Chapter Text
Dream turned his head around, his eyes thoroughly scanning the blindingly white walls surrounding him. The all too familiar walls of his room. Then, he looked at the window, from where an equally blinding light peeked into the room. It was morning already, huh? He took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. Apparently he had attacked Quackity last night? Well, that was the case, according to the others. Dream couldn't remember the incident all that well. It felt like a blur to him. So, he took the pen and the notebook he had left on the bedside table and tried to recall the events of that night in his memory. Perhaps writing it down would help him get his thoughts cleared up.
First, he could remember how they had all met up in Karl's house for some drinks. It was Sapnap and Karl's first year anniversary of their relationship, and such a special day called for a celebration. It was him, Karl, Tina, Hannah, Foolish, Sapnap, George and Quackity. They had gathered around the table, their full glasses surrounding the vase housing a lovely bouquet of flowers (courtesy of Hannah and her brilliant taste), having a good time, drinking and talking about everything going on. Until Dream started to feel weird. Somehow, he kept thinking about the weirdest things. Like how they'd ditch him and he'd be alone again. Specifically about George and Sapnap, whom he'd known for the longest. Even though he'd known them for years, and he knew they wouldn't leave him like that? They had literally grown up together, of course they wouldn't just abandon him that easily. So why had he suddenly felt like that?
And oh, as for Quackity….. Dream felt even worse. All he was thinking about was how Quackity had hurt him in ways unimaginably brutal. Bloody, torturous, ways. Even though that never happened, and Dream knew it. And oh, those sensations Dream was feeling. Pain, phantom pain, particularly from where his birth marks were staining his skin. And he remembered picking at them, his nails violently scratching his skin, as if trying to reach deeper, deep enough to leave permanent scars. Well, oddly enough, the marks themselves did look a lot like scars. Suspiciously so.
The next part was a blur. So, he stood up, and started screaming? Then raised his
hands, ready to start hitting? Not only that, but also grabbed Quackity by the collar? Possibly even trying to kill him? That's what all of them say he did. And he could remember it being somewhat like that. He could remember the shock in Quackity's face, all color drained away, while raising his hands trying to defend himself. Understandably so. Who wouldn't be shocked by being attacked like that? And by a friend nonetheless? A friend who had been completely fine the day before?
Well, had Dream been fine the day before?
For one, his mind had been constantly invaded by strange thoughts. Thoughts of being abandoned by his closest friends. A fight, that's what he pictured. It was on his mind so often he had lost count. The scene went as: he, Sapnap, George, Quackity, Bad and someone he did not recognize were talking. The place wasn't familiar to Dream, but it looked like it was outdoors, outside a house. The sky wasn't dark, but the sun wasn't too bright, so, say, afternoon? That was how Dream saw it, at least. The words exchanged in that scene weren't clear, but the words "king" and "care" (in both positive and negative contexts) were ingrained into his mind, along with a certain phrase echoing in his thoughts: "Just say you hate me". In George's voice, specifically. Which was weird, since Dream could not recall such an event in his memory.
For two, flashes of agony. Sometimes even nightmares, during his sleep. Of being locked inside a room. The room's walls were dark, a shade close to the shade of the midnight sky. The floor was a scarlet lake of blood, with more red rivers flowing into it out of his flesh. A figure standing before his eyes, with a tool in hand. Sometimes a pickaxe, other times a pair of shears, or occasionally a whip. Well, wrong. It wasn't always the same figure. He could make out two different people in his flashes. But one of them looked eerily similar to Quackity. Even sounded a bit like him. But not like the Quackity that Dream knew. Instead, he seemed like a twisted, cruel, malevolent version of him. As for the other person, Dream didn't recognize him as anyone from his life. But even without knowing who the person was, Dream could feel how the stranger from his flashes was just as vicious as Quackity had been. In a different way, but the pain was the same.
He couldn't remember exactly what he had said in his hysterics. The words were just coming out of his mind and mouth, like he was possessed.
