DreamSMP Works - Dream-centric

Tired

Where Dream is just tired. Feb 7, 2021. Word count: 1.1k.

Glowing lavafall doors and warm obsidian walls, accompanied by a dusty clock, ramshackle lectern, and a chest filled with empty books, quills, and inkpots. And a hole with water that he would fall in if he were to die (which happened a lot).

This was his new "home."

There wasn't anywhere comfortable to sit, as the walls were stoic and stiff and he gained back pain when he sat leaning against it for hours. Thinking.

He had resolved to laying on the gently warm ground. Or, if he felt like he had too much energy, pacing. Or going for a "swim" in the warm ocean that made up his door.

Sometimes he could imagine the hug of an once-close friend as he walked into the flow.

There wasn't much to do in the cell, in all honesty. Food fell automatedly from the hole that he'd drop from when he respawned. He had to catch his unheated potatoes to prevent them from getting wet, although sometimes he didn't care.

Occasionally he didn't eat.

Being in Pandora's Vault was a good break. It was strangely freeing.

He didn't have to worry about the server's troubles anymore. Of course, the worry of disunity still nagged him at the back of his mind, but what could he do about it anymore? His ploy had probably worked, but he hadn't really received word about anything outside the Prison.

With a disabled communicator, what could he do?

He would occasionally lay on the floor, reminiscing his older, brighter memories until he simply couldn't. Until he didn't want to remind himself [of what he could've had if he wasn't in Prison].

Sometimes, he'd feel utter regret what he did. Both for doing terrible, evil things, and for the fact that he sacrificed himself. Then he'd remember that it was all for the good of the server. That he knew that the rest of the server would come after him together in unity to defeat the one enemy.

Then he'd feel less selfish guilt for the latter.

He questioned himself, realizing some things about himself along the way. Maybe he had also done it so none of his friends would have to. Cut ties so none of his friends would feel despair for him.

He crowned George after realizing that Eret couldn't remain impartial. Then rethroned Eret after seeing that George would be a target. This helped George and Sapnap cut strings with him.

He still felt guilt for doing... what he did to Tommy and Tubbo. No one deserves what he did to them. 

And Tubbo- Tubbo, in truth, is a good president. It was the taint of his Council, no matter how good they thought they were. That day, if Tubbo had declared war on him, Tommy would've suffered the most emotional casualties. 

He would not, he would never Final Kill a member of his server. But the other lives were fair game. He felt guilt for thinking that very sentence.

He didn't like what he did. Not a single sliver of what he had done.

Not when he took his first canon Life, or when he threatened to take Tubbo's last.

Why did he refuse to take Tommy's last Life? 

It's simple. He just needed one weakness. One weakness that Tommy could exploit.

Tommy had originally put in the chest for Punz five diamond blocks. In the night, he added 30.

He did a lot of thinking in his new home. And a lot of feeling regret. And then feeling simply tired afterwards.

Tommy had visited the day after he was put in. Like always, Tommy was a jerk.

I deserve this, he thought. 

It was the last question that sent him spiraling, though. Who did he miss?

In a way, he had manipulated Tommy into leaving him alone.

Who did he miss?

The question echoed around his head for a few hours after the visit.

He missed the bright blue sky. The feeling of wind, whipping around him joyously, caressing and embracing him at times. The calming sloshes of the Lake, the chirping birds and insects. The feeling of, well, freedom. And friendship, a small part of him said. He agreed.

He missed his friends, the relationship he used to have with them. How they joked around, played like there was nothing to worry about.

Everyone hated him. He both hated and welcomed the fact. It was for the good of the server, he told himself. But he wouldn't ever feel the warmth of friendship again. He felt horribly cold, too, but he deserved that. After what he had done, he deserved it, even if it was for the good of the server, he reminded.

He wouldn't ever feel the warmth of friendship again. George and Sapnap hated him, and probably felt betrayal. Bad probably pitied him but also thinks he deserves this punishment. The rest of the server either also straight up hates him or doesn't care.

Not a single soul is willing to forgive him, and he made it this way.

He'd sometimes rant for hours at the purple and black walls, at Sam about the evils he had done to Tommy. So the Warden would feel no guilt towards him. And maybe protect the boy from harm.

He'd write the "homework" that Tommy had spitefully given him. When he did, he laughed bitterly at himself. The great "god," reduced to a prisoner doing homework that the most rudest child he had ever met had given him.

After writing a few wispy words, he burned the 5 allotted books.

He'd then begin to write stories of the times before he had invited Tommy to the server.

One would say he was simply tired. When Bad visited him, he acted appropriately. Trying to be like he wasn't tired.

There would be a few points when he just felt too mentally exhausted to move himself to get his food. He'd always get past those points and get the sustenance after a few days.

Well, until the last point.

He felt cold, despite the heat of the lava surrounding him. Maybe he was just tired.

He was scritching story after story of the old times, describing the events in meticulous detail (or as much as he could remember. Which was a lot).

Occasionally, he'd have bouts of dizziness, but his hand would continue onward with muscle memory. He forged onwards, resorting to writing his memories of the Before to retain what little humanity he thought he had left over.

He was terribly sorry for what he had done.

He regretted it all. Especially after finding out about the Crimson.

So it was all in vain.

He laughed wistfully, which was more of a dry croak, but the feeling was still there.

He cried yearningly, for a simple look at a clear blue sky and a feeling of belonging.

He mourned regretfully, in utter bitterness because he knew that his actions were for nothing.

He sighed heavily, to take his last tired breath.