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

Chapter 7

TW: description of panic attack, mention of su!cide and abuse

Tommy was running. He didn't know how long he had been running for, he didn't know where he was going and he didn't know how much longer he could run. What he did know was that he couldn't stop. If he stopped he was dead.

The man had been so full of danger that Tommy knew what it meant. Tommy knew what happened with the parents like him. Even Dream wasn't that bad. Even Dream wasn't that deadly. He could face Dream, at least he hoped he could. This man, this man would kill him.

Tommy supposed running wasn't his best idea, and if he had been relying on anything other than pure fear, he would've been smart enough not to bring everyone's, and specifically the man's  attention towards him. He would have stayed completely still, but that was not the reaction his panic had chosen today. Today it was flight. Not fight, not freeze, flight. So Tommy ran, wishing he was the bird from Karl's painting, wishing he could fly up into the sky's and safety.

But he couldn't.

So he ran.

He ran and he ran and he ran, until finally he was dragged to a stop by a hand gripping tightly onto his wrist. That was when he screamed. This was it. The man had caught up. He had been faster then Tommy. This was when Tommy would die. Tommy couldn't die yet. He wasn't 18. He hadn't beaten the system yet. He needed to beat the system. For Tubbo.

Tommy couldn't fail Tubbo. He couldn't let Tubbo down. Tommy wasn't allowed to see Tubbo until he had beaten the system. That was the pain filled request of Tubbo's note. Tommy couldn't die, not yet. So, he screamed. With every breath in his lungs, he screamed. With every part of him, he screamed. With all that he was, he screamed. He was outside. Someone might hear him. Someone might save him. Someone. Someone. Anyone.

Tommy didn't care that screaming broke Dream's rules. He didn't care that it was banned. He needed to survive. He needed help and he needed it now.

Tommy could faintly hear the man who was talking to him, trying to get Tommy's attention, but his eyes were squeezed shut and the screams kept coming.

"TOMMY!"

And now, finally, the words broke through Tommy's screams. Tommy knew he was dead. The man knew his name. That meant something deadly, right?

"TOMMY, IT'S ME!"

Tommy didn't stop screaming, but he did open one eye, needing to know what was happening. Wanting to see his killer before he died.

He saw Wilbur. Not the deadly man. Wilbur. Wilbur. Wilbur. Wilbur. Wilbur.

Safety?

He didn't know.

It was Wilbur, but what did that mean? People were scared of Wilbur for a reason. Was Wilbur the one who would kill him? Or would he drag Tommy back towards the other man and his death? Tommy didn't know. He didn't stop screaming.

"TOMMY IT'S OK! TOMMY I'M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU! I PROMISE!" Wilbur pleaded with him, yelling to be heard over the screams.

Tommy didn't believe him. Tommy didn't believe him. Tommy didn't believe him. Tommy couldn't believe him. He was going to hurt Tommy. Everyone was. Tommy was going to die. He didn't know why he felt so certain of his death today. Usually he just hurt, but today, he felt death. He felt Tubbo calling to him, desperately pleading for Tommy's survival. Tommy couldn't die today. He couldn't disappoint Tubbo. So, he did the only thing he could.

Tommy punched Wilbur in the face. In the second that Wilbur gasped in surprise, his grip on Tommy loosened and Tommy fled once more.

He felt footsteps behind him, chasing after Tommy, but he didn't stop. He was a fast runner. He had had practice escaping people before. He just had to keep running until he got away for long enough to call Puffy. He needed Puffy. He needed Puffy. He needed Puffy. He needed Puffy. He- He felt arms wrap around him from behind, pulling him to a stop once more. The arms pinned Tommy's own arms to the side, and gripped him tightly.

Tommy tried to lash out, to protect himself, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to bend over to cause the other to lose his balance, but the other was much stronger. Tommy' meagre weight and strength did nothing against the other.

"Tommy please," Wilbur's voice begged, a whisper this time. Tommy wasn't screaming. He didn't know when he had stopped, but now his voice was gone and the screams were over and Tommy just shook. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to get away. He didn't know. He didn't know. He didn't know.

