A Guide To Medicine and War

17

He wakes in a jail cell. Again.

At this point, it's becoming very annoying and he's very much like to not be here. There is blood on the walls and a (definitely not at all scary) drain in the floor. He's tired, and his head is pounding, and his leg burns.

He's hanging against the wall, body weight unsupported by his legs which makes his shoulders creak in pain. There's a door across from him, metal and probably unbreakable, with a small, barred window in it.

The cell is silent, save for his breathing, and he is alone with his thoughts.

He wants Purpled.

He wants a hug, a gentle hand running through his hair, to be told that everything is going to be fine and he's safe. He wants to see Purpled's soft grin, unmarred by the blood running down his face and between his eyes.

He slams his eyes shut, trying to get the image of Purpled out of his head. It's his fault, entirely his, and the guilt for failing consumes him.

(But sometimes, that is all he feels. Guilt for a failure, guilt for not trying hard enough.

He doesn't feel anything for killing Wilbur, or Dream.

And he can't even feel guilty for that. He doesn't know how.)

His breathing starts to quicken as he tries to forget how much of a monster he is, how much Purpled would hate him if he saw who he's become. He ducks his head, trying to bury a sob deep in his throat but it doesn't work, and the sound bounces off the walls and fills him with shame.

He's supposed to be strong.

But here he is, chained to a wall by his fellow soldiers, crying.

The cell door slams open, making his ears ring and head pound even more. Dream, in his obnoxious green hoodie, strides in, mask up so his mouth is visible.

"Tommy," he greets, voice dull.

"Bitch," Tommy replies, holding back tears, struggling in the chains and trying to salute sarcastically. Which really doesn't work, considering he's chained to a wall and can't move his arms, but whatever.

"Seriously, Innit? A little respect wouldn't kill you," Dream snaps, standing in front of Tommy. Tommy snickers slightly.

"I literally killed you, Dream. Nothing you say is going to take that back. You got killed by your own soldier. You know why, Dream?"

Dream's jaw clenches, frustrated. He should be able to control him, should be able to ignore his actions and insults, but he can't.

Because this is Tommy.

This is the best friend of the kid he saw as his brother. He looks so close to Purpled, acts the same, talks the same. Dream loved Purpled. He was a good kid, and he should've protected him. He should've protected both of them.

But now Purpled is dead and an angry, cold version of Tommy is all that remains.

"You're so fucked in the head, Dream. You said you cared about us. Sapnap said you cared about us, that even though you got angry sometimes, you still cared. You would still protect us, because we were kids and shouldn't be here."

And Dream remembers that, he does. It was one of the times they were gathered around each other, Patches bouncing from one person to another, laughter surrounding them. He remembers placing a hand on Purpled's shoulder, telling him that if he needed something, he would always be there.

"Look at me!" Tommy yells, pulling against the chains. "Look at me, you fucking coward!"

"I am! Prime, Tommy, what was I supposed to do? I can't always be there!"