«☆Dream angst oneshots☆» (Slow Updates)

✧☆Waist Deep Within the Sunflowers☆✧

Summary:
Dream sat under the birch tree, lost in thought as tears stained his cheeks.

If he could do it all again, things would’ve been different. He would’ve left L’Manberg alone, no matter if they were on his territory. He wouldn’t have blamed Tommy for all the server's problems and sent him to exile, he wouldn’t have pushed his friends away. Dream regretted it all, and that hurt so much worse than any of his wounds.

And yet…

Dream could feel himself healing. It was slow- prime, it was so incredibly slow and tiresome and annoying- but it was happening. There were setbacks, because of course there were. But Dream was getting better.

He was healing. And that was all he needed.

OR:

Dream is released from prison after months of torture, and goes off on his Disney Princess arc. Healing takes time, but he’s determined to try.

Notes:

TW// implied torture, victim blaming, blood, mentions of injuries, ptsd, animal death (if there are any I missed, pls tell me!)

Enjoy, and stay safe out there!!! <3

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Work Text:

He was out.

He was out, he was free, he was finally safe, and Sir would never hurt him again… his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

A voice was screeching in the back of his mind, clawing down the walls he had built up so, so, so so so carefully, after they’d been torn down in the prison. It hurt, worse than the lashes on his back or his left leg, which was so twisted and bent he couldn’t walk on it anymore without falling back down. The voice was so loud , taking over every other coherent thought he had and ripping it to shreds.

GO BACK GO BACK GO BACK-

It was dark, wherever he was. He vaguely remembered the warden’s voice, something splashing down onto him, forcing potion after potion down his throat. Then he was lifted into the air and carried somewhere else. Somewhere cold, wind whipping at his hair and drying the blood soaked through his clothes. But he was out of the prison; he knew that much.

GO BACK-

Why did everything hurt so much?

His arms, his fingers, his neck and back and legs, screaming in pain. His head, thoughts crashing into each other like a flash flood into a canyon wall. He could taste the copper on his tongue, sharp and sour. It tasted good, he mused vaguely. Much better than potatoes, rotten from ages of sitting in a dispenser, and that was if he got any taste at all. Blood tastes much better than potatoes, even if it was his own.

Blood. It was everywhere. He could feel it, in his hair, on his face, covering his body like a blanket. It was one of those things he knew would never change. It was set, for eternity and forever, staying the same like the seasons, or the sun rising each day, right at dawn.

He hasn’t seen the sun in awhile. Not since… huh. He can’t remember. It’s probably not important, anyway.

Blood is an always. Like the way his collar feels around his neck. Like the way he can’t feel the left side of his face anymore. Like the way he keeps his head down, not allowed to look anyone in the eye.

GO BACK-

Maybe the voice was right.

He was cold, he was hungry (well, he was always hungry) and he just wanted to go home. Back to his cell, with the warm blanket of lava and obsidian tears. It was safe there, like blood. A constant.  Not this , where he didn’t know where he was or what to do. Sir had told him never to leave his cell, his home - why was he out here, in this cold, weird, out? He wanted to be in his cell, not here, not here, not here not here not here