#i mean it’s mostly c!tommy and c!aimsey but I’m being consistent

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Whumptober Day 9: Presumed Dead and Scar Reveal

Disc finale bad ending AU. After defeating Dream years later, the Knights of Hope find Tommy locked in his cell, believing him to be dead, and are astonished that he’s alive… and even more astonished seeing his wounds. Warnings for graphic depictions of violence, grief and mourning, graphic descriptions of injuries and wounds, body horror, implied abuse, torture, (non malicious) infantilisation, guilt, and traumabonding.

I admit I’m not too familiar with Aimsey's BSMP lore, so I hope I got it accurate enough! They were a blast to write.

I went back and forth on whether to use multiple pronouns for Aimsey and Eret or just they/them, so it might be inconsistent at times, sorry.

ao3 link

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The stench of rot and blood in the cell made Aimsey feel sick to their stomach.

It was overwhelming, assaulting their senses the second the lava wall dropped. Their eyes involuntarily scrunched shut, but when they opened, it only got worse, seeing the carnage inside.

Blood covered the obsidian, chunks of hair, teeth, and bone scattered around haphazardly in piles. Chains and weapons hung from the walls, rusted and cracked from overuse. Magic hung in the air, its sickly sweet smell barely noticeable over the fog of death so dense Aimsey could breathe it, but the tingling on their fingers was familiar.

It was fresh, and that made everything worse. They’d hoped, vainly, that perhaps keeping Dream cornered had kept him from hurting others, but the blood had barely even dried. It seemed that something horrible had happened in here just minutes before they’d stormed the prison, before they’d cut the head off the snake. He must have known that he was dead, then, and done just one more horrific thing out of spite. It fit with what Eret had told them of the man- cold, calculating, cruel, and above all else, possessive. If he couldn’t hold onto his desires, he’d ruin the ones who took it from him out of spite.

A faint, whimpering moan broke the silence, an almost animalistic, wounded sound. So- so whoever was tortured in here, at least one of them had to be alive throughout all this. Fuck.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eret muttered as they leaned onto Aimsey, legs trembling. Aimsey had never seen them so afraid- when creating the Knights of Hope, they’d always seemed fearless, collected, the rock of the group. They’d become almost like a mentor to Aimsey, teaching them the history of the server before they forgot it. It was a lot, but Aimsey was happy to help.

Besides, Eret knew what it felt like to waste your life in regrets. They had a kinship in that, and in that, a way to move forward. Aimsey didn’t know how long they’d stay once the dust had settled- they wanted a home, God they did, somewhere to have friends and live to see each sunset, but there were ghosts haunting every inch of the server, and in them, Aimsey saw Guqqie every day. But regardless, Eret would be a friend for life.

A pang of grief immobilised them for a second at the thought of Guqqie. They’d promised to protect her and held maybe the vainest of hopes that maybe, with the revive book, they could make things right. But all it had done was rub that grief raw, before any hopes were thrown in a fire, quite literally, before their eyes. If Dream could not have it, he’d spend his last breaths spiting them.

But then they heard that pitiful cry again. High-pitched, almost childlike. It was clearly human on the second listen around- for as much as anyone could be considered a human here, anyway. Human and young. Maybe not a child, exactly, but younger than Aimsey. Whoever it was, they needed help.

Taking a deep breath, they took a step into the bloodbath. The floor was slippery under their hooves, and they squeezed their eyes shut, trying desperately to pretend it was anything but what it was, taking another laboured breath and opening them as they slowly made their way towards the centre of the cell, where the noise seemed to be coming from.

The person was behind a sodden blanket, they realised, noticing the slightest twitch of the fabric. Steeling themselves for a horrific sight, they reached down to pull the blanket away, revealing the sight underneath.

Aimsey really did vomit at the sight.

Whoever it was, they were unrecognisable, wild hair coated in blood and their face a mess of injuries. Almost like how someone looked after making a long jump off a tall, tall tower. Bruises kept one of their eyes swollen shut, while the other was a gaping hole. Half their face was torn open, like broken stitching, and what little was recognisable looked half rotting, like a decomposed corpse one that’d been in the water far too long.

Their body was barely there, a thin, wretched mess covered by filthy rags. Their legs were twisted and broken, bone painfully jutting out their corpse-grey flesh. One of their arms was torn off, leaving a stump wrapped in the same bloodied rags as the rest of them. The other was covered in holes, angry weapon wounds that tore through muscle and bone. Worst of all was a hole throughout their chest, one no one could survive. Where their heart and lungs should be were just empty space, their ribs gone and only the blackened, charred remains of a spine remaining.

Aimsey would have thought they were a corpse, were they not sobbing and shaking, taking hyperventilating breaths.

