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hotchspearl · 3 days ago

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I See You (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Bau!Reader)

Note: Guys, this is my first fanfiction EVER, so please be nice. Also, english is not only not my first language, but also not my second. It's my THIRD. So again, please consider this while reading. I also write just for fun and am new to the whole Tumblr Game. If you have any ideas/wishes/remarks/or any feedback please send it my way :) I also am planning on making it a series, but am not sure yet. Otherwise, enjoy 🩷

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Bau!Reader

Summary: Y/N, a young profiler with a background in undercover work, joins the BAU after proving her exceptional ability to empathize with and read criminals. However, her time undercover has left her guarded, distrustful, and fiercely independent. From her very first case with the team, she butts heads with Aaron Hotchner, whose strict adherence to protocol clashes with her tendency to trust instinct over rules. What neither of them realize at first is how much they have in common—both carry unresolved grief and trauma, hide their vulnerabilities, and use work as a coping mechanism. Over time, their relationship forms an unspoken bond, with each seeing the other as a mirror of themselves, and maybe a little bit more.

WC: 2248

Warnings: none, I think? just general Criminal Minds violence, mention of a fictional case, just the beginning of an enemies to lovers trope :)), little argument

I See You - Chapter 1: TENSION

The office of the Behavioral Analysis Unit buzzed with the usual controlled chaos. SSA Hotchner sat as stoic as ever at his desk, scanning through the latest case file. His gaze occasionally flicked to the bullpen, where the newest team member, Agent Y/N, was now leaning over her desk. He watched her for a brief moment as she was jotting down a few notes with her usual focused intensity. Young, sharp and undeniably talented, that is how he would describe her. This is why she had not only caught the teams but also Strauss attention, leading to her transfer from her previous undercover work to the BAU. But, something about her grated him – maybe it was a mix of her eagerness, her unrelenting need to prove herself with every move she made or was it just simply the way she seemingly carried a weight she never spoke of?

It was your first case on the new job as the team gathered in the conference room like usual, where Garcia’s presentation filled the screen with crime scene photos. The victims posed in public places, each clutching a single red rose and a card with the phrase: ,Beauty in Death.’

“Four victims in two weeks,” Garcia began. “All found in suburban neighborhoods around Kansas City. No witnesses, no prints, and also no apparent pattern to the timing”.

You quickly rearranged yourself in your seat, reangling the crime scene pictures in front of you, trying to get a different look at them.

“The posing suggests the unsub sees this as a form of… art,” Reid chimed in and you nodded along, gathering your courage for your first contribution between the already seasoned team of profilers.

“Possibly someone with a background in floral design or even photography.”

The team nodded along with you, before Hotchner cleared his throat.

“Wheels up in thirty” he simply said, his voice steady and unwavering.

4 hours and more briefing on the jet later you all landed in Kansas City. You listened from the back of the jet as Hotchner gave the first orders.

“Our priority is identifying the unsub before he escalates even further. Morgan, Prentiss, you’ll canvas the neighborhoods where the bodies were found, try to ask around for some witnesses. JJ, talk to the families. Rossi, Reid head to the medical examiner. Agent Y/N, you and I will interview the guy who called about the second victim. He is a florist – it's not much, but we can go from there.”

You quickly nodded along, gathering your belongings as the jet came to a halt.

The florist, a middle-aged man with a very nervous demeanor, sat across from Hotchner and you in the interrogation room. As Hotchner methodically questioned him, you had the time to do what you knew best, study every move he made, especially the unconscious ones. The man’s body language was easy to read, his hands trembled when asked about the roses, his right eyelid twitching every now and then - but no matter that, he answered Hotch’s questions in a consistent manner. When Hotch pressed him even further on his timeline of the night of the third murder, the man’s stutter grew worse, but you could not see any guilt nor pride in his expression – only fear. As it was your first interrogations, and especially one next to your new boss, you stayed quiet most of the time, keeping your thoughts to yourself for now. But afterwards, in the hallway, you quickly caught up to Hotch, wanting to share the thoughts you had kept to yourself for now.

“I don’t think he’s our guy” you simply stated, looking up to Hotchner as he slowly stopped, turning to face you, his gaze sharp.

“The profile fits. He’s socially isolated, has access to roses and his timeline is questionable. He couldn’t get it straight. What would make you think otherwise?”

As his sharp words left his mouth you had to internally recollect yourself to continue pushing your narrative in front of your boss.

“It’s his language” you stated, maybe a bit too simple, offering no explanation. Scared that it might come off as arrogant you added “When you asked about the roses, he, uhm, didn’t describe them the way someone obsessed with their craft or the idea of ,Beauty in Death’ would do.”

Hotchner’s head tilted just a tiny bit and you took it as your sign to go on. “He wasn’t fixated on the details – no mention of texture, scent, arrangement. He didn’t seem proud of his work, uhm, and, during the timeline questions I got the feeling that his defensiveness was stemming more from fear of being accused of something rather than from hiding guilt, pride, remorse.”

Hotch didn’t say anything for a second, the only reaction was him crossing his arms. You bit your lip, a nervous habit.

“And you think that’s enough to just rule him out?”

“No Sir, that is not what I was implying.” You admitted quickly. “I am just saying, it’s enough to look harder into the other suspects. The one Agent Prentiss called in. The gallery assistant who recently quit after an argument?” you continued, his gaze on you still unwavering.

“The poses just feel theatrical, like the unsub is making a statement. I just think whoever would do something like that would also feel a sense of pride – he doesn’t.”

Hotch stared at you for another moment, his expression unreadable. “Fine. We’ll check into it. But if it leads nowhere, you’ll be the one explaining to the families why we lost time.”

His words stung and you felt your heart beat in your chest wildly. As you watched him walk away, pulling out his phone and probably calling Agent Prentiss, you got an uneasy feeling in your stomach which you couldn’t quite place just yet.

Was he always that harsh? Was it just his modus operandi?

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you walked back to the little kitchen area, wanting to grab another cup of tea to calm your nerves. Seconds later you poured hot water into a small cup, your mind still racing as you were slowly but surely starting to second-guess the little argument you just had with your new boss.

Was it worth it? Did I come off as too strong? Too arrogant? Too much?

Your thoughts and mind were focused on the case ahead, but also on the Unit Chief himself. You understood that the team, though having their reservations, would slowly but surely welcome you in with open arms and let you be part of their little family. However, Hotch, as they call him, would not be as eager with having you on the team. You knew that he first wanted you to prove yourself, prove your skills. At the end of the day, you knew that earning his approval, and someday maybe even trust, would be more like a marathon rather than a sprint, but nonetheless you were willing to take the bait.

The day went on and the team split up, each chasing separate threads. Meanwhile, you continued to quietly follow your own instincts about the gallery assistant. You swiped through his online presence and general social media activity while being on the phone with Penelope Garcia, the tech assistant (or goddess as she apparently calls herself). She seemed to be the most fun of them all to be around and you noticed right away that you liked her attitude. Not only because she was cracking jokes left and right, already testing your waters with light teasing, but also because she seemed to be non judgemental, just simply here to help out and make some inappropriate jokes along the way.

As you both finally found some things that were worth mentioning, you approached Hotchner.

“I think the assistant is more than just a connection. I think this is our major suspect”

“We’ve been through this. He has no violent history, no forensic evidence linking him to the crime scenes.”

“Well, uhm, maybe not directly, but with his behavior. It’s erratic. Look, he posted this online just a couple of weeks ago, right about the time the murders started.”

(You pull up a social media post made by the gallery assistant, showing a vague yet still concerning message: “They never understood my vision. Maybe they’ll finally see it.”)

Hotch is skeptical, but listens. “It’s circumstantial at best. We need more to bring him in.” he finally says, and you lick your lips briefly, exhaling in dissatisfaction about the whole situation.

“If we wait, we risk another victim. I’ll keep digging, trying to find something more… resolute, but, I think we need to press him before he escalates further”

Hotch’s frown deepened and you could see how he didn’t like nor approve of your way of speaking to him so… freely.