"Tommy, I promise, I don't want to hurt you. I don't care that you hit me, I don't care that you ran or that you screamed. I just want to help you Tommy, please, please, please," The man begged and Tommy just shook. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He knew better then that, but it hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt so, so, much. Hell, it fucking hurt. He didn't know what hurt. He hadn't fallen, hadn't been hit other than the injuries from the night. He should be feeling the same pain as he was an hour ago, but now everything was fire.

Everything was death. Everything was pain. Everything. Everything. Everything.

"Tommy?"

Wilbur's voice was kind. Tommy didn't trust it. Wilbur's voice was gentle. Tommy didn't trust it. Wilbur's voice was pleading. Tommy didn't trust it. Wilbur's voice was loving. Tommy didn't trust it. Wilbur's voice was hopeful. Tommy didn't trust it. Wilbur's voice was fearful. Tommy didn't trust it. Tommy didn't trust it. Tommy didn't trust it. Tommy didn't trust- Tommy trusted it?

Why was he relaxing? He shouldn't be relaxing. He needed to run. He needed to hide. He needed to get out of here. He needed to vanish. He- He wasn't going to die?

"What's wrong Tommy?" Wilbur asked, concern and fear etched into every word. Tommy had only heard that tone from one person. One person. One person. Puffy. Puffy, Puffy, Puffy, Puffy.

Maybe Tommy wasn't going to die. Maybe Tommy wasn't going to get hurt. Maybe Tommy wasn't going to fall under Wilbur's fists. Maybe Tommy wasn't going to lose today. Maybe Tommy was safe. Safe? Safe? Safe? Tommy hardly recognised the word. Safety was what he felt around Puffy, yes, but it was fleeting, it was hesitant, it was certain and uncertain and safe and unsafe and healthy and unhealthy and protected and in danger all in one.

Tommy didn't recognise the word safe, not the way most people do. No, Tommy hears the word safe and doesn't trust it, but he does at the same time. So, Tommy turns, fearful in every waking moment. Tommy turns and he faces Wilbur, and Tommy doesn't scream. He doesn't run. He doesn't panic. He wants to do all of that, but most of all he wants to cry. He doesn't do anything. He just stands, numbly, not knowing what was about to happen.

"Tommy?" Wilbur asks again, and Tommy just stares at him blankly. It was as though Tommy was feeling so much, and nothing at all. So much pain, so much hurt, so much agony, so much fear, so much panic, so much energy, so much danger, so much life, and yet so so little life. So little energy. So little of anything. He feels numb and he feels everything. What he does not feel however, is hope. Tommy doesn't hope. He never does. Not since Tubbo. Not since hope only lead to pain. Tommy doesn't rely on hope. Tommy does rely on his gut, and his gut was saying Wilbur was like Puffy. It was also saying to run. Tommy had to choose. He had to choose one and he didn't know how, so he stared blankly at Wilbur.

"Tommy what happened?"

What happened? What happened? What happened? The words echoed through Tommy's mind. It was a good question. He remembered seeing the man, the dangerous, deadly man, and then he remembered running. He didn't remember standing up. He didn't remember turning. He didn't remember starting to run. He didn't even remember the face of the man other then the scaring. He simply remembered the fear and the fists. The fists that looked too much like Tubbo's last foster father's fists. The fists that look too much like every fist moving to punch Tommy. The fists that Tommy saw and felt all the pain once more. Those fists. Those deadly, dangerous, angry fists.

So how could Tommy answer Wilbur's question? How could he explain the terror. How could he explain the danger he knew they were in. How could he explain anything?

"I don't know," Was all Tommy forced out, before squeezing his eyes closed, waiting for the blow that never came.

Words: 1500

A/N: I know words repeated a lot in this chapter, that was because Tommy's brain was repeating words because everything was too much. His brain was trying to cope, and to hold information, it was repeating itself over and over, and I attempted to show that fear and panic through that repetition.