Chapter Text
Even from Tommy’s little cell, he can hear the screaming. The dreadful, suffocating silence he’s used to is replaced by a force much more foul as something swift and as certain as death fills the castle, but all Tommy can do is uselessly tug at the chain around his ankle as he panics.
He’s isolated deep enough under the castle that he never usually hears a sound. Only big parties, banquets, or the occasional parade reach his quiet, craggy cell. But it’s music and laughter that filter down then, not screams of terror.
Battle is not something new to the SMP, or for Dream, not when they are known for conquest. But Tommy was always kept far away from any harm in his cramped and claustrophic room, like valuables locked inside a coffer. Dream had to keep his little dragon safe, afterall.
That no longer rings true as he hears the thumps of someone walking down the long, spiraling stairway to his cell.
Tommy’s chest freezes, all his breath stuck in his throat as he watches the doorway to his room with rapt eyes.
The door shakes, still locked. If it were the normal guards- or Dream- they’d have the keys to get in. The door thumps from someone hitting it, and in a flurry of broken wood and metal bits, it is forced open. Tommy shrieks, doing his best to slide away. There’s not much room to move or much slack on his chain, though.
Tommy glances to the now ruined doorway. Standing in the entrance are guards- but ones Tommy does not know. They are dressed in pale blue stained with blood, not the familiar green uniforms all SMP personnel wear. They are the intruders, and they have come for him.
The chain he struggled against is neatly broken by the strike of one of the men’s swords. Then, they try grabbing him.
Tommy fights, of course he does. The day he stops fighting is the day he- well, yeah. He fights. He throws punches and even tries biting at the hands that dare come too near to his face, but he’s overpowered four versus one. But even when he’s subdued and brought out of his cell, they’re not as harsh as the boy expects them to be. He wasn’t dragged around like unwanted baggage, but is carried carefully yet tightly to prevent him from running away.
The trek back up the stairs is painfully long, and it would’ve been impossible with the state his right leg is in, but the soldiers pull him up stone stair by stone stair until a large, weathered door is swung open revealing light.
Daylight, pure and unobscured, shines through the tall windows of the hallways. They’ve reached the ground level.
It’s been years since Tommy was brought up here to see the sun.
The soldiers continue to carry him along down a hallway gilded and golden. He doesn’t know where they’re taking him but he doubts it’s for anything good. Tommy has lived in this castle for- for a very long time, but he was always restricted to his room, chained and locked away. His right leg throbs with pain, too damaged for him to set any weight on it. He could never explore the halls, even if he wanted to. So as they make their way down the long, dark corridors everything is foreign and strange to him. He has no idea what fate awaits him- though he would bet on something grim.
Large paintings pass them by of people he doesn’t recognize with names he’s never heard, dead for decades now. The shouting is louder now, clear as the day. Nearby he hears a woman crying for mercy before her voice suddenly cuts off.
Tommy grimaces. He tries squirming in the unyielding grip of the soldiers, but he can’t even gain an inch of space.
They pause in front of two reddish wooden doors. One soldier pushes them open slowly, the hinges groaning from the weight.
And then before him is a room spacious and dimly lit, since most of the candles have been blown out. A long table sits in the center of the room splattered with maps, loose papers, and blood. Crimson paints the walls and dirties the once glowing white quartz floor.
The bodies have all been kicked to the side like an afterthought. He doesn’t recognize any of the slack-jawed humans.
Tommy is finally let go from the tight grasp of the guards and falls forward onto his knees. He bites back a whimper of pain.
He examines the room closer- some sort of war planning room. There’s a map of the whole continent pinned up on the back wall, covered in markers and dotted lines. Across the room from him, he hears someone cry out.
Even with tossed-over chairs blocking his view, he spots Dream, the man’s golden crown knocked off his head and rolling slowly on the ground. When Dream sat on his throne, he seemed like an unreachable god but now he is held down by someone, his appearance disheveled and messy, covered in blood as well.
