Sleepy Buddies [REWRITE] //Dreambur

Chapter 17- Night of Normalcy

Word Count- 3985

Dream woke up in a dusty, empty, room. He was coated, head to toe, in blood, and Nightmare's mask lay on the ground nearby, also a metallic red. His arms ached, his eyelids felt like someone had taped pennies to them, and fresh blood was leaking out of a gash in his side. Fresh. Oh shit this had just happened. Usually Nightmare left him to wake up in a pool of his own blood with the wound already scabbed over. It must have been serious if he woke up this soon.

Dream limped over to the only window without boards over it and peered into the dark, empty street. No one was outside, and there were no bodies on the sidewalk as far as he could see. Okay, that was a plus, at least there was nothing to clean up this time. He did another inventory of himself.

The usual headache, a somewhat deep gash in his right side, a twisted wrist, minor bruising on his head and left side, and a few scrapes on his knees. Good gods, what had Nightmare gotten him into this time?

Wasting no time, he tore up his filthy undershirt and used the cleanest strips he could scavenge to staunch the blood flow. Then, he scanned the surroundings. It looked to be some sort of abandoned warehouse. Everything was covered in a layer of dust except the floor and the windowsill he had been hanging onto. It wasn't lit up, but he could see the outlines of machines and benches and doorways. What little he could see of the floor looks rotted and old.

"Okay, am I close to home," he muttered to himself, pulling out his phone and grimacing at the frighteningly low battery. Upon opening maps, he was relieved to see he was only a few minutes away by foot. He wouldn't need a ride tonight, thank the gods.

In fact, this looked like the factory Wilbur had been planning to burn down soon. Whenever he was hurt or tired, Nightmare would find the nearest place he knew and collapse. Sometimes it was old factories such as these, other times he would wake up in the park where he had first killed that teenager. Once, he had come back to himself standing in an old lady's apartment. Her name was Lizzy, and she had given him tea and bandages before sending him on his way.

Dream glared at one of the machines, leaning against the wall and taking a few breaths. This was the hard part. He picked up the mask and, keeping pressure on the wound, let himself out of the building. He shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. The old building certainly hadn't been warm, but it was considerably cozier than outside. It was still pitch black out as he wandered down the street, stumbling over uneven parts of the sidewalk and nearly running into trees and concealed trash cans. He was aware of how dirty and disgusting he looked, and he kept pushing forward.

As he walked, he tried to wrack his memory for where he could have been this chilly night. However, the more he looked the harder it got. His thoughts were a tangled jumbled mess, like a knot of Christmas lights. He tried to untangle them, but Nightmare flinched every time he got near. Whatever he had gotten himself into, it was worth forgetting. Side burning and head throbbing, he came across his street and nearly wept with relief.

There was a blip in his memory, and then he was knocking on their front door, leaning against the door frame and wincing as blood seeped through his rags. He looked around in shock; how had he gotten here? Where had he been before? The door was flung open and Dream wrapped his arm around Techno's neck as he was brought inside. The hybrid was swearing colorfully, nearly picking him up as he helped him over to the old music room. It had been converted into a home clinic of sorts, Wilbur having parted with most of his instruments to help pay for the medicine and equipment. They couldn't take Dream to the hospital since he was still supposedly missing, so they had to make their own. Phil peeked his head out of his room, looking for the source of the commotion.