in an alternate reality - dreamnotfound

Chapter One

In an alternate reality, Dream hadn't caused all the damage he had. He hadn't destroyed the things he worked so hard to build. He hadn't hurt the people he cared most about.

He hadn't lost the one he loved.

In an alternate reality, Dream hadn't met his demise and been placed in a damp, rotting jail cell, left with nothing but his own thoughts and infrequent visitors.

He was cold - always so goddamn cold - despite the lava flowing consistently around his obsidian cell, keeping him securely tucked away, on the off chance that he decided he wanted to attempt an escape.

(Escaping had never even been an option he had considered, not once. It would be pointless, as there was no longer a place in this world for him. Nobody needed him. Nobody wanted him.)

Today felt particularly lonely, the noises he had grown to no longer acknowledge suddenly feeling unfamiliar as he sat silently in one of the corners of his cell.

There was the lava, the constant patter an annoyance as it forcefully flowed out of dispensers and landed atop the obsidian ceiling, continuing on to flow down the sides. It was loud, echoing through the empty room and bouncing off the walls.

Then, there was the clock. It ticked on and on, the only thing reminding Dream that time actually still passed and he wasn't stuck in an endless loop of neverending consistency.

Dream brought his hands up to his hair, which was greasy and tangled from lasting neglect, and tugged, trying to find some sort of relief from the pounding headache he had woken up with. It helped for only a moment, but as soon as his hands loosened their grip, the pain was back and he was gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in resistance.

He pulled his hands away from his face, and placed them in front of him, flattening them against the obsidian, searching for the cool feeling he received. It gave some sort of satisfaction to the scars and bruises that littered his skin, and he let himself relax for a moment.

He turned his hands over a few times, watching as countless injuries were revealed each time, ones he had memorized from frequent viewing, and still some that he had never noticed before.

He felt himself frown, and yet, he didn't feel sad.

A nagging part of his brain, the one that frequently controlled his entire mindset, told him that he deserved those bruises, those scars. They represented the lives he had taken, the blood he had caused to spill, and the way he had managed to let down everyone who he cared for.

He sighed, let himself fall backwards against the obsidian wall.

If a jolt of pain was sent down his spine upon impact with the wall, he pretended not to notice. It truly didn't matter anymore. He was numb.

He closed his eyes, familiar images rushing to depict themselves in his mind, showing him what he had lost, what he was missing.

The things he saw were fond, distant memories, ones he treasured more than anything else in this world - not that there was much to his world anymore.

They came in flashes, broken memories that were no longer fully there. Time had sabotaged their meaning and left them a flurry of incoherent bits and pieces.

As hard as he tried, he could never see more than their faces, their looks of anger, sadness, confusion. He could never get past the looks they had given him as they grouped together and watched him get carried away, pushed and shoved despite his willingness to follow his captures wherever they decided to take him.

He wished more than anything to be able to recall their smiles, the expressions that were once a constant when he was around, but he could never bring himself to get past those sorrowful eyes and hurt frowns.