#underswap angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daflangstlairde-art · 17 days ago

Text

"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.

31 notes · View notes

haveyouseenthisskeleton · 21 days ago

Note

Imagine this:

Remember that post about someone breaking in and killing S/O? What if he also kills the kid too? He gets arrested but only gets two years because the judge doesn't care. Years later, skeleton goes to a convenience store and sees the guy there, and it's ON SIGHT. Can I have this for the main 12 please?

Undertale Sans - His eyelights disappear and he stays eyes in eyes with the murderer, completely still. Sans won't look away first. He may think he got away with what he did, but Sans will make sure to remind him that crime will never be forgotten. He'll ensure that look stays in his mind for his entire life. Because he knows what that man did. He knows. Sans is not violent, it's not in his nature to attack on sight, but he's definitely someone you don't want to have as an enemy. He's dead cold and the murderer can feel his judgment miles after they left.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is in complete disbelief. He's struggling so hard to recover from all of this, this is not the right time for that man to show up. He goes straight to the man and reminds him coldly that he is not authorized to get near him and to leave immediately before he calls the police. As the man laughs at his face and says that no one will believe him anyway, Papyrus punches him so hard in the stomach that two of his ribs break on impact. He then asks him with an icy voice who will ever believe him if he goes to report this. The guy that lost everything or the murderer that is not respecting the law? Yeah, that's what he thought. The murderer leaves, cursing. Papyrus is a bit shaken after this, but he'll be fine. What else can he do anyway?

Underswap Sans - Blue is traumatized after what happened and is still on sick leave for his own good. It's not that he doesn't want to work, but when he does, he is out of control and can get aggressive really fast, especially with murderers. Obviously, seeing the murderer who killed his family awakens very bad memories. Blue tries to ignore him, he really tries to, but the more he tries to not think about him, the more angry he gets. Eventually, he snaps and goes to confront him, asking if he feels happy to be free despite what he did. The man immediately claims he's not guilty of murder and to leave him alone or he calls the cops. Blue instinctively puts a hand on his belt. That man is very, very lucky his gun was confiscated. Because he would have shot without hesitation. Blue is forced to snap out of it when he realizes what he was about to do. He's better than this. He's better than that guy. He turns his heels and leaves the shop. He needs to calm down before he does something he will regret.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey starts to hyperventilate. He can't breathe anymore. He can't, he can't, he can't... Everything turned kind of black and weird after that. He doesn't remember when he sat down, but he sat down since his service dog is now on his knees, as Honey is clinging to her with all he has. He starts to sob, badly triggered, and struggles to take his phone from his pocket. He calls Asgore and asks if he can come pick him up. He can't stay here. He can't do this. Honey is severely traumatised and even if he tried therapy, he could never heal fully from all of this. You don't heal from holding the body of your child in your arms. You just don't.

Underfell Sans - He's so angry he's shaking. Red was raised with the "an eye for an eye" doctrine. That man should be dead like his partner and his child. Red, however, knows better than to do that in a public place. He simply calls out the murderer out loud, asking everyone around to look at the man who killed his S/O and his child, walking freely in the open because human justice doesn't give a shit about monsters. Red tells them all that this man can enter your house and kill your entire family for all he knows because apparently it's not that important in the eyes of the law. As he keeps talking, more and more people start to get angry at the man, and eventually, the crowd drags him outside and they all start to beat him up. Red stares from a safe distance, secretly hoping he's going to be severely injured or die. That's too late to flee anyway. Red is not letting him go. While he's getting beaten up, Red tells Edge he finally finds him and to start the plan. Before the end of the week, the murderer is dead and no one will ever find the body.