But the looks of shock and concern combined with his horrifying, disturbing thoughts, showed all he needed to know about the situation.
Ah, what was wrong with him?
He also remembered Sapnap trying to calm him down, only to exacerbate Dream's breakdown even further. George as well. They were making his breakdown worse. To the point of both saying that he was starting to feel like Dream was going to hurt them too.
Seriously, what was going on with him? Was he going mad? But how? What could be the cause behind his breakdown?
Then, he could recall someone holding him, restraining him. Probably in order to prevent him from severely hurting anyone in this state.
And he had felt an extreme kind of discomfort when he was being held down. The type of feeling a wild, colorful, exotic bird felt when captured. Helplessness. Fear. But also surrender? Similar to the surrender of a little innocent lamb when taken to the slaughterhouse. And don't forget the anger. The rage. The rage of a lion after being mercilessly trained in a circus for the audience's sadistic pleasure.
What was it with Dream comparing himself to animals?
There was especially one animal he felt a strong sense of kinship towards: the snake. A snake whose nest was brutally torn apart, eggs stolen away, never to be seen again. A snake left alone to wander, with no nest left to protect, injecting its venom into the flesh of every unfortunate passer-by who dared cross paths with it. That just bites, with no regard for the target.
That was precisely how Dream felt.
Could he trust himself around them again? What if it happened again? What if he hurt George and Sapnap? Apparently he was close to. And he already almost hurt Quackity. Was there any way to guarantee that he wouldn't hurt them the next time? Was there even any guarantee that there would or wouldn't be a next time?
A knock on the door jolted Dream back into reality. It was most likely George, wanting to come in and check up on him.
"Dream?" George's concerned tone sounded from outside the door
"George, come in" was the reply
Thus the door opened, and George stepped inside the room.
"Dream, are you doing alright now? Sapnap saw you earlier but you were sleeping, so he didn't wake you up. We both know how much you hate being woken up anyway." George asked
"Yeah, I guess. As fine as I can be after apparently trying to hurt my friends.", Dream answered. He knew he was going to get questioned again about everything from the night before. So, he mentally prepared himself for the incoming questions. He deserved as much, right?
"What the hell was that last night, Dream? You didn't even drink that much." George asked.
"I don't know, George. I don't know what came over me, and why I did all that. I don't even remember all of it. I can't even believe I did all that. I remember a bit, but it's not very clear." Dream said, then added "Speaking of, how's Quackity?" Even though he didn't want to talk or even think about Quackity, he had to. Everyone cared about the well-being of their friends, no matter what, and this was not going to be an exception.
"He's fine. Well, as fine as he can be after almost possibly being murdered. Sapnap will go check up on him later, maybe in the afternoon ." George answered. A satisfying answer to the question.
"Okay, that's good." Dream replied. This was all he needed to hear. Nothing more, nothing less.
The time he spent in his room was nice and calm, but now it was time to leave the comfort of his bedroom. A long day of work was awaiting Dream. But work was much later in the day, closer to the afternoon and evening. Until then, he had plenty of time to recover from the night before. So, he grabbed some clothes from the dresser that stood in the corner of the room, and replaced these old clothes he only kept to wear for sleeping with these new ones.
He stepped out of the room, and into the kitchen. Even though he wasn't particularly hungry, he knew the others would kill him if he didn't eat anything at all. Better go get some breakfast then. He didn't want to be feeling sick and passing out later, did he now? And considering how little he had been eating the past few days, the chances of him passing out were decently high. That was odd, the thought. Why was his appetite so low lately? What was going on? Did it have anything to do with all the strange things he'd been feeling? But it was better not to think about any of that now, and instead focus on making breakfast.
