«☆Dream angst oneshots☆» (Slow Updates)

✧☆The Trial☆✧

Summary:
Dream's finally put on Trial after Pandora's Vault's secrets are revealed to the entire SMP. Maybe everyone's had him wrong? Maybe they've had him, right? Maybe a bit of both?

aka

I wanted Dream to actually have a Trial so I did it and prison sucks

aka

FUCK

Notes:
Tw: Sucidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Torture, Emotional Manipulation, Dark thoughts, Dehumanization

:)

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Work Text:

The Trial.

It loomed over him like a shadow, waiting to consume him until there was nothing left anymore. Everything. Everything  was destroyed in that prison. Dream, his thoughts, his ideas, everything about him was now gone. His heart had been ripped out of his chest and tainted by the dirty fingers that grabbed it. He had laid it on his sleeve, practically waiting until someone would come and shatter it against the ground, leaving for him to pick up.

He’d expected this.

He’d only been building his own doom.

Dream trudged ahead, shackled by chains that Tommy was pulling. Once in a while, he’d send a harder tug that’d send Dream tumbling forward, wincing as pain shot up his bad leg. They all knew. They all knew about everything .

They knew how pathetic he was.

How resilient he’d been.

They knew how weak he was.

How strong he’d been.

They knew how fucking stupid he was.

And how smart he’d been.

They knew about Quackity and Sam and- And the prison and the torture. Dream gripped onto the hem of his prison uniform, the orange jumpsuit polished and new. After they’d see him at his worst, they gave him new clothes.

Ha. As if a few new polished prison clothes would make Dream forgive them all. As if they were trying to please him, only to toss him back into that obsidian cell to starve.

The truth was, Dream was tired.

He was tired of this life, of this world. Before, he held onto this stupid hope that this could change, that the world could change, that the people could change, but now Dream knew. It was hopeless. He’d been trying and trying and trying only to dig himself into a deeper hole that he’d be unable to get out of without permanently scarring himself.

It was never the plan.

It was never supposed to be the plan and Dream had planned out everything, every corner, every inch of the prison that he’d made for himself, every contraption, every dime he’d spent only for it to waste away like a ball of tumbleweed drifting away in the scorching hot blaze of the desert-

He did it again.

He zoned out and now Tommy was looking at him like he was going to end the fucking world because that’s how they made him out to be. The villain, the monster, the one they could just throw behind bars and pretend that they hadn’t fucked up too.

But even then, even then, Dream couldn’t battle the urge to drop on his knees and beg for forgiveness for stopping, for breathing, for existing . He’d done so many things wrong, so many things that shouldn’t have been done.