Dream snarls, “You will regret this! I will destroy you all!”
The person holding him down shoves Dream’s head into the floor, earning a pained groan from him.
A vicious part of Tommy is happy that no matter how today ends, Dream has been disgraced. The human is going to lose everything after taking all Tommy had. What goes around comes around, bitch.
Tommy fails to spot anything useful, with no sword or shields in sight. It’s dumb, why is there a war room with no tools of war? He really can’t pity the dead when they’ve left themselves so defenseless. And they were all idiotic enough to follow Dream.
He’s pulled out of his search when a new person enters, but not just anyone. The air of the room shifts around them. Guards tense up and go quiet as all attention lands on the person.
Tommy’s attention is drawn, too. The man walks with a straight back, head held high, and mirth dancing on his face. His green robes are slightly ruffled and the ends wet with blood, but he still looks regal enough to be recognized as royalty. At the moment, the man has no crown but his hair glows golden in the firelight.
He passes Tommy without sparing him a glance, instead making his way over to Dream.
“Wonderful work, Techno.” The royal commends his soldier, both nodding to each other.
“For you, the world.”
Dream speaks up, enraged, “What is the meaning of this- of this senseless invasion? Or do peace agreements mean nothing to the Antarctic?”
“Well, hello to you, too, immortal king of the Greater SMP, Dream himself. I would say it’s an honor to meet a man of such acclaim but,” the man’s grin sharpens, “we should skip the pointless pleasantries.”
“I have done nothing to slight you, Philza.”
The man laughs coldly, walking a slow circle around Dream. He surveys the fallen king like a hungry predator, ready to dive in for the kill.
“You know you’ve gained quite the reputation of being the king of conquest. L’Manberg, the Badlands, and now Snowchester? What will be next? You’re going to keep going and keep going- because you’re going to keep conquering until you die. And we both know you’re not doing that any time soon.”
Dream snarls again, thrashing around on the ground like a suffocating fish. Tommy has never seen him so powerless. He can’t help but snort when Dream’s face is smashed into the ground again and the certain sound of his nose crunching echoes throughout the room.
That unfortunately turns the attention on him. Tommy’s stomach sinks with terror when the emperor’s eyes meet his.
“You,” The royal says as if he knows exactly who Tommy is, though the boy knows the two have never met.
Philza approaches Tommy, reaching out to him. He flinches back, trying to scramble away, but the man’s hand lightly cups under his chin, pushing his face up to be examined. Tommy keeps his eyes resolutely on the ground, avoiding eye contact as the man hums and finally steps back.
“Yes… I’m not sure how you got your hands on the switching ritual, nonetheless a dragon hatchling, but your reign of terror ends here.” Philza declares, turning back to Dream.
Tommy swallows back a whine of panic as he continues to stare at the floor. He doesn’t dare look up even when someone else joins the room and has a whispered conversation with the foreign emperor. Chairs are shoved aside and the acidic smell of magic hits the air. Tommy resists the urge to cover his ears when a knife is brought out to carve something out into the ground, no, he just curls into himself trying to block out everything.
It’s only when Tommy gains control of his unsteady breathing does he look up again.
The newcomer is another royal, this time a golden crown indicating their status sat atop their head. The prince has taken his place right by the emperor's side. The two take a moment to intertwine hands and look over to make sure the other is not harmed in any way. It’s quiet and gentle, an antithesis to the carnage around them and Tommy’s own distress.
With hushed ancient words, a spell hums throughout the room until magic wells up, filling the air with static.
The ground lights up, the runes carved into the ground crackling with an old and powerful spell. A spell Tommy’s only seen one time before on the day his life was ruined.
The dragon notices too late what ritual is about to take place. Because years and years ago, Dream prepared the same circle of runes, uttered the same spell that sizzled in the air, trapping Tommy. It’s the switching ritual, the process which lets humans trade their hearts with dragons to bind their lives together.