After he had eaten his simple yet filling breakfast, he was wondering what to do, how to spend the time he had until sundown, when he'd have to leave for his first night of work. Thus he went on a walk in town, to clear up his mind off everything and maybe see how the town is doing. The weather was especially nice that day anyway, in contrast to Dream's mood. The sun was shining brightly, rays dancing in a crystal clear sky, free of any clouds. The soft call of the pigeons on the trees and the wires filled the road. And when he walked to a park to relax, he sat down on a steady bench whose color had been lost to the rain from days bygone and whose arms and legs were marked by rust. Then he listened to the soft, sweet singing that sounded from the trees as Dream caught a few glimpses of a few small, ebony feathered birds on the trees. He took a look around, staring at the beautiful scarlet red poppy flowers that decorated the park. On the bench next to him, there was a family sitting together, the mother gently cradling a little baby. Opposite of him, a group of girls were sitting, their whispers and giggles reflecting the liveliness of the day. A calm, joyful scenery to contrast the storm inside his head, the storm he was struggling to keep locked inside, lest any regrettable occurrence was to happen once more.
He sat there in the park until the sun had reached its peak, marking the time to go home. Thus he got up and left to get lunch and prepare himself for the new job at the upcoming night. Afterwards, all he could do was stay home, in his room, and do nothing, as usual. Just kill a bit of time until he'd have to leave again.
Meanwhile, Sapnap was standing outside the door of Quackity's house, with the afternoon sun's rays falling down on the walls and the door, giving the steel handle a warm glow from the light. Ah, this was going to be insufferably awkward. How would one even approach such a difficult subject? But he knew it was necessary, with everything that went down. No use in standing there without doing anything, he had to get in. Thus his finger touched the doorbell, and then pressed the button, awaiting response.
The door moved to open with a loud creak. Then, Sapnap saw him. He saw Quackity, or more like, Quackity saw Sapnap first. Sapnap didn't know what to think when he saw those dark circles and heavy eye bags under Quackity's eyes, they were so dark they made his eyes look even darker than they should normally be. But this shouldn't be coming as a surprise, should it now? It was only natural not to get a full night's rest after that much tension. Sapnap hadn't slept that much either, and he didn't think that George or Dream were in a better position. Yet it was no less concerning. Not surprising, but still concerning. Combined with the choking stench of smoke, burning in Sapnap's throat and lungs. He was used to the smell of burned cigarettes, being Quackity's friend and all, but this was far, far too much, more than what he was used to on a normal day. But this was no normal day, was it now?
"Dude, did you even sleep last night? And how many cigars did you go through today? The whole pack?" Sapnap asked while trying not to choke on air from the intense smell.
"A bit. You try sleeping after your friend went crazy and tried to kill you, man. " was the only answer Quackity gave to Sapnap's question.
"You should sleep more later, dude." Sapnap suggested firmly as the two went inside to talk more.
There, they sat down on the armchairs. Sapnap looked at the ashtray laying on the living room table. The inside of it was covered by a thin layer of ashes, with a few used up cigars left inside.
"Okay, I know I shouldn't be asking this because you obviously aren't, but are you alright? You don't look like it." Sapnap asked, albeit hesitantly. Well, he knew what answer to expect, but it was still a question that needed to be addressed.
"Well, I don't know, how alright can I be when I was almost murdered by one of my friends? And your best friend at that? You tell me, would you be alright after that?" was Quackity's response.
"Yeah. I get it, Q. I don't know what came over him either. He hadn't even drunk that much. Hell, you hadn't drunk that much. There's no way he was that wasted. And even if he was, why the fuck would he do that? He was fine in the morning. This was extremely out of character for him." Sapnap said
"I know, Sapnap. But man, seriously, I can't deal with him like this. What if he does anything again? I know he's our friend and all, but I can't trust him after this. You get me, right?"
"Yeah, I know. I also think I should ask him to try getting some help. And yeah, I think it's better if you give him some space. I know he'll give you some too." Sapnap said, fully certain that at the moment, Dream trusted himself to be around others as little as he naturally could.
"I'll give you updates if you ever ask" he then added
"Yeah. Thanks for coming today, man" Quackity said casually, or as casually as possible after that conversation.
