(dream smp) heavy silences

*

(these are tws for both of the parts)
tw; smoking, weapons, blood, dying, gore

sum of this may not match up to what actually happened in the smp bc most of this is just me going off on my own

but ayo take a shot every time i mention eyes

"There is a traitor amongst your ranks," he said, and though his face was concealed one could tell just by his voice that a cocky smirk was plastered upon it. 

He was leaning on the hilt of his sword with both hands, tip of the blade pushed into stone as if it could make a dent, and was peering over his ledge at them. A laugh, low and demeaning. "A traitor much more surprising than Eret, someone none of you would ever expect."

The words struck something in them, he could tell, though they tried to let no emotion through the guards of stony expressions. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Tubbo's eyes, the mild panic in Fundy's. A clench in Tommy's jaw. Wilbur's eyes didn't waver from the ledge.

Dream left moments after the silence had dropped and after the rapid-fire of questions had begun, the answers to which he'd hid beneath an ambiguous laugh. They were so unsure, weak spots so easy to foresee. He didn't have to wonder as he scaled the cave walls to his exit, if their frantic arguing was anything to go by, his target had been hit, just as per usual. 

His sword returned to its scabbath and frosted grass crunching underfoot, he began to make his way through the forest and towards l'Manburg in the distance, humming a song under his breath to make up for the utter silence so far away from the city. He hated the silence, hated how it got inside his head and awoke thoughts he preferred to leave unthought, concerns he'd rather not go into detail with just yet.

Concerns Dream hid far too deeply within himself to ever let out. 

The silence always somehow managed to bring them to light, bring alive the doubts nestled in the corners of his brain, wriggling around dangerous ideals and strangling the blinded passion he ruled himself with. He hardly heard when his compass fell to the ground with a clatter because his hands were clutching his head and were shaking it with an animal-like type of despair, as if he could somehow shake out every last, torturous thought. 

God, how he longed for emptiness. For space in which the silence would do nothing but be silent. That's how silence was supposed to be, wasn't it? Silence wasn't supposed to be this loud.

Moments later Dream was walking, compass hanging at his side, hands tucked nonchalantly into the pockets of his hoodie. Familiar crunching underfoot, whistling of wind through the leaves above. The silence didn't have to be so complete, did it?

The sound wasn't quite as fulfilling as he'd hoped when he finally reached the city. He supposed, deep inside, he knew it wouldn't have been, but he tried to push these thoughts aside as through dust he strode. These memories of long-ago cities, of ringing melodies in orange sunsets and fortuitous visitors who were thought of as nothing more than tinted impressions. Memories he pushed to the back of his head, ready to ignore as he did most everything that hurt. He would refuse to admit it hurt. 

The man was slouched lazily on a rickety wooden chair when Dream entered, a cigarette puffing mere wisps of smoke from between his teeth as he stared off vacantly. Dream watched him from the doorway for a moment, unsure as to whether he'd been noticed, before walking inside and standing in front of the chair. 

"Schlatt." 

A few blinks to life, then a slow, gap-toothed smile. Schlatt plucked the cigarette out from between his lips and let it fall to the floor, spark of the smallest flame on its tip continuing to burn until it was extinguished by the leather toe of Dream's boot. Schlatt eyed him in amusement for this and leaned forward slightly, chin resting on intertwined fingers and elbows creasing the fabric of his dress trousers. 

"Dream," he responded, almost mockingly.

In an instant, a sword was at his throat and Dream's breath was heavy with anger. Up close, Schlatt smelled like alcohol and sweat. The glittering blade twisted against his Adam's apple.

Schlatt chuckled, brown eyes glinting with a sickening delight as they stared into the holes which made up Dream's. When he spoke, his breath was bitter with cigarette smoke. 

"Bit feisty today, are we?"

"Remember who has the power here, Schlatt," Dream growled lowly, pushing the blade ever closer until it was almost piercing the other man's skin. Brown eyes never wavered. "You may be the President, but just remember who got you this far." 

"Bullshit," Schlatt whispered with a slow grin. He looked like he wasn't even processing the weapon desperate to draw blood. "I've got what you care about. I know you, Dream, despite not knowing who the fuck you were 'til a couple months ago. I know what makes you tick, I'm good with that," his grin was nearing mania now, and brown eyes were on Dream unblinkingly, "No need to act all cocky and shit, I know you need me. You won't kill me. Not yet."

"You don't know anything about me," Dream muttered, but he was the first to draw away, tucking his sword into its scabbath and letting his eyes fall to the floor. Anger simmered true in his blood, a stewing pit which was bound to boil over. He watched as Schlatt lit another cigarette. 

"They'll be safe," Schlatt said suddenly, concealed from Dream's view behind a curtain of black smoke. He could barely make out Schlatt's eyes, brown but void of anything besides the dull shine of nicotine. "I keep my promises, even to motherfuckers like you."

Dream exhaled slowly.

"They do say keep your enemies closer. Not like I have a choice."

Schlatt's eyes were closed now and as he said these words his head tilted backwards towards the ceiling. Puffs of smoke rose above the two of them, little clouds which tickled the back of Dream's throat before they escaped out the open window. It was like this they sat for hours, in a silence far too impenetrable to be companionable, but too understanding to be something dangerous, and Dream watched Schlatt light another cigarette, and Schlatt counted the days. It wasn't much, but when you had nothing to begin with, it was something.

But God, how Dream hated the silence.