Work Text:
Heavy footsteps reverberated over the once bustling ravine full of life and energy. From the stone stairs, came a green-cloak man, a porcelain mask with a smile drawn on the surface constantly covering his face. On his hand, a bouquet of hyacinth was brought, not really sure what for.
The man continued to walk along the path, not bothered by the lack of light nor voices that usually filled the ravine, making it less daunting. He was already familiar with the place, after all, he did live here for a while. Moment passed by, he halted his step.
It seemed he finally reached his destination.
Before him, there was a man-made tombstone, made from cobblestone. Wilbur Soot is what was written over the tombstone, followed by a loving husband, friend, and brother beneath it. It looked dusty over time, with vines started hovering around the stone, as if no one remembered the existence of the tombstone itself. And maybe that’s the whole truth, because he never told them about the tombstone to everyone else, not even Tommy knows.
Because he made it solely for himself.
Dream examined the tombstone for a full minute, to see if something needed to be fixed or whatnot. The bouquet he had brought over was then put in front of it, before sitting down beside it.
There was a silence looming over him. The quiet of the ravine was comparable to a graveyard. It was deathly silent, still as a stagnant pond. The memories here run just as deep. He could go hours and hours without talking, allowing himself to enjoy a quiet moment all by himself, maybe even imagining the brunet who stole his heart sitting beside him and not in a far far away land.
Dream began to speak in afterthought.
“We won the war,” Dream said, a hand removed his mask from his face and placed it on the ground, “but you probably already knew that.” He was the first person who had been appointed as a president after the whole ordeal had been resolved. He knew this, he saw him on that podium that day.
“People were cheering, your people, were cheering. The city was overflowing with joy. You know, that kind of stuff.”
Dream can still remember as if they were yesterday. The moment they took Manberg, Lmanberg, from Jschlatt’s tyranny. As much as he disliked the nation, seeing people overjoyed by the victory put a smile on his face. He might seem to be indifferent to the nation, but he cares a lot about the people on this server.
He let out a sigh, head lifted upwards, gaze over the palate with a sad smile graced over his lips. “Although, at the end, Technoblade decided to become his anarchist self and destroy Manberg, but hey, I’m sure they would rebuild again. After all, Tommy and Tubbo are stubborn like that, especially Tommy.”
Chuckles slipped past through his lips.
“You wouldn’t mind if I blow the country again, right?”
Once again, Dream let the silence take over, but this time accompanied by solitude that came after. A sorrowful look now visible on his green ocular. Pulled his legs onto his chest, he then continued his monolog.
“Until now, I still didn’t understand why you would do that.” A cold breeze blew over him, though it did nothing as his heart was already frozen. “I know you didn’t like what L’manberg had become, and so do I! That’s why, when you suggested that we blow them up, I agree.'' He paused briefly to catch his breath. “But, if I knew it would end up like this, then I would rather see that country run than have to pay the cost with your life.”
He had many regrets over the year. However, this one stood out the most. Because, he could have actually stopped it, if only he was more attentive to his surroundings that day.
All fingers pointed at him, blaming him for the loss of the ex-president. If this a normal situation, when he was put in such a situation, he would immediately refute the accusation, saying they had it coming. However, this time he had none to give. Hell, even he himself thought that too.
He wondered what would happen if he never agreed to help him in his endeavor. What if he declined the fake marriage he had offered, would he still be alive by now?
“Everything went as we planned, we took down Jschlatt, you blew up L’manberg, and everything should be back to normal!” You can hear the frustration over his tone, as well as the desperation mixed with it. He threw his arms side to side, to emphasize his phrase.
“Then why,” he said, “why are you still choosing death over us?” He turned around to see the tombstone beside him, quiet and silent as always. “Why are you still begging your father to kill you, I don’t understand! Is L’manberg being blown up wasn’t enough for you? Or is it because you can’t be with Quackity? Or was it something else? Just tell me! I would have understood, I always understood you, didn't I?”
He gritted his teeth. He was angry at Wilbur for letting himself be killed at the hand of his father. He was angry at Philza who chose to obey his son’s wishes. He was angry at people who had done nothing but watch as the show began to unfold.
But most importantly, he was angry at himself for not saving him in time.
He wanted to scream at the world, at how unfair this was all. Just when he found the one he truly loved, the universe decided to take him in the cruelest, if not, horrible way from his grasp.
“You promised me on our last night that you would return. We would return alive. You would give me your answer. You made a promise, Wil!”
He was trembling, it was evident in his voice. The once greatest knight on the SMP was wavering before the empty tombstone. Turns out, Wilbur’s death was affecting him more than it should have.
“You promise ….”
It was easier to imagine the brunet laughing cockily over something so trivial than buried six feet underneath. That way, his grief and sorrow would disappear, if only for a little while. But the reality of his situation always hit him in the most hurtful possible. The fact that he could no longer hear his voice, or even see him, would always send him into despair.
He didn’t know when he started to cry, but when he realized, his cheeks were already stained by tears, streaming down from his eyes. Mourning the loss of his loved one.
“These nights are so lonely without you.” He pleaded, feeling more hopeless than before. Pleaded before the tombstone of a dead man who will never return. The ache in his chest will not go away in a long time.
“Please, let me hear your voice calling my name again. I miss you.”
Tonight again, in the depth of the ravine, there sat a pitiful man in grief beside a tombstone, crying a quiet sob. The hopeless, sorrowful wish would be uttered from his mouth, echoing throughout the walls.