Dream SMP Headcanons and Oneshots

New Resident

The afterlife. A black void that held some things the few residents wanted. A full liquor bar and a few crates as chairs around a slightly bigger crate that had a deck of cards and gambling chips laying on top of it. Hey, it's not much, but it kept the three of them entertained.

Those three were sitting on the crates, playing poker. The one with the ripped trench coat and beanie seemed to be winning, the one with the wrinkled suit and an undone red tie was constantly getting up to get another bottle from the bar, and the one with a green, white, and red mask seemed to be vibing to the stereo that was playing Spanish music.

"Schlatt, either you stop getting bottles every other minute or you get me a bottle of red wine too." The one with the trench coat sneered at the man with ram horns and messed-up business suit.

Schlatt burped loudly and stood up, very wobbly. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Shut your fucking mouth, Wilbur. I'll get you your goddamn wine." He slurred as he pulled the red beanie off of Wilbur's head and hobbled off to the bar.

Wilbur patted his chocolate brown hair, noticing that Schlatt did indeed take his beanie. He huffed and looked back at the cards. The only reason he was winning was because the other two didn't care enough to play the game. Mexican Dream was just sitting cross legged on the crate, humming along to the Spanish singer and bobbing his head back and forth.

Schlatt set the fresh bottle of red wine down in front of Wilbur, grabbing his attention. His red beanie was now hanging from one of Schlatt's horns, the horn having stabbed a hole through the fabric. Wilbur sighed and leaned on the bigger crate, yanking the ram's head forward by his other horn and taking his beanie back.

Schlatt grunted and wrestled his way out of Wilbur's hand. "You could've fucking asked, dickhead."

Wilbur rolled his eyes and pulled the beanie back on, some of his hair poking out of the new hole now. "You wouldn't have given it back if I asked anyways."

Schlatt grabbed his own whiskey bottle and opened it, flicking the cap at Wilbur's forehead. It was a calculated shot and hit Wilbur with a pronounced plink. He rubbed his forehead where the cap made contact, glaring at Schlatt, who returned the stare.

Their staring contest was cut short when a new figure appeared in the middle distance. The two men both snapped their heads toward them, and Mexican Dream only realized someone was there when the tension between Schlatt and Wilbur lifted.

He was holding one bloody hand to his bloody forehead, stumbling towards the crates and the small group. His blonde hair was matted with blood. Hell, if you didn't know he was a blonde, you would've thought he was a brunette. His clothes didn't look any better, the red of the cloth blending in with the red of the blood.

Wilbur jumped up and ran to the boy, inspecting the fatal injuries that got the boy to this place. Schlatt took a quick swig of his alcohol before standing up with Mexican Dream, both of them mildly concerned.

The boy looked up at Wilbur after having his hand pulled away from his face. "Wil...am I...? I am, aren't I?" His voice cracked. Wilbur didn't answer and pulled him into a tight hug, the boy's head buried into the man's shoulder.

"Tommy...I've missed you."