Archive of Our Own

The night moves like a wounded animal. Darkness drags itself over the moss-covered rocks, wind wraps itself around the bark of the trees and slips into the cracks of dried mud on the forest floor. Dream doesn't shy away, instead he welcomes the darkness. He allows it to swallow him whole as he steps out of his trailer, a broken and rusty piece of metal, beaten by weather and taken back by nature; half-merged with vines and weed and on the brink of collapse. It’s home though, the only option for shelter he has left.

A hand fumbles for the scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, making sure it's still in place. Technically it's useless, but he still doesn't fully trust the air not to fill his lungs with poisonous gas. It's the sort of paranoia that’s carved too deep into his being to simply be shaken off.

He still remembers the first year after the End of the world, the uncertainty, the fear. He hadn't dared to hunt for a very long time, too afraid that the flesh of his prey was still tainted by radiation. It's different now. Years have passed, and Dream has learned, adapted. Now, he knows to only drink rain water, to avoid the raw rays of the sun, to hide his skin from any insects and to refrain from eating animals smaller than rabbits.

He strides forward into the woods without hesitation. The old wood of his crossbow groans under his fingertips, but the leaves on the ground don’t make a single sound despite the heaviness of his boots.

People have been taught to fear the night, that every corner and every shadow could house the pale bones of a skeleton, the clicking fangs of a spider or the rotten flesh of the forlorn souls that hadn't been able to escape the poisonous air in the first months after the End. But Dream has learned to wear the darkness like a second layer of clothes, to use the shadows to his advantage and move with the night to elude the malicious sun.

A stick breaks to his right. Leaves rustle above the forest floor. Dream hopes for a deer, big and with plenty of meat wrapped around its bones. Flinging his crossbow up and pulling the trigger, he trusts his ears and years of experience to guide his fingers blindly. He listens into the darkness, picking up on the whistling of the arrow. A high-pitched yelp follows, then a thud. Swiftly switching out his crossbow for a knife, he lunges forward.

He can feel the breath get knocked out of the animal as he crashes into it, blade automatically going for the throat to put it out of its misery as quick as possible, but when he goes to stabilize himself on the animal's rib cage, instead of the wiry fur of a deer his fingers brush over skin and fabric.

Startled, he pulls back a bit, eyes squinting into the dark and widening as he catches glimpses of an alarmed and very human-looking face.

As if burned, Dream drops his knife. “What the fuck.”

For a moment he wonders if the isolation and loneliness have finally gotten to him, if he's truly gone mad. If his craving for closeness and touch of another human being has gotten so bad, his brain has started to conjure hallucinations out of thin air.

But then the hallucination begins to groan and move, shoving him off and the dull pain of hitting the unyielding ground feels a tad too real for it to only be a fragment of his imagination.

“You shot me!” the stranger exclaims, loud – too loud, and Dream throws a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Holy shit, you fucking shot me!” The man's hands are clamped down around the shaft of the arrow, skin speckled carmine.

“What are you doing here?” Dream finds his discarded knife between the roots of a tree. The metal soothes his palm, a promise of protection and defense.

The stranger glowers at him warily. “I'm lost. Got separated from my group.”

“Your group?” Dream repeats, surprised by the stranger's honesty. He thought that trait had been long lost to mankind.

The man nods, following him as he gets up from his crouched position and wincing when the movement jars his injury.

Dream clicks his tongue, regarding the stranger with a calculating stare. The man appears to be around his age, if not slightly younger. He seems ragged, strangely naked in his thin clothes compared to the thick ropes Dream wears to protect himself from any insects. He almost looks like a foal, clumsy and helpless, newly exposed to a foreign world.

It's rare nowadays, for Dream to feel uncertainty creep anywhere near his cold and confident demeanor. He does feel kind of bad for shooting the man (especially when he sees him grimace every time the arrow shifts in the wound) but the thought of inviting a complete stranger into his home in order to patch him up and compensate for an injured shoulder makes his gut twist with unease.

Dream's excruciatingly aware that this could all be a ploy, a trick from hunters planning to ambush him and rob him of his belongings. But hunters are normally found in big towns or cities, places that have far more to offer than a forest. It doesn't seem plausible, for hunters to look for loot under the canopy of leaves far away from any sign of life.

Still, Dream's cautious. He’s been through too much already to be so stupid as to let down his guard now. “What kind of group?”

“Rescuers.”

His grip around the knife tightens until his knuckles turn white and his wrist begins to cramp from the force of it. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“It's uh, kind of a long story. Maybe we could-“ the stranger cuts himself off, anxiously squinting into the veil of the night. “I’ll tell you everything once we're out of the forest, I promise. Just... I don't feel safe right now.”

Dream wants to say no, wants to push the blade of his knife against the man's throat and force answers out from behind his teeth, his skin itching with too many questions. The stranger is right, though. It's not safe here, not with the fresh trail of blood trickling down from the man's arm.

He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. A light thrum of pain blooms up behind his temple, the telltale of a headache sneaking up on him. “Follow me.”

Dream is quiet all the way back to his trailer. The silence is supple under his hands and smooth against his skin, and for a moment he closes his eyes, concentrating on the crisp breeze scurrying through the treetops and the creak of his crossbow.

A stick breaks under the weight of his boots as he crouches down and pulls the loose part of the wire fence to the side to get through. The main entrance of the campsite is on the opposite side of the property and blocked off by barricades Dream put into place after a creeper had almost blown up his trailer.

The footsteps that are trampled into the moss that grows on the rocks leading up to his trailer are his own. It’s been a long time since another soul got lost out here. A faint glow of a torch greets them as they step onto the porch of Dream's home. He always keeps it lit when he goes outside. It used to be a guide in case he got lost, now it's more about the sentiment than anything else.

It's messy inside, stray weapons on the kitchen counters, blankets hanging off the bed in the back, dust and dirt on the floor. Dream nudges the stranger over to the table in the far right corner, grabs the first-aid kid he’d stolen from a gas station and ignites a few of his half-melted candles. They only give scarce lighting, but it's better than absolute darkness.

“Talk,” he says, abrasive, tugging the man's shirt away from the wound.

The stranger hesitates at first, fingers nervously twitching against the table, but as Dream starts to patch up his injury, the tension seems to seep out of him and his tongue begins to loosen.

He begins to talk about the first few months after the End – as if Dream doesn't already know everything there is to know, but the stranger cuts him off before he can interrupt him.

“I need to start from the beginning for you to understand,” the man – Sapnap, as he introduces himself diligently, giving up his name much more willingly than Dream – explains.

Reluctantly, Dream leans back in his chair and listens.

Sapnap used to live in Texas before shit hit the fan, in a rather big city. The first few months were rough. A fight for food and water broke out between those who'd survived. Sapnap’s family soon realized that their home city had become a hazard zone and left as abruptly as they could. Two years, they wandered around aimlessly. They made a few friends on the way, but mostly tried to keep to themselves.

They'd been in an abandoned mall, searching for food and clothes, when they stumbled across a radio. The message was broadcasted three weeks later. A safe-haven, somewhere in the north, away from mutated animals and acidic rain and crazed men. The place promised safety and protection, a second chance of life.

Sapnap's family didn’t trusted the message at first, but they were tired of always being on the look-out, of never feeling safe and having to travel from place to place.

It had been a tedious and perilous journey, but in the end, it was worth it. The safe-haven was far away from any radiation; the air and water were clean and the animals healthy, the grass growing on fertile soil a fresh green instead of a sickly yellow, and the walls encasing the grounds tall and stable enough to keep any dangers out.

Over the years, the people began the process of rebuilding society out of shattered ruins.

“We've even managed to build whole villages,” Sapnap adds, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. His mouth must be parched from all the talking. Dream doesn't offer a glass of water. He's lost in his own mind as he mechanically works on Sapnap's shoulder. Every word coming out of the stranger's lips feels like barbwire, tying itself around his gut, squeezing and twisting his intestines.

“We've started sending out groups of people to go and look for any more survivors that could join us,” Sapnap continues, only slightly wincing when Dream wraps the bandages a tad too tight. “It's why I'm out here right now. We were traveling through some town near this campsite. But then I got separated from them, and when I tried to find my way back to them, I got lost.”

It's the first time throughout the whole telling, that Sapnap's voice starts to waver. His gaze is cast to the ground, but Dream catches a glint of wistfulness. “I don't know where they are now; if they're out there looking for me or are already on their way back to Serenity – the safe-haven.”

A silence settles over them. For Sapnap it seems almost suffocating, for Dream it's familiar.

“I'm finished,” Dream says after what could have been mere seconds or infinite minutes.

“What?”

He pulls his hands away, collecting the untouched bandages from the table to put them away again. “Your shoulder. I'm finished with it.”

“Oh,” Sapnap meekly mutters, “Thank you.”

Dream shrugs, “I shot you. It’s the least I could do.” After a beat, he thoughtfully adds, “Sorry about the arrow by the way. I expected you to be a deer.”

The snort leaving Sapnap startles Dream, and he throws a glance over his shoulder, finding the man already looking at him with an amused expression. “All good, dude. As long as you don't do that again. Fucking hurt like a bitch.”

Dream nods stiffly, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room for a moment, before continuing cleaning up the bloodied cloths and bandages. He can hear the light thudding of Sapnap's fingers hammering against the edge of the table. For a second time, Dream stops to take him in; his scarce clothing and tousled appearance. Something gnaws at his insides.

“Here.” Sapnap jolts upright in his chair, eyes wide with surprise and darting up and down, unsure at what to look at first – the poncho and white bandana or Dream who's lazily thrown both of the items onto the table in front of him.

Dream rolls his eyes, impatiently pushing the items further into Sapnap's direction. “You aren't wearing enough clothes. You need more protection against the insects, too many possible diseases if you get bit by one. You can put the bandana around your mouth. And who knows if the air is fully clean just yet.”

He watches as Sapnap opens his mouth before immediately closing it again, lost for words.

Dream huffs, “You're naive.”

“Excuse me?”

“I could have killed you, y'know? Outside in the woods most people wouldn't have hesitated. Strangers mean nothing but trouble nowadays.”

A small smiles breaks out on Sapnap's lips, coy but playful. “Good thing I ran into you, then.”

