it as you please,” the other person offers.

Shit.

“I might have to take you up on that offer.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Think fast Tommy. You need to make sure that he does not go out back to the pool. Buy time, buy time.  

Dream better be thankful for this.

Tommy purposely picked up his breath, hitching it and heaving it until his face burned. Before he could talk himself out of it, he ran forward and out right in front of where the two adults were talking.

“Help! Please help me, sir,” he pleaded, raising the pitch of his voice to make it sound like he was on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong kid?” the police officer walked towards him, holding his hands out placatingly. The person that the officer was talking to turned around with a look of mild annoyance.

“I- I can’t find my dad. We’re here on vacation, and he was going out to get sunscreen. But he hasn’t been back in hours and I can’t find him,” he made sure to sound as urgent as possible.

“Hey, we can-”

“What if the Smiley Killer got him?” Tommy butted in, “What if he’s dead?”

The officer looked between Tommy and the person he was talking to for a moment before sighing, and straightening up his posture.

“Alright kid, how about this. Let’s take you over to the station, and we can call up your dad there. Do you know his number?”

Tommy nodded and wrapped his arms around himself.

Perfect .

The idea of walking himself right into the belly of the beast with the guilty conscience that sat on his shoulders sent terror through him, but if this went out right, then him and Dream could be out of here before morning.

Tommy kept the waterworks up, and slipped into the back of the cop car.

“They were a teenager, the person I killed. And- I dunno- something about seeing someone my age like that, really made me miss home. So I came across a cop, and told myself that I was a lost kid.”

The police station was really, really quiet.

Tommy had never been in one before. Even with the shittiest foster homes, Sam would always find a way to keep Tommy out of the eyes of the law.

He will not be taking an interview.

He’s recuperating with a new family right now.

Tommy is not willing to speak at this time.

Now that he’s here, it’s pretty much just a waiting room.

That’s because he’s sitting in the waiting room. Apparently his ‘case’ was light enough for him to not warrant being taken to the ‘back’ or whatever goes on behind the busy doors of the back wall.

The windows were nothing but an opening to the inky pitch black of the night outside. He knew that there was a deep forest past the class, something creeping and scary. Who knew what could be lurking out there.

The bright, fluorescent lighting did not help. It made the place feel artificial, unwelcoming. The entire place was uncomfortable, and he couldn’t believe that he was admitting to missing the cozy interior of Dream’s car.

Tommy found himself curled up in one of the plastic waiting chairs, watching a small television in the corner of the room. Some weird adults’ show was playing, a sitcom where half of the plot goes down in the family kitchen.

He just finished watching his second episode when Dream came storming through the front doors.

“Tommy?”

“Dad,” Tommy cried, keeping up the act and running over to the man.

“This your kid?” the receptionist lifted up one eyebrow.

Dream chuckled, “Yea, yea he is. Sorry about that, he has really bad anxiety and his phone died earlier today.”

Dream wrapped his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, and he had never been more thankful that he was going with the act.

“We should get going. Thank you officer,” Dream waved, dragging Tommy off towards the doors.

He heard a soft, “I’m a receptionist,” before the both of them were out of the building, and metaphorically out of the woods.

As they walked through the dimly illuminated parking lot, Tommy’s gaze caught onto a familiar group of people.

The teenagers, from the pool. All worried and urgent to enter the station.

It was about time the two of them fled.

But, before either of them could get into the car, Tommy stopped.

“Tommy? What are you-”

Dream’s question was interrupted by Tommy crashing into him, wrapping the older man up in a desperate hug. Tommy buried his face in Dream’s chest.

Slowly, Dream reciprocated the embrace.

Dream sighed.

“That was smart thinking back there. I’m proud of you.”

Tommy didn’t reply, content to hide in Dream’s arms for as long as he could.

Maybe.

Maybe it was the encroaching darkness around them, but something about this felt human.

Tommy readied himself for the hardest part yet. This is where his story would divert most from the truth, he had to craft his words carefully.

“The cop returned me back home to my foster parent, assuming that I was just an edgy teenager that decided to run away and then regretted it.”

