Dream SMP Oneshots

How Bad Are The Words That Mark My Grave- CrimeBoys 😥

TW: Suicide but not really cause he's already dead and like it isn't with the intent of suicide if that makes sense?

Stay safe my lovelies and hydrated <3 

Tommy's POV

Tommy always knew he didn't want to die- because, well, he didn't want to die. However, as he stood up and looked at the vast and empty landscape before him, he started to realize there were so many reasons to fear death.

Frankly he wasn't surprised as he stood there. He knew it was only a matter of time until he met his demise. The red rim lighting across the broken cliffs, highlighting every fine point Tommy knew could slice through him like butter, illuminating the arches made of rock and the glass shatters across the ground. The light reflected sharply off a broken mirror ahead that was there when Tommy arrived, standing there as though it was sacred. The wind told a different tale, whispering around Tommy saying cold and cruel things, and telling him to run. The ground was bubbly and every step Tommy took was on unstable ground, bits of dry mud-like rock sprinkling apart. Glancing up, the light lit up one side of his face, making his hair look cherry-blond and his skin much healthier than it truly was. It danced along his shirt- the sleeves too long and draped down to his elbows, the red stripes all along the shirt appearing blood-red in the light. His socks were torn at the sides from rocks he had hitched across, no longer allowing them to cover the full length of his calf, and his black shorts were dusty from the burgundy mud.

Staring back down he looked at his hands, focusing on the blue hue that made him stand out against his limbo. His skin was too pale, his eyes too dull, and his body too loose. Tommy was dead, he realized, pupils dilating as he finally processed that fact.

He was dead.

He was free from Dream.

Wilbur was here.

Tommy was alone.

He was alone even though he wasn't. Somewhere in this vast landscape was his brother, and somewhere else was Schlatt. Neither were good options and neither would come looking for him, so in Tommy's opinion, he was alone. He crossed his arms as he continued walking, stepping on a deepslate bridge across the murky water below and walking under a stone-arch that looked melted by acid rain. He walked until his feet began to cramp and the ground started to look repetitive, he walked until he realized there was nowhere for him to go.

Apparently being dead gets boring rather fast.

Eventually, he forced himself to look up and meet the gaze of the dead, eyes landing on a window- no, a mirror- that stood ahead. It seemed he had walked right back to where he started. If Tommy was to guess, that would be a recurring event. He stared at the mirror unceremoniously, blinking a few times as he swore it cracked more as each tear slipped down the side of his face. Anxiously he twisted his bandana in his hands, weaving it around, back and forth, and he stepped forward. He swore it cracked again, and again, and again. With each step he took, it seemed to be falling apart, Tommy unconsciously speeding up until he was in a full jog- then a full sprint, tears rolling down his face as he clutched his bandana to his heart, leaping forward and grasping onto the final pieces of glass and wrapping them in the red fabric. He skidded to a halt as the final shards soundlessly clattered to the ground, breaths rugged and choked, his whole body shaking as he fell to his knees. The glass dug into his knees, blood welling up in his shins and joints. He sat there in silence, the only sound being his own choked sobs that cried out for help louder than a scream and brighter than a flare.

After a while, he glanced down at his hands. Carefully Tommy unwrapped the fabric to reveal a couple of pieces he saved, the mirror warping and rippling as Tommy held them closer to see inside, heat breaking at what he saw.