Dream blinks. “I suppose so.” He slowly nods, gaze falling back down to the poncho and bandana. Both fabrics are rough but thick under his fingertips. “The night's still young. Better get going now. More time to search for your friends before the sun comes up.”

He knows he's being unnecessarily cold and dismissive when he accompanies the stranger out of his trailer and back to the hole in the fence, one hand sternly pressed into Sapnap's back to make him pick up the pace a notch. He can't help it. He isn't used to being around someone, not anymore. It makes him jittery and restless. He wants to be alone again, in his small, dusty trailer in the middle of nowhere, relishing in the peace and quiet.

Sapnap has put on the poncho, but the white bandana is hanging loosely in his hand. He shrugs when Dream asks him why he doesn't use it to cover his mouth. “It's probably fine. The air seems clean enough.”

Dream has the sudden urge to smack him over the head. Sapnap just grins, toothy and provocative, and his hands lift the bandana up, tying it around his head and using it to keep his hair out of his face instead of protecting his mouth like Dream expected, “Much better.”

The annoying grin stays on his face until he squeezes himself through the hole in the wire fence and realizes that Dream has stopped and isn't following him anymore. He turns around, staggered, “You're not coming?”

He sounds so confused, as if there has ever been any possibility that Dream would go with him. Dream knits his brows together, shifting the weight of his crossbow from one arm to the other. “No. Why would I?”

"Serenity, the safe-haven. Maybe I didn't make myself clear enough, but when I said we're looking for survivors, I meant you too. You can come with us.”

Dream still doesn't move. “No thanks.”

From the way Sapnap's jaw falls open and he’s looking at him like he grew a second head, it's apparent that he's the first one to ever reject that offer. “Why the fuck would you not want to go to Serenity?”

Dream shoots him a cold glare, almost feeling guilty when Sapnap flinches back. But his stomach is still churning from what Sapnap has told him in the trailer, intestines nauseatingly tied together.

Three years. There has been a safe-haven for the past three years. While Dream and others have been out in the world, fighting for their lives with blood, tears and sweat, there has been people who got the chance to live a calm and peaceful life. Dream can feel the bile rise in his throat.

“I'm not coming with you,” he simply says, tone brusque.

He brushes off Sapnap's quizzed expression, ignoring the beat his heart skips, and turns away from the fence. He can see the glow of the torch on his trailer from here. He tips his head to the side. It appears a bit bigger than normal, the light almost swallowing the entire door.

Dream blinks. The realization takes a moment to fully seep in.

He barely registers the shocked "Holy shit--” that escapes Sapnap in a chocked-off gasp, blood roaring in his ears as he sprints the stone path back to his home.

The trailer is on fire.

His boots stir up the dirt as he comes to a staggering halt in front of his home. The flames are spreading fast, eating through the framework at an alarming pace. Almost the entirety of the trailer is made out of wood and so the fire devours it with ease. The heat bites into his cheek, slithers under his clothes and soon it feels as if he's on fire too, a scalding, smoldering pain. He opens his mouth – to scream or cry, he isn't sure – but before even a single sound can slip out, the air in his lungs is replaced by charred smoke, scorching his tongue and teeth and throat.

The cool hand that is placed onto his shoulder to bring him out of his stupor is jarring against his blazing skin. He doesn't know when Sapnap has slipped back through the fence, but suddenly he's right beside him. The flames are dancing in his eyes that have gone glassy from the smoke when Dream turns his head to look at him, an inferno of angry red.

Distantly, he wonders how something so devastatingly, horrifyingly catastrophic can look so hauntingly beautiful.

They stand there for what must be hours, watching the fire swallow the trailer whole and feeling the heat etch into their flesh. Dream doesn't say a word, silently mourning his home as the wood turns to ash and the embers billow up into the night sky.

It's a numbing realization, that everything is gone now. His weapons, the small trinkets he's collected from all over the world, the stuffed cat he found after the first year in an abandoned kid's store.

Just like that, gone.

“A spider must've knocked the torch down,” Dream says, some time after the last hiss of the flames has died down. It's deep into the night now. Above their heads, the stars are glinting like fireflies in the darkness. It smells like burned wood and smoke.

He has lit the torch next to the door more times than he can count, over and over again, every time he left the trailer until the action became a deeply engraved habit. Not once did a monster come close enough to his home when he was away that it could come anywhere near the fire.

His eyes fall onto the stone path in front of him, the only thing now left of his home. The drops of blood have dried, the red turned almost black against the soot-covered rock.

A dry, strangled laugh escapes his smoking throat, “Your blood must've attracted a spider. They tend to climb up the fence from time to time.”

When he looks up, Sapnap's eyes are dark with bone-deep remorse. “I'm sorry-“

“Don't.” Dream shakes his head. He crouches down, picking up the crossbow he didn't even notice has fallen out of his grip, before straightening his spine and turning away from the ash and embers. There is a hollowness in the chest cavity that's supposed to house his heart. He feels tired, older than he is.

He's halfway down the path when he realizes Sapnap isn't following him. “Are you coming?”

“To where?”

“Serenity.”

Trying to find Sapnap's group is like finding a needle in a haystack. They don't even attempt it, not wanting to waste time. Instead, they start the long and toilsome journey to the safe-haven.

The taste of smoke stays behind Dream's teeth for days, no matter how many time he washes his mouth with rain water.

They travel at night. It increases the risk of running into monsters, but they are at least safe from the skin-melting sun and that's all Dream cares about. He has gotten quite good at shooting phantoms out of the sky and slicing a creeper's head clean off, but he has yet to manage to even get near harming the golden death shimmering above his head.

They camp in caves or abandoned buildings during the day, trying to get as much rest as possible before continuing traveling. Sapnap can faintly remember the way to Serenity, and even though Dream isn't quite sure if he can trust his sense of direction, it's all they have.

They don't talk much. It's mostly an awkward silence between them. It's both comforting and crushing. Dream isn't used to socializing, not after being isolated from any human contact for the past year. Suddenly being bound to another person, traveling and eating together, sleeping in close proximity and having to work with them rather than against them feels like a whiplash to him.

Though as much as he preaches to hate it, sometimes he catches himself slowly but surely growing fond of it. Somewhere deep down, he's missed being around someone.

He tries not to let it show on the outside, quickly building up a defensive wall of cold indifference. When he has to talk to Sapnap, it's curt and dismissive. The glances he throws at him are cool. It comes easy, locking his heart up.

"It's not good for you," Karl had said once, back when the rain was constantly acidic.

"It is," Dream replied. "It's called surviving."

They come across a town on the third day. The buildings are covered in thick coats of moss, window's shattered by veins forcing their way inside and roofing shingles warped and crumbled.

Most of the stores they find are already looted, and Dream's mood sours the more they near the center of the town. Back at the trailer, he always used to keep canned food in stock, in case hunting wasn’t successful.

The convenience store they find next to an empty clothing store is a complete mess, shelves kicked over and trash piling up on the floor. Dream doesn't think they will find anything, but it's worth a try. They have nothing to lose, after all.

As Dream leans over to peer behind the register, Sapnap's head shoots up from behind aisle second. “What are we even looking for?”

Dream huffs out a sharp breath, leveling him with an annoyed look, “We're looking for food, dumbass.”

Sapnap's lips thin. “I know that, but what kind of food? Just whatever it is that's in cans, or anything specific?”

“I'm sure you lived an affluent and prosperous life back in Serenity, but unfortunately us mortals out here do not have the privilege to pick and choose what to eat,” Dream bites back, a lot harsher than necessary. Sapnap's face twists into an expression he can't read, but he doesn't care enough to try and decipher it, instead opting to continue his search for food.

Ultimately, it's Sapnap who finds it in form of a few forgotten cans cramped between two fallen shelves. When he reaches out to pass them over to Dream, he keeps his eyes cast to the ground.

“Do you hate me?” The question Sapnap asks him at the end of the first week feels like a punch to the gut.

Dream has his weapons laid out in front of him, carefully placed next to each other. There is only his crossbow and two of his knifes left. Everything else has been lost in the fire. Sapnap is sitting next to a river, trying to wash his hair. The water is cold, Dream can tell by the way Sapnap shivers every time his hands dip under the surface.

“Why would I hate you?”

“It's my fault.” Sapnap's voice is raw with guilt, like it has been every day for the past week. “That you lost your home.”

“The trailer wasn't my home.” Dream's fingers follow the string of his crossbow. If he presses down hard enough, he could cut himself on it. “I lost my home when the world fell apart five years ago.”

Dream doesn't hate Sapnap. At most he’s pissed at him, because at the end of the day it was his fault that the spider got near the trailer in the first place. But he is also pissed at himself for forgetting about the trail of blood leading to his home. And he's pissed at the world for having gone to shit and dooming humanity.

Dream is pissed at a lot of things, nowadays. But being angry doesn't lead to anything. It doesn't undo the fire, doesn't bring back his trailer, and it also doesn't change anything about the fact that the world as they know it is ruined forever.

“Then why are you so distant.”

Dream's finger's falter. Sapnap looks young, sitting criss-crossed on the beach of pebbles next to the cheerful burbling river. And he is, isn't he? So is Dream. They had both still been teenagers when the world collapsed in on itself and turned their lives upside down.

Fate's one motherfucker. Neither deserve what has happened to them.

Dream doesn't reply to Sapnap's question. Instead, he puts his crossbow down and gets up from his crouched position, “Would you like me to teach you how to hunt?”

He stretches his hand out in a silent offer. Gingerly, Sapnap takes it.

The stag's antlers are beginning to shed, fur hanging off of them like shreds of moss. The animal grazes in-between two birch trees marking the entrance of a dense forest, head bent to the ground and ears flicking nervously.

Dream thumbs over the moon-fogged silver plates embellishing the sides of his crossbow, before taking out an arrow, the fledgling brushing against his chin as he hooks it in place. He wordlessly beckons Sapnap over with a nod of his head. "Be careful," he whispers over the quiet hum of the wind that lowly sweeps over the field, carefully passing on the crossbow.

For a moment, Sapnap's fingers clumsily move around the handle, not quite sure how to properly hold the weapon. Dream's lips quirk up, half way to a smile, and he shuffles closer to correct the position of his hands, gently prying his fingers off the riser and stock, moving them down to the fore-grip and trigger.

