Chapter Text
Tommy certainly feels like a main character now, overlooking the jagged outline of snow and ice-split rock— Metalgrade Mountain is one of those places that could have wind roaring in his ears and all he would hear is his own heavy breaths. It's encased in several other mountains leading only the whistle of sound able to make through.
“Penis,” he shouts, and it echoes around the bases of other mountains. He sees Dream standing up ahead holding the reins to two Mudsdales. He grins. “Hey, bitch!”
Dream shakes his head, a very distinct action, and waves him over. The draping cloak turns his arm into somewhat of a wing. He sticks out on the plain white of the valley like a cryptid.
Somewhere in the distance is a lowly-populated ski park, sectioned off with red webbing that cuts across the lowest part of the mountain. They agreed to meet somewhere near the base. And here Tommy is, having a first time perspective of one of the worst mountains in Ironridge.
His coat is enough to keep away frost for now but one good look up the mountain gives him a bout of shivers. It's hardly the tallest of the terrain surrounding it, but the contours of slopes leave cliffs exposed. Tommy wonders if any of it is climbable at all— the area around is a route, 980 as Dream said before. He wasn't expecting Dream to group in a nearly unreachable part of the mountain with what's basically a park trail.
Tommy will have to check the route’s pokemon encounters later, because he's sure not even the idiots that make the official routes would group Steelixs into that. Maybe a little footnote of “to all adventurers— Steelixs are in some random cave on Metalgrade. First to find it gets a cookie.” They've done worse before.
The footprints of undoubtedly Dream's combat boots and two pairs of horse tracks trail along the snow, and Tommy follows them up the slight incline. One of the Mudsdales snorts and offers him a long stare, charcoal mane dragged into their face by the wind.
Tommy's never ridden on horseback before, certainly not on slopes that are sharp enough to cut the fray off of his scarf. The Mudsdale looks ready to buck him off at any moment. He swallows.
Dream waves enthusiastically. “Hi!” He has on a thick steel grey scarf, bundled over the lower edge of the mask and leaving one end hanging down his cloak. It looks like a similar brand from one in Ironridge, but too torn with the weather to be bought from the past few weeks. Years, maybe. “You're here early.” He pats the stronger Mudsdale and they neigh, piercing like everything else about this place.
This is Tommy realizing the cosmic horror in his brain, but he's fine with trudging through that fear. He looked up the trails, the weather conditions, everything else someone approaching the wilderness would do. Except it's feeling less like the wilderness and more of a different dimension that he smacks into once he takes the first step.
It's… safe, as Dream put it. As long as a storm doesn't come in.
“Wanted to be punctual,” Tommy says, pulling his beanie down past his ears, and the white noise of wind cuts short. He keeps his pokeballs in one hand like a lifeline. Spinarak, Stufful, and Swinub. “What's the plan again?” He keeps his eyes locked on the mountain as Dream explains it.
“Uhm, okay. So. Route 980 technically doesn't stop until the midpoint of the mountain, so we go up with these guys, then— then there's a trail that goes up to the very top of the mountain. And the cave is somewhere up there. Oh, I sketched a map of the mountain for you, and I know where we're going, so.”
Tommy accepts a flimsy little leaf of paper— it's painted with a rough outline of a bird's eye view of the mountain. Moonaine cave sits near the top marked with a dark blot. He stuffs it in a pocket and stares down the Mudsdale, finding a squinted look like they're assessing him. They snort.
“Well, do we just… go?” Tommy says.
“Yeah, if you're ready. It's six hours there and back, so… better start while there's daylight.” Dream moves to support himself on the Mudsdale’s stirrups, throwing his leg over to settle himself on the saddle.
Tommy stands hesitant, a bit of doubt coursing through him, and Dream passes a glance back at him. His demeanor softens and he sits sideways to face him.
“It's alright, Tommy. Mudsdales are… probably the easiest pokemon to ride.”
“Oh, joy,” he mutters, and the staredown with Mudsdale is temporarily broken so Tommy can take a quick breath. It's likely one of the last times he'll set foot on the snow before they get to the top, to Moonaine Cave. The thought is a bit dizzying. “Okay. Yeah. I've got this.”