Eret gripped tightly enough onto Aimsey’s shoulder that his claws drew blood, tearing their sweater. “Tommy,” he barely managed to utter.

Tommy? No, this pitiful thing couldn’t be Tommy. Tommy had disappeared not long after the Knights of Hope were founded, and the reason was obvious- everyone had some story of how much Dream fucking despised Tommy. He’d killed him, clearly. So why was he alive, preserved somehow with magic as some morbid trophy?

Besides, they’d met Tommy. Tall, loud, excitable and brash and desperate for friends. Like a mirror of the person they once were, before they were forced to grow up. They’d even made a gift for him once, though he’d stabbed them in the arm after they’d given it, a look of inexplicable fear on his face. They weren’t close or anything, Aimsey couldn’t stand the reminder, but they knew Tommy enough to know that this scared, shivering child did not seem like the boy who’d literally stab a random person for startling him. The Tommy they knew would be kicking and screaming, not huddling up like a lost, scared little kid.

And Aimsey wasn’t just saying that because that’s what they would have probably tried to do back then. They weren’t.

The child’s head tilted weakly in the direction the two of them were standing in, struggling for even that slight movement. “Dream…?”

And, fuck, his voice was so weak, so shattered, but that was, without a doubt, Tommy.

“He’s gone,” Eret said, a waver in his voice. “He’ll never hurt you again, Tommy. I promise.”

Aimsey couldn’t help but feel sick at those words. Promises of protection never seemed to turn out right, and it was cruel to make a promise you couldn’t keep to someone so afraid and alone.

“Gone?” There was something akin to mourning in Tommy’s voice, despite everything. “I- he’s gone?”

“We- we had to,” Aimsey said quietly, trying to soothe the best they could. “We didn’t know you were here. We thought he’d…”

“He wasn’t- he wasn’t a prick like this, most of the time,” Tommy insisted. “He was- he was scared, and he wasn’t making sense, and he locked himself in here, and-“

Tommy’s words were cut off by pained coughing, as blood stained down his mouth and the stitches holding one side of his face together grew the slightest bit looser. Not just blood, but something worse. A pitch black, inhuman sludge, crackling with something from beyond this world, painfully sparking against his skin.

Is this what they nearly put Ran through? Guqqie? Everyone?

“And he did this to you?” Eret’s voice was gentle and familiar, and Aimsey felt an awkward guilt at not being able to do more.

“Fuckin’ duh.” Tommy let out an awful wheezing sound that might have been a laugh. “Said sommat about putting that book to good use while he still had it. I’m- I’m not hurt- well, I mean, obviously I am, this hurts like shit, but I’m not injured. He revived me, and- and he said goodbye all sad like, and asked if I- if we were friends. And I couldn’t say anything, and he just made this fucking depressed noise and said sorry. For everything. I wish I could have said sorry too, man. Guess I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise to him!” Aimsey was louder than they intended to, and Tommy flinched. “I- I mean, you haven’t done anything wrong, but- but he hurt you for no reason! Man, that’s something you might not ever be able to forgive, and that’s okay. You- yeah, you gotta come to terms with that stuff, but it takes time. Just- just be gentle, and let yourself see the next sunset. Just keep going for that sunset, and the next, until you’re able to think. And then you can think about forgiveness.”

Aimsey’s heart squeezed at their own words, wishing they had someone to say that to them in the months following Guqqie. It would have made it so much easier, to think of the sunset they had to look forward to. Not her, broken and small. Not the idea Aimsey couldn’t protect her.

There was an awkward silence, before Tommy made a humming sound. “Huh. Maybe. I dunno. It’s- it’s all so complicated. I miss him. I’m glad he’s gone. Can- can I go home? Please, can you let me out of this fucking hell prison?”

“I think you’d probably best get some help for your injuries-“

“It’s fine, I won’t die, I already did and got revived, chill.” Tommy scoffed, the noise sending him into a pained coughing fit again, the magic fluid dripping from the hole in his chest, too, this time, sending him into convulsions. He opened and closed his mouth, as best as he could with the mangled state his face was in, sniffing. “I- uh, yeah, maybe, that’s a good idea. Hurts.”

Aimsey gently lifted the hollow form of Tommy, how light he felt making them feel sick. Their backpack weighed them down more than this full person, and- well, Tommy would be an adult now, wouldn’t he? Ran was, Tubbo was. They were around the same age, right? He still seemed so young, though, in need of help and protection.

Maybe that’s what life was about, though. Protecting the ones alive, and honouring those gone through that.

#my writing #ailesswhumptober #dream smp #c!primeboys #i mean it’s mostly c!tommy and c!aimsey but I’m being consistent #violence tw #injuries tw #grief tw #mourning tw #Body horror tw #implied abuse tw #torture tw #infantilisarion tw