Underfell Papyrus - Edge was not only a victim, but the attorney of his own family after they got murdered. He did all he could to have that man sent to prison for a very long time, but the judge was clearly not happy a monster managed to get this high in the hierarchy of the tribunal. He got humiliated and the criminal got away only because that judge didn't do his job. Every bone in his body wants to crush the man in front of him, but he knows it won't help his case. He already asked for that guy to be sent back in front of another judge. He worked already very hard to gain justice for his S/O and his child. He can't kill that man, it would just ruin all the hard work he did so far. Maybe he really changed after all. Well, he still discreetly sticks a GPS capsule inside the murderer's car to find him if he changes his mind and wants to kill him after all. You never know.

Horrortale Sans - He goes entirely stiff. He has a bad memory, but he could never forget that face. Oak had a long recovery after the murders, and he's still not entirely himself. Willow sent him to go get groceries to take a break from his dark thoughts, ironically. He twitches and actually tries to struggle against the desperate need to avenge his family. It doesn't work. As the man dares to turn his back, not noticing him, Oak lunges at him and rips off its carotide with his teeth. He then grabs a can of food and smashes his skull until there's nothing left. As the customers are all freaking out, Oak runs away and comes back to the farm. By the time he gets there, he completely forgets what he did, he is too stressed for that, and doesn't understand why he's covered in blood. He only learns with his brother, watching TV that night, what he did. Let's just say now he's not the only one freaking out. Willow, Toriel, Grillby, the entire MONSTERKIND is coming at his door asking what the hell happened. And the police, eventually. Willow managed to push them away for now, using his disability as an excuse, but he doesn't know for how long it will work and it scares him.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow ignores him. He's the last person he wants to talk to. He has enough problems, he doesn't want to deal with one more. What's done is done. He tried to ask for justice, that didn't work. His therapist told him to focus on what he has right now instead of relying on the things he lost. He is still not sure he can do that, but he really wants to give it a try. He wants Undyne, his S/O, and his child to leave him alone at night. He doesn't want to add another figure to his nightmares. As long as the man doesn't interact with him, he won't interact.

Swapfell Sans - Nox smiles at him. The man smiles back. Nox takes his gun and shoots him right between the eyes. Since human justice didn't do its job, he took care of it the only way he learned to do it. What are the police going to do anyway? Arrest him? He's like the most protected person of his people, being the direct heir to the Queen. The humans could never risk the peace by sending him to jail. See the irony? He did the exact same thing the court did. He decided for them. He's not going to cry that guy. Nox is finally at peace, knowing his family had been avenged and he can finally start the process to move on and mourn them. He couldn't live with the idea that man survived when they didn't.

Swapfell Papyrus - He stares silently, disgusted. He didn't know that guy was already out of jail. This is so unfair, it's revolting him. Unfortunately, Rus can't do anything about it. He's already on thin ice with the cops because he's definitely not a saint. Even if he's dreaming of exploding his face, he can't. ... Well. Almost nothing. He "accidentally" pushes the guy, steals his car keys in his pocket, steals his car, and then sends it flying into the nearest river. Oops. That happened. He doesn't regret anything. Oh, and of course, he tells Nox where he saw the guy. Nox is a lot more protected than he is. And he is definitely upset and angry about the loss of his niece/nephew. Not two days later, the guy joins his car at the bottom of the river with a big rock.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine smiles at the guy and casually tells them that they are going to die today and to get ready with the idea. Of course, Wine won't kill them in the middle of the supermarket, no. He's going to follow the murderer for hours and hours. He's going to scare him to the point of pissing himself like he terrified his family. There's no rest. Wherever he's looking, Wine is there, creeping and smiling at him. As the man tries to run to the police station at the end of the day, Wine suddenly drags him into an alley. He's going to torture him for hours and hours until the murderer bleeds out in agony. Wine burns the body so there's nothing left to give back to the family. That was only a matter of time anyway, that would have ended like this at one point. He warned the murderer as he lost in court. If he ever sees him again, nothing will protect him from his anger. He could have been safe in prison for a very long time, but he didn't listen. Now cry.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee immediately hides, panicking. He doesn't want to confront that guy on his own. He's terrified and traumatized, and now places he thought were safe are not anymore. He's on the verge of a breakdown and it gets even worse as the guy comes and asks how is his S/O doing. That's way too much for Coffee who starts to tremble, doing all he can to not look his way and cry. He grabs his phone, and as the man is still talking to him, he calls Wine for help. Well, let's just say that guy never expected to see Wine suddenly appear between the two of them. Wine grabs the man by the collar and throws him against the wall. Coffee doesn't see what's happening next. Now that his big brother is here, he has a panic attack and breaks down completely. The next thing he remembers, he's back in the car with a blanket on his shoulders, Wine is driving, covered in blood, and they're going home. Wine tells him that man will never bother him again. Coffee is so relieved he breaks down a second time. He could never forget the day he saw his S/O in the kitchen, gasping in agony as they passed in his arms, or the vision of his baby next to her, but the thought that it's finally over is relieving. He just wants to go home and take a nap. As he hesitates to go to sleep, Wine promises him he's watching over him and that he's safe. Coffee thanks him silently.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #yeaaaah i was missing angst a little #i got a bit carried away lmao