He nearly faceplants into the snow trying to balance one foot on the stirrup, grasping at the leather saddle to keep him from painting every fabric that's on him in ice particles. He can't tell if Dream is grimacing in pity or empathy so he hauls himself up— it's not unlike a Seel dragging themself stomach first on ice— and tries to copy Dream’s position, hands on the Mudsdale’s mane and ice-crusted boots stuffed into the stirrups.
He’s just barely taller, and from this perspective he can see the gente decline in the valley as it nears the base of Metalgrade, then slopes considerably up the mountain. He sighs. Mudsdale kicks their hooves into the snow. “How do I… make them walk?” There's none of the reins he sees on other equines, or a bridle. Just a saddle to not get thrown off.
“Talk to them,” Dream says with a hint of fondness, like it's a pokemon he's traveled with many times before, and Tommy quirks his eyebrow. “Seriously. They can navigate on their own, too. They probably know the mountain better than I do.” Mudsdale huffs in pride.
“Oh. Alright.” He pets the horse’s mane appreciatively, charcoal colored strands weaved between his fingertips with a coarse chill. They don’t seem affected by the cold, but ground types often aren’t. “Go forward, I guess.” And within a second, they trot.
It’s jostling, and Tommy has to lean forward and hold tight to their mane, a leisurely pace that jolts him with every step. Dream looks… less like he’s taking cover from an earthquake, sitting straight up with ease. The steps get softer as it goes on, and with a bit of shame, Tommy realizes that his Mudsdale had to adjust their pace so he wouldn’t hold on for dear life.
Well. Fuck you, too, for being so kind.
They reach the base of the mountain without any further hiccups, with Dream slowing his Mudsdale’s pace to walk beside Tommy’s. The mountain stretches further into the sky the closer they get— it isn’t the height that scares him, though. A lot of the paths are less defined and fork into snow drifts, which thankfully can support a Mudsdale, otherwise the entire operation would be a hell of a lot riskier.
A fourth pokeball sits beneath his occupied ones, a master ball painted a deep violet, prestigious and so, so tedious to get a hold of. That’s the price of an instant capture, he guesses, because wearing down a pokemon’s HP is something Tommy can’t afford to make calculations on or guess. Also, he’s sure a Steelix can squish him into pulp with one flick of their tail. Better safe than sorry.
The mountain is practically empty, because from when Tommy is used to seeing it, people dot the mountain’s trail on hikes and sometimes on the same Mudsdales they’re currently riding. Never past the middle line, though. It’s eerily quiet for a Saturday morning. Good for their purposes— less traffic to pause their short adventure. Tommy almost misses the buzz around Ironridge’s streets and shopping centers with how alone they are out here. The ski slope is on the other side of the mountain and there’s no point where they’ll be interacting with that area.
The first trail sits right in front of him, snowy and paved with mixed cobble and limestone, salted and with guard rails lining the path. It’s wide enough for two horses so they guide the Mudsdales up side by side, with Dream insisting he goes on the outside towards the drop. It’s caring how adament Dream is that he takes the riskier paths, just so Tommy can feel more secure on his first real adventure. It reminds him of his brothers. That’s a realization that makes him think.
Not just of his brothers, but like one entirely. Tommy looks up to him, in both his opinions on pokemon and his experience across whatever continents he’s been to. How Dream treats him less like some annoying kid and more of just… a little brother who Dream’s excited to share the interests he’s proud of with. Oh god, Tommy just got a new older brother figure.
He’s even more willing to help Wilbur and Techno reunite with Dream, as if he wasn’t already— maybe Dream would visit sometimes and share what’s new on his map, what new areas and routes he’s taken the time to explore. No wonder his brothers were so excited to see the progress Dream had made.
“Do you go on these trips a lot?” Tommy says.
He looks off to the side, a blank sheet of snow that peeks out of the ground facing them. Taking in the view before it ascends to well above any fog. “Well, it’s kind of my job,” he replies easily. “I’m… an explorer scientist, I guess. Writing stuff about the different regions.” He chuckles. “Less fame than pokemon trainers, that’s for sure. I like it, though.”
“And you do pokemon championships too?”
“More of a side thing,” he answers, and the Mudsdales turn on a sharp bend, “for money. I get contracts from companies to go to certain places, but… that really only pays for the trip.”
“Oh.” He knows how lucrative it can be for pokemon trainers, and how unfairly skewed it is towards them that the best become famous and some of the greatest geologists and researchers go unnoticed, as Wilbur ranted to him some time ago. He guesses that Dream found the equilibrium between the two. If anything, Dream is the fulfillment of Wilbur’s aspirations— finding the method of living off of contracts and being able to travel across the globe. Techno never bothered to leave the small pond.