“I’ll consider it. But I need you to focus on the task assigned to you first. Let’s not jump ahead without solid evidence.”

Your jaw tightens, but you nods curtly, leaving to continue your ,assigned’ work without saying anything else in return.

Hours later, Morgan and Prentiss report finding surveillance footage near one of the crime scenes. In the background the car of the gallery assistant can be clearly seen, Sam Nolan, parked just a block away from where the third body was discovered.

This gladly, is enough for Hotchner to bring him in for questioning. This time, Hotchner and Rossi lead the interrogation while you watch from the observation room with Reid.

Nolan denies any involvement, of course, but grows agitated quite quickly, when both Agents press him about the argument he had at the gallery, which resulted in him quitting his job.

You could see how Hotchners gaze becomes more doubtful of the person in front of him, slowly but surely catching on with his strange behavior and inconsistencies.

“He’s treating the victims like they’re part of his ,art’. That’s why he’s so defensive. It’s not just simple murder to him – it’s his way of controlling how they’re remembered.”

Reid nods along with you. “That aligns with the unsub’s need for public recognition. He wants to be acknowledged more than anything else, he wants to finally be seen for the great artist he is.”

Before you could think, you act out of impulse and find yourself stepping into the interrogation room. Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, but gives you room to speak. And you take it without missing a heartbeat.

“Sam, I understand. Really. They didn’t see your vision. They dismissed your work, I mean, how could they? But, now-, now, you finally found a way to make them look at it, didn’t you?”

Nolan shifted in his seat, visibly unsettled by the approach you had going on. “What are you talking about?”

“The roses, the poses – it all is so intentional, so theatrical, so beautiful” you forced the last word out of yourself “you weren't just killing them, you were preserving them, turning them into your own legacy” you continued as Nolan grew silent, his eyes focused on you, listening.

“This was your way of having control. Having control over how they will be remembered. Forever in the light that you put them in, as they took their last breath. That is why it is so beautiful. Beauty in Death.”

Hotch watched Nolan closely, internally very impressed by your boldness, strategy and also performance. Nolan slowly starts to falter, his need to be understood, seen and admired overriding all his defenses in a heartbeat.

“They never appreciated it. I had to show them…show everyone” he finally said, his voice breaking, before his façade crumbled completely and he confessed.

You breathed a collective sigh of relief, your eyes quickly locking with Agent Rossi’s, who gave you a satisfied and approving look, before you put your hand on the doorknob and exited the interrogation room just as quickly as you came.

Back home at the office, the team was scattered at their usual places (at least you supposed they were usual), chatting about something completely unrelated to the case you all just solved but rather personal stories they finally could catch each other up on. You sat at your desk, organizing your notes, when you heard footsteps approach you. With your next inhale his cologne filled your nose, you turned your head, watching Hotchner approach you.

“You followed your instincts on this one. Even when I wasn’t fully convinced.”

You looked up, surprised. “I just wanted to make sure we don’t miss anything.” You added simply.

“You didn’t. That was good work.” He finally said, his voice softer than usual.

You couldn’t hide a smile now. “Thank you”

Hotch hesitated for a moment, before speaking up again.

“You remind me of someone – someone who also couldn’t let things go until they were sure everything was accounted for.”

“And…is that a good thing?” you asked, feeling the tension in you relax a little bit.

He smiled faintly, before pressing his lips together, giving you a curt nod.

“See you tomorrow, Agent Y/N.” he finally said, before walking off, taking the stairs to his office. You watched him waving Morgan and Prentiss goodbye as they left for the day, as he disappeared behind his closed door seconds later. Through the little window you watched him take off his suit jacket and neatly hang it over his chair, sitting down at his desk and scanning through the latest case file.

#aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch #hotch x you #thomas gibson #criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #enemies to lovers

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hoonieyun · 11 hours ago

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this is where it ends ⋆˙⟡♡

days of dodging your boyfriend after your fight finally lead you to the answer you've been looking for (read part one here) heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: aaaaangsttttt!!! angst!! heartbreak.. OOF warnings: toxic relationship, bad coping mechanisms, profanity, mentions of drinking as an addiction, gaslighting, arguing, 18+

hoonieyun notes: WHEW... lowkey was like.. damn this shit is TOO angsty so sorry in advance but im obsessed with angst lately and watching xo kitty did not help because that show was a rollercoaster LMAO anyways i hope you guys enjoy this sad piece of work because i have more coming with my vday anthology and exes reunited series plus! i've just announced my 1k follower special!

𐐪♡𐑂 @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @heartheejake @cloud-lyy @heeweenie @jakesimfromstatefarm @lovelymelon @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@chvconn3 @heeheeyeoiizz01 @pjselee @malloryaloisia @alienqbrain @jooniesbears-blog @haeeeeefer @firstclassjaylee

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

it had been 3 days since you left heeseung standing in your apartment, dumbfounded and unsure of where you were. you really had hoped he would run after you that night but he didn’t and that seemed to put the nail in the coffin for you.

were you ready to throw away your relationship all because of this?

was it worth it to lose the person you love?

you had pondered on so many questions since that night and each question felt like you were guilt tripping yourself into thinking that your own feelings weren’t valid, like you were trying to convince yourself that you were overreacting and that heeseung was right.

why were you being so annoying?

but these questions only led to more questions instead of answers.

were you being annoying or were you just tired of not being heard?

if you hadn’t been the one to constantly ask him to clean up after himself would he have done it on his own?

why were you trying to come up with reasons to talk yourself back into his arms when you truly knew deep down the answer you were looking for…

you just weren’t ready to come to terms with it.

so here you were, hurriedly packing what you could before heeseung could come home. and just to your luck, he had arrived much earlier than you anticipated. “yn?” heeseungs says, shock painted across his face as he sees you standing in the hallway with a box of your things.

“wh- what are you doing?” he asks, eyes falling on the box in your hands.

both of you knew the answer to that.

“i think- i can’t do this anymore, hee…

i did a lot of thinking these past fews days and everything i thought of i found myself trying to make excuses for you. trying to figure out why i was acting this way and why i was going out of my way to make it seem like i was the one causing these issues and stressing myself out and then i realized…

why was i trying to compromise my own happiness and well being for someone who didn’t care about me?

for someone who couldn’t simply understand where i was coming from and couldn’t even listen to me when all i would ask for was something so easy as to clean up after yourself.

heeseung, you’re grown and so am i and i’m done acting like your words and actions don’t hurt solely for the fact that i don’t want to lose you.

we’re over.” your eyes had tears pooling in them but you refused to let them fall in front of heeseung.

“what?” heeseung asks, slipping his shoes off and running over to you in an attempt to stop you, reaching for the box but you move out of the way before he can.

“yn.. can we please talk about this? don’t jump to conclusions just because you’re hurt. this isn’t what you want, what about us?

are you willing to throw us away because of some petty fight?” and that’s when you knew that you and heeseung weren’t on the same page… at all.

“that’s what you have to say?” and at this point you had lost the fight to stop the tears from falling.

“you haven’t even apologized? and now you’re here trying to gaslight me into thinking that what i’m feeling is just the result of a petty fight?

hee, you never listen to me. you dismissed my feelings and all i asked was you clean up our bedroom because i was tired. i’m sorry but if that was such a hard task then i don’t know what to tell you.

i’m not jumping to conclusions. heeseung, we’re done.” you say, pushing passed him so you could leave and move on. start new and heal from this pain.

“really? you’re just going to walk away?” heeseung asks, still refusing to take accountability for his actions.

“i’m not walking away… you pushed me away.”

“bye, heeseung.”

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

jay hadn’t been able to pick up a bottle of alcohol since that night… 5 months ago. he hadn’t realized he developed a bad habit of drinking all because he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his loving girlfriend, the one who took care of him, who loved him, who fought for him to make things right, was slowly becoming someone he didn’t love anymore.

so why was it that now that you two were broken up, he wants nothing more to get back together with you?

he thought about the day you finally came back. after you ran out in the middle of the night jay didn’t see you for a whole week and by the end of that week, you would be gone for good.