28 notes · View notes

azulsundertaleblog · 1 year ago

Text

Have more Swap angst before bed, I really wanna focus on Swap's self worth and attempts to prove himself in this AU, it's really fun to try and write him hehe!

#my art #art #swap sans #swap!sans #LiarAU #underswap #angst #doodles #sketches

135 notes · View notes

pinkwavybubbles · 1 year ago

Text

Promise Item

#undertale #undertale oc #pinkie art #underswap #candy #batlyn #blue #sans #blueberror #yeah I got plans and they are not happy plans #hehehe #comic #angst

164 notes · View notes

jaywaslost · 4 months ago

Text

Schrödinger's Paradox

——

HAPPY BIRTHDAY POOKIE @asukamood!!!!!!

In your honor, Dream has been hurt✨️

——

Sypnosis: Sometimes he still feels like parts of him are stuck in the statue he became so familiar with. Cemented to the ground, solid, leaving him hollow with a duty too big and a mind that can only take so much.

For the first time in his life, that night, Dream prayed.

Word count: 3.5k

Trigger warnings?: dissociation, brief reference of child neglect

Everyone has a limit.

Every human, monster, and those in between.

There was only so much one could take before they broke. The mind is a weak, weak thing. Ever so capable, yet the ease at which it can be broken down is baffling. One traumatic experience after the other was all it took to leave someone a shell of what they once were, and it wasn’t like that was hard to achieve.

Dream knew that very well.

A person whose life had been planned out from the very beginning, a lamb to the slaughter since his first breath.

For a guardian of positivity, he was far from being optimistic about his predicament. It’s quite difficult to be once you run out of things to use for distractions, 500 years and counting, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt in control.

Maybe it was the day he woke up from his stone prison. Merely a child, trapped in stone by the one he cared for the most. Very few moments left Dream feeling as helpless as he did back then, although there wasn’t anywhere to go once rock bottom was hit.

He remembers worrying about his brother’s whereabouts that day, uncertain and afraid of everything around him. Nothing looked the way he remembered, the land was barren and the village (or what used to be one) was reduced to nothing. The woman who freed him sounded strange, but she was the only other live presence near him.

Dream remembers trying to understand what she said, waiting for his chance to speak and ask where his family had gone- where everyone was, they wouldn’t have abandoned him so suddenly, would they? H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ u̶s̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ y̶e̶t̶.

When his eyes landed on the stump of the tree that once contained his mother’s spirit, time felt like it had frozen.

Between the throb of his aching limbs, the ringing in his head, and the sheer horror at the sight before him, he could no longer concentrate. He didn’t notice the lack of oxygen in his system until black spots had begun to cloud his vision, head heavy and heart aching. The woman yanked on his cape in an attempt to get his attention back,scoffing as he fell without a word. T̶h̶e̶ g̶l̶a̶r̶e̶ s̶h̶e̶ g̶a̶v̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶a̶r̶ t̶o̶o̶ r̶e̶m̶i̶n̶i̶s̶c̶e̶n̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶s̶ f̶o̶r̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶.