The seams of Sapnap's poncho dig into Dream's chest, no doubt leaving faint red marks behind, and it's only the hitch in Sapnap's breath that makes him realize how close he is to the other. The wind picks up and the poncho flutters in the breeze, joining the mellow sway of the agrimonies and cornflowers and weeds growing around them.

Sapnap's body heat feels scorching next to him.

Abruptly, Dream steps back, almost stumbling over a stone on the ground, a nauseating swirl of memories forcing their way into the front of his mind; tufts of brown hair; arms slung around his shoulders; a body next to his, warm and comforting.

His heart aches.

He clears his throat, “Turn off the safety first, then use the sight to aim the crossbow a tad higher than where your target is.”

He doesn't comment on the shakiness of Sapnap’s hands when he follows his instructions. As far as Dream knows, he's never had to hunt himself, always leaving it up to his family and friends during the time before they found the safe-haven.

In a moment of weakness, Dream tries to imagine how it would be – used to be – not having to kill his food with his own hands every time he needs something to fill his belly. As hard as he tries, he can't recall the taste of frozen pizza or greasy burgers. The only thing palpable for his tongue is the rough texture of smoky meat, freshly torn off a deer's rib.

The second Sapnap pulls the trigger and sends the arrow soaring through the air, Dream knows it won't hit the target. The aim is a bit off, the arrow tilted a tad too high. The tip buries itself deep into the bark of a tree behind the stag.

Sapnap curses, a crestfallen expression engraved in his expression as he watches his startled prey flee into the safety of the woods. Dream's eyes crinkle, face tilted to the ground in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Stop smirking, jerk.”

Dream's head shoots back up, “You can't even fully see my face. How would you know if I'm smirking?”

“I can hear the smugness in your voice,” Sapnap grumbles, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Dream just shrugs. “You're just bad at aiming.” This time, he isn't quick enough to suppress the cackle escaping his throat at the sight of the big pout Sapnap's wearing.

It takes half an hour for them to track down another suitable prey, and this time it's Dream who holds the crossbow, experienced and skillful hands keeping the weapon steady as he aims and shoots. The deer’s body thuds satisfyingly on the ground, spilling its life onto the forest ground, blood a reddish brown.

With a jolt, Dream dislodges the arrow, sloppily wiping the tip clean with the hem of his cloak. “It’s got lots of meat on its bones,” he says, content with their catch. “Gonna last us at least a week.”

It's the sound of metallic clicking that hits him first, long before he catches the movement at the edge of his vision or register how oddly quiet Sapnap's has suddenly gotten. His pulse ticks up as something within him – deeply buried between pure instincts and the need to survive – bristles.

He moves before he thinks, fingers tighten around the crossbow, scarred skin pulled taut across his knuckles, but in the end it doesn't matter.

The spider – a big one, bones mutated by the radiation – has already crawled its ways across the dirt, wiry and spindly legs bent and sheers ready to attack. And Sapnap, mere three feet away, looks absolute petrified, limbs locked and rooted to the ground. He doesn't make any move to get away.

In less than the blink of an eye, Dream makes a decision. He lets go of the crossbow, knowing it will take too long to load, instead reaching for one of his knifes, leaping just as the spider jumps.

The force of the collision throws them both to the ground, steal meeting skin, tearing into it and Dream presses on, deeper and deeper until he feels muscle tissue rip. The spider lets out a wailing shriek, limbs flailing out in hot panic. A claw hits him right in his face, jaw splitting with icy pain. His grip around the knife's handle falters.

He can feel the spider's labored breath even through the thickness of the scarf tied over his mouth and nose, the clicking of its fangs filling his ears with static. Adrenaline is buzzing through his veins, an awfully familiar sensation that worms itself through him.

For a crumbling moment, Dream thinks about not fighting back.

“Dream!” Sapnap's voice is contorted with fear, so unlike the light, playful tone he's held on the field only fifteen minutes prior. It tugs at Dream's heart, squeezes it in a way it hasn’t been touched since he’s lost Karl. It's been so long since anyone has cared for him, so long since there has been anyone who would mourn for him if he were no longer here.

The thought is brutally sobering.

Sapnap is not Karl. He's a stranger; an acquaintance by force. Dream doubts he actually cares much, much less would grieve for him. But as it is right now, Sapnap needs him. Without him, he would be dead before he could ever come close to finding his way back home. And as much as Dream is pissed at him for burning down his trailer and thus all his belongings, Sapnap doesn’t deserve to die out here.

With newly found determination, Dream's hands scramble for the knife, twisting it deeper and digging for the heart he knows lies somewhere beneath the monster's ribcage. He finds it just as the spider's fangs encase his throat, ready to snap shut. It's body is dead before it hits the ground.

"Dream," Hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up from the ground and away from the monster. “Holy shit, that was-“

“I know.” He hides his trembling fingers behind the folds of his cloak, forcing his breath to even out as he steps away from Sapnap without locking eyes once. “We need to be more careful with blood. It attracts too many things.”

Back at their camp next to the riverbank, the sour smell of the river is enough to cover up the coppery smell of the deer's blood. They lay the animal onto the rugged pebbles to come back to later.

Removing the scarf stings, fabric stuck to the wound on his jaw, but when Dream leans over the river to observe his warped reflection, it doesn't look half as bad as it feels. He washes it out with a bit of the rainwater they have collected along their way, before leaving it to air-dry. There is no doubt that it’ll leave a mark, but next to the scar splitting his lip and the one crossing the bridge of his nose it’ll hardly stand out, Dream thinks bitterly.

Sapnap's gaze is piercing when he turns to him, his eyes are glinting and he's ruddy-cheeked from the fire he's ignited to cook their food with while Dream was busy patching himself up.

He swallows, shuffling over to the dead deer. “What?”

Sapnap blinks, “Nothing. It's just...” His eyes dart around Dream's face, never lingering in one place for too long. “First time seeing you without the scarf.”

“Oh.” Dream presses a hand to his cheek that is oddly warm against his palm. Sapnap expression is unreadable, carved in wood.

After a small eternity and the beat of a butterfly's wing all at once, Sapnap tears his gaze away. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. From the spider.” Sapnap's shoulders hike up, arms wrapping around himself in a sort of hug. He seems fragile all of the sudden – frailer than cracked glass, and Dream is unsure what to do. He's never been good at comforting people, has always felt rather awkward doing so. Giving solace has always been Karl's job.

“You really didn't have to. I just came barging into your life, destroying your home and forcing you onto this long, stupid journey that you didn't even wanna go on in the first place. And now you have to look out for me because I'm too stupid to hunt my own food or defend myself against some monster.”

Dream wants to say something, anything that could remotely pacify Sapnap, but the words get tangled on the tip of his tongue and stuck behind his teeth. He lets out a sigh, long and weary, sticking a hand into his cloak before drawing out a small, white box.

“I don't blame you for what happened, Sapnap.” His fingers feel stiff as they fish for one of the cigarettes clamped into the box. He uses the embers of the fire to light one, ignoring the baffled look Sapnaps sends into his direction.

Cigarettes are a pain in the ass to get nowadays, but Dream finds humor in the fact that even when the whole world has found its end, one of the first reactions of mankind is to loot every gas station they come across in search of nicotine, all for the sake of satisfy their addiction – not that Dream's any better.

Though, in his defense, the End of the world tempts you to make a lot of stupid and poor decisions.

“I don't blame you. And you shouldn't either.” He brings the lit cigarette to his lips, letting the smoke fill his mouth, and watches Sapnap through narrowed eyes. “Besides, it's probably better this way, anyway.”

He thinks back to how his life was before he crossed paths with Sapnap. The isolation, the loneliness that had eaten away at his heart, day by day, fiber by fiber, until it turned into porous rock.

“I did save you.” The cigarette burns his throat when he takes another drag, and for a split second he's back at the campsite, the flames feasting on his trailer, sweltering and torrent. “I’ll do it again if that's what it takes to assure you get back home safely. And you will, I promise that.”

He grasps for his heart with shaky hands, feels it frazzled and tattered under his fingertips. It bleeds a bit at his words, at another promise he might not be able to fulfill. He's already lost Karl. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to fail someone else.

For a while it's peaceful. They follow the current of the river until it takes a sharp turn to the right, before continuing their journey inland. Through dense forest and over overgrown fields. They mostly avoid any towns and cities they come across, only rarely sneaking into a convenience store or gas station to stock up on their canned food and cigarettes.

Sometimes Dream takes Sapnap with him when he goes out hunting, determined on showing him how to carry a crossbow, but when they return back to their camp, Sapnap always turns his head away when he begins to skin their catch.

With every day elapsed, the nights begin to grow longer and colder, increasing downpours and icy gusts of wind boding the end of summer.

It's one night that they find worn train tracks embedded into mossy soil. Sapnap's eyes light up the moment they come into view, his grasp on the bundle of juniper wood they use to make fire long forgotten as he hops up onto the rusty rails.

“Dream, look!” Arms stretched out on either side and one foot carefully placed in front of the other, he begins to balance along the protruding rails, grin sparking with mirth and delight. There is nothing impressive about it, not when he's only two inches off the ground, and Dream rolls his eyes and tries to smother the warm feeling blooming in his chest.

“You're an idiot,” he calls out, and is rewarded with a loud cackle.

Sapnap continues undeterred, jumping over a tipped tree blocking the tracks with ease. “Come on, dude. Ease up a little and come up here.”

“No.”

“Why not? Scared a train will hit you?”

“Shut up.” Guffaws echoes over the barren land, accompanied by a soft clink as Dream kicks a loose screw over the ground, the ghost of a smile flicking over his lips.

Eventually, Sapnap slows down, sitting down onto the ground with a weary huff. “I need a break.” Before Dream can argue, he's already sprawled himself across the mossy rails, patting the empty spot next to him.

Letting out an annoyed groan but admitting his defeat when his own joints creak miserably, Dream carefully lowers himself down next to him. Head to head, feet in opposite directions and faces turned upwards. If Dream looks close enough, he’s sure he’ll find a metaphor somewhere in between the moss and weed and the rusty and bent rails.

