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Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
it's not fair.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
it's not fair.
why can't he die?
Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
he's so tired.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
a sob wrecks his fragile body as he reappears back in the corner of his obsidian cell. his skin is melting, burning across his body, and he pounds his fists on the floor, broken wails issuing out of his mouth. he feels so awful.
he has no strength to move his body any more, but why can't he stop moving, why can't he stop punching the obsidian, why can't he feel the pain stinging in his hands?
his cries grow louder and louder, and his fists come down more and more, and he can't feel anything except the tightness in his chest, the uncomfortable heat in the cell, the desperate need to just breathe-
he just wants to feel something. he just wants to feel something real so that he can feel like a person again.
why can't he get what he want?
the crying obsidian has stopped working long ago. pathetic, he thinks scathingly as his hands desperately scrabble against the cold apathetic obsidian, struggling to move his numb body forward. another lung-tearing sob rips itself from his hoarse throat as he reaches out a shaking finger, hollow green eyes fixed on the one thing that can give him deprivation from this miserable nightmare-
the glowing purple liquid droops ever so slowly from the softly ebbing cracks of the crying obsidian, almost as if taunting him before it falls.
it touches his outstretched finger, and a flash of hope overwhelms him.
please, please, please-
please take me back to the dreamland again.
then his vision is engulfed in black.
"dude. dream, you - you - you can't - you can't try and escape, okay? like... like, i miss you being out there with us, too, but what you did, like- you gotta stay here, dude. you - this is where you belong for now."
"i don't want you to be sad or upset, but like, i think you know that this is where you've gotta be as well. please don't try and escape."
eventually.
"no. you might have to stay here forever, dude. i don't think - i don't think you're leaving here."
eventually.
"no, no. dream, no. dream-"
eventually.
"no! no! y ou have to-"
eventually.
"dream, i - i want this to be clear to you, okay? what you did, the things you did, this is what you got for it, okay? you gotta stay here until - until however long you need to be. and if you try and come out, if you try and break out early, dream ... if you try and break out early ... you only have one life left, okay? and, you know, i don't think it's gonna be tommy, it's not gonna be techno, dream. if you break out of this prison, it's gonna be - it's gonna be me who takes your final life."
no.
this isn't happy.
this isn't what i wanted.
get me OUT OF HERE!
...
Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
he wakes again.
he wants to scream. he wants to scream and cry and yell his grievances to the sky. he's so stupid.
what has he done?
he used to see the crying obsidian as a blessing. it had been an accident, a trivial thing after one of sir's first visits, that he touched the liquid of the crying obsidian, and he was ... instantly, he was ... he was high.
he remembered. he doesn't know what he remembered, but he remembered.
he ... he remembered being happy. content.
a day with sunshine and laughter and distractions from the demons inside him.
then he woke from his high, and he tried to remember what memory he had just relieved.
(it is a memory, right? he does have good memories of his friends, right? he's not just completely imagining things in his head ... right?)
he couldn't remember any more.
then touching crying obsidian became his norm. his new hobby. somewhere he could hide in, float away from his distress in his body and relive all of his memories. all of his happy moments. just for a few seconds, he could feel joy again. he could hear laughter. he could feel human.
then one day, it stopped.
("and it's not because i have any resentment towards you or anything, but it's because this is where you need to be, dude. you have to stay here," he says. he doesn't respond. it's okay, he wants to say. i get it. you hate me too. and despite everything, he can't bring himself to feel bitter about it. in fact, he's thankful that his friend broke the news to him in a gentle tone. "it's not because i have any resentment towards you," but oh yes, he does. he can feel it oozing from his tone. his body language. everything screams disgust. and he understands.)
one day, instead of giving him a happy memory to relieve, it brought him back to the first time he ever manipulated tommy.
it brought him back to the look on the child's face. the defeat. the terror.
he screamed at himself to make it stop. he tried to fix it. tried to stop himself from saying all those things. no one listened to him. no one answered his prayers.
out of desperation, he tries again and again.
nothing.
now he truly has nothing left.
nothing but the pain and guilt enveloping his skin, burning into his mind and bones.
it's your fault.
it's all your fault.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
he's lying on the cold floor again.