It’s happening again.
The emperor is the one who kneels in front of Tommy, placing his hands over Tommy’s chest.
Tommy whines in fear. He knows what will happen next, and he can’t do anything to fight it, but he is hysterical in his terror.
“I know, I’m sorry, but this is the least painful way to do this.” This man hushes him.
And then there are fingers digging into his chest. Nails tear his skin and muscle, slipping past bone until they wrap around his rapidly beating heart. Tommy chokes. He wants to bite the man’s jugular and dig his talons into his eyes, but the pain is paralyzing and all-consuming. There is no way to take someone’s heart painlessly.
Then Philza starts pulling, dislodging the organ and leaving Tommy’s chest an open, bleeding cavity. The man steals from him because that’s what humans do.
Tommy’s mind is blurry, and he disconnectedly watches Philza stand up. The human’s hands are stained golden from the rich blood that flows through Tommy’s veins and even in the palm of the stranger’s hands, the heart continues to beat steadily outside of his chest. The small, red thing gurgles as his gold blood spills out onto the floor, sizzling as it hits the runes still burning in the ground.
Across the room, the soldier with braided hair does the same to Dream. Dream cries out in pain, the man clearly less careful than how Tommy was treated. Blood spurts around them as the king of the SMP screeches. The sound is like a comforting birdsong to Tommy’s ears and it grounds the boy in his own pain.
Philza and his soldier carefully trade the hearts- one human and one dragon, though living in two opposite chests.
Tommy stares blankly at his heart- his original heart- held in the palm of a stranger. It’s golden like a treasure, but messily pumps out dark red blood that once flowed through Dream’s veins. The crimson liquid messily splatters onto the ground. It joins the rest of the blood staining the ground and making the air taste metallic.
Dream once said dragon hearts were beautiful treasures, gilded and flowing with gold that they were meant to be taken. They were valuable, and Tommy was valuable Dream. That’s why he just had to be locked away, to be kept safe.
With the same strangely gentle hands, Philza settles Tommy’s heart in the empty space it was stolen from. Tommy gasps, choking at the familiar weight settling in his chest. His pulse picks up, beating frantically as if nothing ever interrupted it.
The pink-haired man shoves Dream’s human heart back into its original chest again just as the spell burning on the ground fades out. The human cries out again, hunched over coughing and shaking.
A long, long time ago Dream performed this ritual with him, stealing his dragon’s heart for his own selfish reasons.
Dream wanted to cheat death, and for years he did. When a human switches hearts with a dragon binds, their lifelines are bound together. If one dies, as long as the other is alive they both will be. And with how long dragons can live, it’s the closest thing humans can achieve to immortality.
With their lives no longer tethered, when the soldier sinks a sword into Dream’s chest, it kills him in moments. He dies so easily, despite all the torment he brought to Tommy’s life. It’s almost unfair despite the relief that floods his veins.
Dream dies easily, like any other human.
Dream always had a weird mentality about death. Even when they first met and the human was a normal mortal, Dream acted as if he were invincible. He thrived off danger and lived as if death was far, far away. Tommy always believed in his easy confidence that despite the inevitable fate that met every living thing, Dream was the exception. He wouldn’t die.
Maybe even then he knew he would trick Tommy into giving him near-immortality. But Dream had never died before today, leaving Tommy’s heart intact to be returned to him.
Not that an intact heart matters much now when he’s at the mercy of the Empire.
Tommy coughs, tasting blood at the back of his throat. The ritual has left his chest aching and head throbbing. It’s every bit awful as he remembered it, and he doesn’t know why he wasn’t just slaughtered with Dream to ensure his death.
Dream’s corpse is kicked to the side to join the other bodies lining the walls, discarding him like trash. The man’s head rolls sideways, limp like a doll, and Tommy quickly glances away from the glassy green eyes that stare back at him.