Maybe that’s where they split paths.
The cobble slowly dissipates from underfoot until it’s no more than stones etched into compacted ice, guardrails umber with rust but still sturdy when Dream gives it a testing kick. They’re close to the midpoint, Tommy remembers. The rails continue throughout but it’s a guessing game if they’ll be of any use. The Mudsdales look comfortable travelling on the terrain so they continue on.
Tommy knows logically that there’s a thick layer of dirt and stone underneath them, but he thinks into it anyway, wincing whenever hooves crunch snow, thinking it’ll be enough to cause an avalanche. It’s never the case, and the pokemon are more than capable of standing their ground.
Still. Sometimes, when he wants to look directly to his right and ruin his depth perception with a horrible sense of vertigo, he leans forward to bury his face in Mudsdale’s mane and hold tight to the horse. They always trot on carefully in understanding, still keeping up the notion of settling their steps so it isn’t rattling him. Dream always checks in on him when he does.
“Hey, there’s a flat part up here, if you want to pause for a second,” Dream offers.
“I’m okay,” he says, taking a cold breath that startles his lungs with what feels like a sharpened icicle through his chest. He can hold it together, truthfully, he just needs something to take him away from the nearly 2,500 foot drop a meter to his right. Fuck. How is Dream so casual about it? He’s the one closer to the edge here. “Big drops aren’t good for the ol’ brain, that’s all.”
Dream pauses. “Would a blanket help? So you aren’t, like… tempted to look.”
Curse Dream for being smart. “Oh. Yeah, probably.” Dream slides his backpack off— over his left shoulder, away from a fate of being a relic under the snow— and pulls out a quilt. It’s patched with many fabrics, all contrasting colors, and he leans over to carefully wrap it over Tommy’s figure. “Thanks, dude.” He pulls it over his head and bundles into the warmth pooling over him.
“That’s why I made the list,” Dream teases, which Tommy probably deserves, after texting him question marks and many other remarks for the intricacy of the items.
“Fuck off.”
The sun rises into midday before they even brush the top of the mountain. A lot of muffled conversation happens, so Tommy isn’t just staring off into the dark safe space he’s created away from Metalgrade. He pretends that he’s in the kitchen of his old house, talking with Dream about anything that comes up. A few full mugs and leftovers from his favorite ramen shop sit on the counter. Spinarak is crawling around and tousling with Espurr in a play fight.
Unfortunately, the slight howl of winds that rush off of over slopes invades his eardrums. He excuses that as a drafty A.C.
The history of Metalgrade is interesting, as Dream describes it, with many of the legends being true about Moonaine and legendary pokemon. A perfect match for what Tommy read in the article, in even more detail, an exact account of what’s truly up there.
“You can’t see your hands ahead of you,” Dream says in the voice Tommy thinks of as reserved for ghost stories around campfires. It’s scary enough to be one. “I’ve tried mapping out the majority of the cave in my head when I went in, but everything feels like a void. Until something taps your shoulder. That’s how I knew there were Steelixs,” Dream says. “They don't ever attack people, just like… messing with them. They're scary as hell, though. Take that as a warning.”
Steelixs usually burrow deep underground, like most other steel types, but Tommy figures that they found the perfect spot to scare the living daylights out of anyone who stops by. Not that anyone has documented it, but the occasional visitor once an eon must be nice. Tommy would like that sort of life.
“Have you taken anyone else up here before?” Tommy asks. “Or, like. Not told them about the cave and let the Steelixs terrify them.”
Dream chuckles. “Now that you mention it… I asked my friends once if they wanted to visit Ironridge with me, because ‘the view is great’ and ‘Metalgrade Mountain is just so lovely this time of year’.” Tommy snorts. As if it’s ever lovely. “They said no. I’ll get them one day.”
“Maybe if you ask your old friends from here, they would like it,” Tommy says truthfully. “Bam. You get someone to scare and a chance to talk to them. If there’s anything I know from this city, then it’s that the people here would love to go on a trip like this. It’s exciting.”
“I wish it were that easy.” He says a dismayed hum. “If— if I run into them one day, then maybe.”
