Chapter Text
You know that feeling, when everything just seems dull? The kind where sometimes you can’t really figure out why, but you’ve lost the feeling in your toes and everything is just drenched in white noise of your own making. The kind where the colour drains and the world goes into a monochrome greyscale that removes any semblance of life that was there; where you get a splinter but you can’t find yourself to be dramatic about it like you always do. The feeling where the cold is more harsh than playful, where the hot coco in your hands does nothing to sooth you. That feeling when everything has lost its touch, the feeling when the universe has stopped breathing life into what you know. That feeling where the silence is louder than noise and you look in the mirror and find someone else's eyes.
Well, that's how Dream felt the day after the trial.
He was still healing from the blow she had dealt to him, fingers tracing over the bandages after the whole ordeal. From his neck up to his nose, curling from his back all the way to the bridge, barely missing his eye. Even from that direct proof--of… abuse, and a part of an attempted murder. Dream still couldn’t find himself believing he deserved to be let off scot free.
Because his mom had been right, he should’ve aimed to stall her, talk her down until the police came or just knock her out not-- he shouldn't have done what he had done. His claws shouldn’t have been dug into her cheeks, his jaws shouldn’t have been clamped around her neck and there shouldn’t have been blood staining his paws and the floor of their dimly lit kitchen. (He hasn't talked to his mom since the trial, he hasn't called and she hasn't called either. Not even Drista has called.)
The day after the trial, when he had been declared innocent, he looked into the mirror.
What looked back wasn’t him.
What looked back wasn’t that 20 year old with a loving girlfriend and a happy life ahead of him, who was going to college and had graduated highschool 2 years ago as the top of his class. What looked back was a messy haired boy with a scar that never should've had that happened to him. What looked back was the unprepared mess of a man he was and the eyes of a monster.
He found he didn’t care that day.
That day he found he didn’t care about much.
That day, Ranboo had stopped to pluck a flower from the cracks in the sidewalk. He had given Dream a toothy grin and held the purple fuzzy thing up.
Dream found he didn't care much about that either.
Current Dream hoped he would never have to feel that feeling of numbness again, but Dream could never really have what he wanted could he?
He wakes up and that isn’t an uncommon way to start things. He wakes up, the tip of a dream on his tongue. It doesn’t bother him like it normally would. He sees Ranboo curled up at the foot of his bed like always and warm, fiery hot joy doesn’t fill him when he does. He gets up, stretches, makes pancakes that taste like cardboard.
He sees himself in the window reflection and he feels disconnected.
He’s there, he knows that. That's him staring back at him in the see-through space; with green eyes, blonde hair and a scar running from his back to the bridge of his nose indented harshly into his skin painted in watercolour pink-- but he feels disconnected. He moves but he doesn’t feel like he’s moving, he brings his hand up to brush the hair out of his eyes but it falls short and his hair doesn’t move. Reasonably he’s there and he knows he’s there, but he’s not.
He’s not because he looks into that see-through glass reflection and sees nothing but the view of the silent forest outside with sunlight sneaking around the trunks and leaves and branches that would normally block its shine.
Someone says his name and he knows he’s being talked to, but the crashing over imaginary waves drowns it out. Someone says his name again, and again, and again but he doesn’t answer because he cannot answer. His hand hadn’t lowered all the way, lingering on the ropey-feeling of the remnant of past actions on his skin. Nothing is really straightforward at that point. It's abstract.
The person--he knows this person, that he knows. The person gently takes his wrist and lowers it from his cheek, they take his shoulders and make him turn away from the invisible mirror to sit in one of the table chairs.
“Are you okay?”
Dream shakes his head mutely. They used to do this alot, he remembers. He would feel like this often and then Sapnap would sit him down and ask him questions like these. A bowl of hot water—but not too hot—would be placed in front of his hands and his fingers would be held gently as they lowered into the liquid; kept there until he blinked a few times and was back again. Other times, instead of a bowl it was a fruit--typically lemon. It would be cut into pieces and he’d be told to take a bite of it, he’d do that. The shock of the citrus taste would pull him back to reality.