“But when I got home, I realized that nothing was different, and I decided it was time I pulled off one last murder before -um- before offing myself.”

None of that was true, but Wilbur had once told him that the more dire a story is, the more believable it is.

He felt dirty thinking about that.

Tommy was having. . .reservations.

On paper, he had everything that he wanted. A family; someone to take care of him, something that was permanent.

Sure, he didn’t really have a house, unless you counted the car that the two of them spent the majority of their time in. But home was a metaphorical concept anyway. Home is something that loves you, and gives you stability, and keeps you safe.

Even if home was the very danger in the first place.

Dream loved him. And that was more than anyone else could muster.

He can’t remember the last time he had eaten. Every time he looks down at food, or -god forbid- lunch meat, all he can imagine is the bodies of those left in his tracks. His appetite is pretty much shot after that.

The radio displayed a news broadcast.

“The Smiley Killer has claimed another victim this weekend. Emi Armor was loved by everyone around her. She had just been accepted into her dream college, where she planned on studying chemistry. She is remembered through her parents, little siblings, friends, and boyfriend. Law officials are focussing their forces on the Pacific Northwest region. We can only hope this monster is caught soon-”

Tommy was quick to reach forward and switch off the radio, instead letting it display some somber country song that he would have skipped if he were in any other mood.

That teenager, she had a name. She had friends, and family, and a life. Tommy looks over to Dream.

They took that away.

Tommy’s foot tap-tap-tapped against the floor of the car as it bounced anxiously.

“I’m losing my mind,” Dream said out loud. The tone was a juxtaposition of the statement, calm and even. Tommy knew what he meant. He wished he didn’t, but he did.

Someone else would be losing their life soon.

When he could see the silhouette of another car parked on the side of the road ahead of them, he had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was going to be.

Dream shifted the gears, and soon enough, they were parked behind the other car.  When Dream got out, Tommy followed suit.

“Hey there! You alright?” Dream called out. With the new view, Tommy could see that the only person there was a sole man, crouched down at the back right rear of his car. His face was morphed into something exasperated as he fiddled with a popped tire 

“The fuckin’ thing had to blow right in the middle of nowhere,” the man grumbled, “Middle of the fuckin’ night too. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare, would ya?” He looked up to the two of them. He was older, if the graying beard had anything to say about it. It also looked like he hadn’t taken a bath in ages, his clothes were a mess of dirt.

“I’m afraid we don’t,” Dream fretted, and Tommy was a little scared at how good his acting was, “But I’m a mechanic, I can help you take that thing off. Tom, go call a tow truck,” he tossed Tommy his phone, but he knew better than to call anybody.

Tommy pretended to fiddle with the thing as Dream walked over to the man and took the offered wrench from his hand. 

It was out of the corner of his eye that Tommy could see Dream take the wrench and swing down. There was a dull thunk, a flash of red, and a pained grunt. But to Tommy’s surprise, the man didn’t go down.

“Mother fucker !” the man swore, and made a swift lunge for something underneath his car. When he came back up, there was a long, rod shaped thing in his hands that whipped back and smacked Dream in the face. With the assailant momentarily down, Tommy found a double barrel shotgun pointed at his face.

His entire body went ice cold.

Okay, okay, this was okay. There was a gun pointed at him, and he could very easily be shot. But he couldn't panic.

He was panicking. 

It was as if he had no control over his body as he curled in on himself, looking over to Dream desperately for help. He had spent so long thinking that Dream was the only one that posed any danger towards him, that he had never prepared for this scenario.

“Tommy!” Dream tried to surge forward, but the man was quicker, and jammed the gun closer to his skull. Tommy had never seen Dream this unsure of himself.

“What’s your deal motherfucker? Huh? Smacking me over the head with a wrench?” he spat.

“Look, just take the gun away from his head, okay? I’m sorry-”

“Sorry won’t cut it! I got a baby girl back home. If you think it’s funny trying to take me away from her, I’ll take your kid. See how it feels, huh?”

Tommy couldn’t make himself breath as he mouthed the word ‘please’ over and over again.

Suddenly, Dream’s demeanor shifted, as if a button was flipped.