Tommy gets the courage to finally ask, “Why did you leave in the first place?” He isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to say— a lot of conversations end up tip-toeing the line between it, from both perspectives, and Tommy is done with the melancholy looks of “I don’t know why he left” and “I hope they don’t hate me now”. Tommy is apparently the problem solver of the family, or the only person boisterous enough to ask the real questions.
Dream takes a second to answer, which is enough time for Tommy to nearly peek out from under his blanket and see what kind of reaction Dream has. He doesn’t get the chance.
“It was one of my first contracts to go somewhere,” Dream says, heavy with what sounds like regret or disappointment at the circumstances. “Since Runswick is kind of a dead end in research if you don’t live out in the desert. So I… went to Ironridge. And then I got another job somewhere at the opposite end of the gulf. I guess I didn’t want to tell them that I was leaving.”
Tommy understands that, too scared of losing friends to let them know when you're going. Letting it slip past for years on the grounds of an awkward reunion or a bitter aftertaste.
“I feel terrible about it,” Dream adds.
“So,” Tommy says with a knowing tone, “all of this happened, with eight years of guilt, because you’re too shy to reach out.”
Dream flusters, stuttering over a few words before giving up on denying it. Tommy can tell that much without even looking. “Okay. Yes. I’m an idiot for it, I know,” he mumbles into his mask, barely audible over snow crunching. “Someone’s told me that before.”
“Okay, okay,” Tommy acquiesces. Mudsdale turns again, and he grips tighter to warm fur, which they don’t seem to mind. He recalibrates his perception. “I’m just saying. They sound pretty chill— just promise you’ll try to meet them again.”
“I…” Dream takes a breath. “Yes, okay. I’ll do what I can do.”
Tommy smiles, clutching tighter to Mudsdale’s mane. “Okay, cool.” The topic is put to rest— Dream doesn't need to know the details for his plan just yet, but he at least wants the guy to feel less anguish around the idea of Ironridge from past mistakes. Because it’s as bland as potatoes, yes. But there’s some good to be had in the city.
The air feels lighter the further up they climb. It might just be Tommy, with a half-realized sense of direction, but the wind creeps through the quilt and fills his lungs with false urgency. He wants to tug off the blanket and take in the few but he knows whatever’s out there will scare him half to death. He can hear the Mudsdale’s hooves, ice split under them, and the short fur he’s holding onto with his fingertips, radiating warmth.
He stares forward until he gets sick of the present darkness. His mind is floating wherever the cold is taking him. With a sudden thought, he pulls the blanket down his head and blinks at the oncoming sun.
“Tommy? You okay?” Dream says, and Tommy is very much not used to seeing the green cloak and mask staring anxiously at him. “Is it— I don’t know if it’s a good time to look.” Tommy does anyway, only partly defiantly.
It’s high up. He can’t see directly below them at the valley— he’s thankful for that. “Oh, fuck.” It’s a glittering sheen of pale colors and— wow, Tommy can see the waters of Crestboro Gulf from here. A block of turquoise sitting on the horizon, a distant roar that fills his ears with nothing. He inhales, and it’s so perfectly audible. A bleak landscape stretches out until wisps of green thread over it— Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever been that far.
Awareness isn’t something Tommy is used to on this mountain. He doesn’t even try peering to the ground close to them— Dream’s figure and his Mudsdale blocks it from view, anyway.
“I’m good,” Tommy finally answers, eyes meeting the unchanging smiley face that just feels worried to him. “Yeah. Definitely good. How long until we reach the top?”
Dream points with a gloved hand up to their left— Tommy follows it until he sees the peak. Before, it was a seemingly heightless protrusion from the ground that never seemed to change, stone constantly and steadily to his side. Now, though, he can count the number of steps until they reach the zenith.
The cave isn’t quite near the top, as Dream explained, and that only means that their first half of the journey could be finished in a matter of seconds. As if on cue, Dream says, “Stop.” The Mudsdales obey, kicking at the snow. They’re beside a large snow drift, the trail barely ending before then to dramatically swoop left and lead to the peak. Dream pauses.
“I know it’s here,” he says, cautiously sticking his head out to focus on the snow drift. Nothing happens. That almost worries Tommy more, and he pulls the quilt over his shoulders, watching Dream hop off his Mudsdale. “Wait there a second, I’ve gotta check something.”
“Are your trips usually this unplanned?” Tommy jokes. Somehow he doubts it. Dream casts him an over-the-shoulder look.
