This is Home (TommyInnit angst)

~2~

TW: child abuse, blood, stabbing, exile arc mention, flashbacks to abusive character

Tommy couldn't help but replay that memory in his mind, a small way to comfort himself.

It seemed like weeks ago that that had happened, and now he was curled up, hot lava being uncomfortably close to him.

He could hear Dream moving about in the cell, his steps echoing in his ears.

He was absentmindedly tugging on his hair, because it was annoying him or because he was panicking, he wasn't quite sure. He knew that it was most likely one of them reasons though.

He couldn't help but stare into the camera lenses, silently begging Sam to help him out of the suffocating room.

They'd been planning to cut Tommy's hair after his prison visit, as it was starting to fall over his eyes again, to the point of it getting in the way of his day to day life.

As well as that, Sam wanted a way to comfort Tommy after seeing his abuser again, even if they were in a prison cell.

Now, however, Tommy sat with his back against boiling obsidian, feeling like it was burning his back. But it meant that he was a far away from Dream as he could be, and that was all that matters.

He could feel the other staring at him, creeping him out as he glared at the lava. At where him and Sam should be standing, on the other side of the lava, safe from... him.

Yet here he was, trapped in what felt like his personal hell.

He kept having to push memories of exile out of his mind, instead, flooding his head with thoughts of what he'd do as soon as he got out of prison. Perhaps hug, or punch, Sam, craving the comfort that he bought him.

He just wanted to feel Sam gently run his fingers though Tommy's hair, making him drift off into a peaceful sleep, laying by his da- friend. His friend, nothing more. Phil was his dad, not Sam.

Maybe he can't remember the last time Phil showed him affection, and maybe he was still mad at him for killing his brother, but that doesn't mean he can just replace him.

"Y'know Toms," Dream started, snapping Tommy out of his thoughts, "I think you need to cut your hair."

He smiled, looking over at the younger, and Tommy couldn't help but feel comforted for a second, falling back into his mindset from exile. Dream was his friend, and maybe he'd be gentle with his hair, like Sam-

But as he saw Dream slowly stalk towards him, a large obsidian piece in his hand, that had somehow been sharpened, he couldn't help but think of Wilbur.

It was Wilbur walking towards him, anger flooding his features, gripping a pair of scissors so tightly that it was a surprise that they hadn't broken yet.

It was Wilbur, needing a way to take out his stress from Pogtopia and war, and the only way he could did that seemed to be by hurting him.

It was Wilbur, who'd gone so mad as to forget his own family, focusing on war, and war alone.

But it was the mask staring back at his widened eyes, seeming to enjoy his panicked.

The prison uniform being too bright right in front of his face, not giving him space to breathe.

He chocked on a sob, wanting nothing more than for Sam to come into the cell and save Tommy from the taunting masked-man in front of him.

"Pl- fuck, please-" Tommy stuttered, attempting to move away from Dream, but seeming to be trapped where he was sitting.