Tommy carefully swallows down the burn of bile in his throat. He didn’t pity Dream, he got what he deserved, but the sheer fact a corpse was so close to him was disturbing.
Then the prince, the man crowned in gold with dark eyes, steps where Dream once stood. With confusion, Tommy watches as the runes light up again at the whisper of a spell.
-And oh, that’s why he was kept alive. They want his heart, just as Dream did.
This time when the emperor kneels in front of him, he hoarsely cries out in protest, but it’s still no use. His broken leg burns in protest when he tries to stand on it, and Philza easily grips his arm and pulls him back onto the ground.
Sat across the rune circle from him is the prince, who holds the soldier’s hand as his heart is removed. It’s done much more mindfully than it was for Dream. Tommy blinks, watching the prince wince as his crimson, beating heart is removed. Distantly, Tommy knows Philza is doing the same to him, taking his heart as easily as one pulls a strand of hair from someone’s head.
It’s a blur the second time around, as he helplessly has to watch his heart be torn out again and replaced with someone else’s. Defeat poisons his body, weakening him and leaving his limbs feeling numb.
When the runes die out, a human heart once again beats in his chest.
Tommy can’t stop the sob that tears from his lips. He’s going to be the prisoner to yet another royal, just a thing to be locked away to ensure elongated life. They only see him as a totem to keep humans alive, dodging true death. He’d rather they kill him, he wishes they would just kill him instead of condemning him to this hell of a life. He hears quiet coos and attempts at comforting words, but they run past him unheard.
With blurry eyes, the boy watches figures enter and leave the room. Philza says something quiet and rushed to Tommy and leaves, but the brown-haired human remains nearby.
The prince shakily sits next to him. He smiles brightly, charming despite the blood that stains the front of his shirt. Red and gold mixed together. Tommy tries growling, but he hiccups instead. It’s- it’s so unfair. Things shouldn’t have ended up like this.
The human raises his hand and Tommy slams his eyes shut, awaiting pain, but his hand just rests gently on top of Tommy’s head.
“Hello, I am Prince Wilbur of the Antarctic Empire,” The human runs his hand through Tommy’s hair, “and you are now tied to me.”
Once upon a time, Tommy would have fought harder. He would have thrashed and gnashed his teeth to bite someone. He would’ve shifted into his serpentine form to tear at the human’s fragile skin with his claws, and spit fire until this whole cursed place was set alight.
But instead, Tommy is tired. Even when he closes his eyes and focuses, he can’t gather the energy to shift skin into scales, he can’t find the will to start another fight. He hasn’t had enough strength to fight in a long time, his imprisonment eating away at his vitality until he’s become the husk he is now, weak and silent.
Being a prisoner is not something new to him. It’s a horrible truth he’s come to accept, that humanity has no sympathy for monsters like him.
And Wilbur’s fingers carding through his hair is nice, it’s a distraction from the stinging pain in his chest. He finds himself going limp, falling forward. He barely pays attention as someone lifts him off the ground. All he does is accept sleep, restless as it is.
❀❀❀
Tommy wakes up with someone else’s heart thrumming behind his ribs. The song of his pulse is orchestrated by an organ small and red, simple and mortal. Foreign.
He grew used to Dream’s heart. Logically, hearts cannot change that much from human to human, but this one feels lighter. It’s something less poisonous to carry around. Dream used to claim he cared about Tommy and that’s why he had to stay locked up- because he would be safe from all harm. But the heavy, painful way the human’s heart treated him was like he was trying to hurt Tommy anyway.
This is a heart unburdened by the same greed and hatred contained within Dream. He knows little about Wilbur but the bright smile and gentle hands he has, and even when Dream pretended to be nice he never was soft around Tommy.
It’s little comfort. He’s not going to go and deceive himself into believing he’ll be met with kindness, that Wilbur is any different than Dream. From the start, the goal was his heart, and the Antarctic Empire seized it. Tommy’s heart beats inside someone else’s chest today, but another selfish human all the same.