As comforting as that was though, he still wanted to scream. To scream and cry and kick at the walls because how did he let himself get so fucked up? How did he… he was doing so well but then something like this happens and usually there's a reason--and albeit Dream's muddled brain, he couldn’t think of a reason. Usually it's something like stress or a trigger or whatever Puffy said at times; he hadn't been stressed though, had he? There weren't any… well, triggers that he could have encountered right? He had just woken up!
The hot bowl of water is placed in front of his hands.
Rough hands, tattered with burns from hot kettles and a little bit of fire magic, hands that were the hands of warmth envelop his own. The hands grip his own gently, lifting them and setting them under the water. Like coming in after handling snow with your own bare skin, the hot water is strange in that strange way that it's strange. Hot, cold and nothing at the same time.
He blinks a few times, his reflection clearing up in his eyes. He blinks a few more times, bringing his hands out of the water and shaking them until they’re dry.
“Welcome home, space cadet.”
Dream laughs.
“Thanks, Sapnap.”
The other man returns the favour of a chuckle, taking the bowl. Dream hears him pour it in the sink after purposely light footsteps. It goes silent after that.
"Well, I-- I uhm, have to go, ya'know. To like… work." Sapnap says after a few moments, the words tumbling out his mouth like a faulty dishwasher. Which, was an oddly specific simile to Dream, but it was the first thing his mind came up with. "Bye?"
Dream nods. "Bye."
The door clicks shut, and Dream is left to his thoughts. That day had been pretty off, for the record. He woke up in a fit for the first time in a while, he made pancakes but that didn't wake Ranboo up like it usually did—and Dream hadn't gone to go get him, being much time busy in his metaphorical void to do that. Then, Sapnap was being weird, the man didn't usually stumble over words awkwardly like that unless he was hiding something. Last time he did that he had been hiding a whole sexuality crisis—what's next? A whole boyfriend?
Whatever it is, it probably isn't his business.
Whatever, he needs to go wake up Ranboo so he can eat. He heads back to the back room, his hands are still warm from the water. He makes his way to the back room, stopping by the bed. Ranboo is hanging halfway off of it.
Dream quietly nudges him, he wasn’t about to be loud about it, last time the two had woken up to a loud noise… don’t think about it, he tells himself before his mind can wander. Even if Ranboo slept like the dead, he wasn’t about to be loud, and stuff. Simply nudge him ‘til he wakes, if he does it enough then he’ll open his eyes.
And it works, because Dream knows his kid, alright? He knows him, better than he knows himself. Which is sad, because imagine knowing a kid more than you do yourself. That’s just sad. Like, what happens in your life for that to even happen? (Murdering someone, thats what. Yeah it was in self defense, but she’s still dead, and at the end of the day he’s still the reason why.)
Tiredly, the werepups eyes blink open. He yawns, stretches, then he spots Dream and suddenly he's tackled by a big ball of overactive-puppy. Great, today was one of those days, the ones where Ranboo is hyper and he’s just too tired to deal with it all. He gently shoves his son off of him, grumbling as he does so. “Get offa me! You’re getting too heavy for that!” (He’s not heavy at all, Dream can lift him with ease. But Ranboo doesn’t need to know that.)
He pushes himself back up to his feet. “C’mon, breakfast is getting cold—I’m gonna have to microwave it.”
He hears Ranboo transform behind him, and the quiet footsteps—two not four. Then he hears running, and a small grunt, then running again. Ranboo is snow by his side, hugging a rabbit plush in his arms.
The rabbit plush was a raggedy thing, if Dream had anything to say about it. It used to be Dristas, and before that it was his, and before that it was their mom, and then before that it was his grandmas, the thing has passed through quite a few people. Years of toddler slobber and dirt and who knows what else has been soaked into its fur, one of its button eyes is falling out, held by little more than a string. There’s an off coloured patch where a rip used to be—he couldn’t sew, so he got Fi— her to do it instead. (Don’t think about her, don’t even mention her name, you’ll regret it, he tells himself.)