“is this what you really want?” jay had asked you right before you left.

“its not what i want… but it doesn’t seem like what i want would be something that could ever happen if i stayed with you.

you hurt me, jay. all i ever did was care for you and love you and it made me realize i hadn’t felt care or love from you for a while now.

i truly hope that you get help for your drinking problem but i’m sorry i’m not going to be the one to fix it for you.” and with that you were gone. out of jay’s life and although you had said that you weren’t going to be the one to fix his drinking problem, in a lot of ways; you did fix it.

he hadn’t drank since that night and vowed to himself that he wouldn’t drink ever again and 5 months after, he’s kept that promise.

jay wished that he did keep his promise to you.

when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend, he had promised to hold your heart close to his and to never break it. only to find himself distancing his heart from yours and eventually shattering it into millions of pieces when you got into a fight that night.

but he was now forced to face all of this all over again as you stood in front of him, mirroring the same shocked face he had as the two of you run into each other at a mutual friends party.

you hadn’t seen jay since that night and although your heart ached for him, you had to choose yourself. you couldn’t stand being with someone who saw you as overbearing when all you did was care for and love them.

you truly had been worried about jay ever since his drinking habits had gone worse and maybe you could’ve gone about it a better way and not made him feel attacked for his actions but he didn’t have the same consideration for you so why should you do the same… right?

“h-hi.. yn. you look good.” jay stutters.

“you do too, um.. i–” you begin to say but he cuts you off. “look, i know we didn’t end on the right foot and these past five months have been hard for me so i could only imagine how hard they’ve been on you.

i wasn’t right to treat you that way and i’m sorry i’m only realizing it now. i miss you so much and i spend countless nights thinking about you. reminiscing on the good times and how i let myself ruin all of it.

i’m sorry, yn.” it all comes out like word vomit and quite frankly, you weren’t prepared to hear any of it. you also hadn’t expected him to have this much of grasp on your relationship five months after, but it was all too late.

“i’m sorry too, jay– but i can’t keep doing this. i think you need to move on. i know i will…” you muttered.

“for what it’s worth… you did help me… i’m five months sober.” he confesses and you give him a tight lipped smile.

“take care of yourself, ok?” you say before turning around to leave and although jay wished that he could’ve said all of this five months sooner in hopes that it would’ve fixed your relationship, he respects your wishes and just hopes that the next guy who comes around would love you the way you deserved to be loved.

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

in the time you’ve dated jake or quite frankly, anyone, they had never raised their voice and spoke to you in that way. jake seemed so angry and upset that it scared you. you knew that jake would never hurt you but his words pierced your heart in ways that caused you pain you had never felt before, especially from someone you love and was supposed to love you.

it always hurts more when it comes from someone you love right?

you had come home the next day and found jake sleeping on the couch, hugging the plushy that he often said looked like you.

you’d be lying if you said that seeing him like this didn’t make your heart hurt… but it did.

it seemed like jake had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for you but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

the feeling of being unwanted, unloved, undesirable, and not enough for someone who is supposed to love you.

but if jake had loved you he wouldn’t have raised his voice at you.. let alone speak to you in that tone and used language that was meant to hurt someone.

“yn? is that you?” he says, stretching on the couch and rubbing his eyes, causing you to snap out of it. you quickly wipe away the tears that had miraculously appeared. “um, yeah. i just came to grab some things. you can go back to sleeping..” you explained as you made your way to your shared bedroom.

“baby? can we talk?” jake says, peering into the room as he sees you packing your things inside of duffel bag. “wait- what are you packing? are you leaving? baby, please don’t do this, can we talk this out?” he was now on his knees in front of you, clutching onto your sweater while he begged.

“jake, get up.” you say, rolling your eyes at him.

“its just for a few days, i need time to myself- i need to think, ok?” you said and even now, even when you’re still hurting because of him from the night before, you were here trying to comfort him.

jake stands up with a sniffle and he attempts to link your hands together but you pull away to continue packing your bag. “when are we going to talk about this? i love you, i don’t want you to leave… please stay.” he continues to beg and although its working, you needed to stay strong.

“if you loved me you wouldn’t have spoken to me like that. people who love each other don’t speak to people they love that way.

jake, you hurt me… and i don’t know what i did to deserve that treatment but i just wanted help. i spent all day running errands despite feeling like shit because of my period and you dismissed my feelings like it was nothing.

that blanket meant so much to me, you knew that it was from my late grandmother yet you tossed it aside for your own accord because you didn’t have the same care for me and the things i love the way i do for you.” you said with a huff as you stuffed the last of your things into the bag.

“when will you come back?” was all jake asked and all you could muster up was a shrug, because you weren’t entirely sure when you would be back.

needless to say, a few days turned into a few weeks, and a few weeks turned into a few months and at some point you found yourself not having the need to come back.

you wished you could get the closure you wanted from jake and you were sure he also wanted that, but walking away was something you needed to do. even if it was just one instance where jake spoke to you that way, it was enough for you to leave because you weren’t going to allow yourself to be with someone who found it in themselves to speak that way to someone they supposedly loved.

not then, not now, and not ever.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

sunghoon hadn’t known what he was doing, it was like his body was moving before his brain could think because he was running back inside and grabbing his car keys to drive after you.

he wasn’t sure where you were headed off to but he had guessed that you were most likely going to stay with your mom. you were always close with your mom and she often was the person you went to when you were having troubles if you didn’t go to sunghoon.

sunghoon knew he fucked up and he shouldn’t have treated you that way let alone let some strangers treat you that way. he didn’t know what let him get to the point where he was allowing these men to speak about you, the girl that he loved, in a way that made you feel small. demeaning and degrading you in a way that he hadn’t realized and even if he did, he chose to look away instead of defend you all because he was filled with the greed of wanting this promotion.

was it even worth it anymore if it meant losing you?

sunghoon was speeding at this point and although you hadn’t left much before he had went to follow you, there was no one else in the streets as he sped through to catch up to you.

in a short amount of time, he’s turning into the street that your mom lives on and sure enough, he sees you just about to walk up to the front door. he hapazardly parks the car on the side of the street and stumbles out of his car to get to you.

“yn, please. wait, lets talk about this!” he says and you’re startled at sunghoon suddenly appearing and you wipe the tears from your face and blink a few times to make sure he was actually there.

“hoon? what are you doing here?” you ask, stepping down the small stairway that led to your mom’s home. “i couldn’t just let you leave like that, we need to talk-

look i’m sorry for the way i treated you and even more sorry that i let them treat you that way. i love you so much and i couldn’t imagine the amount of hurt i caused you for making it seem like i was okay with letting them say those things about you all because i wanted that promotion so damn bad.

i was selfish and greedy but those are the things that make me want you more. i don’t want you to leave and walk away from me because i am selfish and greedy and i want you all to myself.

i’m sorry that i didn’t defend you and i made you feel small…” he says and at this point sunghoon is crying. his voice breaks with every other word and you truly hadn’t seen sunghoon in this much distress, ever.

you didn’t know how to respond but the longer you looked into sunghoon’s bloodshot eyes, the more confused you became.

you could tell sunghoon was sincere but you didn’t think this was something that could be fixed right then and there. your sensitivity was always something you struggled with and sunghoon knew that yet he brushed off your feelings like it was nothing.

“you shouldn’t have driven out all this way…

because although i appreciate your apology i don’t know that i’m in the right place to accept it or to forgive you.

sunghoon you hurt me and you let others hurt me.

i’m selfish too, i want you all to myself too and i wouldn’t have stayed so long if i didn’t love you and want to be with you… but-

i don’t know if i can be with someone that doesn’t see me in the way i deserve.

and i certainly know i don’t deserve any of that.” both of your attention is drawn to the sound of the front door as it opens, revealing your mother in her nightwear and arms crossed; a displeased expression on her face.

