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Summary
Things are almost good for a little while. There is something like safety, like healing settling over the little cabin in the snow.
It feels a little bit like coming home, Tommy thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It scares him sometimes, this vulnerability, this stability that could be torn out from under his feet at any moment. Trust is something he has felt like a knife in his back over and over. Trust is falling again and again even though there’s never anyone there to catch him before he hits the ground. Trust is broken bones and split lips, trust is spitting out blood and using his tongue to check for loose teeth.
And yet, and yet, when the same hands that curled into fists once before extend as open palmed offerings, he still takes them. Dream called him stupid, helpless, naive. Dream was right, Tommy knows, but Dream smelled like gunpowder and a bitter kind of smoke.
The smoke here is sweet and Tommy has never been one to learn from his mistakes.
Tommy had been Theseus for a little while. Tommy had been Icarus, Atlas, Prometheus.
But before all of that, he had been Tommy. Maybe there was a place for him to be again, now, in the after.