Then, the two of them just talked about various topics, just like any casual conversation between friends. Sapnap refrained from bringing up the topic from earlier again, and chose not to mention the small empty bottle of booze he saw in the bin when he had gone to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was better if he pretended he didn't see it. This was not a discussion to have that day. Both of them already had enough on their hands. But Sapnap had no idea that he wasn't the only one who was holding back. He wasn't the only one who was hiding something.
Quackity had a lot to hide as well. Mainly about the reason he got so little sleep the night before. Well, one of the reasons. He chose not to address the nightmare that forced him awake that morning. Or the many others that followed, preventing him from any chance of rest. The nightmares varied in content, but they all had one recurring theme: death, and more specifically, being killed. And not just being killed by accident or unfortunate circumstances, oh no. This was murder. And always at the hands of someone he was supposed to know, and have a history with. The motive was not clear enough to understand. Did it even matter? All he could really tell in those nightmares was that this was something to be expected, something he should have known would happen one day. And after he was forced awake from those nightmares, there was no chance of sleep. Only after another drink, many hours after the ruined celebration, he was able to sleep again. But this wasn't something Sapnap needed to know. It was better if no one knew.
After the sun had almost disappeared from the sky and the dark was starting to set in, it was time for Sapnap to head home. Once again, he just said a goodbye for the day to Quackity and left, to go take a break from everything. Heaven knew he needed that break, after the chaos of the past few days.
Others however, weren't so lucky. Not everyone could afford to rest that day.
The sun's gradual exit from the celestial scene also signaled the beginning of Dream's upcoming first day, or maybe night, of work. It was time to go see what this job he was accepted into would bring. He was employed in a museum, his duties being to keep the place clean after the doors had shut to the public for the night and to keep watch of the exhibits. Thus he entered the museum he was to work in. As he stepped inside, he was lost in his thoughts, his eyes examining the interior of the building. History had never been Dream's forté, always a topic that piqued the interest of Karl or Tina more than of Dream. But he needed the money, so he wasn't going to complain. It was just a cleaning and night watching job. He could do it.
First, he went to the staff room. He needed to leave his jacket and get the keys for the cleaning closet. But a mere moment before he opened the door of the staff room, he heard footsteps, closing in. Footsteps going towards his direction. The other night guards probably, Dream thought. Thus he turned his head to the source of the sound.
There were two men, both around Dream's age if he had to take a guess, walking towards the door. Both of them looked vaguely familiar to Dream, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. Just like he couldn't pinpoint the feeling each one of them caused on him. From one of the two, Dream was getting an exceptionally powerful feeling of kinship, the feeling of meeting an old friend to whom he was once as close as the violent lightning was to the clouds whenever a storm was taking over the skies. He felt the traces of a bond between himself and that man, but the feel of this bond had a dark twist on it. A bond forged in bloodshed and determination, severed by death, that was how he could best describe it. But from the other…. Nothing but bitterness and hate was all he could feel. Betrayal. The vibe he was getting was that the complete stranger in front of him had betrayed him before. A betrayal so cruel, so cold, that was filling Dream with a visceral wrath, almost like the wrath he felt the night before, with Quackity.
"Uhh, hi" Dream gently greeted them, trying to come off as friendly as he could, despite the awkwardness
"Hi" one of them, the one Dream felt positively about responded
"You're the new janitor on night watch?" the other asked
"Yeah, that's me. I'm Dream, nice to meet you "
"Welcome to the job. I'm Punz, nice to meet you too."
"And I'm Sam. We're the night guards here. If you need anything, we'll be here"
"Alright, thanks"
So he exited the staff room and went to the closet with the cleaning products. He opened the door and grabbed a broom. First, he had to sweep up the floors, before he could mop them. He couldn't mop them while they were dusty, could he now? Even though he never particularly cared about cleanness and tidiness, he wanted to do his job well, since it was his first day and all. Thus the broom gently touched the floor and then danced, at Dream's firm grip. Maybe cleaning could help ease up the tension from the stress of the first day on the job, and take his mind off the stress of all his problems. Cleaning was always a good distraction. All he had to do was focus on completing the task at hand. So, he just kept sweeping, with no care in the world. Past or future were irrelevant at the moment, all that mattered was the task he was charged with. When the broom softly took away the veil of dust that laid on the entrance hall, it was the exhibit rooms' turn to let go of the dirt tainting them.