“What makes you think I care about him,” Dream’s voice went cold.

Tommy’s heart sank.

“I mean, he’s just some kid . Who says I wouldn’t have killed him eventually as well?” Dream stalked forward, but it didn’t make Tommy feel any more safe.

“Dream?” he shuddered.

“Shut up, Tommy.”

This didn’t feel like one of their acts. Suddenly, everything felt a little too real.

The man with the gun was saying something back, but it felt like cotton in Tommy’s ears. He barely even realized he was doing something until he did it.

Without even thinking, Tommy ducked down and grabbed onto the barrel of the shotgun. At the sudden movement, a fire went off, shaking and burning his hands, but he didn’t falter. 

With an opening, Dream ran forward and swung at the man with the wrench once again.

This time, it stuck.

The man was down, but still conscious. In a rage fueled frenzy, Dream dropped to the ground and kept swinging at his face.

And swinging, and swinging, and swinging.

Tommy watched in paralyzing horror as the man stopped moving, and the only sound left was the sick squelching that the striked of the wrench emitted.

By the time Dream was done, he was unrecognizable.  

Dream wouldn’t stop hitting him.

“Please Dream. He’s dead,” he said, but Dream wouldn’t listen.

He was-

Dream was going to kill him. Tommy was going to die here.

If not here, that somewhere, in some ditch, in some car trunk.

Dream was going to be the end of him.

That man had a daughter.

He had fought back, he had almost killed Tommy. Sure, from his point of view he looked like a villain, but in truth, he was just defending himself. He was going to kill the Smiley Killer- the Smiley Killers- he was the hero.

He was a pile of mush now.

Tommy couldn’t take this anymore.

Tommy looked down to the discarded shotgun near his feet. Slowly, he crouched down and picked it up. The thing was cold and heavy in his hands.

He was going to be alone forever.

He creeped behind Dream, holding the gun up in his hands.

‘Tommy, just hit the ball!’

‘I’m trying! But this is hard! The bat is too heavy.’

‘Okay, okay. Hold your body like this, arms up like this. When the ball comes for you, swing the bat forward as hard as you can, and carry through with the hit, let the momentum go somewhere.’

Tommy nodded, and Techno returned back to the pitcher’s mound.

‘Okay, ready.’

Tommy looked at Dream, not as a person, not as a friend.

‘Set back.’

Tommy exhaled.

‘And swing!’

Tommy swung the gun forward as hard as he could against the back of Dream’s head. A horrible crack echoed throughout the forest  as Dream went flying off to the side.

When Dream gathered his bearings, he looked up to Tommy with a snarl, animalistic and terrifying. His eyes were dilated with nothing but hate as he looked upon Tommy.

“What the fuck are you doing Tommy?” he hissed.

“I- we- I can’t do this anymore Dream,” he settled his voice, “We aren’t some fucking gods. We can’t decide who lives and dies. Not anymore.”

He barely had time to blink before Dream was lunging for him. The bloody wrench was gone from sight, but that made him no less dangerous. When their bodies collided, Tommy slammed against the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, Dream was on top of him, and yet Tommy did not waver.

“What’s gotten into you Tommy? I thought you were my friend !” Dream spat in his face, the man in a craze.

“You’ve hurt people. You’ve hurt me!” Tommy shouted back, fighting against the strong grip on his arms. Dream brought one of his fists up, and slammed it against Tommy’s face. He could feel the gush of blood burst out of his nose.

Another punch to the face had Tommy scrambling, “Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!”

“I thought I could trust you, Tommy. I really thought I could trust you. But now you’re betraying me out of nowhere!”

“That man had a family! These people had lives! You preyed on me when I was desperate for love, and it worked! I still fucking care about you, Dream, and that’s why I can’t let this go on!” Tommy tried to dodge to the side, but Dream’s next beating still skimmed the side of his head. Mud, blood, and grass smeared against the back of his shirt. Some of the blood not his own.

The onslaught of punches didn’t stop as Dream didn’t deem the argument viable enough to continue. Pain bloomed from every inch of his face.

