masks ∥ A Dream SMP Ghost Dream AU

2.

Things you should know:

1. Those that weren't part of the rescue mission last chapter were informed by the others about what happened.
2. Timeline events in order (an order that I screwed with because we're gonna pretend that MCC 11 happened before Dream gave Wilbur the TNT, please let me have my denial about how Canon!Dream is basically evil personified): MCC 8, Technoblade-Dream Duel, L'Manberg Revolution, L'Manberg Election, MCC 11, Dream drowns and gets replaced by his dreamon, *insert canonical timeline here*, Chapter 1 of this fic.
3. Dream spent the majority of his time as a ghost discovering new things and expanding the base. He never really tried out the basic human necessities (i.e. eating, sleeping) because he never thought about it, and why would he need to try anyways?
4. I have absolutely no idea what ghost biology is like in the Dream SMP universe, so I'll just be going along the lines of 'ghosts have all the internal and external structures of the person they were in life, but they don't need to function for the ghost to "live". Also everything is made of this ectoplasmic substance that'll dissolve once it's disconnected from the ghost for a certain amount of time that varies depending on what has been disconnected'.

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Panic-Inducing Situations

There was nothing but earth for miles around the base. Dream trembled as he flew through the solid stone, the tingling sensation of intangibility gnawing at his bones. Did he even have bones? He didn't know. He was a ghost, and his body was no longer his.

In his hysteria, he stopped mid-flight and brought his hands to his face to check that they were still there, to check that they were his, but when he brought them in front of his face they were not there even though he could feel them but he couldn't see. The light could not reach underground, and the darkness pressed against him from all sides like a physical thing. He screamed but the sound only vibrated through his skull, smothered under the tons of soil pressing down on him. Panic welled in his chest, suffocating him and consuming his mind, and he couldn't think--

He abruptly tumbled out of stone into open air, going tangible once more. It was still pitch black, but the ghostly glow emanating from his body was visible now. He clutched at his chest and gasped though he did not need to, grounding and reminding himself that he was here and that his ghostly limbs were his own. The soft light seeping from his skin, however, did nothing to illuminate the space, so when he no longer felt like he would collapse from terror he tentatively reached out into the darkness. The rough stone of a cave wall met his fingers.

Safe. Alone. He dropped down, still floating a few inches above the floor, and sobbed.

His friend wasn't his friend. Had never been his friend. Had murdered him, drowned him, and-- and--

The bile he had been holding back rose in his throat and he choked, scrubbing uselessly at his exposed face. Did he look like that? A drowned man? His friendNot-his-friend was wearing his skin, had pretended to be him. And those people, the living--

They had known him. Alive-him. Or had they only known the dreamon? He knew he had friends when he was alive, because his frienot-his-friend had said so, but--

"--none of your so-called friends even noticed."

He had died. Not-his-friend had stolen his face. None of his real friends had noticed the difference.

He didn't remember them. Didn't remember any of them. His head was empty and his skin was cold and his body was no longer his.

His tears glowed, skipping down his chin and falling into the darkness. He curled into a ball and watched them disappear, swallowed by the murky shadows. They did not make the drip-dripping noise of water. They did not make any noise at all.