Oh, Hello

Lay Me Down

Tommy felt as though he were dying. His arm was aching, and his left wrist was definitely broken. He ignored the way it hung limply when he tried to move his arm. He ignored the way it hurt to even look at it. He ignored the way fear crawled into his stomach because he knew that he wouldn't be able to clean today. But then again, Tommy was always good at ignoring things, so why change that now? He could feel his ribs aching too, and at least one had to be fractured. Memories of the night before flashed before his eyes, but Tommy whined and wished them away. He knew his door was locked before he even looked at it since Dream never let him leave his room until two nights after each punishment.

It was to help him heal, as Dream said.

Tommy hadn't believed that since the time he had been beaten two nights in a row.

From his view on his floor, Tommy could tell it was early in the morning. His body had forced him to wake up to tend to his wounds, and Tommy hated his body for that. It was better to sleep while in pain than being awake while in pain. At least, that's what he told himself. His dreams were still filled with pain and tears, of threats and blood. He couldn't escape his own reality, even if he tried. With a soft groan, Tommy sat up. He was met with a wall of pain, as expected, but he paid as little mind to it as he possibly could.

He was lucky that Dream hadn't taken anything from his room the night before, or else he wouldn't have enough bandages to put his pieces back together. Tommy felt so tired, almost like he could sleep forever, but he couldn't. He didn't have the liberty of taking time to himself. He lived to be the best, and the best is being what Dream, his father, wanted. He would patch himself up, and then clean because that was what was expected of him. He had to live up to those expectations, lest he suffers the consequences.

As he watched the sun cross the sky, he thought of the stars and couldn't help but hope he could still last long enough to name one after himself.

Bandages now on his arms and torso, Tommy pulled himself from the floor. He had work to do, and he needed to do it now. But, before he could start picking his lock, something caught his eye. Turning, Tommy met eyes with Peace, one of the most powerful heroes in the Syndicate Foundation, standing next to Whisper and Death. A sense of hope filled Tommy's young heart at that moment, but it was dashed before it could grow into a feeling as Peace turned his back, leaving Tommy in his place of suffering.

It was in the moment of Tommy watching the sun reflect off of a blood-red cape that he knew no one would come for him anymore. If a hero wouldn't save him, who would other than himself? He had to run, and he had to run fast. Tommy bit back a growl, turning towards his door with tears beading in his once baby blue eyes. He had to unlock his door, and then he would pack the essentials. Grabbing a hairpin from his ponytail, he began to unlock the door with skilled hands. He ignored the memories of Dream pulling at his hair, telling him he looked like a girl, telling him he looked weak. He ignored the memories of Dream threatening to cut it all off, and he ignored the way he cried when Dream had cut it. He loved and lived for his hair. He lived for the way it hung to his shoulders, he loved the way it fell when he sat at the table. He loved and lived for his hair, so why did Dream hate it so much?

Before he knew it, he was almost free. Tommy grabbed one of his draw-string bags that sat in the corner of his room, left unused for years, and rushed to the kitchen. He packed crackers, bread, water bottles, small boxes of cereal, things that wouldn't spoil after a day or two out in the sun. In his rush to gather supplies, Tommy failed to notice the sound of the front door opening.

As the blond turned to go back to his room, he bumped into a familiar chest. Feeling his heart stop, Tommy dared to look up. "What the hell are you doing, brat?"

"I-I was just, um, getting food! Y'know? I-I-" Tommy let out a choked sound as a hand grasped the front of his dirty hoodie.

"You were stealing from me, weren't you? You were taking things that aren't yours, aren't you?" Tommy shook his head quickly. He could tell that Dream wasn't listening though, and he knew he was fucked.

Dream had come home drunk.

"Was your wrist not warning enough? Do I have to break more of your bones to get my fucking point across?! You never fucking listen! I don't even know why I try anymore!" Dream dropped Tommy to the ground roughly, and the blond could sense the pain he would feel soon. "I should've given you up the moment your mother had you. I should have killed you when you were at your weakest. I don't love you, never have and I never will."

Tommy felt his heart shatter. If Dream didn't love him, then why was he still here? He lived for Dream. Dream kept him alive and on the brink of wellness. Sure, Tommy was difficult, but was he really unloveable? Was he that much of a nuisance? Was he that much of a bother?

Maybe that's why Tommy didn't fight as Dream dragged him back to his room. Maybe that's why Tommy didn't cry out boots collided with his already bruised and broken ribs. Maybe that's why Tommy let himself lay on his shittily carpeted floor, wallowing in his own misery.

And as Tommy closed his eyes, he wondered if he deserved his own constellation.