DreamNotFound Oneshots (smut)

the cave *

The night is young, and the air is crisp. Fires blaze, ignored, and glowing in the distance. Ebony, leftover in the ash, crunches under Dream's boots as we walks the long-forgotten prime path to the place he knows they await. The wood beneath him looks old, ignored. None of it seems to matter now; no one cares to restore it. Dream huffs in the chilly air. With his mask shielding his face, void of expression, and his hood and cloak like a dark blanket shadowing over his inescapable doom, he ignores the snowflakes that begin to fall with the ashy remnants of what used to be the world; what used to be his world.

He forces himself not to think of what has happened or even what could still happen. Blocking any and all emotion is his top priority. It's the only way to save what he has left. Did he make a mistake? Had he miscalculated? He couldn't figure out where it all went wrong. Every move he had made, every person he used, every side he took, was it now... all for nothing?

His steady pace falters as his boot scuffs against a discarded piece of iron armor. No one needs it here; the battle is far off.

A lone fox in the distance weaves in and out of the trees, watching him with plain, black eyes. He doesn't give it much of his attention, only noting that it's simply there and nothing more. As he continues along the remains of the path, he grew closer to it, hoping for a split second that maybe it won't run away. But it does; it runs. It runs far away, disappearing into the shadows just like everyone else in his life.

He can't be far now. He knows he's close.

The snow falls steadily now, beginning its practice of blanketing the awfully barren ground and sugaring the leaves of the tall, evergreen spruces that stand, towing over him, almost to signify that though they are still, they far wiser than he could ever be.

Dream's heart beats rapidly as he reaches the peak of the hill, entering the ruins of old cobblestone walls. He sees the 3 people immediately and takes in the scene before him. His stomach drops to the deepest depths of his stomach.

Technoblade.

Tommy.

George.

Each figure incorporates itself into his thoughts one by one. In escapable dread is stuck in his gut like a cow trapped in a well, slowly drowning in its own demise.

First, Techno. He's standing tall and expressionless, eyes slightly squinted, and royal red cloak flowing down over his shoulders, ends of the fur brushing the mix of upturned dirt and snow.

Dream walks further, cautious, and ready for anything.

Next, Tommy. He's matured since Dream has seen him. The ends of his hair are withered and burnt, and the face of a once goofy and overconfident child now stuck Dream as disconsolate and dignified.

"Don't come any closer," Techno calls out the order.

Even closer now, Dream ceases his approach, not because he chooses to abide by Techo's rules, but because he doesn't know what tricks they may have up their sleeves.

Lastly, George. His head is hung toward the ground, and he's on his knees before Techno, silent and unmoving. His hands are tied behind his back, tight enough to cut off his circulation, tight enough to numb him. His face is pale and drained, almost as if he's ashamed of himself.

You have nothing to be ashamed of. None of this is your fault. It's mine—my fault.

Dreams thoughts cloud his mind before he can shake them away. He can't seem to pull his eyes away from George.

I should have done more. I should have protected you. I thought that if I...

I'm sorry.