They Rely On Hope. What Do I Rely On? - Tommyinnit Adoption AU

Chapter 21

Tw: Su!icide ideations, survivors guilt, abuse, mentions of suicide and death

Tommy collapsed onto his bed, exhausted from the long, painful day of school. His mind drifted to fears and questions about the weekend to come. He just needed some sleep tonight. The exhaustion was pulling at him like it needed to be free. Tommy felt as though he would never move a muscle from where he was lying on his bed, curled up and protecting himself, even in this moment of exhaustion.

Eventually he did have to move. Eventually the clock ticked over to the next hour and Tommy had to get up and cook dinner. He slowly pulled himself to standing, pushing down the hiss of pain at the sudden use of his legs after the rest he had gotten. He shoved the pain away, pretending it didn't hurt like hell.

He found his way down to the kitchen, scanning the room in fear of Dream. Nothing. That at least was good. It gave him some semblance of safety, even though Dream could arrive at any moment with his wrathful hatred.

Tommy made dinner silently, wincing every time he made any noise at all. While it was in the oven, he cleaned the kitchen, set the table and prepared for Dream's arrival.

He took the food out, serving it up and placing it on the table, perfectly timed for when Dream had told him it had to be ready. Dream arrived a minute later, sitting down across from Tommy.

The silence stretched as Dream ate, and Tommy hesitantly followed his lead. He knew he was allowed to eat, knew there was food for him, but still his whole body was filled with terror with each bite.

"So," Dream started, and the word brought Tommy's terror to near panic, "It's the weekend."

Tommy nodded, hoping that was the right thing to do.

"On all weekends, I expect you to clean, cook, do everything you need to make this house perfect, all silently of course. When the house is looking spotless, I expect you to be studying. I want perfect marks from you, so you need to make sure you get that."

Tommy nodded. That wasn't too bad, he just had to clean the house and then stay in his room. He could do that.

Abruptly Dream stood up, turned and left, having finished his food and not having anything more to say to Tommy. A few seconds later Tommy heard a door slam and he breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly finished his food and cleaned up their plates, before returning to his bedroom. With no need to stay awake for anything, he collapsed onto the bed, curling up under the blankets, still protecting his body as best he could, and he fell asleep.

His sleep, as always, was plagued with nightmares. Images of Tubbo, taunting him, Tubbo's voice and face saying the words he had heard from far too many foster parents. "You are too much. You are a waste. You are annoying, infuriating, insufferable, stupid, pathetic, weak, childish" but the worst of them all "You should've died with me." That one. That one was the one that made Tommy call for his brother, plead with him, beg him to understand, to forgive. He hadn't wanted to leave Tubbo. Hadn't wanted to leave his brother but he hadn't been given a choice. He should've died, he should've died, he should've died.

At some point in those thoughts Tommy had awoken, and was now repeating them in his mind, even while awake. He should've died. He should've died. He should've died! The words screamed through his mind, begging him to make it up to Tubbo, to join him now, but Tommy couldn't. Tommy wouldn't. Tommy wanted to but- but Tubbo didn't. Tubbo didn't. It wasn't Tubbo. Tubbo didn't want him dead. That registered, pulling him out of his uncontrollable shaking, finally letting him open his eyes.

He wouldn't die. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't die. It wasn't Tubbo who wanted him dead. Tubbo wanted him alive. It was others. Cruel voices, but not Tubbo's. If it wasn't Tubbo, it wasn't important. Tubbo's voice was what mattered. Tubbo's pleas, not theirs. Tubbo had loved him. Not them. Tubbo was the only one who ever had and ever would love Tommy and Tubbo had told Tommy to live. Tommy wouldn't die. Tommy wouldn't. He wouldn't.

He pulled himself to sitting, letting his body rock back and forth, calming his tears, controlling his pain. Control. Tommy knew what he needed and it was control. If he could control himself and his pain and his body, he could survive. Survival was all he needed, so control was all he needed.

Slowly, slowly, Tommy gained that control back, pulling himself up, not wincing at the pain, barely even feeling it. He knew it was there, knew he did feel it, but he forced it away, forced himself out of his body. He turned his mind off and did what Dream had told him to, silently.

It was as though he was barely connected to anything, almost separated from his body, but it was good. It avoided pain. Tommy didn't feel anything as he slipped from room to room, cleaning each until they were immaculate. He didn't feel anything as he found his way to the shops to buy the things for dinner. He didn't feel anything as he ghosted through the aisles at the shops, picking up each thing he needed. He didn't feel anything as he payed and took the food back to his house. He didn't feel anything as he made the food that he had to. He didn't feel anything as he ate. He didn't feel anything as he slipped upstairs, but when he crashed back into the bed, the pain suddenly returned, full force and consuming him. It made him want to scream as he felt his mind return along with the pain. It made him want to cry and yell and scream for help but he couldn't. He wouldn't. So he lay, agony overcoming him.

Tommy didn't know how long he lay there before he slept, but when he slept, his nightmares were just pain. He felt himself being hit and hurt and his agony spilling out. The pain was something he was used to. It was something he felt constantly, but the nightmare was somehow so much worse because Tommy kept seeing Tubbo put through the same pain he was. It was worse because he watched his brother, immortally 8 years old, be abused in ways Tommy had only been after Tubbo was gone.

Tommy admitted it, he was, to some extent, glad Tubbo hadn't had to live through what Tommy had. He hated that Tubbo went through any of it, and he hated that Tubbo was gone, but at least Tubbo hadn't been through the worst ones. Maybe Tubbo had understood something Tommy hadn't when he had died, because now Tommy knew, each year you got older, foster parents hated you more and more. Each year you got older, the pain got worse and worse, as though his age permitted worse pain. Maybe Tubbo had understood that when they were 8. Maybe Tubbo had made a choice because he couldn't live through all of that, but if he had, why hadn't he brought Tommy? Why was Tommy here, alone, living because Tubbo had told him to, and not with Tubbo? He didn't know, and he hated that.

Tommy could only feel relief when the nightmare was over and he woke up to the slightly lessened pain that he was used to. He pulled himself up from his bed and moved over to the desk. The house was spotless, as Dream had demanded, but Tommy's grades would need to improve. He didn't move from that desk until it was time to get food and make dinner. He found his way to the shops, and then returned. That night was like the others Tommy had had with Dream, filled with silence and then when Dream left, more silence. Tommy cleaned and then collapsed on his bed.

He lay there, curled up and staring at the wall, focusing on the imperfections in it, trying to drown out the pain that was pressing to come to the front of his mind. Trying to drown out the idea of sleep. He was exhausted, drained of energy so much so that he could've fallen asleep straight away, but he didn't want another night like the last one. He didn't want to watch his twin suffer, even if it was just in his nightmares, because those felt so real and filled him with so much pain and he didn't want to deal with that. Not again. Not ever again.

Eventually however, the exhaustion won and Tommy fell into the agony riddled sleep, still trying to force away pictures of his twin, screaming or crying or broken. He watched, unable to do anything else, and it was as though Tubbo died a thousand more times.

Words: 1500

A/N: I've never really written nightmares before so uh I hope this chapter was good? I think it was? Was it? /gen