But Ranboo loves that thing. He named it Techno Jr. because he met Techno one time, and Techno mentioned his favourite animals were rabbits and pigs, and after that day came two days. One, Ranboo idolizing Techno—a guy he met once because Wilbur dragged the dude along to his babysitting job, and two: Ranboo coming up to Dream and telling him he finally has a name for his plush. Except, with not very fully formed words because that was like, what? Two years ago? And he’s like, four now. Ranboo wasn’t very good at speaking when he was two—he actually spoke his first words at 2 and 8 months, which is a bit longer than usual. He speaks really well now, though, except for the days when he doesn't like speaking. Wilbur told him he has a very advanced vocabulary for his age.
The sentence was more like Ranboo pointing to the rabbit plush and saying Techno Jr. over and over again. Not even a sentence.
Eventually he makes it to the kitchen. The leftover pancakes are cold. He puts them in the microwave. He opens it right before the beep, but the pancakes are still a little cold when he checks, so he microwaves it more for a few more minutes. He looks back at Ranboo, who's sitting at the table bench and kicking his legs, he’s whistling through the gap in his tooth—he does that a lot.
He sets the plate in front of Ranboo, taking the seat across from him. He pulls out his phone, it’s Friday, it’s like, 8 am, Wilbur’s still sick, so he has to bring Ranboo along for the interview at 9 am, which isn’t at Shari’s this time. It’s at the Library this time, the one right on the edge of Kinoko. With white walls, a red roof, and a mushroom themed sign saying Ezempi Public LIbrary, with little faeries flying around it—except the faeries aren’t really faeries, they’re just a crude rendition of them. He’s heard the Library is planning to change it to something less…offensive. Dream thinks they should change it to werewolves like him, even if werewolves can’t fly and aren’t traditionally associated with mushrooms.
He just has to make it through the day. Try not to let the numbness get to him. Find something happy to focus on, that’s what Puffy says. Find something detached from her to focus on, Puffy says. (But how can he do that when every single thing in this house has remnants of her and what she did?)
He sighs. There’s the flowers, he guesses. Sunflowers. In a pot on the back porch, it’s always facing the sun. They didn’t have flowers two years ago, she was allergic to them. So the flowers on the porch have nothing to do with her. There’s the books too, he got new ones like, a few months ago, and they’re actually the one’s he likes instead of the boring ones that she insisted they got because we’re both smart, we can’t afford to be reading dumb kids books, then proceeded to throw out some his favourites. So when she was gone, he rebought the books they’ve been sitting on his shelf ever since, but he hasn’t touched them since. All he can think of when he tries to read them is trying to grab his old books from her hands as she held them high—she was taller than him, then grabbed a lighter and threatened to burn them.
Fuck, this isn’t working. He keeps finding a way to connect everything to her, god can’t he just be normal for two seconds?
He doesn’t have time to wallow in his own sorrow though, because soon enough Ranboo taps him on the shoulder and holds out his now empty plate. Nothing was left except syrup and some pancake crumbs, and also the empty cup of orange juice on the plate.
Dream smiles, grabbing the plate and quickly rinsing all the syrup and pancake crumbs off, then he leaves it in the sink. Either he or Sapnap will deal with it, probably him, because he gets home before Sapnap today and he needs something to do. Dishes are an excellent excuse to run up the water bill via putting your hands under water so hot they should be burning up. He could also teach Ranboo to wash the dishes as well, he should get the habit into the kid early. Dream didn’t and it ended in him never knowing how to properly wash dishes until his first year (and only year) of college. Yeah, that sounds good.
He checks the time. 20 minutes till 9, he needs to find something to do. He thinks about doing something with Ranboo, but the boy has already picked off a book from the shelf and opened it. He would say he’s reading it, but the book is too hard for a four year old to read, he’s either staring at the words or looking at the pictures if it has any. Probably the latter, Dream is pretty sure this is one with the pictures. Ranboo is very immersed in ‘reading’ the book, so that means Dream has to find something on his own to do. Oh dear, that’s going to be hard. Most of the things he does to pass the time involves his son somehow, and his son is currently looking at pictures in a book. Yeah, that’s the one with pictures. It’s one of the few smart people books he kept after she left; it’s about the natural history and beautiful sights of America, it’s quite a big book, with lots of wonderful photography. Dream’s found himself looking at the pictures for ages, sometimes.