Dream tried to swim in lava.
he truly has no strength left. it's ebbed from his numb, stiff bones around the fifteenth-death message mark. shakily, he brings a scarred hand to his face. his vision swims in and out of focus.
his hand falls to his side with a thump.
then, out of the corner of his hazy eyes, he thinks he sees the lava parting.
suddenly he can move.
he scrambles up from the floor shakily, tears already gathering in his eyes. he bolts to the lava faster than he's ever run to anything before, and he doesn't know how he has the strength to do that, all that's blaring in his mind is no my lava is being taken away please don't that's my only constant source please don't go please don't take it away please don't-
but of course it does.
the lava falls away with a painful finality. he drops on his knees next to it, trembling as he reaches out a hand towards where it's disappearing. then a grinding noise makes him look up.
there's something going towards him.
he doesn't try to move anymore. the last drop of lava vanishes from sight as the thing moves ever closer. upon closer inspection, it's a platform, and he squints.
there's some vaguely human shapes standing on the platform.
he scrunches up his face in confusion. he's never had visitors, other than sir and on happy occasions the warden, so he really doesn't know what to expect.
"uhh, dream?" a slightly confused yet monotone voice calls. "why're you sittin' on the edge of the lava, man? that's not healthy behavior."
who is that?
he tilts his head up to assess the man better. long pink hair falls past his shoulders, straight and silky smooth. ruby-red eyes shining in the dim glow emitted by the lava that's parted on two sides of the platform. he has the telltale ears of a piglin, and he's impressively tall. a fluffy-looking red cape with white lining sways nonchalantly behind him.
the man eventually reaches him and jumps off the platform. he backs away slowly, hands pressing down on the obsidian and pushing him away from the newcomer slightly, trying not to get too close to him. the newcomer makes it quite difficult, though, by moving closer to him every time he attempts to move away.
"who ... who are you?"
his voice is hoarse and scratchy from all the crying, and the unusually soft voice he uses just that once sends him into a coughing fit. when he recovers, he risks another glance up at the pinkette, who looks...
he looks puzzled. there is a storm of emotions raging in his eyes, and he thinks he can see guilt, sadness, confusion - with confusion masking most of the other feelings. "hey, dream, man, you're jokin', right?" the man tries to laugh it off, but when he continues to stare at him quizzically, there's a dawning sense of realization settling upon his face, followed by horror.
he's done something wrong again.
even just by saying four words, he's already made someone hate him.
the thought makes his shoulders slump, and he makes more of an effort to shuffle himself over to his trusty corner by the chests.
"hey, technoblade! what..." the new, louder and more boisterous voice trails off when someone else steps off the platform and jogs over to stand by the pinkette's side.
"dream," the first man - technoblade? - says, loud and clear. "do you ... do you know who i am?"
it's another question. he has to get this right. he doesn't want to feel so bad anymore.
"no." he answers honestly.
that's the wrong thing to say. the pinkette's eyes go wide, and a thousand emotions flash in his face. the blonde who has just entered is sporting a casual red-and-white shirt and pants. he seems much more outspoken as compared to the technoblade person.
"what?" the blonde rounds on him. "what do you mean you don't know who techno is? is this another one of your manipulation tactics, dream? it's not gonna work, you motherfucker, just give it up already! we all came here to see you out of pity, and you're gonna ruin it for us!"
"tommy!" the first man snaps. "shut up! something's wrong, can't you see it in his eyes? he doesn't know who i am!"
"yeah right, techno!" the blonde scoffs back. "he could be playing another of his tricks, why're - why're you trusting him so easily?"
he's not listening to their conversation anymore. he doesn't hear them snipe back at each other. the instant he hears the name tommy, his world freezes.
"well, it's not like they want you anymore, tommy."
"...what?"
"tommy, no one showed up to your party, and everyone was invited. d'you want to see the christmas tree?"
"...let's just go back..."
"come on, you wanna see the christmas tree! tommy, come back!"
tommy.
no.
stay away from me.
he scrambles even further away, pressing his body against the obsidian walls. his breathing is coming in short, quick gasps, but he doesn't care, his mind is whirling and god the cell is so claustrophobic and tommy tommy tommy he's manipulated a child he's done so many wrong things and he doesn't know why why can't he do anything right why can't he remember the pinkette why does he only remember bad things and he's trapped and he can't move his body and he can't breathe-
"-woah! woah, hey there, dream, buddy, you're not breathin', c'mon, just breathe, alright, just breathe for me-"
what's happening who are they what are they doing where is he what is he doing he doesn't want to be here why can't he remember-
and then, one person's voice pierces through the foggy masses of his brain.
"oh, dreamie?"
sir is back.
sir is back and that must be why the pinkette and tommy are here, they're new friends of sir's and they're going to torture him together.
but if that's so, why is the pinkette being so nice to him?
"sir," he rasps out, not noticing how the pinkette draws away from him in a sharp flinch.
his body moves for him. before he's even aware of anything, he's already on his knees with his head bowed and he can hear the footsteps which indicate sir coming closer.