“Yeah, like this place has direct GPS. I only know it’s here,” he says, kicking in a patch of the snow, “because I fell into it. Very, uh, memorable experience.”
Tommy’s face twists in laughter immediately, because he can totally picture that. Dream, with the grace and curiosity of a Sawsbuck on ice, falling face first into a patch of snow, and somehow finding a place only described in legends— the guy is a bit more of a dumbass than the menacing composure suggests.
“It’s here,” Dream says with a heavy breath, overlooking a hole in the snow that leads to nothing. A dark abyss beyond a wall of ice. He glances over to Tommy, still perched on the Mudsdale. “I could probably tempt a Steelix out here if you don’t want to go in,” he offers and Tommy blinks.
“Oh, hell no. I’m coming in.” He brings his leg around to one side, jumping down with a huff and landing heavy footprints that track into dirt. He places Dream’s quilt over Mudsdale’s back securely, eyes focused at the focal point of the cave. It draws in his gaze like a blank nebula. “Where’s the… entrance?”
Dream gestures to the opening.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Dream says. He kicks in the snow a bit further, and then it opens up to swallow a mound of powdered snow. The edge of rock isn’t visible, just the subtle drip drip drip of water off of stone floors. A lack of echo implies a heavy level of claustrophobia. Can Steelixs really live in this place? Can they even fit?
Dream, with no ounce of hesitance, crouches to sit on the edge between abyssal plain and visible world. A portal from Darkrai that sucks in any light with a gaping maw. Maybe he's stood on a harsher contrast of death before, composure kept calm. He's sitting on the edge of it, even.
Tommy remembers to take out his lighter— it was settled in his coat’s pocket, behind the pokeballs that remind him of a safer place. He holds it in a firm grip to keep it steady.
Dream glances back at him, gloved hands poised to push himself off into the darkness. They're shaking, just enough to be noticeable. Tommy feels better knowing he's not the only one. “Ready?”
“I'm not the one about to jump in,” Tommy mutters. “Sure.”
Dream nods. He glares down the cave again before taking in a sharp inhale, and then he's sinking down into it. The barely heard thud of impact booms in Tommy's ears.
Tommy's nerves quicken their pace, and despite all things, it's a beautiful feeling, the only one visible on the mountain top for miles and standing before a cavern cursed by gods. The wind whistles in his ears and it sounds like the sweet chime of a Sylveon.
If this is what Dream gets himself into every few days or so, then Tommy very much likes this taste into an explorer’s life. A thumbs up suddenly emerges from the opening. Safe to enter, Tommy thinks it says.
It's hard to process where exactly he's going when Moonaine is made of the darkest paint known to mankind. It could be a two foot drop, or seven, and Tommy stares at the hole for a while before Dream says, “I can clear out the entrance more, if you want.”
He feels disoriented, staring down where words are coming out of, and there's nothing. It's only half as bad as staring off into the mountains. “Yeah. That would be nice, thank you.”
Then the snow is moving, shoved by invisible hands until the wall supporting the entrance collapses down in a puff of white. There's a clear slope he can edge his way down and safely— as safe as he can imagine it— step foot into Moonaine Cave.
Dream breaks a bit of the ice where Tommy will be descending, forming less of a slip and slide towards sudden death so his boots can find traction. The shadows of the cave are strange, creating a dark gradient up the green silk of his cloak and then clearing up where his wrist is. An absence of any features beyond thick material.
Well. He made it— apparently, the legends are too, and Tommy doesn't want to imagine a Darkrai crashing into the same cave that he's about to enter, so he focuses on the ice. He brings his boot down on it and waits for something to crash.
It strikes on the sole of his boot and crunches, a gleaming sound full of spikes to his ears. It holds.
Tommy takes a breath, glancing back to the darkness almost in approval. Of course there's nothing there. It feels weird to know that Dream must be staring at him or something, ready to catch him if he inevitably misjudges a platform and slips.
For now, nothing is out of his control, so he makes his way until his shoes are level with the end of the palatable ice staircase. “Hop down,” Dream says softly. And he does without further complaint. He trusts an expert way more than what he's unable to see.
He lands on hard stone with little more of a startle, because wow, there's steady land for the first time on this mountain, and he can't tell what exactly it is. It's like his eyes are closed and the faint light seeping through has been washed away by mystical hands. He turns towards the opening.