With resignation, Tommy blinks his eyes open. He doesn’t know where he is, but it can’t matter that much.
It’s not the same cell he’s woken up to inside the Greater SMP palace. Tommy doubts he’s still even inside the palace if the pale blue curtains are any indicator.
The air smells like antiseptic and healing potions. When he glances over, he sees the bedside table is a mess of medicine bottles, tonics, and bandages. With a quick look over himself, Tommy sees all his wounds have been treated, even the older ones. Yellow-brown bruises are still covered in salve and each cut and knick given to him as punishment are neatly wrapped up. His broken leg is kept straight by a splint.
He places his palm against his unmarred chest. Tommy knows from experience that no matter how traumatic the heart switching feels, no mark will be left behind. The ritual ensured no harm came to him. He still feels the phantom pain of someone else rifling inside his ribcage, stealing his heart like it was nothing.
The scrutiny of the care being given to him is probably the result of the royals making sure he’s healthy and doesn’t threaten the heart of the prince.
How annoying.
Tommy tries kicking off the constraining blankets around him, but they must weigh a hundred pounds with how much he struggles. Fuck, his limbs won’t cooperate with him.
Someone dressed in all white, but with a red and yellow mask obscuring most of their face, rounds the corner. When they see that Tommy is awake, they jump in surprise.
“Oh, you’re awake! Hello.” The person says.
Tommy is overwhelmed as he glances around the room. In the gap between the curtains, he can see sprawling green hills outside, but they’re above the sparse treetops. There are tapestries with crests he doesn’t recognize hung on the wall, and medical tools and medicine he’s not familiar with littering the tables. Tommy can see old bloodied bandages filling the rubbish bin in the corner of the room.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello. I’m Ponk, the doctor that’s been assigned to your case. You seem to be doing well- but if anything hurts or is giving you a problem, don’t hesitate to tell me. Are you feeling okay right now? No dizziness, nausea, or pain?”
Tommy shakes his head from side to side. He feels fine.
The doctor’s eyes crinkle, “Good. We’ve patched up all your wounds but in the shape you’re in we’re unable to give you health potions. You’re… you’re malnourished and underweight, so it would cause more harm than good. So for now, you have to heal up the slow and boring way.”
They want to heal him up. Dream also went to such lengths when Tommy was first imprisoned. It’d be an embarrassment and a waste to gain near immortality and then accidentally kill off your dragon by starving them. But the human eventually caught on that dragons are hearty, they don’t perish despite being withheld basic necessities. They live long and don’t die easily. You can throw them in a box and forget about the key.
The Antarctic Empire is putting in this effort for their precious prince, but they’ll grow tired too. They’ll realize the same things Dream did and come to the same conclusion that it’d be simpler to keep Tommy locked away somewhere small and secure, given minimal attention.
Tommy sighs.
A knock rings out on the solid wood on the door. Ponk utters a “Come in!” and the door swings open.
A tall and gangly figure enters, guards flanking him on either side, but with a sink in his gut Tommy recognizes him.
It’s Wilbur. He’s got his golden crown atop his head still and is dressed in pristine blues and reds. This is the very human who holds his heart hostage. He can almost hear it crying out, the song of its beating a blaring bell.
Ponk stands up and bows, “Your highness, this is an expected visit- though you’re welcomed, of course, to stay.”
“Thank you, doctor. I just wanted to check up on our little guest.”
Tommy stiffens under Wilbur’s gaze and shuffles so he’s sitting up straight in bed, bowing his head, “Hello your royal highness, Prince Wilbur Soot of the Antarctic Empire.”
He doesn’t have the energy to rise, so he stays hunched staring at the white bedsheets.
“Oh, you don’t have to bother with those formalities. We’re-” He cuts himself off, but Tommy gets the message.