And after he was sure the floors were as free of dust as they could be, he grabbed the mop and bucket. It was now the mop's turn to meet the bucket and then the floor. Repeating the same process, this time with different tools. This time, instead of taking the veil of dust away from the floors, he's spreading a layer of clean water on them. This place sure as hell needed it, after a day full of visitors. Visitors who often had no regard for the people who worked day and night to keep the place presentable and welcoming for them. How ungrateful, Dream thought. They even had other people to keep the place clean instead of just leaving it dirty, like they could. Like he could. After all, he was only obliged to clean up because he was paid for it. And even though he was far from squeamish, cleaning up after the messes of other people was never fun.
When he was finished cleaning the first floor, he decided to take a break. Not a long one, like he'd take if he was working a day shift. Just a small break, enough to catch his breath and to think, and since he was in the museum, to take a look at the exhibits. This museum specialized in a topic that had intrigued Dream when he had first applied for the job: the Dream SMP era. He had always thought it was an interesting coincidence that he shared a name with the era, and the person named Dream, from whom the era and the land had been named after. The lady who had interviewed him for the job had noticed that too, and had commented on it. It was a funny story to tell his friends afterwards.
So, he stared at the exhibits presented behind the glass panes while contemplating what he knew about them. The second floor, where he was in order to let the first floor dry, was dedicated to the nation of L'Manberg. He looked around, remembering how the country was spoken of, back when he was in school. Ever a divisive topic, some spoke of it as if it was a paragon of freedom, others viewed it as a cruel, greedy nation founded by an equally greedy and devious man. Dream was certainly in the latter category. L'Manberg, in his opinion, was a nation built on lies and schemes. All he could feel while staring at the flag hung on the wall was pure, unadulterated disdain. Disdain for all the things that flag stood for. All the crimes committed in the name of this nation. Beside the flag stood a replica of the van which was used by the founders of L'Manberg to sell drugs, when they were fighting for their so-called freedom. When his eyes met it, he felt the exact same disdain.
He continued walking, staring at the artifacts standing before him. The uniforms of the founders, the constitution, the crown of the traitor who later became ruler of the SMP lands, (Dream really thought that this traitor made the wiser choice, despite what they had later written about themself and their choices), the bows from the duel, later the weapons from when they fought once more, this time against a dictator inside the country, only for the once leader of the nation to destroy it by blowing it up. Well, that wasn't the country's total demise, for it was blown up again, this time by Dream's namesake and two more people, of whom one was involved in the revolution against the dictator and the other was related to the one who blew it up on the day of the revolution. But it did cause severe damage. Serves them right, Dream thought. They had trusted him, so they'd paid the price for it.
To avoid completely losing his grip on the track of time, he decided to look at the bright screen of his phone, which would show him how many hours he had left. Three hours until midnight was to strike, the screen read. Better get back to work. Thus he picked up the broom and repeated the process from the first floor. Then it was the mop's turn. Rinse and repeat. As he was cleaning, he was thinking about what he had seen, and how he felt about it. He knew he had never thought very highly of L'Manberg back when he was in school and he was taught about it, but this strong disdain was new. It felt like something was coming over him again. But the work was calming him down, keeping him grounded. Reminding him what was important.
He went on with the task of keeping the place clean until midnight had come, signaling the end of his shift. It was time to call it a night and leave for home. Thus he took the cleaning tools and placed them back into the closet they were kept in, to make way for the day janitor to find them in the morning again. Then he locked the door, and took the key, to go hang it up again on the key hanger board in the staff room. After he left the key there, he headed home, on to a new day.