The night is surprisingly warm for once, the sky clear and horizon free. The silence they fall into is familiar and comforting, so much lighter than it was the first week into their journey. There is no need to ruin it with useless conversations. It's just them, and the soothing rustles of leaves and whistles of the wind.

Dream stares up to the star flaked sky. It must be August already, which means the pale silver crescent hovering over a few scattered treetops carries the name of the corn moon.

He is hesitant to breach the silence, but curiosity lies behind his tongue. “Do you know anything about the night sky?”

Surprised, Sapnap looks up from where he's been counting the rotting wooden planks between the train tracks. “I can faintly recognize Pisces, but that's about it. Why?”

Thoughtfully, Dream tilts his head further back, searching for a familiar spark in the vast space. “You see that bright star over there? That's Polaris.” In his peripheral vision, he sees Sapnap follow the direction of his finger. “Look a bit more south and you'll find Cassiopeia. She counts to one of the few constellations that stay up there all year long.”

A gentle breeze whispers over his skin and he tears himself away from the ceaselessness of the cosmos. He can see the starry night reflecting in Sapnap's eyes, gleaming and glistering like moonstone embroidered velvet. And in the melancholy of the moment, Dream can't help but think that the sprinkles of dusty gold suit him so much better than the dolorous flames of a fire.

Sapnap reaches out for a different constellation, voice dipped in childish wonder, as if he's observing the night sky for the first time in his life. “What’s this one called?”

Dream smiles, “Orion, the great hunter.”

“Like that one Greek guy?”

"Yes, 'like that one Greek guy.’” Dream smiles and rolls his eyes, fingers tracing along the stars, “He was accidentally shot and killed by Artemis, who was so heartbroken about his death that she took his body and placed it in the sky, along his hunting dogs Canis Major and Minor.”

“How the fuck do you accidentally shoot someone? How stupid can you even be?”

Dream almost chokes on the irony of Sapnap's statement, a half cough, half snort leaving his mouth.

Sapnap frowns. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Dream grins, returning his gaze back to the stars.

“Why do you know so much about the night sky?” Sapnap asks after a beat of silence, brows furrowed when Dream merely shrugs.

"Used to read a lot." Karl loved listening to the knowledge he drew out of the dusty pages he found in abandoned libraries. Dream hasn’t touched a book in almost two years.

“Come,” he says, abruptly sitting up. “Break's over. We need to find shelter before the sun comes up.”

To get to the safe-haven, they have to travel through dangerous terrain first. The first drops of the corrosive rain begin to fall right when they're halfway through the bottleneck of a hazardous zone. Dream is a few steps ahead when it happens, and despite them being aware of the perils as they cross the lands, it comes as a surprise.

The rain makes quick work of softening the soil beneath their boots and filling up the pits with muddy water. It sizzles when it hits skin, and all Dream can do is take Sapnap's hand, grip almost painfully hard, and pull him towards a cluster of buildings lined up on the horizon.

“Run,” he shouts, hoping Sapnap will be able to hear him over the thunderous downpour and the fearful roar of his own heart. “Just run!”

The water makes the grounds slippery, exacerbating their way to safety, and Dream almost loses footing down a slope. He frantically flails his arms to keep balance, but the movement shifts his cloak and the rain runs down his sleeve, etching and scalding, clothes and skin coalescing where they touch. A choked-off outcry leaves his lips and he staggers back, boots sliding over the mud.

This time it's Sapnap who tightens his grasp around Dream's hand and urges him on.

As much as Dream's arm hurts, throbbing in assonance with his heart, painfully and erratic, he knows they can't stop. If they slip and fall, they die; if they take a break, they die; if they’re too slow, they die.

They need to keep moving.

Even the air around them has turned suffocating, sour and biting where it scratches against Dream's airways. Past the rim of his hood, he can see the buildings getting bigger as they draw closer. It's a small gathering of houses, barely big enough to be called a village.

He pulls Sapnap into the first house they reach, warped roof shingles and weather-beaten facade. The lock is old and rusty and easy to break. His knees buckle but he still doesn't slow down, hand never letting go of Sapnap's as he drags him deeper into the building. His heart his still frenziedly hammering against his ribcage, the adrenaline thrumming through his veins almost as poisonous as the acidic rain they've just barely escaped.

“Dream.” Sapnap tugs at his hand, forcing him to slow down and breaking him out of the slight daze he's fallen into – a daze hungry for survival and safety.

For a moment they hang in the threshold in-between kitchen and living room, neither of them moving, neither of them breathing. They can hear the rain, beating down on the roof and whipping harshly against the front of the house.

“We're good,” Dream says, voice sounding hollow. “We're safe now. We're good.”

He feels detached from his own bones as he orders Sapnap to get out of his clothes before stripping down himself. He's careful to separate the fabric from his arm, grimacing when he exposes an angry red rash and blistering skin where the water has drawn searing rivulets down his wrist.

Sapnap's expression is set in stone when he helps him wash out his wound with rain water they've collected before entering the hazardous zone, rocky discontent and chiseled concern. Dream's eyes are fixated on the way his brows slightly furrow and his lips twitch downwards, fascinated by how gently he wraps the bandages around his arm.

If Sapnap feels his heated gaze, he doesn't comment on it.

They find a few dusty blankets strewn over the couch in the living room, replacing their wet and ragged ropes with soft and warm wool. By the time they find a bed in one of the rooms upstairs, they are both barely standing, exhausting dragging down their limbs.

They slip under the covers on either side, a silent agreement that neither of them can bear sleeping alone on the couch downstairs. Dream needs to feel Sapnap beside him, his heated skin and ragged breathing. A reassurance that they both made it out of the rain alive.

“I did save you. I’ll do it again if that's what it takes to assure you get back home safely. And you will, I promise that.”

He tastes his own promise on his tongue, bland, and his arm aches and burns as his eyes slip shut and he falls asleep.

The rain is still teeming down onto the grounds outside when he wakes up to the feeling of being watched. A fleeting touch brushes over his collarbone, gone before his groggy mind can process it. His eyes flutter open, crusty and swollen from sleep, back sore, not used to the soft mattress underneath him.

“What are you doing?” His voice drags over rugged stones.

Sapnap flinches, hand hastily retracting as if burned. “Sorry.”

The touch of his fingers were hardly more than the weight of a feather, and yet his collarbone feels scorched.

“It's an old one,” Dream says. His own hand goes up to find the rough patch of scar tissue branded into his flesh.

“You have a lot of scars.” There is no pity in Sapnap's tone. His eyes flicker down, over his collarbone and chest. Sometime during his sleep, Dream must have kicked the blanket away. It's pooling around his hips now and once again Sapnap reaches out, only to hesitate bare inches away from his waist.

A smile tugs at Dream's lips, small but mellow. He doesn't need to look down to see what Sapnap has found.

“It kind of looks a heart,” Karl has said once, voice bubbly with giggles. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Worse?”

“Could've also looked like a penis.”

He wonders how many scars Sapnap has. How much he had to go through before joining Serenity and escaping hell.

Dream clears his throat, pulling himself into an upright position. The movement startles Sapnap. He blinks before letting his hand fall onto the mattress between them. The room isn't dark enough to hide his blush.

Since it's still raining outside and they are practically stuck in the house, they decide to explore a bit.

They find a few clothes in the closet of the master bedroom, hoodies and joggers that are slightly too big for them but it's all they have for now. Back in the kitchen, the fridge is stacked with canned food and tanks brimmed with stale water. The table in the dining room is set, plates and glasses and cutlery spread out over a yellowed table cloth.

Under dust and dirt, the house appears to be frozen in time, as if the owners had to leave abruptly, not taking any belongings with them because they planned on coming back again.

It's the room next to the master bedroom, that finally breaks them. The bed crammed next to a window is small but neatly made. Toys are scattered over the ground, the table on the opposite side from the door covered in sharpies and crayons and colorfully painted paper.

For a second, Dream believes that the red staining the floor is, too, only paint that someone has accidentally spilled.

It's only when Sapnap lets out a horrified gasp and stumbles away from the doorframe, that Dream's mind is forced to face reality and he feels bile rise in his throat.

They find the grave in the backyard, between two chestnut trees, the tombstone a cracked and crumbling rock protruding from the ground. Neither Sapnap nor Dream can bear the sight, and so they close the curtains and stay away from the windows for the rest of the night.

Instead, they opting to stock up their resources with the stuff they've found, stuffing everything in backpacks that lie around in the hallway. The water in the kitchen isn't fresh enough to drink from, but it's useful for washing the acidity out of their rain-soaked clothes.

Sapnap looks up from the couch when Dream steps in through a door connecting the house to the garage, wielding an axe in one hand. His brow shoots up when he catches a glimpse of the sharp blade.

“Could be useful,” Dream explains, examining the weapon, pleased with his discovery. He laughs at Sapnap's doubtful expression. “Can't be any more difficult to handle than a knife.”

When they go to bed as the first golden signs of the sun peak over the horizon, Dream's dreams are drenched in blood; shreds and shards of poisonous rain and melting suns and sharp, bloody blades.

For a moment, he sees Karl, tufts of brown hair sticking to his skin, eyes wide but smile infinite. Dream reaches out, his name already on the tip of his tongue, but he gets ripped away from him before his fingers can grasp anything, gone in the void and lost forever. He wants to call after him, as if that would bring him back, but his dream begins to morph and change in front of his eyes.

In the swirls of washed-out colors, the walls of a bedroom appear, toys and crayons and neatly made beds. The silhouette of a small girl, expression contorted in fear, clothes dripping in blood. Then a gravestone, grey stone in pouring rain.

With a jolt, he sits up in bed. His hands are shaking, fingers numb and chest heavy. His breath his ragged, lungs burning, as he squints through the darkness, shirt sticking to his back.

It's jarring, the difference between the horrors of his nightmare and the quietness of wakefulness, everything brought together in the blink of an eye.

“Dream? You okay?”

Is he?

He's been pretending to be fine for so long, he's blurred the lines to the point where not even he can tell how he's truly feeling.

“Just a bad dream.” Even his voice is trembling. Dream doesn't know when he got this bad at masking his emotions. It's almost pathetic.