Tommy was going to die here. On the dirty, wet ground on the side of the road, right next to the man who’s name he didn’t even know. Tommy Innit would soon be no more than another victim of the Smiley Killer.

Would the Watson’s find out? Would Ranboo? Would they come to his funeral? Would they mourn him and the life he could have had?

He lived and he died much too young. Sad little Tommy never had anybody love him. 

Dream loved him.

He really did.

That’s why, before he can deliver the last finishing blows, Dream falters.

He hesitates.

Tommy’s already swelling eyes look up at him with contempt.

For a moment, Tommy could see something human in his eyes. Fear. 

Not the fear of being caught, but the fear of losing something.

Dream leaned down, his hot breath creeping down Tommy’s ear.

“If I ever, ever, see you again, I’ll fucking kill you,” he breathes, “I’ll beat your body to the ground, and feed it to the pigs.”

Tommy didn’t respond.

And then Dream was standing up, leaving Tommy with a headache so fierce that it radiated throughout his entire vision.

There was a slamming sound, and then an engine was revving up.

“Dream?” Tommy called out, “Dream?!” 

He sat up just in time to see Dream’s old car speed off into the night, leaving Tommy alone on the side of the road.

Henry was still in the car. 

“ Fuck ,” he sobbed, dragging his legs up to himself and curling into a ball. His ugly, guttural wails drew out into the night.

In school he once heard the phrase: If a tree falls alone in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

As Tommy screams out into the night, he is totally, utterly alone.

No one could hear him cry.

“I killed some guy on the side of the road. He had- he had fought back, that’s why my face is messed up. But something about his absolute determination to live, struck something in me.” 

. . .

“That guy didn’t want to die. And I killed him.”

Tommy stumbled down what seemed like an endless road.

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking. It felt like it had been hours, but it was still pitch black outside.

He couldn't feel the pain in his face anymore, and the blood had stopped leaking from his nose a couple of miles back. All in all, he felt like a corpse.

Just like that man on the side of the road.

He allowed himself to wonder if someone had found the guy yet. A police officer, an innocent driver that was unlucky enough to come across the horrifying sight. 

Tommy was so tired. His legs ached, his heart ached. Would he survive the night if he fell asleep on the side of the road?

Would he mind if he didn’t?

A small part of him already missed Dream.

Buildings were coming into view.

Small ones, on the outskirt of what looked to be a little town. One that didn’t get a lot of visitors. No large amount of people, no attention. Here, Tommy stood at a crossroads.

In front of him was a small police station, not unlike the one he had visited a couple of days prior. Cooped up next to the back wall of the station was a phone booth.

Tommy looked at the booth. 

He could call Phil. He could call him again, and again in the middle of the night until he picks up, and beg the man for forgiveness. Maybe he would offer up his home for the night. A shower, a meal, a bed, for one night in the warm embrace of his old family.

Maybe he could stay for longer. Maybe things could go back to how they used to be. 

Tommy allowed himself to hope.

And then he looked over to the police station. 

He could see in through the window, there was a lone woman at the front desk. Her head leaned against her hand as she stared down at a book, fighting to stay awake.

That lady was probably counting the minutes until her shift ended.

. . .

Dream would come find him. It didn’t matter where he hid, if he went back to the Watson’s, if he went back to the foster system.

They would meet again some day.

Somewhere, out in the world right now, is someone who would kill him dead. The Smiley Killer.

Tommy could see his own reflection in the window.

“Maybe that’s why I turned myself in.”

“I’m a horrible, horrible, horrible person. And I’m a danger to everyone around me.”

◦

The air in the visitation room was hot, and humid, and the scratchy fabric of his jumpsuit chaffed on his shoulders. 

He was the only one there. Well, him and the two prison guards that made it their duty to keep him in line. Neither of them were really up for conversation, so Tommy was left alone to sit in his uncomfortable metal chair and wait.

He didn’t have to wait long anyway, Ranboo was always punctual.

The door creaked open to reveal the sight of his brother for the first time in months.

It warmed Tommy’s heart to see he looked the same. Same sense of horrible style, same scraggly haircut with uncontainable curls around his ears. Same awkward, gangly posture. 