Faint blue is framed by nothingness, a window of clear sky and cirrus clouds. Dream’s silhouette is there, making sure there's a way they can leave— god, that's a strange sight, no more than three feet away and Dream might as well be standing on the peak of another mountain a mile away.
“This is so weird,” Tommy says as his thoughts process as just a question mark. “How can I catch a Steelix if it's…”
Dream pauses to face him, which really is quite ineffective, considering neither can see the other. He could slap Dream in the face and he wouldn't see it coming. Tommy will save that idea for later.
“Uh… you have a master pokeball, right?” Dream says.
“Yeah.”
“If there's a noise somewhere, just, I don't know. Hurl it at it. Their speed sucks.”
“Oh,” Tommy says with a bit of a quiver. Dream's supposed to be the expert here, not to leave anything up to Tommy's aim. It's a bit abysmal. “Got it.” He pulls out his lighter, fumbling for a bit until his finger is properly positioned on it, and sparks it.
“It won't work,” Dream says, but contrary to what he thinks he’s trying to achieve, Tommy cheers when it flicks on. The flame is muted into nothing more than a lick of burgundy, the heat felt on his finger.
The radiant light shadows the top surface of the lighter and his thumb with dying light, glowing rather than illuminating, but it's something. He can gauge a little bit of depth perception now.
He never thought that what he hopes is the start of his adventures to be a dark cavern and a dying flame at his fingertips. A cave where he catches a great steel snake, sure. Never unable to see. Maybe past-Tommy would be proud of him for trekking somewhere quite literally unrecorded by humanity.
He doesn't feel very brave right now. A wind could knock down his flame, and it would just be him left in the dark.
“Stay there,” Dream says, and Tommy hears his footsteps somewhere close by until they pass, daring deeper into the cave. For all he knows, the wall could be two feet ahead, or an endless stretch of stone. Realistically, it would be the former.
He blinks, and it doesn't change anything, only the prick of red in his vision.
A great hiss rises from the other end of the cave.
“Okay— Tommy, Tommy. Get ready with that pokeball, like, right now.”
“Aren't they harmless?” Tommy says, but he readily flicks off the lighter and takes the pokeball in his hand. The grooves feel intricate and unfamiliar, too heavy and regal for him to be holding. “Right?”
There's an audible breath. “Yeah. Yeah, it's a Steelix, though— right in front of me.” The hiss flattens, the drum of metal that roars somewhere in front of him. Boots scrabble on rock until there's a thump. “Tommy.”
He sounds panicked, and Tommy fumbles with the pokeball, trying to get a grip while he can't visualize— the scrape of stone on stone echoes horribly, too long and drawn out. Undoubtedly a Steelix. That knowledge makes him unsteady.
Only a few paces ahead of him is a creature of molten steel, writhing and probably straightening defensively in front of Dream. Tommy wonders what they got themselves into.
“Okay, I got it, I'll…” He focuses on the roar and throws the pokeball vaguely near, sparks of light flying when it catches. He barely sees it in white-shadowed light.
He sees Dream pressed against the wall of the cave, breathing too quickly with a Steelix looming over him in still motion, a wide grin stretched across stone features. It twists towards Tommy and he swears his heart stops.
A metallic groan shrieks through the cave and the form shatters into dematerialization within the pokeball. The darkness spirals in quicker than light could hope to reach.
It's silent for a few beats. The capture noise is unmistakable.
Tommy doesn't realize he’s holding his breath, and it returns with a shudder. It's once again dark and too silent and this time, he welcomes it. None of the noise thrashes against his ears.
The pokeballs in his pockets give a few faint dings, indications of his pokemon leveling up— he's scared to see what level the Steelix is after so many consecutive chimes.
Dream says with a deep inhale, “Are you okay?”
Tommy pauses, because he’s not the one that just got threatened by a 20 foot tall rock snake. “What the fuck?” He blinks, and the pokeball makes a whir-whir sound, waiting to be picked up. “I saw— how are you— why are you not freaking out right now?”
“I am,” he says, a nervous laugh escaping him. His voice is shaky. Sometimes, Tommy forgets how little Dream has had to live out these experiences, younger than Techno. That facade of a worn traveler shatters to bits whenever it comes down to it. “Oh, god. That was… not very good.” The pokeball stops shaking when a pair of hands gently pick it up, and then a shoulder collides into him. “Oh— that's just you.”