She introduced herself as Lanny, a supposed friend of his mother’s, an ‘aunt’ of his. The name felt slightly familiar, but it rang no bells.

It was safe to say she made sure he’d never forget her after that.

As if his confusion and fear weren’t enough, her words stung like knives. She didn’t take long to tell him what he missed, straight to the point, like she always is.

“Your brother is dead.”

Dream refused to believe her at first, in fact, he had laughed at her words. Her glare sharpened as the situation truly sunk in, his mind bringing all the memories from before his ‘coma’ rushing at him.

The villagers chanting, his brother’s screams, the sickening sound of bones shattering, his pleas, he wanted to throw up.

His last words.

“Don’t forget who I used to be”

Don’t forget who I used to be.

Ḏ̴̢̱̩̩̙̜̘̯̣̰͎͖̖͇̂̇̈́̂̈́̈́̊̃̂͒͐̌͝O̸̡͙̤̠͙̻̭̖̲̲̣̖͉̒̃̔͐̏̔Ń̶̡̨̧̹̯͔̼̝͓̻̫̪̜̒̎̅̓͊’̷̛͔͎̼̽́͒̆̀͒̇͐̇̀̕͜͝͠͠Ṱ̴̨̙̝̱́̒̈̈́̄͆̈́ ̴̘̲̘̓͊͝͝F̶̠͈̹͔̫̰̈́̓͋͒̅̀̏̋̆̑̍͝ͅƠ̴̡̮̖̺̟̟̈̈́̀̍̀̔͐̍̐̆̕͜͝R̸̢̛̫̳̬̗̠̣̗̿͝͠Ǵ̷̡̙̩͔͎̼̞̻̫̫̬̜̽̈́̽͌̽͊̀͂̀͆̽̄͝ͅE̷͈̥͉͓͙̞̓̌͊̈͐̾̆̃̾̽̈ͅͅT̵̡̢̬̜͉̣͈̖̟̟̟̻̼̳̿̓̏͗͋͑͌̔͘-̵͖͓̪̹̈́̂̊

He never felt so lost in his life.

Maybe it was the first time he felt another person’s feelings instead of his own.

Emotions are a complicated concept but one he considered himself good at understanding his entire life. T̶h̶a̶t̶ i̶s̶, u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ i̶t̶ a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶. H̶i̶s̶ i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ l̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶, h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ d̶e̶s̶e̶r̶v̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶a̶i̶n̶.

It was during the first ‘lesson’ Lanny had given him. The woman didn’t explain her reasoning, nor did she truly teach him anything.

She would attack and he would need to defend himself, a moment of hesitation would simply mean the end.

If it were just physical he could’ve handled it, he wasn’t normal by any means, but being unbelievably disoriented with the new sensations did him no favor.

He paused, he tried to ask for help, clarification, but all he got in return was a mouth full of blood and more bruises.

To put it simply: she was ruthless. By the end, he was sore all over, more disoriented than he was before.

It did him no good, it felt less like training and more like he was getting beaten up everyday as a way for her to take her anger out. She constantly reminded him how he was part of the main reason his mother was forever gone, he couldn’t deny it either. Selfishly, he wanted to believe he did nothing wrong. She was his mother, she was meant to be there, yet she never was.

Part of him understood why Nightmare had decided to cut her, and it made him feel like the worst person alive.

She wasn’t fully alive, she wasn’t capable like they were. They existed only because of that, no more, no less. To carry out a job she was too weak to do alone because of those around them.

She never wanted children.

I̶f̶ a̶ g̶r̶o̶w̶n̶ g̶u̶a̶r̶d̶i̶a̶n̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ h̶a̶n̶d̶l̶e̶ i̶t̶, w̶h̶a̶t̶ m̶a̶d̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ s̶i̶x̶ y̶e̶a̶r̶ o̶l̶d̶ c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶r̶e̶n̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶?̶

Maybe that was Lanny’s way of making him repay her, for all the trouble he had put her through, all the problems he caused and never even tried to fix.