“How ironic.” It's a weak attempt at brightening the mood, but Dream can't help but crack a smile regardless of how stupid Sapnap's comment is. His joints are stiff with a still lingering terror when he shifts around on the mattress. His fingers curl into the blankets, forced to stay still.

“Do you-“ The uncertainty in Sapnap's voice feels foreign, like it doesn't belong there, which is a bold statement considering Dream has only known him for a few weeks now. “Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks. “What?” He tries to catch Sapnap's eyes, searching for any scornful intents. His shoulders slump when all he can find is gingerly placed vulnerability and sincerity. Slowly but surely, he opens his arms.

Karl used to be very affectionate, pouring all his love into every touch. Karl's absence carved a gaping hole into his chest cavity, a frosty void he hasn't been able to get rid off after all the time that has passed since.

He doesn't remember the last time anyone offered him a hug or touched him with hands that aren't meant to leave bruises or cuts behind. But Sapnap is gentle as he embraces him, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, allowing him to seek comfort in the hollow of his neck.

“I've lost someone.” It's barely above a whisper, a testing out whether or not his voice will fail him or if the words will get trapped against the roof of his mouth before he can bring them over his lips.

Sapnap stays quiet, wordlessly tightening the embrace.

“I met him one year into the whole thing. Everyone's been so depressed ever since the End. But not him. He always smiled and laughed and joked around in spite of everything.”

Karl made life a little less bleak, a little more bearable. His heart will forever ache for him, forever long for him.

“What happened to him?” Sapnap asks, timid and gentle.

Dream smiles, it's weak and sorrowful, but it's a smile nonetheless. “He died.”

A sacrifice.

To this day, Dream isn't sure if it was worth it. Karl had wanted him to live, had given his own life away to make it possible, and yet all Dream did was exile himself into isolation, making himself decay in loneliness. One can hardly call that living.

And then Sapnap came along, and attempted to break down his walls, to thaw the thick sheet of ice that has laced itself across his heart. And Dream has let him all too easily.

He's behind walls, away from poisonous rain or bloodthirsty, mutated spiders, surrounded by Sapnap's arms. For the first time in forever, the itch of needing to grab the nearest weapon and fight for his life douses down and leaves him to fall forward into Sapnap's hold.

He’s safe.

A hand slips into his hair, carding through messy curls, soothing words of reassurance whispered into his ears, and deeply buried inside him, something grows. Dream tightens his grip around Sapnap's neck, presses himself impossibly closer, and hopes that Sapnap is ready to reap the harvest of the seeds they’ve sown into unsteady grounds from the moment the stars aligned and forced their fates to collide.

But for now, Dream lets it be; lets the feelings ripen some more.

The downfall lasts three nights. On the fourth, they look over their things one last time and ready themselves for departure. They sit on the couch downstairs, quietly counting their food resources and organizing their backpacks.

“I can't wait to get out of this house,” Sapnap breaks the silence. He's biting the inside of his cheek, a telltale that he's anxious. “There is something unsettling about it.”

Dream thinks back to the blood in the nursery room, the tombstone in the backyard. A shiver races up his spine. He full-heartedly agrees with Sapnap.

They are about to get up and make their way out of the living room, when the click of the lock at the front door makes them freeze, the noise almost deafening as it echoes through the house.

Someone's trying to get in. Dream's heart sinks.

The voices of foreign men cut through the air first, heavy steps against the wooden floor follow. Over the roaring of blood in his ears, Dream's eyes lock with Sapnap's, chest seizing with abject terror. Everything inside him screams at him to run, but the only escape is cut off as three men tear themselves out of the darkness of the hallways like they are born from it, flesh as pale as moonstone and clothes ripped.

A dirty smirk stretches across scarred lips, and in the absurdity of the situation, Dream thinks the first man looks eerily similar to the Joker. “Well well well, would you look at that.”

The two men behind the Joker let out scornful chuckles, one wielding a machete while the other holds a jagged hunting knife.

Hunters.

Without hesitation, Dream steps in front of Sapnap. “We were already on our way out. We're not looking for any trouble.”

Joker's eyes dart to their backpacks, rich with recourses. “You have food. Hand it over and we will let you go.”

They won't. Dream has run into plenty of hunters over the years to know how they tick. They're unhinged, greedy and selfish, and in no means merciful.

The tension filling the room is as taut as a rubber band, ready to snap. Behind him, he feels Sapnap reach for the clasps tying the crossbow to his back, and all Dream can do is swallow past the knot forming in his throat and pray that Sapnap isn't planning anything stupid. His grip on his newly obtained axe turns white-knuckled.

“Just leave us be. We don't mean any harm.”

“Maybe you don't," Joker's grin turns more sinister, an ugly sneer that shows his foul teeth. “But we do.”

The two men behind him move like puppets controlled through strings, arms simultaneously lifting to yield their weapons as they step closer. Dream takes a step back at the same time Sapnap yanks the crossbow free from its confinements, fingers hurrying to load it. He barely has time to aim before he shoots, and it doesn't come as a surprise when the arrow misses and buries itself into the doorframe next to Joker's head.

The three men laugh at Sapnap's poor shooting attempt, but it stirs the attention away from Dream long enough for him to catch them by surprise when he suddenly leaps forward and whirls his axe down.

He catches the man with the knife at the shoulder, the blade of his axe digging deep and hitting bone, enticing a shriek of pain from his victim as he lets go of the knife. Dream goes to pull the axe back, preparing for a second hit when a kick to his side forcefully draws his focus to the man with the machete.

He lets out an aggravated hiss, though never faltering in spite of the groan of bruised ribs. His axe meets the wooden handle of the machete as the man blocks the blow, swiftly pulling away to get a second kick against Dream's shin, who stumbles, almost loosing his footing.

Somewhere behind him, he hears Sapnap call out for him, voice hollow with fear. Dream clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth, and pushes himself back upright.

“Just give us the food,” the Joker says, leaned against the doorframe. He doesn't seem interested in the fight, arms crossed over his chest. Blazing anger flares inside Dream's chest, rotting his core.

“Fuck you,” he growls. The hits that follow are merciless and calculated, each either clashing against the iron of the machete or meeting flesh, drawing agonizing screams along with blood. In his peripheral vision, he sees Sapnap flinch and cower away against the opposite wall.

Sapnap's safe, Dream tells himself as he looks down at the two fallen men, a lake of blood pooling to his boots. That's all that matters.

He's almost forgotten about Joker, when a weight suddenly slams into his side, punching the air out of his lungs and forcing him to the ground. His wrist hits the side of a table, grip around his axe falling slack.

He curses, fingers already scratching over the floor in a hurry, desperate to get the weapon back, but his plan is aborted when cold metal digs into his throat.

“Don't move.” Joker is heavy on his chest, breath hot against his cheek. Dream struggles to get enough air into his lungs with him sitting atop of him, pressing down on his ribs painfully.

Still, Dream lets out a strangled laugh and spits into his opponents face. “No.”

He buckles his hips, a weak attempt to throw Joker off, but it's enough to disturb his balance, and for a split second, the knife against his throat slips – for Dream, it's enough.

He feels Joker's cheekbone split under the force of his punch. He's always been better at wielding an axe than fighting with bare hands, but he doesn't let the uncertainty trickle into the moment, putting every ounce of strength into each blow he passes on.

Joker meets his fierce determination with brutal force. Dream's axe is still somewhere discarded on the ground next to them and Joker's knife is sharp and swift. Dream bites back a whimper when it strikes him across his chest.

He doesn't know how long the fight lasts, all he feels is the blood dripping down his chin from a split lip and the numbing thrum of adrenaline as fists paint bruises across flesh, neither of them seeming to get the upper hand, opponents of equal strength. That is until Dream's bloody fist slips and Joker's knife catches his skin and tears into his hip. Dream screams.

A dull thud echoes through the room as Dream's body goes limp from the shock and he falls to the ground. His veins have turned to ice, every fiber of him set aflame by the pain, and in a delirious haze, Dream wonders if this is what his trailer had felt in its final moments.

He has his eyes squeezed shut but he can still see the shadow looming above him through closed lids. He hopes he will finally see Karl again. He hopes Sapnap will forgive him.

The blood is quick to spread, soaking through his clothes, sticky and sickly warm. His hands have grown too numb, he can barely lift them from the ground to stop the bleeding, and so he just lays there and silently awaits his doom.

A doom that never arrives.

The whistling of an arrow, a choked gasp. The shadow above him wavers, then a weight falls onto him and presses him further against the ground.

“Dream!” Hands grasp his cloak, immediately ripping the heavy weight away from him and shaking his shoulders. Dream tries to flinch away but he doesn't have enough energy left, movements sluggish as the adrenaline ebbs away and leaves him drained.

“Come on, Dream. Open your eyes. Please!” Sapnap's voice is shrill with panic. He sounds so frightened, so young.

Dream's heart bleeds at the thought of leaving him. He's grown attached, a foolish notion, but he can hardly bring himself to care. In the little time of knowing him, Sapnap has made him feel the most alive he’s felt since losing Karl.

His eyes flutter open, a groan leaving him when something winds around his hips and pressure is put on his wound. His head lolls to the side, vision blurry and world lost in a haze.

A glimpse of a body next to his. Blood pooling onto the floorboards. An arrow lodged into someone's skull.

Abruptly, Dream jerks forward, the sudden switch from lethargy to the surge of clarity almost nauseating. “You killed him.”

“We need to go. Do you think you can walk?” Sapnap's voice is devoid of emotion when he speaks up. He doesn't meet Dream's eyes. Instead, he tightens Dream's scarf that must have fallen off in the heat of the fight, around his middle, putting constant pressure on his injury. It's only a temporary solution but it's all they can do for now. Neither of them wants to stay in this cursed house any longer.

“You killed him,” Dream repeats, dazed.

Sapnap shakes his head, jaw set. “Get up.” He pulls him onto wobbly legs, steading him when he almost tips over again.

The urgency in Sapnap's tone is enough to trigger the last scrapings of adrenaline he's left. His body hurt as he sets one food after another, gravity pulling at the fibers of his being, a strong pull back to the ground, but Sapnap's finger never let go of him, almost painful where they dig into his shoulders.