His face twists in concern. “Dude,” Tommy says in disbelief, brain stuck on that one frame— when Dream said they like to mess with people, he wasn't expecting in-your-face growling while you're cornered in darkness. “Are you good? Does that happen to you a lot?”
“I… maybe. Let's get out of here first.”
The bleak, pale blue sky is a beacon of light when everything looks like nothing. Nothing else follows them, though Tommy doubts there's many pokemon to protect the cave. Moonaine just felt uninhabited, save for the Steelix, an empty hollow frozen in snow. They mount the Mudsdales, who have only been waiting for ten or so minutes, and start a descent. Tommy feels too flighty on nerves to process the view he's taking in. The warmth is a welcome change from static cold..
“Are you alright?” Tommy asks, genuine intent filling the question. He stuffs the pokeball back into his coat pocket. Dream nods the slightest bit, his body locked into staring at the ground ahead of them.
“Last time wasn't…” Dream cuts himself off. It's telling enough. “When it looked at you, I thought it would go after you, and I— I don't know.” He shuffles so that he isn’t staring at the barren ice. “At least you caught it, right?” He looks at Tommy, every ounce of concern visible, which is a fair reaction. Tommy thought he was gone the second he saw Steelix's grin.
He thumbs over the master pokeball’s pattern. “Yeah.” He meets Dream's gaze. “Are you sure you're okay? Because I think I would be… passed out from shock right now, without anyone knowing where I was.”
He thinks any of his friends would make fun of him for being “soft” in that moment, but even from the depths of hell, he’s going to make sure Dream isn’t scared out of his wits. Or stuck in the classic what ifs. He can't tell which one is worse.
Dream hums his small amusement. “Probably. I'm good, I just… wasn't prepared, I guess.”
“I think your list was prepared enough,” Tommy says with a grin.
“Okay, well… no. I just thought your brothers would actually kill me if something bad happened. I would if I were them, too.” A thousand times over, yes. Dream tugs his scarf further up his face. “I mean— god. That was just… an aggressive Steelix, I guess. I haven't… seen a pokemon threaten me like that before.” He glances up near the peak. “You're okay though. Right?”
“Yes, I'm fine,” He repeats. In a broader sense, Dream is making sure he didn't just scare a kid away from any sort of adventure, or making sure Tommy doesn't despise him after this. It couldn't be further from the truth. An idea strikes him. “Give me Espurr’s pokeball. It’s for science. Good science.”
Dream seems bewildered, but after quiet seconds to confirm that he is in fact serious, he slips a hand into his cloak’s inner pocket. It comes back with the delicate pokeball between gloved fingers.
They exchange it over horseback, which is shakier than expected and Tommy fumbles before catching it securely. Knowing there's a little lilac cat in the capsule makes it feel lighter.
Tommy clicks the pokeball open and the Espurr materializes in a puff of mahogany and swirls of pink. Yet again, the wide eyes pierce him, but it's welcome from the cold. Espurr looks confused on why the hands supporting them aren't rough gloves and how Tommy of all people got access to their pokeball.
Tommy stares into the pindrops of irises, willing Espurr to understand his message. It doesn't work. Psychic types have always confused him, from Techno’s pokemon to now Dream's Espurr. He resorts to whispering.
His plan is simple. Dream has shown to have a soft spot for his comfort pokemon, and Tommy fully intends to exploit that for the sake of cheering him up. It's a tactic he's used on both his brothers and friends. He supposes Dream is a bit of both.
Espurr nods intently once he finishes explaining, which isn't a whole lot of words. They let him pick them up under open palms and balance to stand on two legs.
“Open your hands out,” Tommy says. Dream complies, the angle a bit weird considering they're on Mudsdales trotting down a mountain, but Tommy places Espurr back onto his gloves. They carry out the plan immediately.
Whenever Tommy is having a tough day, any of his pokemon will flop onto his lap and sit there demandingly, tempting him to pet them. It's stress relieving and frankly adorable. He hopes it works the same way on Dream.
Espurr flops sideways into his arms, encouraging Dream to cradle them, and purrs. Tommy didn't even think they could do that on command.
Dream glances down at his pokemon. He looks like he's deciding whether to play into this or not, and he
strokes Espurr’s belly with the soft fingertips of his gloves. “Is this your plan?” They flail their legs until Dream brings them up by their torso, standing on his lap.
