Dream Team and Friends! (Oneshots/Smutshots)

[ Thoughts ] {Dreambur- Angst}

⚠️ COVER ART IS NOT MINE! ⚠️

TRIGGER WARNING:
Depression
Thoughts of Suicide
Self Harm

Ships:
Dreambur

Context: Wilbur and Dream have been dating for about a year, but Wilbur  has been hiding his low mental health and lack of self esteem this entire time. He is near suicidal and eventually breaks down at Dream's house.

Extra Info:
Does it even matter on this one? Wilbur is in pain ;-;

—WILBUR'S POV—

I'm back in the bathroom again. Yep, that's right. Standing at the sink and just staring at myself in the mirror. The door is locked, Dream is asleep in the other room, and I'm crying in the bathroom. This is the third time this week. How pathetic. I can't even keep my act together for a single week, let alone my entire life. How many times has this happened? How many times have I sat on a bathroom floor with a blade in my hands, pondering whether or not to create more scars on my arms? How many times have I wondered whether or not I should just end it and get it over with? We're all going to die anyways, so might as well speed up the process.

I stared at the knife that was now in my hands, and then to my arms. The wrists were exposed by the rolled up sleeves of my red sweater, and I could still see the faint, fading scars from middle school. Shakily, I slid to a sitting position on the floor, my back against the wall. I was going to actually do it this time. As I pressed the knife to my forearm, my brain started to panic with thoughts. Why was I even considering this? Didn't I have so much to be happy about? My fans, my family, Dream. They all loved me, didn't they? I tried to stop myself, but it was too late. A sharp sting and blood dripping onto the tile reminded me of why I was doing this.

My fans only loved me for the facade I put on every time I streamed. They only loved Wilbur Soot, not me. My family didn't care enough to come visit me every once in a while. They didn't even care enough to visit last Christmas. And Dream. Dream didn't know this side of me. He could never know this side of me. This side of me was weak and vulnerable, and he didn't deserve to see that. He deserved a strong, caring boyfriend who was there for him. He deserved someone that had already dealt with their problems and was ready to help him with his. He deserves everything that I'm not. He deserves more than that.

I hadn't realized, but my whimpers had gotten louder. They had reached the point where I was full on sobbing, tears cascading down my face and mixing with the blood spilling onto the floor. Cuts laced up and down my forearm, but the pain felt so good. It was addicting. My mind was listing all the things that I had done wrong, and all the things I wasn't. The physical pain I was feeling helped me cope with those thoughts, so it seemed logical in my mind to bring more of it. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back into the wall as my hands shook. Sobs and cries racked my body as I cut deeper, squeezing my eyes tight to block out the outside world. It was just me, the knife, and the pain.

Or, at least that's what I thought.

—DREAM'S POV—

I had woken up to the sound of muffled crying, my blurred senses struggling to comprehend where it was coming from. I blinked again, reaching for the TV remote to turn off whatever show Wilbur was watching so I could go back to sleep. Yet, when I felt around, I noticed that Wilbur wasn't beside me, and the TV wasn't on. As soon as my mind made the connection, I threw the blankets off of me, staggering to my feet. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to determine where the crying was coming from. Making my way towards the master bathroom where the crying was loudest, I tried to open the door. It was locked.

"Wilbur?!" I yelled, my voice loud with fear and concern. I had no idea why he was crying or who was in there with him, which scared me more than anything. The sobbing just became louder, increasing my worry. I jiggled the doorknob again, desperately trying to open the door. "Wilbur, open the door!" After a few moments of fruitlessly trying to use the handle, I started to throw myself against the door, using my shoulder to ram open the entrance. If Wilbur couldn't open the door, I would force it open.

After a few collisions, I felt the hinges start to give way, allowing me to burst inside. It took me a moment to realize what was happening, as there was no other person in the bathroom threatening my beloved. Instead, there was something much worse. My eyes widened at the sight in front of me, my hands letting the broken door drop to the floor. Wilbur was sitting on the floor, his eyes red from crying, blood staining his jeans and the tiles around him. A bloody knife was in his hands, and it was clear that he had been cutting himself.

"What the hell are you doing?!" My concern took form in yelling, and Wilbur flinched back, tears pouring down his face. I rushed over, wrenching the knife from his hands and setting in on the bathroom counter. Taking a breath to calm myself, I kneeled down, tears streaking down my own face now as I stared at his closed eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me, Will?" My voice was much quieter now, but broken with regret. I had noticed before in his behavior and fake smiles that he was hiding something, but I didn't know it was this severe. I should have known.

Wilbur just shook his head, letting out a quiet sob. I gently picked him up and carried him out of the bathroom, making my way to the kitchen. Positioning my boyfriend at the sink, I washed off his wrists, careful not to cause him any more pain. Using bandages I had grabbed from the cabinet, I wrapped his wrists and picked him up again. His shaking had gone down, but he was still trembling slightly in my arms. He buried his face into my shirt and held on to me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. I hated to think that I probably was.

Upon reaching the bedroom again, I set Wilbur on the bed, making my way over to the dresser. I pulled out a pair of pajamas for him and walked back over to where I had placed my lover. Helping him stand, I slipped him out of his stained clothes and into the comfy shirt and pants. Gently placing him back on the bed, I slid under the sheets beside the brunette. He instantly wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled his face into my neck, sniffling. I heard him let out a quiet, strained squeak, as if he was trying to speak. I shushed him, threading my fingers through his hair.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk about it now. Just rest, and know that I'm right here. You're not alone." I almost smiled as he let out a shaky breath, relaxing as I played with his hair. In an odd way, I was glad that this happened. Now we could work through whatever he was going through together, instead of him suffering alone. I listened as Wilbur's breaths slowed down into a rhythmic sleep, feeling my eyes grow heavy and close soon after.

You're not alone, Wilbur. You're not alone.

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This was definitely a hard one to write, guys. Wilbur, I- ;-;

On a more serious note, I know that some of you readers will relate to this chapter, and for that I send my condolences. Just know that there are many hotlines out there for people in need, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your battle scars. Most importantly, never EVER let other people tell you what you are or how to feel. Stay strong, and remember:

You're not alone.

Word Count: 1396