He looks at the bookcase, then sighs. Might as well suck up his losses and read. He quickly sets a timer to go off in 20 minutes, then chooses a random book from the shelf. How to be a Dictator: The Cult of Personality in the Twentieth Century. Another nonfiction book. He tries to remember where he got it from, but he can’t. Maybe it belongs to Sapnap, or perhaps he’s forgotten, which wouldn’t be very surprising. He forgets a lot of things, not often these days, but he still forgets. Especially when he’s in stressful situations. Puffy said it was a mental thing, something his brain does to protect itself or whatever. He think’s in this case, he just genuinely doesn’t remember how he got the book. Not some mind shit or whatever.
It’s about how dictatorship works, and stuff. Maybe Techno gave it to him, the guy likes topics like that. He would probably hand it to Dream and say: “Dude, you should totally read this. It’s really interesting and the knowledge in it is really worth readin’. Don’t you dare dog-ear it though, you heathen.” Or something.
Might as well. He starts reading. He traces his fingers over the words, using a piece of paper from his pocket to keep track of his line in the book. He rereads alot of the paragraphs over and over again, because his mind keeps fucking up the words, something it’s always done. For as long as he’s been reading, he’s always had to reread a few times just to get the proper comprehension in. Which make’s him a bit of a slow reader, but it’s fine.
He gets to page something-or-other (because the page numbers are roman numerals, for some reason) of the preface before the timer goes off. He dog-ears the book. It’s not like the book can feel it, it’s an inanimate object, but some people are weird and always yell at him for dog-earing books. It’s a wild concept to him, he’s just keeping his place in the book, no need to get all upset over it!
He whistles as he puts it away, before tapping Ranboo on his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, we gotta go. We’re going to the Library, remember? I told you yesterday, but you’re quite forgetful sometimes.”
Ranboo closes the book about the natural wonders of America, setting it beside him. “Mmmhm! I remember.”
Dream claps happily, something he tends to do. “We have to take the bus though, the Library’s a bit far. Do you think you’ll be able to?” (That’s code for: ‘do you think public transit will be too loud or bumpy or anything that’ll make you feel awful.’)
The kid stops for a moment, hanging his finger between his teeth. Dream can see him running his tongue repeatedly over his small canines, which were still growing, and would fall out soon in the coming years to make way for even stronger, sharper ones. For meat and stuff. They were already pretty sharp though, he was a werewolf after all. “Uhm…” He scrunches his nose up. “Can I use the headphones?”
Right, the headphones. Dream has some headphones that go with his phone. They aren’t noise canceling by any means, they don’t have any, but he knows that Ranboo likes listening to whatever music Dream puts on to drown out the noise of louder places.
“Sure,” He answers, pulling them out his pocket. He hand’s his phone over to Ranboo. “Keep good care of them, yeah?”
Ranboo nods enthusiastically, gently holding the phone in his hands. Dream watches as he navigates his way to Spotify, and presses on the child friendly playlist that Dream made a while back, the one he taught Ranboo to go to because the other playlists are for grownups, yeah?
Eventually, after seeing it was raining again and having to force Ranboo into a raincoat because the kid did not like raincoats for some reason—not in the way he dislikes loud noises or the feel of paper, in the way Dream hates spiders.
Then once they get out, they see that the bus is starting to leave its stop, and so Dream has to hoist Ranboo up into his arms and run across the street. The bus driver notices them, thank god, and is nice enough to let them on for free when they see that Dream has a kid. The bus isn’t very loud, but each stop has more people piling in for their daily commute to work or wherever else they need to go. The chatter gets going pretty quickly; even if the people are quiet, the amount of conversations happening all pile up into something louder. Not to mention the rocking and shaking of the bus, the machinery of it makes noise too, which only adds on to the chatter.