Simply paying the price for the pain he caused.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶ c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶. S̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶s̶a̶n̶d̶s̶ o̶f̶ y̶e̶a̶r̶s̶ o̶l̶d̶. S̶h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶.

His body felt like it was on fire, the first day he couldn’t help but cry to himself. It hurt, his chest felt like it was going to burst, but he couldn’t stop.

The tears didn’t stop coming, making everything worse.

Eventually, they stopped. His energy was lower than ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to rest. It was unbelievably cold, all alone without anyone near him.

No one to sit by, no one to speak to, no one for comfort.

He had to grow some tolerance to the cold, as Lanny said. If he was going to survive he needed to be able to handle some weather conditions or else he had no chance.

As time passed, he found himself tracing cracks in his bones.

Being a statue for so long doesn’t come without consequence. Stone withers, so did his bones. Tiny parts of his fingers had been chipped off, lengthy cracks down his arms and some even reaching his legs.

Ironically enough, his face, if not counting the damage Lanny did, was untouched.

His clothing and gloves covered all the damage, the pressure they put on his bones helped him ignore the sensation a little more easily. It wasn’t like they’d heal for a long time, but he had no choice there.

Sometimes he still feels like parts of him are stuck in the statue he became so familiar with. Cemented to the ground, solid, leaving him hollow with a duty too big and a mind that can only take so much.

For the first time in his life, that night, Dream prayed.

Never once had things gone easy, but he was desperate for a change.

He had always been the desperate type, though.

Hadn’t he?

The most familiar feeling to him was a sense of hopeless desperation. It was the only part of himself that he could pick out when his own feelings were overcrowded by other people’s in his vicinity.

A need he choked on constantly, a yearning on the tip of his tongue that he never truly got out.

He ignored the way his hands went numb, his knees scraping against the ground, blood seeping from every wound left on him. He wasn’t sure how long it was that he stayed in that position, but in the safety of only his own presence, he poured everything out.

He begged as tears rolled down once more, begged that this would all end soon and that he would go back to how things used to be before.

What he would give to take away all the pain his brother had gone through.

He could handle it, he deserved it, he’s the reason for the way things ended up.

If he was a better sibling, if he tried harder, if he spent more time with him, maybe they would’ve still been at the tree, laughing with eachother.

Maybe their mother would’ve been there.

Maybe the villagers would have been nicer.

Treated them better.

Heartbreak followed him wherever he went. A defining part of him. He had plenty to be heart broken about, didn’t he?

The loss of everything when his life had just begun.

He never got the chance to live, never had his first friendship, never had a home.

He never even got to understand himself before everything crumbled.

It left a gaping hole inside of him, one nothing could fill.

Time passed, Lanny left him alone, but the effects of her actions lasted.

It wasn’t until he came face-to-face with the monster that had taken his brother as a vessel that he understood.

Understood the true impact his actions had.

The reason for her insistence.

The malice in her voice.

The most naive part of him believed his brother was still there. That maybe, just maybe, he could have the final conversation he wanted so badly with the other before everything crumbled, but all he got instead was a sickening sense of grief.

A sense of impending doom.

It took him what felt like an eternity to breathe again, but even then, the air felt unbearably heavier than before.

T̶h̶e̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ i̶n̶ f̶r̶o̶n̶t̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶m̶ w̶a̶s̶ i̶n̶ n̶o̶ w̶a̶y̶ h̶i̶s̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶. I̶t̶'s̶ s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶s̶, t̶h̶e̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶ i̶n̶ i̶t̶s̶ e̶y̶e̶, i̶t̶ s̶h̶o̶o̶k̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ h̶i̶s̶ c̶o̶r̶e̶.

W̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶ f̶e̶l̶t̶ i̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶ f̶a̶l̶l̶ a̶p̶a̶r̶t̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶?̶ H̶i̶s̶ f̶r̶a̶g̶i̶l̶e̶ h̶o̶p̶e̶, u̶n̶a̶n̶s̶w̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ p̶r̶a̶y̶e̶r̶s̶, t̶h̶e̶ w̶e̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ o̶f̶ i̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶ l̶a̶i̶d̶ i̶t̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ t̶h̶i̶c̶k̶.

Fighting the very thing that turned his life upside down left him severely unsettled, that much was to be expected.

What wasn’t though, was the way it left him even more dazed than he had been for years before.

It claimed the name of his brother, but the idea of referring to it by that made him feel worse.

If it were a one time thing, he wouldn’t have been so shaken up, but the frequency of these encounters after Lanny had left him never left a chance to rest.

It didn’t take him long to realize it was hunting him down specifically.

H̶a̶d̶ i̶t̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶?̶

Every interaction left Dream feeling more distant than the last, like he was watching himself in third person. Always present, but not quite there.

With time, it became easier to retaliate, but the grief never left.

Every scar was a reminder of his failures.

Every word imprinted in his head.

Maybe, if he had learned of things earlier, he wouldn’t be fighting a parasite with a familiar face.

One wearing the past so clearly.

The world faded into a haze, it hurt less that way.

The idea of interacting with others whilst he was constantly chased sounded both exhausting and like more trouble than it was worth. Despite that, they never seemed to leave him.

His presence was comforting by nature, even attracting animals to him since he was a child. People would be no different. I̶s̶o̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ w̶o̶r̶s̶e̶, b̶u̶t̶ h̶e̶ c̶r̶a̶v̶e̶d̶ i̶t̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶.

It wouldn’t have been such a problem if some of them didn’t become so..obsessive.

They wanted to feel good, he made it easy.

A simple prospect.

H̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ b̶e̶g̶i̶n̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶u̶n̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ n̶u̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶e̶n̶ h̶i̶m̶, t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶e̶n̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶s̶, e̶v̶e̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶s̶e̶l̶v̶e̶s̶, t̶o̶ g̶e̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ s̶t̶a̶y̶.

N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ o̶n̶c̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶i̶s̶ p̶e̶r̶s̶p̶e̶c̶t̶i̶v̶e̶ c̶o̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶r̶e̶d̶.

He didn’t get a say, he owed them it.

He was their guardian, if he couldn’t provide them the positivity to keep going with their days, who would?

If he wasn’t happy to do so, who would be?

If he wasn’t happy, how were they meant to believe they could ever be?

It didn’t matter what he did, said, wanted, none of it mattered. He had to stay and play the role he was assigned.

If not him, then who?

He didn’t need their comfort the way they needed his, he had time to get over it all.

He didn’t need companions, his presence was bound to catch up and hurt them eventually.

It was never just him.

When it finally did, some accused him of intentionally leading ‘Nightmare’ to them.

Intentionally harming them for everything.

Too selfish to help them, he tried to ‘get rid’ of them.

He didn’t argue, guilt made its presence known, but it had finally given him reason to go.

T̶h̶e̶ a̶c̶h̶e̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ h̶i̶s̶ a̶r̶m̶ h̶a̶d̶ p̶r̶e̶v̶i̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ m̶a̶d̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ h̶e̶a̶d̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ h̶e̶'d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ a̶d̶m̶i̶t̶. W̶h̶a̶t̶ a̶ w̶a̶y̶ t̶o̶ f̶i̶n̶d̶ o̶u̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ r̶e̶s̶u̶l̶t̶s̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ h̶e̶s̶i̶t̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ L̶a̶n̶n̶y̶ w̶a̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ s̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶s̶t̶.

In his daze, he didn’t focus on where he went, portal after portal to go somewhere far from others.

It wasn’t until someone tapped him on the shoulder and spoke that he realized how far he’d gone.

The other was unfamiliar, a face Dream hadn’t encountered before, nor did they seem to recognize who he was.

With a smile on his face, he introduced himself and asked about the place.

His question was answered quickly, but before he could ask their name back, he was getting dragged somewhere by his other arm.

