My Kitten~ Dnf

Chapter eight | Sad flashbacks.

FANART NOT MINE CEEDIT TO ORIGINAL CREATOR (@vnzndt on twitter) Also imagine the ears on Dream )

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A/N: I also want to mention Technoblade is in this chapter. R.I.P Techno, you shall be remembered. "Technoblade never dies" as he used to say. 🕊🕊👑

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⚠️ T/W:⚠️ angst, panic attack, blood, dry blood, scars, swearing.

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It was cold. So damn cold. No, not just cold it was cold. It felt stiff and uncomfortable, it smelt as if something had died and rottened not too long ago. Witch wouldn't be surprising if it was the case. The pain is his head was making him want to die right there and then, it felt as if the same sharp blade was being thrown at the same place. Over and over again.

He struggled to get up, or at least get himself into a sitting position, but the jolt of pain that suddenly sharpened in his legs made him lay flat once again. "You okay bud?", A voice suddenly rang through his ears, a familiar one at that. The man tried opening his eyes, but the throbbing head pain only allowing him to squint open his eyes slighty. He couldn't see much, but he could still

make out who the person was. They seemed to be crouched down with thier arms resting on thier thighs, witch were covered by some brown shorts that seemed to be a bit too big for them. The boy was wearing a pink T-shirt. His eyes seeming to be a red-ish colour, the

shirt being dirty from past fights that have occurred. "That asshole was a tough one, wasn't he?", The boy suddenly spoke, he sounded monotone yet, sympathetic.

The laying mans eyes allowed themselves to open slightly more then previously. Just enough to make out the persons face witch was looking down at him with a look of pity and guilt. The boy had rough scared skin that had a pink-ish tone to it, his bubblegum pink hair tied up in two messy looking buns.

His slightly pointing out teeth from his mouth seemed to be a bit yellow tinted, but then again they barely let the man use hygiene products. His cherry red eyes seemed to be scanning the laying man down for a part of his body that wasn't nor bruised or wounded. The kid himself had a scar across his face, a faded one but still there nonetheless.

After a moment the kid sighed and got up from the position he was in, and walked off to the over side of the prison like cage they shared. He sat down once again faced away from his bruised up roomate, now touring through his small run down leather backpack that he seemingly had around himself at all times.

The laying down man trying pushing himself into a sitting position but failing yet again, he would get sick if he was constantly laying down in the iron floor. And he knew greatly how they would react him being sick. He tried and tried, but the pain kept pulling him down, his mind constantly telling him

to give up and let the solid iron floor to consume him. However his struggles were cut short by the familiar pair of hands helping him sit up against the iron floor that was attached to the walls. He groaned in pain. His eyes closed shut once again from the only growing headache that almost made his
brain go numb. It wasn't something new but everytime it was some diffrent. It wasn't pleasant to say the least. When the males back hit the wall he let out a huff of relief, his eyes reopened themselves once again and scanned the area. It wasn't big, in fact it was pretty small. About as big to fit in two small children. Other then that it was rather plain, only big iron walls surrounding the cage itself. The only difference between the walls was that one of them unlike the other three this one had iron bars, followed by a solid iron door, a heavy lock usually attached to it. He now looked over to his roomate that was not that far away from him on his knees on the floor. He had a yellow cloth in his hand that was already stained in blood. Which in a medical situation isn't the best thing, since you're just leading the wound to bacteria and infection, but it was the only 'clean' thing they had. He watched him pull out a familiar water bottle it had a pink lid on top of it, but it's condition wasn't the best. It was made out of a mixture of what it looked like plastic and metal, it had dents and scratches littering the surface of it. He was once asked by his roomate. It was gifted to him by his father. Before the man was caught and captured for experiments since he was a rarer type. He would never say it to his friends face, but he was almost certain his father that raised him was rotting somewhere in the ground. The pink haired boy poured the water onto the cloth that he held lifted in his hand. Then closing the water bottle and tossing it next to where he was, he then shifted himself a bit closer to where the bruised man. "Clay you look horrible.. So this is gonna sting, more then usual you know?", The pink haired boy tired lightening the mood with a soft joke.