Dream blinks, and they are out of the house and running down the ruins of a street.

He's running a lot these days, he thinks. He can't tell whether or not he prefers it to the excruciating lonesomeness of his trailer – at least he was safe back then, he bitterly muses.

Then he blinks again, and the ghost village is gone. Instead, his world is plunged into nothing but pain. It blinds him and for a second he can't see passed the swirl of gray and white and black. Nausea simmers low in his gut, wringing his intestines. Bile rises in his throat, acrid and corrosive, like the rain in the hazard zone.

“Dream?”

He reaches out, hands scrambling in the dark, searching for something, anything to hold onto and ground himself with. He finds rough stone, underneath his palms and thighs and behind his back and head. He digs his fingernails into the abrasive rock, hooking into indents and creases.

“Dream.”

“Sapnap?” His voice is hoarse from the pain, words mushing together. It's hard to coerce his tongue into detaching itself from the roof of his mouth. Blood trickles down his side, his shirt sticks to his hip. He bristles at the disgustingly dizzying sensation. It's too warm, too sticky, makes him want to peel his skin off.

A hand catches his wrist before he can begin to scratch, and Dream has hardly the time to fight against the grasp before he is suddenly pulled into a bone-crushing hug. He swallows a waft of copper and overwhelming fear, the arms around him pulling tight enough to almost crack a second rip, but Dream clings to it, never wanting Sapnap to let go ever again.

When Sapnap ultimately does pull away, Dream's world is no longer dipped into complete darkness, hazy eyes taking in the walls of a cave he's probed against. When his gaze falls on Sapnap, he's met with a grimace full of concern. Dream furrows his brows.

“Fuck, I thought I- you were gone for a second and I didn't know-“ Sapnap is stumbling over his own words, and Dream's frown deepens further when he sees the tear tracks that look almost etched into his cheeks.

Weakly, Dream reaches out and tries to brush them away, tries to smother the anguish and worry he finds on his face. They don't belong there. “You were crying.”

The noise that escapes Sapnap's dry lips is stuck somewhere between a hysteric laugh and choked off sob. “You're all I have left.” He sounds pained and scared, and his words cut deeper than Joker's knife ever could.

“I don't even know if my friends are still alive, or if they died after I got separated from them. And if they are still alive, who knows if I’ll ever get to see them again.” He holds onto Dream's shoulders like the world will crumble a second time if he lets go; maybe it will. “We're so close to Serenity, but after everything that has happened- what if we die before we can reach it?”

The rawness of Sapnap's question almost breaks Dream. He tries to sit up from his hunched over position on the floor, but the movement tugs at his wounds, making him bite back a whimper. When he speaks up he hopes Sapnap can't hear his own desperation.

“I'm okay, Sapnap. I'm alive. Everything's alright, we are alright.” He repeats it, over and over again, as if the multitude of it is enough to bring truth to it.

They are okay. They have to be.

“I made a promise, remember? We'll make it to Serenity. I will make sure of that.”

He wishes he could extinguish the uncertainty he finds on Sapnap's face, that he could fully chase any doubts away, add more words of encouragement. But his hip still hurts, a searing pain that eats away at his flesh, the blood soaking his scarf is still fresh, and he is so fucking tired.

And so he closes his mouth and leans back, praying to whatever forsaken god might have not given up on humanity just yet that they will be okay. That he will be able to keep the vow he's made.

He thinks back to the night he met Sapnap, back in the forest in front of the camping site, how it didn't seem like he belonged in this world.

On the cave floor, Sapnap's hand finds his and gives it a squeeze, a silent gesture of gratitude and solidarity. They are still close, Sapnap hasn't pulled away much since the hug. It's clear that they both crave the closeness, the shock of what happened only a few hours prior still deep in the hollows of their bones.

Sapnap's breath grazes his lips and under the tips of his fingers, Dream can feel the seeds grow into flowers, buds opening and turning to face the sun; for a moment, tantalizing and wispy, he thinks about leaning forward and picking the flowers, plucking them out of the soil and gathering them up in his arms, a blossoming banquet of red and yellow and pink.

But plants have always tended to wilt under his care, and so Dream retracts his hand, placing it delicately into his lap, and presses his back into the stone behind him, away from Sapnap. He doesn't dare lock eyes with him.

“We're gonna make it,” he says, one last time. “We will be okay.”

It's only later, when Sapnap is curled around a small fire, poncho tightly wrapped around his body to keep his blood warm, that Dream sits at the entrance of the cave, fingers loose around a cigarette, lungs charred and burning, and allows himself to break.

The wound on his hip is deep when he pulls the scarf away, the blood almost as black as tar in the dark, and his hands are trembling as he steers the cigarette to his lips and watches the smoke escape into the night with growing dread.

Only a few more days till they reach Serenity, Sapnap tells him the next night as they ready themselves to continue the journey. Dream pretends to be deaf to the unsteadiness of his voice.

The safe-haven is not far away, the thought of reaching the end of their journey no longer impossible, but they are much slower now, dragged down by Dream's injuries. He's sure one of his ribs is cracked, the cuts on his shoulder and chest hurt and his hip robs him of his breath every other step he takes towards their destination.

He has to rely on Sapnap to support him, and it's weird because it's been almost two years since Dream has put his trust into another person. Everything inside him is bristling and rearing up at the thought, but all he can do is grit his teeth and suck it up because he can feel the bloodloss slowly but surely getting to him, and he doesn't know how much longer he can walk on his own before his legs give out underneath him.

They encounter a phantom on the second day. Dream's fingers are numb when they attempt to open the clasp tying the crossbow to his back. Above their heads, the phantom shrieks, wings spread and eyes gleaming a poisonous green.

Dream doesn't know what these creatures have mutated from, but the scars across his back paint a testimony of the sharpness of their claws.

Another loud outcry, the only warning they get before the creature sweeps down. Dream has half the mind to stumble to the side, narrowly escaping the attack. He curses, still struggling to untie his weapon.

Next to him, Sapnap clicks his tongue, mildly annoyed and Dream is about to stutter out a weary apology when Sapnap beats him to it. He swats his hands away from the crossbow, making quick work of opening the clasps of the holster.

His hands are surprisingly steady when he aims to the sky, fingers gliding into the right stance without looking. He pulls, waits, shoots. The phantom falls like a shooting star.

There’s a river scarring the land; the current is strong, ripping rocks and branches out of the water's edge. Dream can barely hear Sapnap over the uproar of the waves but the sparkle in his eyes and the bright smile on his face are enough for him to know that Serenity lies right behind the river.

They are so unbelievably close.

Sapnap leads them to a bridge. The wooden planks look ailing, the rope tying everything together frazzled and weather-beaten.

Dream hesitates, “Are you sure this will hold us?”

“It's the only way across the river.”

He doesn't miss the way Sapnap dodges his question. His gaze darts down the riverbank, searching for an alternative way he knows is not there. Instead, he's met with a barren landscape, stony shore and meager bushes.

“Just look where you're going and you should be fine.”

Dream scoffs but follows him onto the bridge anyway. The wood creaks under the weight of his boots, and his grip is white-knuckled where it clutches the railing.

“We're almost there. It's right behind the forest on the other side of the river,” Sapnap calls over his shoulder, tone cheerful and breeze, Dream can tell he's already sensing the borders of his home.

And as Dream carefully navigates his way across the bridge, listing to the rushing of the river and Sapnap's euphoric laughter, a foreign feeling begins to swell in his chest, warmth licking at his heart and kindling his core. The flowers’ petals they have nurtured are frail and oh so soft underneath his fingers, Sapnap's voice crested with golden alacrity, and Dream ups his pace, fueled by Sapnap's excitement.

So, so very close.

The wood underneath him grunts and the ropes holding the framework together creak, but all Dream can focus on is Sapnap, and the safe-haven and the blooming feeling inside – it's hope, Dream realizes, startled. A feeling he's made sure to smother and distinguish ever since the world fell apart. But now it's there, right below his ribs, shining bright like a midnight sun and frothing against his chest cavity like the waves that crash against the stone beach below.

Hope.

Fright strikes him like blazing lightning, and he almost topples over from the whiplash of emotions.

Sapnap's silhouette is stark against the dark of the night. Dream reaches out a trembling hand, a warning already on the tip of his tongue – because hope is never good, it distracts and blinds and Dream should know better than to give into the elusive beat of his heart.

The dread beginning to fester in his stomach is oddly sobering. He can hear the groaning of the bridge now, almost deafening against his eardrums, and is excruciatingly aware of the cracks in the wood and tears in the rope.

“Sapnap, watch out!” The moment the name leaves his mouth, he knows it’s too late. His outcry is enough to slow Sapnap down, but they have been doomed from the first step they took onto the bridge, the very first shift of simply too much weight onto the worn and rotten planks.

In spite of the dark veil of the night surrounding them, their eyes meet one last time, a mirror of abject fear. Then, the plank underneath Sapnap gives out, and he's gone.

Without hesitation, Dream jumps and follows him into the floodwaters.

The river is freezing. That's the first thing Dream registers as his body crashes through the surface. It's freezing and torrential, the pressure on his chest crushing and the undertow is tearing on his clothes, but Dream can't be bothered wasting even a second on regrets. His eyes sting, his skin quickly grows numb from the frigid temperatures and his lungs ache for air, but fear has always been a great catalyzer.

For a fleeting moment he catches sight of Sapnap's poncho. He tries to grab it, but the current is too strong, dragging him into a different direction with vigor and the pressure forces him to close his eyes. Without mercy, he's thrown around like a ragdoll.

The water warps around the rocks protruding from the river floor, but Dream does not. Without warning, he gets thrown against one, stone scraping across his arm and tearing the skin off. Instinctively, he opens his mouth to howl, pain scalding, but no sound comes out. Instead, he swallows a gallon of water.

His chest seizes. His shoulder and arm burns. His hip is set in flames.

He made a promise. A vow to bring Sapnap home safely. He can't give up. Not now. Not when they are this close to making it – He needs to get to Sapnap.

With the scorching thought branded into the back of his mind, he stops struggling, stops fighting all together, and lets the current take him. It pulls him down and down, all the way to the bottom, until he can feel the coarse sand between his fingers. His lungs are screaming for oxygen, begging him to swim up to the surface, but he doesn't listen.

