𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐑, dreamnoblade oneshots

𝐱𝐢𝐯 | i think i like your hands in mine

i think i like your hands in mine
- know your name, mary lambert

2,236 words !

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THE chapel is empty, and thank the gods for that—one of them is definitely smiling on him today. On a seventh day like this, there should be a line of people to such a place of worship. It's large, too; the deity it's built to must be powerful. Dream is grateful that, whatever the cause, no one will be around to watch him drown in his own blood.

Aside from the patron god, of course, not that it matters. Most of them don't care about mortals anyhow.

Sorry, he manages with as much sincerity as he can muster. It's not much.

He fumbles with the doors, resorting to using his back to return them to their positions. It wastes precious time, blood shadowing his movements. Dream knows who's following him, though, and a chapel... Well, it'd be better if he could find a temple, but this will do.

The blond man grits his teeth and drags himself to one of the tables at the side. He knocks pamphlets and unlit candles to the floor, then shoves his weight against the piece of furniture. It moves with little protest.

More minutes pass as Dream hauls it before the doors, then does the same with another table. They'll fold like paper under his pursuer's inhuman strength, but Dream doesn't care. He needs the false sense of security, fleeting as it may be.

Then he looks around, at the pews and the stained glass windows. It's a small chapel, but the glass—that's what tipped him off. This place belongs to a powerful deity, and their presence... Dream has his fingers crossed. If it can keep the hunter away long enough for him to die in peace, that would be great.

There's a cut above his eye, obscuring his vision, so he wipes it away and moves further into the building. Dream can make out a statue perched behind the altar, but he's not sure of who. He should— No, he needs to thank them for providing sanctuary.

He's not a very religious person, but he's about to die. Dream figures he needs all the good grace that he can get.

So he makes his way back and climbs the few stairs to the altar. He's loath to admit how much he relied on the railing.

Then Dream gets a good look at the statue. It's worn with age, details faded, but he knows exactly what god that is.

"Fuck," Dream utters.

At the same time, the doors cave in from a single kick.

He drops to the ground on instinct, ducking behind a chair. There must be wood splinters everywhere, holy shit. Oh, gods, of all the places to hide, he picked this shrine.

There is one god, one among thousands, that he does not want to cross paths with again.

And he stumbled right into his temple.

Shit, shit, shit, Dream thinks.

The hunter's footsteps echo against the chapel's high ceilings. Dream feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chests. There are two evils here, and one of them is a lesser evil, but it's also the evil he does not want to talk to.

Not that the god would help anyway. Dream was... Okay, fine, he was an asshole. Some things should stay unsaid, he understands that now.

Dream grabs the handle of his last remaining knife with a shaking hand. He's never longed for his axe as much as he does now. If he's going to die a brutal death in this particular god's chapel, Dream would rather it be in style.