“i’ll reach out to you when i’m ready.” you say and without another word you’re retreating into your mom’s home, hiding away from sunghoon and preparing yourself to have to face the inevitable one day.

sunghoon on the other hand, drags himself to his car, head hanging low as he has to come to terms that his own selfishness and greed for the one he loved was also what caused him to lose the love of his life.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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daflangstlairde-art · 2 days ago

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"A Noble Occupation" Chapter 2, 7936 words

Summary:

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame. — Dream acquires a new coping mechanism. It's not a very good one.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It… became a habit, as shameful as that was.

On lighter days, when his emotions weren't exhausted enough and therefore reached him, Dream would… well, first he would busy himself. When there was nothing obvious that needed him (uncommon occurrence), he sought out how to be helpful, how to be of use. When there was little of that (very rare occurrence), he trained with his teammates, or made preparations.

When that ended and he was home, Dream still looked for ways to make his time worthwhile. Even cleaning was better.

But when he was at a loss on how to do that, and he was thinking and feeling things the Guardian of Positivity shouldn't be… he drank.

The experience didn't get more pleasant, but he grew accustomed to it. The same way he'd learned to bear wounds. The same way he'd learned to bear his own bad emotions.

Go to the store. Internally writhe in shame as he got a bottle of alcohol (wine, since he was most familiar with it). Sometimes he lied that it was for a friend or a gift. Go back home.

Drink it all as fast as possible.

Get hit with the effects all too suddenly.

Feel miserable. Throw up. Go to bed. Sleep like a log.

He learned to keep a glass of water at his night stand. He learned to set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep until noon. He learned to take headache meds in the morning so his functionality wasn't impaired.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It rarely happened, once every several weeks at most.

It helped him sleep, when he did it. It helped him, well, drown his sorrow — make it dull and fuzzy, allowing him to wake up the next day and pretend like none of it existed in the first place, because it shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He was a Protector of the entire Multiverse. If this made him better at his job, at giving the people what they needed in a way that didn't affect them negatively at all, what's the harm in it?

—

Dream should get a mat or something. For his bathroom. The floor tiles were cold.

At some point, he figured it was easier to just drink in his bathroom, since he was inevitably going to end up throwing it up.

The floor… wasn't particularly comfortable, but that's fine. Dream just had to sit here for a bit. Knees pulled to his chest, breathing steadily. Waiting for the alcohol to kick in properly, for the nausea to really rear up. Everything was already fuzzy and tilting, so it was on its way.

And then his phone rang.

Dream winced. He felt his metaphorical heartrate pick up, because it was late, and today had been easier, so this had to be an emergency, and he was a useless mess–

"Hey Dream!" Blue's voice came through.

"Blue?" Dream swallowed. Oh, he hadn't yet… experienced talking to anyone in this state. And he knew alcohol changed the way people spoke. Stars, he really hoped Blue wouldn't pick up on it. He really, really hoped that.

Blue was one of his best friends. One of his teammates. He was… so nice. He genuinely… cared about Dream, not just– about what Dream could do for him, not just about Dream's role. Blue was a good person.

What would he think of Dream? Would he be disappointed?

Dream would not be able to handle that.

He couldn't let Blue know.

"–always for some emergency or another, soo I thought I'd just… you know… call to chat! Just as friends," Blue spoke. His voice was… calm and cheerful. No emergency.

His words caught up to Dream. He wanted to… chat. As friends. That was important. Dream… didn't want Blue to feel like they're just co-workers. They were friends. Blue mattered a lot to Dream.

He was right. Dream had to make more time to spend with his friends. As friends. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel like… like he didn't care about them because he spent all his time helping other people instead.

(He had to have learned from his mistakes. He had to.)

Dream exhaled through his nose, trying to string together a coherent reply. Come on, he wasn't that drunk. Liven up!

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding even if Blue couldn't see. "I– I also… I'd enjoy spending time with you too. As friends,"

"Yay mweheheh!" Blue exclaimed, and Dream huffed in mirth at his endearing laughter. "Unless you're tired, that is– oh no, did I wake you up? I should've asked if you were available to talk first, gah, please prioritize your rest–!" he rushed out.

Dream shook his head. "No, no, I'm available," he spoke slower than the other. It's like the words were fuzzy in his mouth. It was weird. But it didn't sound weird, at least not to him.

"Oh! Okay then, great! Anyway. I'm making dinner!"

Dream hummed. "What're you making?"

"Vegetable cream soup!!!" Blue exclaimed.

That simultaneously sounded really tasty and made Dream remember the upcoming nausea.

"Sounds lovely," he focused on.

"Uh-huh! I hope so. You can try it tomorrow! It's a bit pot. I'm making it with the usual ingredients — you know, carrots and onions and potatoes, but I also decided to add cauliflower because I quite enjoy cauliflower–"Blue started rambling. He enjoyed cooking, as was characteristic of many versions of Papyrus. Funnily enough, Dream had caught him and Horror discussing food prep in the middle of a fight once or twice. It was bizarre. Dream wasn't against it though.

He didn't… think hating Nightmare's gang would solve anyone's issues. He wished he could help them instead. They… hngh. People hated them for ruining and destroying, which was understandable. Dream also, well, highly disapproved of their actions. But they were people, too. And, occasionally, he could feel their hurt. And there's no way being with Nightmare helped.

He exhaled. Maybe someday, he'd figure out a way to help them too. If he tried harder. If he was better.

…Ah, he wasn't listening to Blue. What a friend he was. How could he help Nightmare's gang if he couldn't even be enough for one of his best friends?

"–with an egg, and then it's going to be all done. What about you, what are you up to??" Blue asked curiously, because he was a good friend.

Agh. Dream would have to lie again. He felt… ashamed and guilty. What should he answer?

"I was… cleaning earlier," he answered. He did clean just a little.

"Cleaning? Tsk tsk tsk Dream, I told you to go home and rest," Blue said, light-hearted, more teasing than anything. Though there was soft, disguised concern in his words.

Dream winced. He swallowed. He almost reached for the bottle again before he remembered it was already empty. It was really getting to him. As always, it left him feeling odd. Fuzzy at the face. Nauseated.

"Sorry," he said, sort of by reflex.

"N– it's alright," Blue was quick to assure, and then he paused for a moment. "Are… you alright, Dream?"

Oh no.

Good going, Dream, you couldn't even compose yourself enough for one phone call. Blue just wanted to spend time with you, and now you're making it all about yourself and your problems which you shouldn't be having in the first place. Selfish.

Ugh, and the wine wasn't helping him at all. Dream felt… messy, when he should be the pinnacle of put-togetherness. He couldn't cry now. He couldn't.

"I'm okayy," Dream tried to put a sincere inflection to it. He'd mastered that long ago, except now, it fell oddly, drawing out the end of the word just a bit. Dammit.

Blue was quiet for another moment. Dream had to fix this.

"…Dream, you can ta–"

"I'm just a bit distracted, sorry," Dream lied, "Planning. You know how it is. …Sorry for interrupting you," he winced.

"…Right," that didn't sound like Blue believed him. Dream hunched in on himself. He felt sick. "Just–" Blue took a breath, "–don't stay up all night planning, okay? …Take care of yourself. Please. You don't have to– …You… you'll need the strength, so we can, uh, help people the best we can!"

Right. He was right. Dream was so selfish to be doing this.

"…You're right," he agreed softly. "Thanks for the chat, Blue. I really enjoyed it. Can we… I… I really appreciate you as a friend, you know?" he swallowed. "We should… hang out more. I'm sorry we don't hang out more. I'm s– I… I think I'm gonna go to bed now," he finished on a bit of a lame note.

"I'd love to hang out another time," Blue said all warm, and Dream knew he meant it. "But right now, you going to bed will make me even happier! Good night, Dream! See you tomorrow!"

"Good night," Dream returned quietly. After a beat, the call ended.

Dream let his hand down, blinking bleary at the wall. The silence lingered. He was alone.