Then Dream hears his stop, and pulls the line. He taps Ranboo who is sitting in the seat next to him, with one earbud in and one earbud out. He takes hold of the kid's hand, and quickly leaves the bus. They don’t have umbrellas, sadly, but raincoats are pretty good. He’s still using the one his mom got him when he was 15, and Ranboo is wearing the one Wilbur got him for his third birthday. It barely fits anymore, but it’s all they have.
The Library is around here. Apparently there’s an area for kids to hang out in, maybe Dream can leave Ranboo there while he does the whole interview thing. (What if’s immediately fill his mind. What if someone kidnaps him, or what if Ranboo thinks he abandoned him? What if the other kids there are mean to him? What if he runs off and gets lost? Oh god. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would just continue bringing him along. Ugh. Or he and George could do the interview at the kids place. That could work. But wouldn’t that be weird? Maybe he should stop cat-astro-phi-zing, or whatever Wilbur says he does.)
By the time he’s stopped thinking, he’s on the steps of the library. Staring at the sign—it doesn’t have the faeries on it anymore, but they haven’t replaced them yet either. Guess they did get to removing the offensiveness of it all.
He pushes open the door, looking around. It’s been a while since he’s been here. Last time he went here was like, what? In highschool? He started buying books instead of checking them out by the time he turned 18, mainly because he could never remember to check them back in and he doesn’t want to deal with library fines, you know? He’s pretty sure he still has the library card lying around at his mom's place, not like he would go get it. It still smells like paper and flowers.
Ranboo taps his shoulder. He looks at him. He’s holding out Dream's phone and headphones back to him.
“We’re in a library. It’s quiet now and I don’t need them anymore.” Is all he says. He’s using full sentences today, which is nice.
Dream smiles, pocketing his phone and headphones. “That’s great, bud.” He says, patting the fluff of Ranboo’s hair. Just like his dad. Fluffy hair. They both have fluffy hair, it’s great. Fluffy hair is like, the best.
Okay… Now he has to like, find George. He said he would be upstairs, right? In the nonfiction sections; mentioned he would probably either be looking at ones about plants or reading at a table. Okayyy, up the stairs they go!
Eventually, after a bit of looking, he finds who he’s looking for. He’s at a table, like he said, and he’s reading a book. Flora, Fauna & Pots: A Condensed History of Potions. Seems interesting, but Dream never was the type of guy to care for magic very much. Like, you can make things float, cool, get over it already! Yeah, he’s made his fair share of potions, he took the elective in highschool because why not. The only real magic he cares about is the magic that keeps his lights on, which is none.
He ushers Ranboo over, sitting on the opposite side. George put’s down his book, dog-earing the page. Good to see another like-minded person around here! Despite it supposed to be a bit of a fancier, more professional occasion, George looks like he just rolled out of bed. Dream probably looks the same, even though he did brush his hair and throw on a shirt with a cool looking collar on it.
“Babysitter still sick?” Is the first thing George says to him. For a second Dream is scared he’s going to be like: how dare you bring a child here!! Fired before you even get the job, get out of my sight!
Dream sighs, although a bit dramatically. “Yeah. I’m starting to get worried, he’s not usually sick for any more than a day.”
George laughs. “I get that! I have a friend who, coincidentally, is also sick right now. He’s been complaining to me all week about it.”
“Anyways.” George continues, digging into the bag beside him. He pulls out a clipboard and pen. “Onto the rest of this whole thing . Uhm…okay first question, why do you want to work at Kinoko?”
Dream knows the answer. He got fired from his last job, he needs money. He needs money for Ranboo, and him, and to help Sapnap pay the rent because he doesn’t just want to start leaching off of his friend again. He needs the money for food, for transit, he can’t just go without it. But George just thinks Ranboo is his brother, it’s not like he could say oh yeah, I need money to help keep me and my son afloat with my best friend. He’d have to come up with something to keep up with his story so far.
