Sleepy Buddies [REWRITE] //Dreambur

Chapter 30- Ow

If you saw my sleep-deprived rambles yesterday, no you didn't!

Word Count: 2863

TW: intense gore, blood, a gun, swearing, all your usual shit.

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The pain was nearly unbearable, starting at his hands and racing down his body. Dream knew he died, but he wasn't dead now. Was he? Was it possible to feel pain in death? The white light  faded to yellow and green and he screamed, a new level of pain pulsing through him. His body was burning, he was on fire with the hottest flame known to man. His head hurt so badly he felt as though an angry giant had hit it with a mallet and squashed it flat. His fingers were crackling and popping like logs in a fire.

His broken ankle from earlier was nothing more than a tiny prick, his other wounds barely a blip on the radar compared to this. Fireworks were child's play.

Had he been sent to wander forever, like the god had said? Was this his punishment for being morally corrupt?

Then the worst of the pain moved down his arms, encasing them too and making them glow white-hot. It curled down to his face and this time Dream could feel himself reforming. He could feel the skin stretching over his muscles and bones, could feel his eyes squishing themselves back into their sockets. He was hyper aware of his knees clicking back into place.

It took all of eternity and yet only a moment for it to become even somewhat bearable. Time was stretched and condensed, it had no meaning. Dream peeled his eyelids open, horrified at what he saw. Blood was siphoning off of the ground and being absorbed back into him at a rapid pace as stitches of glowing green and yellow brought him back together. His crushed fingers had reformed, each bone had snapped back into place with unimaginable pain. His arms had been next, and the pain was now in his hips. He bent over in his nest of broken shackles and blood-stained bandages, more blood seeping back into him. He couldn't hear anything above the frantic pounding of his heart and his screams. His beating heart, he was ALIVE!

It was all over in a matter of moments, but the pain remained. All eyes were on him, mouths dropped open in shock. Dream was hyperventilating, unable to get enough air into his lungs. He was alive! Alive! Oh gods he had lived!

For a moment, the world froze. Silence descended over life, making every other aspect of the scene around Dream sharpen. The bright colors of autumn trees, the dull gray of sidewalks, the dark grey of streets, the azure sky with scattered clouds. Dream could taste the crisp air that came after rain, and the slight hint of apples and leaves. He could smell fresh cut grass, and sooty pollution. The harsh wood splintered, reforming into him just as much as the rest of his body. The remaining shackles were cool against his body. Each breath went in raggedly, fighting through barely reformed windpipes and resting in his lungs for a brief moment before being exhaled along the same troubled path. In this moment, the world felt like it was teetering on a knifepoint. Rocking one way, then another, and eventually it would fall. And fall it did.

Schlatt got over his shock first and the anger overtook him. He pushed back the side of his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol, aiming it right at Dream's head. Dream had to turn to see, one eye still not working. He looked livid, trembling with rage so badly that the gun visibly shook. The president opened his mouth to say something but Dream would never hear it.

An arm wrapped around his waist and someone hoisted him into the air. Dream yelled at the pain, blood spilling from his barely-formed stomach and staining his shirt. It was quickly drawn back by the gold and green, the stain disappearing to nothing. Phil pulled him into a more comfortable position, holding him like an infant as he glided away.