He shuffled over to the toilet to throw up so he could go to bed.

—

He was growing too accustomed to the alcohol. One bottle wasn't making him as sick. He had to get two.

…He was finding more varied places to get the alcohol from.

—

Several days later,

"Dream!" Ink grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Ink?" Dream was immediately aware, "What is it, why did you call me, are you alright?" did Error go too far again, did Dream need to heal him? Was an AU being destroyed?

"Oh I'm great," Ink waved a hand, and then once again grabbed Dream, "But I really really really need your help!"

"Yes? Of course!" Dream would always help his friends.

"I need you," Ink said gravely, "to have a beach day with me."

Dream stared back at Ink's intense stare.

He resisted the urge to sigh. That'd be rude. And he wasn't really irritated with Ink anyway. Both because he didn't feel irritation, and also because it was Ink, Ink was like this.

"Come on pleeasee! It's really important!" Ink shook him a little. "It's for one of my stories! It has to be realistic. I stayed up all night thinking of plot points to put to the test,"

It still often baffled Dream how Ink could use up his time and energy for fictional stories like this. Then again, he'd… learned Ink perceived real people as fictional too. And besides, he wasn't Dream. Other people needed breaks and hobbies to function and to feel alright, so it was justifiably important. Even if Dream, personally, wouldn't dare.

"…Right," he replied carefully. "How long is this going to take…?"

"Uhhhmmm about a day, less even, so it's basically nothing," Ink shrugged. "We'll leave if there's an emergency, too, I promise,"

Okay, that eased some of Dream's worry. And it's not like this was the first time Ink hauled them away to do stuff relating to his stories. Last time was a few months ago, a camping trip in the mountains. Blue enjoyed that one. Dream did too. He held the memory fondly.

"Okay," he relented with a sigh and a smile. He'd rather be used by his friends.

"YES!" Ink threw his hands up.

And so here they were. Having a beach day.

It wasn't some private beach — there were a bunch of monsters around, but it was very far from crowded. It made Dream feel less like everyone would be looking at him and disapproving of this unearned leisure.

They'd already gone into the water, which wasn't awfully cold. And either way, the sun was high up and hot, seeping warmth into Dream's bones. The air held a gentle breeze that smelled of salt and sand and seaweed.

"Ink, pass it!" Dream hollered, grinning.

"Incomiiing!" Ink laughed, turning so he could pass the ball to Dream. With a running start, Dream jumped to dunk it past the net.

Blue laughed loudly at that, whistling. Error couldn't be assed to rush to catch the ball, even if he was literally a few paces away from it.

Blue had the idea that they play beach volleyball, but they'd needed a fourth person. Ink ended up nagging the Destroyer until he finally agreed, though he wasn't exactly passionate about it. Still, it was really fun. Error made up for his lack of involvement by cheating. This was the third ball Ink had drawn, haha.

And honestly?

Dream was having fun. Even with just the four of them, he was having a great time. All those fighting skills turned out to be useful — agility and precision and team coordination. Both teams were about evenly matched, making the game just engaging enough. Though weirdly, Dream didn't feel drained by all the movement and emotions.

The other monsters around the beach were relaxing, wafting off pleasant contentedness. Blue and Ink were as cheerful as ever. Even Error, as much as he complained about the sand, didn't seem to loathe it too much (likely because he was sort of friends with Blue and was familiar Ink).

It all left Dream collapsing onto his towel with a grin that was so big it ached against his face and a pleasant buzzing in his bones. This was yet another memory he'd hold near and dear.

("Thank you," Dream said to Ink quietly, but from the heart, as they all were sat to eat lunch during a brief break.

Ink chuckled, sharing a brief glance with Blue. "Anytime," he nudged Dream with an elbow.)

…Unfortunately, Dream remained a mess.

He was trying to sleep, he really was. He'd gone to bed over half an hour ago and he'd stayed there. Feeling lighter after a fantastic day. Calmer. More put together. Hopeful, the positivity inside him fresh and sincere, braced to live.

But he just… couldn't sleep. Which, to be fair, was far from new. Actually, he struggled to sleep most of the time. Which wasn't ideal since he got to bed, hm, maybe once every three days, but he was still fully functional so it must be all he needed.

Dream sighed, rolling on his side. Purple teddy bear held to his chest as always.

He wanted to sleep. Bad dreams or not, selfish or not, he was tired and he needed energy to bring his best for the Multiverse. Simply laying around certainly wasn't better.

He didn't understand why he couldn't sleep. He felt so cozy and comforted after the day at the beach. Filled with an unmarred warmth.

…Maybe…

…Hm. Did he need to drink an entire bottle every time? Maybe… drinking only a little would be fine. Just enough to dull his hyperawareness. What's so different to using melatonin pills?

Carefully, still a little ashamed, Dream got out of bed.

His head didn't even hurt in the morning, so it must've been fine.

—

It's really not that bad. Dream remained Dream, the Guardian of Positivity, member of the Star Squad, Protectors of the Multiverse. He was just as reliable, endlessly and gladly inspiring hope in everyone around him. Everyone knew how Dream was. Dream helped and asked for nothing in return. Dream always saw the best in people. Dream determinedly kept his stance in the face of terror and destruction. Dream embodied goodness, in everything he did, everything he was. Always smiling sincerely, reaching out his hands. Dream and all that he was belonged to the people. He served his role dutifully, humble and dedicated, glad and proud.

After years, he'd eventually settled into this balance. Always outputting as much productivity as he could, and always looking to do it more. A worn routine.

This was just… another… tiny part of said routine. He never dared to overdo it — he never drank around people, the same way he never cried around people. He never did it two days in a row, never even did it twice in the same week. He was always very careful that he wasn't needed when he was… uhm, in that state. He didn't… always drink himself to sickness, some nights it was just to help him sleep.

No one was noticing. So it was fine. Dream was ensuring he was highly functional and stable. He could get out all these unwanted emotions and thoughts, flush them down the toilet, and then continue as if it wasn't needed in the first place.

Until he was taken off-guard.

His phone was ringing.

Dream picked up immediately, desperately hoping this was just Blue or Ink wanting to chat. Because here he was once again. Dressed in pajamas, on his bathroom floor. Staring at the swirling and swimming tiles with over one bottle of alcohol in his system. Waiting for the sickness to come and pass, as usual.

"Yeah–?"

"Dream, emergency," Blue's alarm was audible over the line. Dream's rolling stomach sank. "Nightmare and his gang attacked–"

"On m' way, give me– minute," Dream hauled himself to his feet, and promptly regretted it as sharp reflux burned his throat. He pushed it down.

To his credit, his awareness sharpened a bit, as he listened to Blue give him the details of where to go and what state they were in. Ink was already there, and he heard Blue go through one of his portals. At that point Blue had to hang up to engage in combat as well.

In the meanwhile, Dream tried to gather himself into something semi-functional. He knew he looked terrible when drinking, and he was far from dressed for fighting, he had to hurriedly put on more combat-appropriate clothes so he wouldn't earn himself unnecessary wounds or impede his movements. He also took barely a few short seconds to splash his face with cold water.

As always, his mind kicked into habit as soon as he heard 'emergency'. Settling into familiarity. Forcefully jammed into strategy and pragmatism, away from sorrow and pain and all those distractions.

In about a dozen minutes, he arrived at the described location, more specifically in a version of Waterfall. The teleportation made his stomach do uncoordinated flips but Dream barely even noticed it, because he spotted Killer and Dust both engaging Blue in combat and jumped in to deal with at least one of them.

"Dream!" Blue exclaimed in relief.

"Here," Dream called back, parrying the swing of Killer's knife with his staff. Sometimes Killer preferred regular ranged attack bullets, but it seems today (or, tonight, according to the Omega Timeline's cycle) he was more for close-ranged combat. Which was fine because Dream was experienced in both.