His eyes hurt when he pries them open, the urge to squeeze them shut again strong, and his vision is blurred. Still, he keeps them open, desperately searching for even the tiniest glimpse of Sapnap.

Perhaps there is still a god out there, between the ruins of a forlorn world, perhaps there is still a value, still a beauty to hope, for just as Dream is about to give up, a shred of white flashes through the water.

Finding purchase against the sand of the river floor, Dream doesn't waste time, abruptly pushing himself away from the bottom, hands outstretched and ears roaring with blood.

His fingers close around nothing. His heart sinks.

Please, he begs, Not again.

He's lost so much. He doesn't know how many times his heart can tear before it's too frazzled to be stitched back together.

Rough fabric brushes against his chin. A fleeting touch. Then, a hand suddenly grasps his wrist, crushing bones and tear-streaked force. If Dream had any more breath to give, he would have let out a sob.

Sapnap.

The way back to the surface is a blur of water-filled lungs and heavy eyes and thin-wearing adrenaline. The cold has seeped into his flesh. He can't feel his own limbs anymore as he drags his body across the pebbles lining the shore. The gust of wind they are greeted with is biting, his wounds are on fire. Neither Sapnap nor him have let go of the death grip they have on each other’s arms, traces of crescents and wretchedness.

With dwindling energy, Dream pulls them over the water's edge, over the stony shore, away from the bridge and the blusterous river. It's only when he feels the itchy blades of grass underneath his palm, that he lets himself collapse.

Sapnap is pale where he lies by his side, lips tinged blue and eyes reddened. Without much of a warning, he turns to his side, retching and throwing up the murky river. Dream can't blame him. They are out of the water and yet he feels as though he's still drowning.

His chin is pointed at the sky as he traces the outlines of the trees above him, pines with sturdy trunks and dark leaves. They swing gently in the breeze.

“Fuck,” Sapnap stutters, voice still haunted by the horrors of the river. Dream would feel with him if he wasn't still so awfully numb from the icy water. The fear and desperation are gone, replaced by a hollowness so deeply carved into his bones, he isn't sure if he will ever get rid of it again.

Someone touches his shoulder, jostling him. Dazedly, he blinks up, up to the sky, only to be met with Sapnap's face, scarred with concern.

“Dream.” His ears must still be full of water. He can barely hear what Sapnap's saying. “You need to get up, do you hear me? We're almost there. Come on.”

Getting up seems impossible. The ground is soft beneath him and his body feels too heavy. “Hurts, Sap.”

Thorny guilt curls in his gut at the nauseating concern he's met with. He hopes Sapnap understands, hopes that, as weak as he might sound, that he can still hear the raw honesty he's trying to convey, “I'm sorry. But I can't.”

He swallows and tastes river water. His vision is still partially hindered and slightly out of focus, but the blood draws a stark contrast over his pale hand when he goes to touch his hip.

Without any clemency, Sapnap pulls and shoves at him until he's dragged him to shaky feet, pulling a whine from gritted teeth. “I'm sorry, Dream. But we need to go, immediately.” Sapnap sounds as pained as he feels, like their hearts are bleeding for the same sacrifice, and so Dream wills his body to move forward despite the waves of agony that spread through his veins.

He tries. For Sapnap. Even though it's not fair because he's done it. He's kept him safe and guided him home. What more could be asked of him?

He's exhausted, eyes drooping and feet shuffling through the grass. Never in his life has he ever felt gravity pulling at his core like he does in this moment, bound to the soil, shackled to the ground.

But Sapnap is tenacious, arms supporting him as he leads him into the dense forest that lies in front. He's limping, favoring one foot over the other, and Dream frowns, last threads of awareness tying together to bring back a flicker of lucidity.

“You're hurt,” he mumbles, crestfallen. He's failed. He didn't try hard enough. He's broken the vow.

Sapnap shakes his head, shouldering even more of Dream's weight when he stumbles and almost crashes back to the ground. “Scraped it on one of the rocks in the water. I'll be fine. Worry about yourself for once.”

"'M fine." A cough tears itself out of his throat, violent and cruel. It's getting harder and harder to navigate through uneven terrain, roots growing out of the ground from seemingly nowhere. “We're fine.”

“You know," Sapnap lets out a laugh, but it's too wet, too timorous to be genuine. “You keep saying we're fine or that we'll be okay, but I'm starting to think you're lying to make me feel better.”

Dream snorts weakly, head slightly lulling to the side, “Does it work?”

“You're an idiot.” Dream pretends he doesn't notice the tears sticking to Sapnap's cheeks. The wound on his hip bleeds on, through the cloth wrapped around. The pain is excruciating, grievous. He can barely breathe.

Sapnap stirs him forward, hobbling and staggering on an injured foot, over leaves and sticks and moss, the askew carpet of the forest floor. Guilt swells up inside Dream and he tries to take some of his weight back, but the blinding pain in his hip makes vertigo sprout and he falls back into Sapnap heavily.

The trees begin to grow scarcer after a torturous while, the branches cutting through the air like the wiry limbs of a spider thinning. Sapnap is unrelenting, as if he doesn't hear the whimpers and whines punched out of Dream no matter how hard he bites down on his lip, but Dream can see the way he clenches his jaw and forcefully keeps his eyes trained forward.

Dream doesn't see the root before it's already too late, foot catching and then he's tripping, falling, arms still too numb for him to cushion the collision.

White explodes in his vision, pain stabbing through his chest, his hip, a wild animal clawing at its confinements. His mouth is ajar, a scream scratching the back of his throat, but he has no air left in his lungs to cry out.

Over the static filling his ears, he faintly hears Sapnap calling his name. He sounds distorted, frantic. “Dream? Come on, you need to get up. Just a few more steps.” Hands are on his shoulders, pulling against his cloak. “Dream, please.”

“Sapnap,” He breathes, tongue tasting of copper and jagged pain, “Sapnap, stop.”

“Just take my hand, Dream, please.”

“Sapnap,” he tries again, with more urgency. His eyes feel sewn shut, but he still pries them open. Sapnap's eyes are widened with fear, and his heart clenches painfully. “I can't.”

Sapnap vehemently shakes his head, teeth gritted, “Stop saying that and get up, idiot. We're almost there.”

His head has started to pound, his lips are dry and his skin cold. Sapnap tries to heave him up again, but this time, Dream grips the soil beneath him and holds on. His muscles ache. He's just so fucking tired.

“I can't get back up, Sapnap. It- it hurts too much. I’m not going to make it.”

Above him, Sapnap stills, and the world around them grows quiet.

The palm Dream presses against his chest is trembling, and Sapnap's heart is erratic where it’s hammering against his rib cage. His face bleeds emotions, silent horror and desperate helplessness. And yet, in the shadows of the night, hair sticking to his forehead and muscles shaking with exertion, he looks ungodly beautiful.

It’s then and there, with blood-crusted skin and waning strength on the unforgiving forest floor, that Dream decides he can’t wait any longer.

The kiss he pulls Sapnap into is frenzied and desperate, and he accidentally knocks their teeth together and smears blood all over Sapnap's lips as he deepens it. They don't have much time.

The flowers are finally plucked. They are bloody now, as Dream offers them on his palms like prayers; bloody and dirty, but beautiful nonetheless. And Sapnap takes them, gingerly, gently, keeps them safely tucked between his fingers.

It tears on Dream when he has to pull away for air. Sapnap blinks down at him, stunned and pretty.

Five years ago, Dream’s entire world was plunged into utter darkness, and he's missed the warm brush of the sun's rays every day. But Sapnap? He came whisking into his life, shining brighter than the sphere of light ever could; a gleaning midnight sun piercing the night, a guiding glow to lead him home when he’s lost. With Sapnap by his side, Dream could spend his entire life under the night sky and would never long for the sun again.

I've fallen for you.

All these weeks, and he's been too afraid to call it by its name. Perhaps it's foolish, rushed. Sapnap has been nothing but a stranger to him, barely an acquaintance at the start of their journey. Perhaps the feeling is fostered by the years of isolation, nothing more than a primal need to satisfy his touch-starved ad shriveled heart.

But when he looks up and meets Sapnap's eyes, sees the fear and hope and devotion, soft and frail like the blossoms of flowers, he knows it's more than just that.

He doesn't voice his thoughts though, in spite of the blood that rises in his throat and the pain scraping at his insides. Because he’s a coward, afraid that the flowers won't survive the end of the world, won't survive in their scarred hands, that they will wilt and die the moment the words are spoken aloud.

Instead, Dream pulls him down one last time, grip weak as he presses a fleeting kiss against the corner of his mouth, and whispers, “I'm sorry.”

His whole body is shaking, wracked by shivers when Sapnap finally lets go of him and pushes himself up from the ground. Sorrow mixes with the coppery taste in Dream's mouth, but they both know Sapnap needs to leave now, needs to go on without him in order to get the help Dream needs. Their time is running out.

Dream's core feels icy as he watches Sapnap slip away into the night, eyes fixated on him until the very last second, and yet every fiber of his being is burning, as if he's back at his trailer, watching the flames engulf his home as the fire licks at his skin.

A surge of agony ripples through him, leaving him panting and gasping and writhing in the dirt.

It shouldn't come as a surprise; the universe has never been kind to him. That Sapnap has stepped into his life has been nothing short of a miracle, and it's his own fault for lowering his guards and being stupid enough to think that he deserves anything more than short-lived and fleeting happiness.

Stiff fingers scramble for the cigarettes he always carries in the folds of his cloak, but they are slippery with blood and so the box falls and rolls away. A choked off laugh escapes him, almost hysteric, as tears begin to prick in the corners of his eyes.

Sapnap is gone now, having left him behind in the night, and the hollowness behind his rips is almost unbearable – worse than the pain in his hip or arm or chest. Where the darkness once enveloped him like a second layer of clothes, it now scorches his skin. It feels suffocating, or maybe that's just the blood bubbling up his airways.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers again, despite knowing that Sapnap is too far gone to hear him. And as black slowly creeps into his vision, body ridged with the constant waves of pain and his grip on consciousness loosening, he's starting to think that Sapnap might not make it back in time.