They are tied by mirroring hearts, one belonging to each other. Their lives are twisted into the same piece of thread. But that doesn’t mean they are close to each other, or familiar. They are still strangers who have barely held a single conversation together.
“I wanted… to say hello. Properly this time. I mean, you know who I am, but I have not been formally introduced to you.”
“Hm?” The boy tilts his head.
“I do not know your name.” Wilbur rephrases.
“Oh. I’m… Tommy.”
With how awkwardly he says it, he worries Wilbur will accuse him of lying. But Wilbur’s smile only softens as he echoes, “Tommy, how wonderful.”
It’s been- been what, decades says he’s said his own name? Heard someone else say it? Or has it been longer?
His mind floats from the strange wonder. Ponk rambles on about his health, his track to healing, and whatever- Tommy still hears his name repeating over in his head.
He’s Tommy.
“We’ve done what we can to help you recover, but your leg was in a dire state. It’ll heal, but I doubt you’ll ever be able to walk on it again without assistance.”
Tommy takes a moment to get situated into his own head again. He’s Tommy, yes, whatever, that isn’t new news. He’s himself.
“I know. It was broken on purpose. So I couldn’t run.”
Methodically every couple of months, Dream had his doctors snap the bone to prevent it from healing fully. After a while, it became clear it was never going to heal back fully.
He’s a grounded dragon and he can’t even pace around the room.
Ponk grimaces, “I was afraid of that. It was done efficiently, but I’ll see what I can do to heal you.”
“We will do everything we can to get you up and walking again,” Wilbur promises with a smile.
Tommy nods, knowing full well the words have to be a lie. He’s the prince’s insurance, his second chance at life if he meets a tragic fate. He knows no one will look at him and see a person, a kid, or even a monster. They’ll just see something that needs to be locked away and kept secure.
Fixing his leg is counterintuitive for them. It’s useless for these humans to try and win him over when he’s gone through this song and dance before. They treat him nicely, butter him up, and then laugh at his idiocy when they grow bored of him.
The dragon examines both the humans. Ponk is relaxed, even in the presence of a royal. His voice stays light and chipper. And Wilbur… well, Wilbur seems more relaxed, too. The prince had been on edge during the attack on the SMP castle but now he laughs at something the doctor says and smiles constantly. It’s annoying how much Wilbur smiles, what is there to be so happy about all the time? Life must be so easy when you’re a prince, Wilbur has probably had everything go his way since he was in diapers. Prick.
Tommy blinks long and slow. Prime, this is dumb. He’s tired. It’s- it’s been a long time since things changed in his life, even if this is a cruel mirror of when Dream first stole him away. But he just doesn’t have the energy he used to get worked up about the injustice of it all.
“My apologies, you must be exhausted. We can continue this conversation later when you feel up to it.” Ponk apologizes, noticing his quietness.
Tommy shrugs, but he doesn’t argue. From the corner of his eye, he watches the two humans leave the room. Before Wilbur crosses the threshold, he pauses and waves goodbye with another annoying smile on his face.
“We’ll also talk more later. There’s a lot for us to discuss.” Wilbur says fucking ominously.
He’s tempted to flip the prince off, but it seems like too much effort and not worth the trouble he’d get into. So Tommy turns his head, ignoring the man, and leans back in the bed.
Tommy is tired. Physically, there isn’t much weighing him down. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but once he’s rested off the weariness from the switching ritual, he’ll be fine. Some wounds won’t drag him down. But there’s a different tiredness that’s stuck with him for a long time that no sleep will alleviate. He’s seen many seasons pass and many of them were spent in that tiny dungeon called his room. He’s seen so much and yet so little, and life no longer sits easily on his shoulders.
His heart- Wilbur’s heart beats slow and steady, the sound ringing in his ears. It’s constant, and it is already driving him mad. Why can’t it- Tommy hopes that- why can’t the stupid thing just shut up?