"Well look who deigned to join!" Killer spat laughter in Dream's face, gladly engaging him in a fight. He was as vicious as ever, relentless and dirty with his attacks. Dream was used to him and knew to keep his guard up at all times, responding with fast, precise blocks and attacks of his own so as to not allow him openings to abuse.

Or… he was used to Killer.

But as they fought, and Killer kept taunting him as he usually did, Dream was… having a harder time than he should be.

It felt like he was reacting on time, except again and again, Killer managed to steal hits from him that Dream should've been perfectly capable of handling. His reflexes were… fuzzier than he'd like. In a normal fight, they would still hold up, but again, this was Killer. Nightmare had picked out the members of his gang for clear reasons.

Everything was just a little uncoordinated. Just a little unstable, like they were fighting in shallow water even though they were still on dry land, like Dream couldn't manage his footwork. Each hit that landed jarred Dream, even though the pain was muffled as well. Dream was lacking.

…And Killer was catching onto it.

"Heheheee did we catch you off-guard, dreamboy?" he jeered as he slammed his blade against Dream's staff once more, undistracted by his own words. "Are you losing your spark?"

Dream didn't reply, focused on matching him beat for beat as much as he could. Though that wasn't uncommon. He wasn't much for mid-fight banter. That was more Ink's thing. It's why Killer liked fighting Dream specifically. He wanted to crack his composure.

"You're sloppy," Killer hissed, grinning, dodging and slashing in the same movement, "Not usually your style, Mr. Perfect!" he mocked.

And he was right. Dream excused the rushing of his metaphorical heart on the adrenaline.

"This is who our enemies are? Pathetic," Killer successfully managed to slam the hilt of his blade against Dream's wrist, which weakened the grip on his staff, allowing Killer a wide swipe that landed despite Dream's attempt at dodging. Dream registered absentmindedly that, thankfully, it wasn't a lethal wound.

"What is up with you?" Killer crooned. "Am I scaring you, sunshine? Was this a bad time? Or…" he paused, in a dangerously considering way.

Dream's gut wrenched. His eyes widened, just the tiniest bit that people usually would not notice.

But this was Killer. Killer, when he wasn't drunk on violence and pain, could be terrifyingly observant. He was like a shark sensing a single droplet of blood in the water.

Killer barked out a hysterical laugh.

"Are you drunk?!" he loudly marveled.

Dream was too late to catch the wince he made at that. It was just the confirmation Killer needed.

"Oooohohoho oh this is incredible!" Killer laughed, fiercely back to attacking. "Your Guardian, everybody! A drunkard! I knew I could smell something familiar!" he declared it all loudly, even if there was nobody here to hear except the two opposing groups. And the echo flowers.

But even though there were no civilians here to hear, Dream was violently cringing inside. Please, no, he begged, please just let me handle this and go back home.

"What, got sick of living the life anyone else would kill for?!" Killer mocked, abusing his new knowledge to gain the upper hand in their fight. Dream was even sloppier, struggling to keep up with him, backing up as Killer pushed onwards. "I'm embarrassed to even fight you, Dream! Tsk tsk tsk!"

Usually, Dream mentally shielded himself from Killer's and Nightmare's and everyone's negative remarks as much as he could. Usually he knew the point of their words was to get to him, him specifically. To weaken his resolve, to hurt.

So why was it getting to him now?

Horrifyingly, Dream realized he wanted to cry.

All Killer needed was for him to stumble for a moment, and then Dream cried out as a knife was plunged directly into his chest. Killer seized the opportunity, shoving him towards the wall with it so he could push the blade in up to the hilt.

As soon as he accomplished it, he twisted the knife, Dream letting out another highly pained sound, and then ripped his knife out to let him bleed.

Dream, uncoordinated, sloppy, hurting, overwhelmed, slid down to the ground, trying to at least breathe. Everything was spinning, and the back of his throat stung sharply and discontentedly.

Dream didn't even process Killer lifting his knife and summoning four blasters with the same gesture, laughing hysterically above him. He flinched and cowered pathetically as a second shape jumped between them, and it was the final push as he leaned forwards and retched on the ground. Or… he aimed for the ground but didn't quite make it. The humiliation burned as he saw he caught the bottom of his pants and his shoes and it was gross and he wanted to cry. He was shaking.

"–eam are you okay?!" Blue's worried voice floated in from beside him, and Dream squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his knees closer in, hiding his face in them.

He was collapsing in the middle of a fight. His friends needed him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone see his composure break. He was broadcasting his weaknesses, his wrongness to their enemies. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just work?

Adrenaline and shame and sheer overstimulation wracked him inwardly and he felt sick, he felt so sick, he was going to throw up again.

"Dream, hey, hey, listen to me, it's okay, focus on my voice," Blue spoke. He was– he was kneeling next to Dream, blocking his view of the rest of the fight. If both of them were dealing with Dream's mess, then Ink had to be handling the rest on his own. And Ink was strong and incredibly capable, he was creative and didn't let things get to him, but Dream was letting him down.

They were both going to be disappointed in him. The thought felt like getting stabbed in the chest again.

Dream– Dream couldn't do this. He was a disappointment. He was a useless. A mess. He was a failure.

In barely a flash, he was back in his bathroom, bending forward to throw up into the toilet. Everything was spinning, and he clutched the bowl to stop the shaking of his hands. His face felt hot with shame and the blubbery tears breaking out of their prison.

Dream was struggling to breathe. It felt like his rib cage was made of stone, and he couldn't breathe in right. He was– he was trying to gasp in air but every inhale got cut off sharply, he couldn't breathe, everything was vibrating like pins and needles.

Dream let his forehead thunk down on the toilet seat, the cutting breaths starting to sound more like hiccups, like sobs. He couldn't get himself under control, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think. It was all just a barrage of emotions he shouldn't be capable of even having, uselessness and panic and sorrow and self-hatred and guilt and disappointment and shame shame shame. He was a ruin. He felt so damn sorry the Multiverse depended on this thing.

Suck it up. Pull yourself together. Handle this. Be better. Be better!

But he couldn't. He couldn't. Every desperate attempt to pull himself together only made him more overwhelmed, only made him feel more incapable. He wanted to claw out the emotions. He wanted it out.

It hurt as he retched into the toilet again, acidic magic trailing down his chin. It was gross, it was so gross, he hated it. He hated the way his uncontrolled sobs echoed in the bathroom. He hated the way he couldn't even get up, trembling and weak and aching all over. He hated hating, he shouldn't even be capable of it.

How was he going to sleep like this? How was he going to look his friends in the eyes like this tomorrow? How was he going to look at anyone? Maybe they wouldn't know how much of a useless disappointment he was, if Nightmare didn't broadcast it to the whole Multiverse, but Dream would know. It would be in the background of all his actions, following him, never allowing him to forget because he had to remember his mistakes, he had to learn from them, he had to be better.

Who would need– who would want a Guardian of Positivity who wasn't even positive?

He tried to reign in the sobbing, he tried, he swore he tried. He always tried so, so hard but it was never enough. He was never enough. People always needed more, there was always more to do, he always had to be more. He couldn't even stop crying, when he shouldn't be crying in the first place.

Dream raised his hands, slamming them into the sides of his head. Just stop it. Just stop it. You're the one that messed up, you're the one who always messes up! It's your fault! It's always been your fault! Why are you crying? How dare you feel sorry for yourself you useless thing? People suffer constantly, and here you are, sniveling!

"I'm sorry, 'm sorry," Dream blubbered incoherently, not even sure to who. It was just– instinct, deep inside him. Sorry that he was wrong, sorry that he wasn't enough, sorry sorry sorry.

The tears didn't stop coming. It's like every tear he'd ever repressed was coming back for him with vengeance. He just kept crying and crying and crying, like he was trying to hold back the tears with his own hands but they just kept slipping through. How was he supposed to calm anyone else's tears when he couldn't even deal with his own?