Dust fills his nose and stirs in the glow of a torch, covers every crease and surface of the trailer. Dream's back arches against the floorboards as he stretches out his limps, shoulder blades cracking. The cigarette hangs loose between his lips, gleaming red in the dark when Dream takes a deep inhale and sucks the smoke into his lungs. It's peaceful, serene.

His eyes flick over the spines of the books he keeps on a shelf over the table, the little trinkets he stores on the windowsill and the weapons attached to the wall. There is something beautifully haunting about how time seems frozen in the air.

Absently, he scratches his hip, an itch deep under his skin, before taking another drag from the cigarette. The pain that blossoms is unexpected, and his lips slacken, startled, cigarette tumbling out.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly, sitting up. He goes to grab for it, where it rolled over the floor and into the direction of his bed, but his fingertips meet a wall of heat. Right there, where his cigarette has laid on the planks of the trailer just mere seconds ago, the wood has abruptly caught fire – and it spreads, fast.

Dream doesn't have time to run. All he's able to do is scream his lungs raw and cough cigarette smoke up, as the heat wraps around his bones and turns him to ash.

There are hands all of the sudden, pushing him down as he writhers in pain. He feels feverish, mind hazy. Shreds of a voice, familiar and dripping with concern, soothing touches and binding grips. Awareness is quickly slipping away, but he still fights against whoever is trying to hold him down, years of deeply engraved survival instincts kicking in.

“Dream.” It's hard to place the voice, his brain not wanting to cooperate with him, but a feeling of safety and trust swells in his chest, a warmth that doesn't hurt like the blazing heat of the fire. Dream clings to it. “You're safe, Dream. We got you. It's going to be okay.”

And Dream believes it. He lets go.

His eyelids feel heavy, his bones are weighed down. There is a hand in his hair, carding through his locks, brushing stray strands out of his face. The touch is soft, like a spring breeze or water gliding over glass. The soft surface he's lying on feels foreign, his back used to rough stone or bumpy forest ground. He tries to move, a groan escaping his parched throat as a dull pain radiates through him. He feels sore, tired, ready to fall back asleep, but the hand is still in his hair, grounding him to wakefulness.

His vision is blurry when he slowly flutters his eyes open and takes in white walls and blue sheets.

“Wha-“ A cough cuts him off and the hand in his hair disappears. He wants to protest, reach out and stop it from leaving, but his body is still rattling with coughs and gasps as he leans over to make breathing easier.

“Easy,” Someone to his right mutters, before a glass is gentle pressed against his lips, coaxing water into him. “There you go.”

The moment he's got his bearings back under control, his head whips up, taking in the slight unfocused form sitting on a chair in front of him, “Sapnap.”

The relief is almost dizzying.

“Hey,” he smiles down at him, hair tousled as always and dark bags under his eyes, “You're awake.”

“How long was I out?”

"Six days." A shadow flickers over Sapnap’s face, brows furrowing and teeth beginning to gnaw on his bottom lip, “I tried to get help as fast as I could but when I came back to you, you didn't-“

He looks older, Dream realizes ruefully, older than he did back when they first met in the forest. His eyes are darker, emptier, haunted. He’s cowering on the chair, shoulders hunched.

“You were barely breathing.”

Dream doesn't reply – doesn't think there is any answer he could give to provide in that moment. Instead, he simply nods and leans back against a pillow.

The room he’s in is barely furnished besides the bed, the chair and a small nightstand. There’s a window to his right, but the curtains are drawn shut, obscuring the outside view. He feels for his injuries, the burns on his arm, the cuts in his shoulder and chest, the deep wound on his hip, all hidden under white bandages now.

“We made it.” A dull ache knocks against his ribs, grief and relief softly clashing together. When he looks down to his hands, neatly folded in his lap, scarred and tattered, he barely feels like he belongs in his own skin.

“Yes, Dream. We made it.” Sapnap mutters softly, reaching out to brush the stray tears away from his cheek. “No more fighting. We’re safe now.”

“No more fighting,” Dream echoes. Something inside him cracks, splits, and before he can process what’s happening, he’s clutching Sapnap to his chest, muffling his sobs against his neck.

Perhaps he was wrong – perhaps flowers are able to survive in the ruins of a burned world.

It takes a week before Dream's allowed to leave the room he first woke up in. The days pass quickly despite how boring it is to be tied to a bed. Besides Sapnap who hardly ever leaves his side, and a medic who comes to check on his injuries from time to time, he isn’t confronted with other people, which he’s thankful for.

Everything’s still overwhelming, new and foreign, and adjusting takes time.

He sleeps most of the time, body still exhausted and in the healing process, but sometimes he'll lie on his side, watch Sapnap limp around the room, and feel shame and guilt coil in his gut. Despite knowing he did everything he could, he can't help but feel as though he should've tried harder to keep him safe.

When he is finally allowed to roam around, it's not without supervision. Sapnap leads him around the borders of Serenity, showing him the villages and farms they've built with pride, a smile ever-present throughout the whole tour. He looks happy as he marches through the streets of his home, and that’s all that Dream needs to assure himself that all the pain of the last few weeks were worth it.

It's strange at first, a cutover Dream doesn't quite now how to deal with. Five years of mostly keeping to himself, of barely getting any sleep, always being on guard, ready to grab for his weapons and defend himself. Serenity doesn't have monsters that can attack you from any corner, doesn't have acidic rain or poisonous air, or bloodthirsty hunters or cigarettes.

Sometimes, though he tries his best to keep his mind from straying too far, he can’t help the unsettling feeling that he doesn’t quite belong here.

Dream feels a bit lost strolling around the grounds of the safe-haven, looking up the gray walls encasing the terrain, reaching up to the skies. He rarely runs into other people, for most are asleep when he roams around at night. Despite the sun not being melting here in the north, Dream finds it hard to break old habits; finds it too big of a next step to face the sun again after so long in the dark.

Sapnap on the other hand is familiar, his anchor in the midst of chaos.

Dream didn't know it was possible but somehow, they have grown even closer. They haven't talked about the bloody kiss they shared, but Dream isn’t worried. They just take things slow, now that they have all the time in the world, a small infinite just for them. They don't have to rush things anymore, can pour all their patience and devotion into nurturing and caring for their flowers.

Two weeks in, Sapnap wakes him from deep slumber, faint moonlight trickling through the window as he nervously shuffles around in front of the bed

“What is it?” Dream yawns, cracking his neck to get rid of the stiffness of his muscles.

“There is someone who wants to meet you.”

It's still dark when Sapnap intervenes their hands and drags him outside, barely giving him time to get dressed before he leads him through the village and out to a field, the moon's sickle pale above the crops.

A silhouette stands in front of the field, back turned to them, shoes dug into the dewy grass. Sapnap must feel Dream tense, because the look he gives him is mellow and placid as he encouragingly nudges him forward. “He's been waiting for you.”

A thousand possibilities run through Dream's head as he tentatively takes a step towards the silhouette, a million perils, hands sweating, shoulders stiff and pulse ticking up. His boots leave prints behind in the mud a downpour has left behind the previous day.

He’s mere feet away when he abruptly comes to a stop in front of the stranger. A glimpse of brown locks, the slope of a nose, the outlines of a chin tilted to the sky. For a moment, Dream’s breath is stolen and he is convinced he's seeing a ghost, a fragment of his past. It wouldn't be the first time he's haunted by his mistakes. But it's him, unmistakably and undeniably alive. No one else smells of rain and melancholy the way he does.

“Karl?” It's a hopeful yet meek question, as if he is afraid to be wrong, as if there is any doubt left.

“Dream.” It's been so long that he's heard his voice. It sounds darker than he remembers it being, rough with guilt and tears. Dream feels ready to break.

“How-“ he swallows, hard around the knot that has formed in his throat. “You died. You fucking died. How are you alive?”

Karl's shoes step on the blades of grass he's standing on, flattening them and crushing them against the soil as he rasps out, “Surprise?”

“Karl, look at me.” He's in front of him in the blink of an eye, death grip on his shoulders. All the pain and grief and anger that have been festering inside him for so long, and for what? The betrayal and hurt cut deep.

“I watched you die,” He grits out harshly, jaw set. Karl flinches. “I spent one and a half years thinking you're dead. I mourned you. Your death destroyed me. And you're telling me you've been here this entire time? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Scalding anguish tears at his heart, making his voice crack and hands tremble and eyes sting with tears he refuses to shed. There are so many poisonous words he wants to spit at him, to confront him with the sorrows and grief of the past year, to make him feel the pain he's felt. And yet all he manages as he meets Karl's face is a pathetic whimper. “You left me.”

He knows he isn’t being fair. Karl’s face is twisted in anguish and despair, lips quivering. Dream could drown in his tears.

Stolen time, old regrets, wretched hurt.

But above all, endless relief and alleviation.

He doesn't fight the embrace he is pulled into. His emotions are mush together, a confusing, overwhelming clusterfuck of heartbreak, and he doesn’t even know when he’s started crying but Karl's sweater catches his tears with ease as he holds him tighter. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too.” He feels Karl's nails dig into his ribs, as if he wants to carve a home into his bones, wants to make sure they are never separated ever again. It’s a stupid notion, childish and naïve, especially in a cursed world like theirs, but out of the two, Karl has always been the one to hope.

A gust of wind rises, forcing Dream further into the hug to chase after the warmth Karl provides. His heart's shattered, small, sharp shards scattered across the ground, and Dream cuts himself on one as he tires to pick it up.

“Are we okay?”

“I don't know,” Dream says, honest, raw. It's not fair. Nothing of the past years has been fair and it's not Karl's fault for what happened, but it’s still a lot to process; a lot of wounds that need time to heal in peace. “I want us to be, though.”

He feels Karl's lips tug into a smile, wistful around the edges, feels his tears bedew his collarbone, “I'd like that too.”

Pressing impossibly closer into Karl, Dream carefully rests his chin on his shoulder, eyes grazing the horizon. A single ray of light creeps over the edge of Serenity's borders. As though the Blood God himself has parted the sky with his sword, red spills and tints the clouds pink.

For the first time in five years, Dream reaches out and brushes his fingertips against the golden strokes of the sun.