The emotion in his eyes was something Tommy had never seen before.

Absolute, utter disgust. 

Contempt. As if he had never seen Tommy a day in his life.

He took his time walking over to his side of the glass, sitting down in the chair and grabbing onto the phone. Tommy took that time to bask in the sight that was his brother from the very beginning. 

Ranboo’s eyes were glued on him as he spoke into the phone.

“What the fuck have you done?”

Tommy had never heard Ranboo swear before.

“Tell me you didn’t do it,” he continued, “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

Tommy gave a sad smile.

“I can’t lie to you Ranboo.”

Not a confirmation, but Ranboo took it as such.

“How?” he cried, “How could you kill all of those people?”

Tommy didn’t reply.

“I can’t believe you,” he spat, as if his heart had been shattered ten times over.

“I’m sorry, Ranboo,” Tommy whispered, looking down at the table in front of him. With Ranboo’s eyes piercing his very soul, he felt small.

“You’re no brother of mine; you’re not my brother,” Ranboo chanted, “I-I-”

“Ranboo. . .” Was all Tommy said. Ranboo offered no more words. Only one last scornful glance before he gently set the phone down and stormed out of the room.

Tommy only looked at the door for a moment before standing up and looking towards the guards.

He had a cell to return to. Unclean, uncomfortable, but locked and hidden away from the Smiley Killer.

◦

Ranboo was always the last one in the house to wake up in the morning.

Whether that be because everyone else had a job, or that he loved to sleep in past the morning hours, he was always down to the kitchen the last, with a plate of leftover breakfast left for him.

It had been a while since that type of normalcy had happened. With college rearing up, the familiarity of home was now something reserved for vacations and weekends.

It was his first summer break at college, and while all of his friends took this opportunity to vacation at the beach, or some remote country where they could relax or get drunk, Ranboo took the opportunity to go back home.

As he walked down the hall, he could hear the television playing from the living room. A quick peek through the archway revealed that Wilbur was leaning back on the couch, watching a news broadcast lazily. 

He huffed, and returned his walk down the hall. The walls were cluttered with photos, courtesy of Phil. The man loved to take candid family photos and immortalize them on a frame in the main hall.

There were blank, open spots now. The photos that used to fill them were hidden in a box somewhere.

They had taken them down when he was incarcerated.

Ranboo shook the memories out of his head, and continued to the kitchen. And of course, there waiting on the counter for him was a plate of eggs. Two sheets of paper towel laying on top of them in an earnest attempt to keep them warm and untouched.

“You awake Ran?” Wilbur called out from the living room.

“Yea,” he called back, “Do you have any coffee left over?”

“Nah, Tech brought the rest to his weird D&D group meeting.”

“Boo,” Ranboo lamented, and stumbled over to the living room, plate of breakfast in hand. He took up his place on the couch next to Wilbur, and dug into the semi-cold eggs.

“Yeah yeah,” Wilbur rolled his neck, “You got anything interesting going on today, or are you just gonna spend it inside again.”

“I’ll have you know, that I enjoy being inside. And Phil says to do what makes you happy,” Ranboo retorted.

“Well, I say do what gives you at least the minimum amount of necessary vitamins,” Wilbur reached over and flicked him on the head. The action made Ranboo splutter, and attempt to hit him back. Wilbur wouldn’t take that, though, and leaned back on the couch as far as he could.

It was there, with Ranboo halfway leaned over Wilbur, halfway shoving his breakfast out of the way, that the news station abruptly switched to an emergency broadcast. Immediately, the two’s attention was caught.

The sight of Tommy’s face on the screen made Ranboo’s heart stop.

“Thomas Innit: Smiley Killer? Or just another one of his victims?

Last year Thomas Innit was incarcerated under confession of the Smiley killings. Today, a local condominium landlord was brought into custody for possession of illegal security cameras. While looking over the footage, a detective found recorded footage of one of the Smiley killings. Not only did it contradict Thomas’s testimony, but revealed a new suspect: Dream Wastaken.

Dream is currently in custody. But now we’re left with the questions: 

How much did Thomas lie about?

Who is the true Smiley Killer?”