They give him a hug, wrapped with little paws and nuzzling their face affectionately. Even if Espurr has been cold towards Tommy, it's warming to see the pair in what must be a normal occurrence, with how Dream graces his hands on their back to keep them from falling. Espurr looks like they think Dream's navy blue sweater is the coziest pillow in the world.
Tommy smiles. “Succumb to the cuteness.” Dream doesn't reply, mask tilted down at the pokemon in awe. He holds them for a while— any worries die down, and the sun stretches up overhead, white carved with scrapes of stone standing tall in the distance. The sun puts a sheen of glare over his eyes just looking at it.
The grass plains in the horizon peek below stone before sinking down entirely, Tommy barely recognizing the length of the descent, holding Steelix’s pokeball in one hand and holding onto Mudsdale’s mane in the other. He still can't peer close enough to visualize the height. He's too focused on the horizon to care.
“What's out there?” He asks during a pause, where they take in the view and hope they're never this close to the sky again in their lives. For Tommy, at least. “The grass over that way. Where does that go?”
Grass plains blanketing the barren edge of Ironridge, long gone into the mountains, but Dream seems to get what he's talking about. Dream peers over in a weak attempt to will the plains back into view.
“Uh, a lot of grass,” he says, stroking around Espurr’s ears and he hears the rumble of a purr grow exponentially louder. “You meet Starrun eventually if you walk far enough.” Buttercups sprinkled around the tallgrass, constellations in green and gold. Tommy remembers that much from his trip. “Spinarak would love it if you brought them there,” Dream muses.
Again comes Tommy's perpetual grief with Ironridge. He would build a sailboat by hand if someone had the materials, but they don't, because what good does anyone have here besides ice on their windowsills?
“I know. I don't really have a chance though, innit?” Dream looks over in disbelief, and he adds, “Nobody can walk that far except for you.”
“I didn't walk. I was… it was hypothetical,” he says with the tail end of a laugh, and a sigh follows. He holds tighter to Espurr in reflex. They don't make much of a retaliation. “I guess there's not a lot of ways to get out of here.”
“Nope,” Tommy affirms, popping the “p”. It's a conversation he's had many times with himself.
“Boat tickets are overpriced.”
“Yep.”
“There's no rideable flying types nearby. Or a… concise train line.”
The first is a factor Tommy has thought about a lot. Anything with wings is either the size of a pin or a Chatot, never with the freedom that comes with flying. Techno said that Dream had a Trapinch— if there's one thing he knows, it's that Flygons are the star dragons of Runswick, available to anyone willing to train a little Trapinch. He was lucky enough to have them from the get-go.
If Tommy ever found himself somewhere as defined in dragon types as Runswick, he would be filling his pockets with pokeballs, that's for sure.
“I would rather walk myself to Starrun than get on the Crestboro line,” Tommy says.
Dream chuckles. “I know what you mean.” Tommy looks off towards the shrinking horizon line. Back to the monotone of ice and the mountains. One day, if he’s lucky, he might be able to—
No, he’ll be sure of it. Even if he needs to take a career path similar to Dream’s to make it out with a steady living, with enough left to settle outside of the brick buildings and snow.
“Can a Steelix fly?” Tommy blurts, needing to strike up something different, away from toeing the line of demotivating his aspirations.
He's met with Espurr meowing their confusion, head turning to stare Tommy dead in the eyes with a look that he fears more than Arceus. Mudsdale snorts in amusement.
“No? What kind of question is that?”
“It's reasonable! Dude. They’re like, four times my height, maybe they can fly, too.”
“That’s— no. No, they can’t.”
The pokeball clutched in his hand rattles, either a retort or bugging Tommy for asking the question. He squeezes his grip on Steelix’s pokeball tighter even if the pokemon can't feel it. He'll have to get used to it. “Okay. Well— just counting my options.”
Dream pauses for a moment. Surely he understands it— maybe not from an exact point of view, since in Runswick, Tommy has heard that you’re set up to travel and find greatness from day one. Nothing like the trudging stillness here. Blue and blue until it’s no longer your favorite color and then every bright tone feels like too much.
“You’ll get out of here,” Dream assures, imaginary eyes focused on the trail ahead. Lost in thought. “It’s— there’s always an opportunity, you just have to look for it. At least, I think that’s how the saying goes.”
Tommy smiles. “Sounds about right.”