“Uhm… my last job fired me for being a werewolf, and me and my friend's landlord might raise our rent again, so we kinda need the money.” He says, and it’s the truth. He and Sapnap do need the money. They really do. “And my mom is sick so I have to take care of Ranboo more often and how can I do that if I don’t have a house? I’m going to be honest, I only want the job because I need the money.”
The mom part is a lie, he hasn’t talked to his mom in nearly two years. He has no idea how she’s been doing.
George nods, writing something down. “Valid. Uh- what are some of your best qualities?”
“Uhm…” Dream is hung up on that one. He knows what they are, he and Sapnap went over it yesterday together. He’s good with children and people in general, he’s decent and leading a team of people, and he tries his best to be on time. Those are all good qualities, right? Sapnap says he has a big heart and anyone who disagrees just hasn't known him long enough. But he has issues, a lot of them! And those outweigh his good qualities from the sheer amount of them! He’s literally killed someone for fucks sake—even if it was an accident and he was declared innocent and it was a case of reactive abuse or whatever Puffy says. He gets scared easily, he needs things repeated for him a bunch and if someone speaks too loud he goes unresponsive. He’s irresponsible, that's for sure. He has a kid at 22, if that doesn’t scream irresponsible he doesn’t know what does. He just kind of sucks all around, in his opinion. But Sapnap says that just his self-hate talking, not what he actually is. Puffy says that too, or at least some variation of it. Wilbur also tells him that, and Techno’s said it once or twice. “I’m… good with people, I’m cha-ris-mat-ic. And I also have great leadership skills; I have a good work ethic. I like learning about things, but I get distracted very easily… I can lift heavy things and run pretty fast?”
“I’m like, so weak, hired.” George says, although Dream knows it’s jokingly. “I don’t really get the need for all these other questions. But umm… hm… do you have a background in potions or barista-stuff, like, and how to mix the two? There’s a name for it, but I kind of forgot.”
“Mixology?” He tries. He’s heard of it a few times, but he’s pretty sure that’s for like… alcohol and shit.
“Yes! That!” George exclaims, and Dream see’s Ranboo wince a bit. It seems George noticed too, because he settled back into his seat. “Anyways, do you have any experience with mixology?”
“I took a potions class in highschool, if that counts?” Dream asks, even though it probably doesn’t. “But like, not really, no. I’m not even all that good at handling a coffee maker… what the hell am I doing? I’m trying to get into a job relating to making coffee and I don’t even know how to make coffee properly!”
George flips through a few of the papers of his clipboard. “It’s alright we can teach you. And you don’t have to make coffee, you can take care of the cats or something…” He pauses. “Speaking of, do you know anything about pet care? And are you available to take the cats home at night? They don’t like being cooped up all the time.”
Dream tenses a bit. “I dunno if you’ve noticed but I’m like, a weredog–”
“Werewolf.” George corrects. “Besides, that’s a stereotype. The cats will like you just fine as long as you aren’t tormenting them. Patches liked you, didn’t she?”
“I guess.” He says, before realizing George actually took note of that. “Wait a minute! How did you know about that? And how did you remember anyways— like, I was probably just one customer in the hundreds that probably come in over the months–”
“I’m very observant.” George says bluntly, as if that was the answer to everything ever. “Anyways, the cats will love you. You have that personality.” He continues, and just doesn’t elaborate on what that personality is. “You can lift heavy things, you can run, you can take care of the cats at night… yeah you’ll fit right in. We can start teaching you some mixology stuff for the menu, we can discuss hours later. Come in whenever on Monday, yeah?”
Then he just stands up, puts his book in his bag, and slings it over his shoulder. “Bye.” He says, waving. Dream waves back, watching him disappear down the stairs.
“DeeDee-” Says a small voice, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we get some books please?”
Dream smiles, turning to Ranboo. “Yeah, sure.”
(Guess he’s going to be coming to the Library a lot more often than he does.
He feels less numb than he did when he woke up. The feeling has returned to his body.)