T̶h̶e̶y̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶i̶z̶e̶d̶, d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶?̶

To his surprise, the other’s actions were caused by concern.

He was injured, yes, but it wasn’t easy to tell (with the exception of the arm he was missing as of mere moments ago. It wasn’t like it was bloody, his magic handled that very quickly).

They introduced themselves as Swap, but said to just call them Blue.

Without question, the other began helping to dress his wounds.

Despite protest from Dream, Blue refused to let him leave hurt as he was. He couldn’t do anything about the glaring problem, but he wouldn’t just stand by.

D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ p̶a̶n̶i̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶, t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶f̶ h̶o̶w̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶t̶ t̶o̶ r̶e̶p̶a̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶e̶b̶t̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶.

He came up with an excuse to leave quickly after, which the other had let him do quite easily.

O̶d̶d̶l̶y̶ u̶n̶e̶x̶p̶e̶c̶t̶e̶d̶.

He retreated to a barren universe, unexpectedly finding Lanny waiting for him.

She ‘replaced’ the arm he lost and disappeared just as quickly as she came. A one time thing, according to her.

An archer is useless without both their arms, he’d be of no use the way he was.

That day was far from his last encounter with Blue, it seemed that every event from that point on pointed him towards the man.

In some weird twist of fate, they had become friends.

Dream had many doubts at first, how was he to know he wasn’t being used once again? Whether it was for things to be done or to feel good, he’d seen it all.

Over and over, Blue proved himself to be truly honest about his reasoning.

No ulterior motives, he didn’t care for what Dream provided, he cared for Dream alone.

It was strange, he refused to believe it for a long time.

The day he decided to take the risk and trust that, a weight was taken off of him.

The other stuck by him, he wanted him for him, he wouldn’t dare burden him.

The same way he used to as a child, he ran off every time he needed to express an emotion that was considered ‘wrong’ of him.

He couldn’t destroy the one friendship he had.

Vulnerability destroyed his mother, his brother, if he were to show it, it was a matter of time before it destroyed him too.

He had to be strong. There was a point to it all, he had to believe it.

If he didn’t, there was no telling how much longer he’d be able to hold on. He’d cling onto the belief, even as his hands went numb and the light died out.

He was never in control, he wouldn’t ever be.

The only decision he ever had to himself was where he let his heart out.

That was the case, at least. Until he was discovered that was.

R̶e̶m̶i̶n̶i̶s̶c̶e̶n̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ N̶e̶i̶l̶ f̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶, e̶x̶c̶e̶p̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ d̶o̶ s̶o̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶. o̶n̶e̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ m̶a̶n̶y̶ l̶o̶s̶t̶ b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶s̶ i̶n̶a̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

It was a familiar face, Blue had stumbled upon him while he was meant to be on a walk.

Every step he took towards him, Dream moved backwards.

He was discovered at his worst, that was it.

Despite how Blue stopped trying to approach him, Dream’s mind was racing to come up with an excuse for the situation.

He couldn’t speak.

It didn’t feel real.

He wondered, maybe for the 10th time that week, what it all was.

He was playing a game he could never win.

He felt trapped in his own body, watching his movements like a puppet rather than a person. A ghost, watching his life play out until he saw his corpse at the end and realized he was dead the entire time.

He couldn’t run.

He felt insane every time.

He didn’t put a name to this repetitive issue of his. He would need to confront it otherwise, it’d become too real.

C̶a̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ i̶t̶ d̶i̶s̶s̶o̶c̶i̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ f̶e̶l̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ e̶x̶c̶u̶s̶e̶s̶, l̶i̶k̶e̶ i̶t̶ d̶i̶s̶c̶r̶e̶d̶i̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ w̶h̶o̶ t̶r̶u̶l̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶l̶e̶m̶. H̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ i̶t̶.

They ended up sitting together in silence, Dream trying to calm his racing mind as Blue stood far. He never asked anything, Dream was grateful.