He was made to help people, it was the definition of his existence to exist through others and for others. If he couldn't be theirs then he was nothing, he was as good as de–

"–shh, shh, it's okay,"

Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, no, no, what? There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, he was alone, he–

"Dream, it's okay, it's alright," Blue was kneeling next to him, keeping up a stream of reassurances, and the sudden shame Dream felt, like someone had grabbed his nonexistent intestines and squeezed.

"Blue– you– n– m– I–" he stammered, words slurred in a way he hated.

"It's okay," Blue insisted, "Look, look at me, hey," his hands came to cup Dream's face, and Dream felt borderline scared as he looked at Blue's gaze. It was gentle, but sure. "You're okay. Everything is okay. Stop thinking, just– breathe with me, please?" he said.

More tears bubbled into Dream's eye sockets because he couldn't, he couldn't–

"I need you to remind me how we did it, please? Please? How did we do it? How do we breathe deep?" Blue tried desperately.

He needed Dream. He needed Dream's help, and that's all Dream's shattered thoughts could focus on. His friend needed him.

Dream forced himself to gasp in air even as it burned, his chest and his throat.

"There we go, that's right," Blue encouraged, still holding his face, keeping Dream's eyes on him. "I think I'm remembering, keep showing me, okay?"

Dream gasped for air again, and Blue followed, inhaling deeply. Much more steadily than him. Dream tried to hold the breath but it burned and escaped him, and Blue held and exhaled with him, although slower.

Dream was still shaking with sobs but he pushed through, hands clutching tightly onto nothing, forcing himself to breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, repeat. Blue following him beat for beat.

They barely spent a few minutes that way before another presence joined them and Dream flinched, his already unsteady rhythm knocked off again.

"It's just Ink, it's okay," Blue reassured quickly. "He's got some medical supplies–"

Dream's eye lights snapped back to Blue in alarm, "Who's hurt?" he asked immediately, still struggling with cohesion.

Blue's face saddened, and that only panicked Dream more. There was someone injured who needed his help and he was sitting here freaking out–

"You are," Ink said next to them and flicked Dream's head with two fingers. Dream startled at it. He saw Blue send Ink a look at that, but he sensed no regret from Ink.

His mind grappled to process the words.

He was? He was what? Hurt?

…Oh wait. Yes. He was hurt. Killer stabbed him in the chest, he was still bleeding from it.

And then– then he'd–

More tears and shame pricked at his face. He shook his head insistently, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

"Dream, please let Ink help," Blue pleaded, worry lacing every word.

Dream hated to make him worry, especially over him, so in guilt, he relented.

With shaking hands, he removed his capelet and his shirt so it would be easier for Ink. Looking at it now, the wound was bad. It wouldn't kill him, it would take a lot to kill him, but it was bad. His blood dripping down from his severed ribs. It'd soaked into his clothes. It explained the burning of his breathing only partially.

"It's going to be okay," Blue lifted his face up again. "Just let Ink heal it, it's going to be okay Dream,"

He shouldn't be the one reassuring Dream. Ink shouldn't be the one cleaning his wound carefully to heal him. Dream should be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered through hiccups, not even flinching as Ink gently cleaned his wound out with rubbing alcohol.

However the smell reached up to Dream's nose and nausea rolled in his stomach.

He shoved himself away from Blue to gag, pressing a hand to his mouth because he'd hate himself even more if he threw up on his friend.

"Whoops, sorry about that," Ink said casually, assuming he'd done something wrong.

"Not– not your fault," Dream reassured him, struggling to breathe through the nausea.

"Oh, I thought that's what we're doing? Apologizing for things that aren't our fault?" Ink said with a mischievously innocent smile.

Blue whacked his shoulder. Ink showed no regret, chuckling.

Dream was trying not to throw up again. He didn't usually vomit this much, but he usually stayed in his bathroom with little physical strain too.

He really, really wished they didn't see him like this.

"Oh, you still feel sick?" Ink spoke again, pushing himself to his feet, "I'll be back in a mo, keep an eye on him," he told Blue and then disappeared through a swipe of inky magic.

"Okay–" Blue exhaled through his nose, picking up the cotton and the rubbing alcohol, "I'll treat your wounds for now then, is that okay?"

Dream stared at the plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. Just the thought of the smell made him feel sick and ashamed and guilty, like he wanted to hide under his blanket.

"Oh–" Blue looked down at the bottle and then put it down.

"No, no, it's fine–" Dream was quick to reassure. His words were slightly clearer even though everything still felt like pins and needles. He was still intermittently hiccuping and sobbing, breathing shakily. And bleeding.

"No, we'll think of something else," Blue insisted, and Dream cringed. He couldn't even give it to them to not be a difficult patient. Way to burden your friends with what shouldn't even be their job, Dream.

He reached for the plastic bottle. He could patch his wound up himself, it was far from the first time.

Blue grabbed his wrist.

"Dream." he said sternly, and Dream couldn't help but hunch in on himself at the tone.

"Sorry,"

Blue breathed in and out in a measured manner.

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you," he said gently, and Dream could feel he wasn't. Mostly, he felt– frustration, worry and care, and sadness.

"Are– are you okay?" Dream asked. He didn't want Blue to feel frustrated and sad and all.

The frustration reared up at that, and then Dream felt it get intentionally shoved down.

"'S okay to be frustrated," he reassured, hand reaching up to Blue's shoulder in sloppy comfort.

"I'm–" Blue exhaled, "I'm not frustrated because you've done something wrong," he explained, "I just– I want to help you but I don't know how, and I'm... frustrated you're not letting us,"

Oh.

"Sorry," Dream mumbled, "I'm– I'm alright,"

"You're not," Ink reappeared, and Dream saw Blue wince at the bluntness. "Maybe this will help though?" Ink crouched down next to them, holding out a blister pack to Dream.

Dream let go of the rubbing alcohol, so Blue let go of his wrist. He accepted the blister pack, reading the name on the back.

'DETOX' and underneath, in smaller letters, 'active charcoal'.

"Charcoal?" he frowned.

"Yup!" Ink exclaimed. "It helps draw out, uh, bad things from your digestive system! Like food poisoning. Or alcohol,"

Dream stiffened, deeply uncomfortable and ashamed. Maybe they'd just heard Killer. Maybe they'd connected the dots. The two bottles still remained in the bathroom, after all, which is where they were sitting right now.

"I, I–" he scrambled.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Ink cut him off with a raised hand. "If you think that'll help, take it. You can even take two, it's not dangerous," he pointed at the active charcoal pack Dream held.

He hesitated.

"...Okay," Dream accepted, popping two out and swallowing them dry. It didn't taste like anything. He was thirsty. He felt completely drained, which didn't help the shaking and the wooziness.

"Wanna know what would help right now?" Blue spoke, and Dream looked at him hopefully.

"What?"

"Telling me how this upsets you so I can think of something else?" Blue pointed at the bottle of rubbing alcohol tentatively.

Dream cringed again. He should just tough it out. He was making things needlessly complicated, when he should be the person that makes things easier.

...But... Blue said it would help.

Dream took a wobbling breath in, then let it out. He was still blinking tears out of his eyes. Even though they weren't wracking through him anymore, he couldn't stop them.

"It's– the smell," he admitted quickly.

"Oh! Psh, well that's not a problem," Ink said easily, for some reason unraveling his (very long and thick) brown scarf that he loved. And then, bizzarely, he started wrapping it around Dream's neck, pulling it up so it rested over the lower half of his face too.

When Dream breathed in through his nose, all he could smell was Ink's natural scent, ink and paint and cloth.

"I– but what if I throw up again?" he looked up at Ink, voice small, eyes wet.

Ink stood with his arms crossed, smiling.

"You realize I throw up when I get overwhelmed, like, half the time, right?"

...Oh.

They were being… so nice. Showing him so much care, even though they shouldn't. But because they… wanted to?

It made him want to cry all over again, expression wobbling. They were so nice, and warm. He could feel their care.

"Thank you," he said softly to both of them.

"Anytime!" Ink beamed. "So is it gonna work?"

