We're Not Toys

Chapter 9

TW: Suicide attempt, Stockholm Syndrome, and violence

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Night stood over the passed out body of his brother, tears in his eyes. He sat down and flopped his body over his brother, being extremely careful to not even touch the injured arm. He had no medical experience, and didn't know what to do, so he decided just to air on the side of caution. Night should have been there for his brother, he knew that, he knew this was his fault. If he was actually a good brother then he would have been there for him. But, just like the last decade he wasn't anything other than something to stress Dream out. He knew he wasn't a good brother. All he wanted to do was to take all his pain away and make him that same happy boy he was before he was kicked out. Though maybe in hindsight he was just pretending to be happy half the time.

Either way, no matter what, Night wanted to take all that pain away from him. He hated having to look down at him, his doctor telling them that the cut was so deep and he lost so much blood that he wasn't even sure if he'd wake up. Why was it always him? Why couldn't he catch a break? It was like god him fucking self hated Dream, and wouldn't let him be free of his pain and suffering.

He barely reacted when the door opened, only turning his head to see who it was. Cross looked down at Dream sadly. He walked over to him and pulled up a chair next to him, rubbing Night's back in a way he hoped was comforting.

"What did they say?" Night asked quietly.

"He's getting a little better. But not by much." Cross said, tone laced with worry.

"Will he wake up?" he asked.

"They don't know. But they said he had a pretty high chance. They estimated about a 70% chance of waking up. But that his arm will probably be messed up for the rest of his life no matter what they do."

"70%, huh?" Night hummed.

"Yeah, so pretty good chances."

"He will flip when he finds out about how badly it will be messed up."

"Yeah. The captain probably will not take him back when he finds out."

Night looked up at Cross and squeezed his brother's hand. He sighed, knowing that Dream was not going to react well to the news. He fully expected a screaming or a crying fit. Though that was only if he woke up, unfortunately there was still a 30% chance that he just wouldn't. Night wiped away the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes at that thought and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. He turned back to Cross and quietly asked how Ink was doing.

"Not awake yet. He almost managed to get out somehow." Cross explained tersely.

"It really fucked them up in there, huh?" Night asked, chuckling to himself slightly, he had no idea how to deal with this.

"Yeah. The version of them that we both knew is gone."

"I did not even know them in the same way you did..."

"It's ok, you're here now. You're trying and I think that's all that really matters."

They sat in silence for another moment. Neither of them really knew what to say, other than Night whispering a small thank you. Nor did either of them know how to deal with anything that was happening. It wasn't every day that the people you care about get kidnapped and tortured. A suicide attempt was hard enough to deal with as is, but the added layers of the torture, Dream's lover being murdered, just... everything. Nobody, not even people that were more trained to help them, such as the doctors and psychologists, had any idea how to help. Despite how he was now back on his antidepressants they didn't seem to be helping at this point. The doctors also mentioned upping his dosage, but he had to wake up before they could even mention it.