They never spoke about that day again.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ u̶s̶e̶f̶u̶l̶, h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ w̶o̶r̶t̶h̶y̶ o̶f̶ b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶ g̶u̶a̶r̶d̶i̶a̶n̶, h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶-̶

H̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ d̶o̶ i̶t̶.

H̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ d̶i̶s̶p̶o̶s̶e̶d̶ o̶f̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ y̶e̶t̶.

They were back to normal for a while, Dream was more careful about his decisions.

Never again did he rush somewhere without checking his surroundings a million times for people, not just danger.

It was until Dream himself seeked the other out that either of them talked about anything.

Originally, they wanted to hang out for some time, but their conversation strayed.

The topic? Feelings.

Dream stayed quiet for the majority of it, his responses concerned with other people’s rather than his own. W̶a̶s̶ i̶t̶ b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ f̶e̶a̶r̶?̶ o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶c̶t̶ h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶r̶d̶l̶y̶ t̶e̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ a̶p̶a̶r̶t̶?̶

Blue switched between asking, talking about things he's seen, and other times about some parts of him he had never shown anyone else.

If it was an attempt to encourage Dream to talk about his own, it was somewhat helpful. It was the most seen he's felt before without saying a word. Funnily enough, they had some very specific shared experiences Dream couldn’t have put into words if he tried.

He was close, very close, to saying more.

Ultimately, he stayed quiet.

If Blue noticed, he let him be.

I̶f̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶, n̶o̶ o̶n̶e̶ e̶l̶s̶e̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶. D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶o̶ p̶r̶e̶t̶e̶n̶d̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ i̶f̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶ s̶a̶n̶i̶t̶y̶.

About halfway through the conversation, he had started to reflect.

He never wanted to show anything besides happiness around others, motivating them more than he could do for himself.

He spent years trying to bury the part of him that pleaded for another person, to for once be comforted rather than blamed or being the comforter.

It never worked.

Everytime he cried, it felt like he was faking it all. He had his good days, it felt audacious of him to act miserable when he had what may be considered luxury to some. He had many years ahead of him, others were robbed of theirs early. He could get better c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶e̶?̶,, others died miserable.

And yet, it felt as if he told anyone, it would negate all his misery. All the years he spent alone, everything he went through, it wouldn’t sound as bad anymore. It felt like being happy betrayed all the time he spent questioning if he should’ve ever existed to begin with. It felt like it would betray all the guilt he carried for so long, like he never cared.

He didn’t want to get better.

Not saying anything back felt unfair, but the idea of revealing the darkest parts of himself was more terrifying than that.

As a way to compensate, he decided to take off a glove of his.

The one that covered his actual arm, all of the cracks and chips being on full display.

Blue went quiet at the sight, Dream didn’t dare break the silence. The other ended up taking his hand and tracing every crack as gently as he could.

Dream had never known what it felt like to be handled gently before.

The concept was foreign to him.

Another ironic part of him, isn’t it?

For a reason he didn’t know, he wasn’t as terrified as he felt before.

It didn’t mean he would change his mind, but it was comforting.

Maybe, in another lifetime, he wouldn’t be so flawed.

Maybe, in another lifetime, he’d have been okay.

Maybe, in another lifetime, he will be okay.

B̶u̶t̶, n̶o̶t̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ o̶n̶e̶. N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ o̶n̶e̶.

H̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶o̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ t̶o̶ d̶o̶.

T̶h̶e̶ g̶u̶a̶r̶d̶i̶a̶n̶ o̶f̶ p̶o̶s̶i̶t̶i̶v̶i̶t̶y̶, d̶o̶o̶m̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ a̶ l̶i̶f̶e̶ o̶f̶ m̶i̶s̶e̶r̶y̶ u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ i̶t̶ e̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ a̶n̶d̶ h̶e̶ r̶e̶l̶i̶v̶e̶d̶ i̶t̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶ v̶e̶r̶y̶ b̶e̶g̶i̶n̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.

Maybe, in another life, he wouldn’t have been so conflicting.

Maybe.

28 notes · View notes