"I– yeah, I think so," Dream nodded, raising a hand to press the scarf to his face.

When Blue brought a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol to try cleaning his stab wound again, the smell didn't hit Dream's nasal cavity, it didn't make him want to bend over and retch.

They spent some time in the quiet like that. Blue and Ink cleaning up his wound, healing it, and dressing it in a practiced manner. There were still tears half-heartedly streaming down from Dream's eyes, no matter how much he wiped them away with his hands and tried to hold them back.

He could feel the ache of the wound settling in, sharper now that it wasn't covered up by alcohol and adrenaline, but it wasn't more than what he could handle. His metaphysical stomach felt desolate, and he was so thirsty, but he worried he'd just throw it up again. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs and his eye lids, from the amount of energy he'd wasted in throwing up and freaking out.

And in the middle of a fight, too. And his teammates had rushed after him to help him, oh stars.

"What about Nightmare's gang?" Dream suddenly piped up in alarm.

"Oh don't worry," Ink waved a hand, "I ditched them at Error's," he cackled. Blue snorted.

Oh. Okay then.

"Good job," Dream praised them both. He really couldn't ask for better, more capable, more reliable teammates. Friends. "And… thank you. And– I'm–" his mouth wobbled more, and he tried to breathe the uprising tears away. "I'm sorry, I... I just– this–" how could he explain this? How could he justify himself?

He didn't want to lie to them. He hated lying. Especially to his friends.

"I thought it would help," his voice broke against his will. He stared at the floor, starting on the damned crying again. Get a hold of yourself, Dream. "I was trying to– I thought it would–"

Wordlessly, Blue reached over and dragged him into a hug. A second later Ink flopped into the embrace too, both of them sandwiching him like endearing annoyances.

Dream was… a bit stupefied. Here he was, drunk (post-drunk?), having botched a fight. Vomited magic dried on the bottom of his pants (he'd kicked his shoes off). Sitting with his best friends on his bathroom floor, an undignified mess in all ways.

And they just… hugged him.

Blue's arms around him were solid and strong, an unflinching aura of care. Ink had a steady calm presence, for all his hyperactivity, never overwhelming Dream with emotions due to their artificial nature.

They were… so warm.

Dream pressed his face to Blue's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut painfully. Blue rubbed his back, as much as he could with Ink there at least.

"It's okay," Blue comforted him gently. "You're okay. Everything is alright. You didn't do anything wrong, alright? You can let it out,"

Dream shook his head.

"Heeyy! There's room for only one emotionless Protector!" Ink whined, "Don't infringe on my copyright!"

Dream laughed wetly at that.

"I'm– but it's wrong," he argued, daring to voice his inner turmoil. Uncertain how exactly to describe the way he felt about it to someone else. "I– I wasn't made to cry," he tried.

"I mean, you can cry though, right?" Ink pointed out. "Sounds to me like you were made to do it, then,"

And… and Dream couldn't really argue with that. He was left speechless.

"Come on, what do you always tell other people?" Blue guided. "What do you say when someone's crying?"

Many things. But among those things,

"That it's... normal, and... healthy," Dream replied, quiet, uneasy. "But I'm not– it's not the same,"

"Why not?" Blue exclaimed. "Didn't it feel nice just now? Letting it out? Everything that was built up?"

…Miserably, Dream had to admit it did. Like there had been a dam accumulating inside of him, turbulent and heavy, metric tons of tears built up. And finally, he'd let some of it out. He was exhausted, and ashamed, but he did feel… eased, in a way.

"You're allowed to cry, Dream," Blue insisted softly. "Heck, you of all people should get to cry!"

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone," Ink said in a jokey tone, "It's going to be a Star Secret,"

"Yeah, Ink will probably forget in a day," Blue teased.

"Heeyy!" Ink complained with no upset behind it, instead amused. "Maybe you should forget it too, did you consider that?"

"Nope! I'm a magnificent keeper of secrets, mweheheh!"

Dream giggled wetly. They were so nice. He sobbed again, muffling it into Ink's scarf. He loved his friends so, so much.

"There we go," Blue encouraged, amused but sincere. Patting his back gently. "Do you still feel sick? Do you think we can move to your room–?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Dream swallowed.

"Dream,"

"No– it is, it really is, I– I want to change my clothes," he insisted, it was the truth.

"Alright, Ink, move a little please,"

Ink complained and there was a bit of shuffling. Dream also got ready to disengage from the hug, but instead he was taken off guard as Blue lifted upwards, still holding him. Easily picking Dream up, making him yelp. Jeez, he sometimes forgot how much sheer physical strength Blue had.

Blue cackled, having definitely done that on purpose.

Dream sighed in feigned annoyance, but considering how tired he was, he honestly appreciated the lift to his bed where Blue deposited him. Ink happily trailed after, and flopped down right beside him.

"Do you need anything else? Where are your clothes?" Blue hovered, still on his feet.

"I can get it," Dream pushed himself up.

"Noooooo," Ink complained, wrapping around him like a squid.

"Guys,"

"Dream,"

"Just–" Dream sighed, "please? I swear I'm better," either from the DETOX or he'd thrown it all up, or both. And from the sheer comfort and positivity of his friends. He was just… tired. So tired.

But… not in a hopeless way. Rather in a really sleepy way.

Blue was visibly unsure, but relented, sitting at the bed. Dream smiled at him. Ink unlatched from him, letting him get up. He got into pajamas, brushed his teeth because yuck, and also went to get himself a glass of cold water from the kitchen. He drank it slowly and crossed his fingers, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

He lingered in his kitchen for a moment, just… breathing. His body was tired. Heavy and dragging. It was so much more than simple lack of sleep. It felt like he'd bled out. Not just literally. A part of him dreaded how this would all crash down on him tomorrow.

And he was still highly in danger of crying.

…But…

…Maybe, he was made for it. Maybe, it was good and healthy for him. That's what Ink and Blue thought. And Dream both trusted them and trusted their view. They were some of the most truly kind, capable, honest, caring, dedicated– ah, he could go on. Point was: he appreciated them. Maybe... maybe he should take them as a guide instead.

It was a bit terrifying? Because what if he was wrong? What if Dream was daring to go against everything that'd kept the multiversal balance intact this far?

…But he hadn't been enough, this far. So... clearly something wasn't working. It was time he tried to change things up Just a little. For the sake of goodness.

(And maybe, just a little, for his own sake.)

Dream refilled the glass, taking it with him. Pattering back to his bedroom.

Ink and Blue were still laying there, their collective aura easy and light and warm, though with mix-ins. They were chatting about something. Ink was holding up the purple teddy bear, making it move as though it was acting out their conversation.

Dream passed by and primly snatched it out of his hands.

"Heeyy!" Ink protested, and then his mental track switched as he grinned, "Oh I'm so happy you kept him!"

"Of course I kept him," Dream rolled his eye lights. "He's a gift from you doofuses,"

"Mweheheh!"

"I like his ribbon," Ink pointed out. "Purple and yellow, complementary colors,"

…Yeah.

"Dream. Bed. Sleep. Don't make me make you," Blue threatened.

"I dare you to try," Dream grinned.

"Oh Dreamy Mr. Guardian," Ink clasped his hands together theatrically, making his eyes big and sparkling, "I need aid remembering how to get into bed, can you please show me–!"

Blue mercilessly whacked him over the head, making Ink kick his feet and laugh loudly.

Blue sent Dream a glance, but Dream was laughing too. He wasn't particularly offended. Partially because it was Ink, but mostly because Ink was... pretty accurate with it, haha. Oh stars.

Oh so benevolently, he flopped into bed, laughing quietly as he got dragged in for cuddles. Holding the plushie close.

Tomorrow, the shame and guilt would crawl up his spine. Tomorrow, he was probably in for… difficult conversations.

Tonight, instead of alone, Dream was held by his teammates, his friends, listening to them chat and breathe, and he felt... alright. Tonight, instead of lying, Dream had cried and it was alright. Tonight, Dream slept alright.

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