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Summary
Dream laid with his back to the obsidian wall, breaths heaving as they poured out of his lungs. He swiped a knuckle across his brow to brush the loose hairs out of the way and grimaced at the dark crimson liquid he left behind. His arm dropped back to his side and he pulled a knee up to prop his other arm open to the air, letting the heat of the lava-encased room dry the blood dripping from his fingers. He let out a sigh of relief.
Finally... sweet sweet silence.--OR--
What would've happened if Dream HADN'T resurrected Tommy right away?
**WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE/INJURY AND VIOLENCE AGAINST MINORS**
***ON INDEFINITE HIATUS***