"dreamie," sir purrs. "nice to see you've learned your lesson, hmm? but get up, we're not doing that today."
a gasp leaves his throat as a hand moves down to grab roughly at his collar, yanking his head forward.
"quackity." it's the pinkette's voice, but this time it's low and venomous and it's screaming you'll die painful today. "quackity, what is the meaning of this?"
"what do you mean, technoblade?" sir laughs, and he feels his body tense at it. laughs usually mean more pain, longer sessions and less mercy. sir must just be mocking him again, there's no way he's letting him off for a day, that would be ridiculous.
"i mean, what is the meaning of him calling you sir?"
the pinkette is shouting now, and that must mean he's done something wrong, so he tries his hardest to blend in with the wall. the blonde - tommy - is looking back and forth between the pinkette and sir, the most conflicted expression he's ever seen on his face. he thinks he hears new voices join in the shouting, and his mind vaguely recognizes the warden, but he's already floating away from consciousness, and he hates loud noises and shouting and arguments. tears drip down his trembling face and he thinks someone's talking to him but he doesn't know who and he feels so claustrophobic and it's so loud and he thinks he sees great black feathery wings shielding his vision but his mind is already so warped and shattered he's probably imagining everything and oh he sees crying obsidian.
again his body does everything for him.
(in hindsight, why did he even think touching it was going to work again? his well of happy memories had run dry so many months ago, why was he still trying? pathetic. he was so pathetic.)
he reaches out a palm towards the liquid that's dripping lazily from the cracked purple block, and he thinks he hears alarmed shouting but he doesn't understand why, and before he knows it there's hands trying to pry his palm back and he screams because why can't they just leave him be and he's kicking and biting and finally he sees the liquid drop and he makes a desperate dive for it.
it lands right in the middle of his palm.
"you screwed me over, dream. you - you manipulated me."
"tommy, i was the only person who visited you, i was the only person that was your friend."
"but - but you were terrible!"
"look at what you did! you - you - you betrayed me! you came here, you're not supposed to be here, you left ... and now you're here! and you're causing problems! as far as I heard, you had a hostage!"
"...yeah, we did ... y
eah, y'know what, to get back my discs! so we can put an end to all of this! this all - you were the only one that visited me, because you know what, dream?"
"tommy-"
i'm the- i'm the only one that goes against you! and y'know what, dream? i think you're scared of me."
"i think that's what this was about! containing me! you know what, dream?
go to hell."
"-ream! dream, can you hear me?"
the realizations all come crushing over at once.
he's not dead.
he's not dead, and yet again the crying obsidian has mocked him, showing him memories that he doesn't want to remember and seemingly taunting him.
he's lying down, he realizes. lying on something soft.
tentatively, his fingers grip on to the softness.
a mattress.
a ... proper bed? how?
he takes a shuddering breath and almost chokes. the air is nothing like what he's used to, musty and stale with a hint of metallic tanginess.
he's not in the prison.
the air is fresh and rejuvenating, containing qualities he hasn't breathed in for ... so long.
why would they let him out?
he was a villain. he deserved to rot, deserved to be tortured to death in the gloomy atmosphere of pandora's vault, so why have they let him out?
it's a dream, right?
he desperately wishes so. it's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream.
but if it's a dream, why can he hear that hauntingly familiar voice calling out to him, asking him to wake up?
he searches his mind, trying to put a name to that voice.
something comes back to him: why're you sittin' on the edge of the lava, man? that's not healthy behavior. the voice calling out to him has a hint of desperation in it; and yet the qualities of the voice is all the same, monotonous and deep. he concludes it has to be the same person.
he opens his eyes.
the light blinds his sight immediately. hastily, he shuts his eyes and twists his head away from the harsh brightness.
"hey, dream, man, it's okay, you're okay, you're in mine and phil's cabin, no one's gonna hurt you here."
he wishes he can believe that.
hesitantly, he forces one eye to open again. his vision swims, blurry and disorientated, but he can just make out the bright pink hair belonging to the man hovering in front of him, an expression of concern on his face.
"dream," the pinkette says with relief. "you're awake."
"wha...?" his voice is no more than a croak, and the pinkette hastily reaches out for the table beside the bed and hands him a cup of water. shakily, he lifts the water to his lips.
"i can ... drink?"
the pinkette's eyes widen ever so slightly, before he says, "of course, man, you can drink. with your voice soundin' like that and all, you really need one."
with permission, he sips the water tentatively, not knowing if this is a trap or not. when half of the water is finally gone, he offers it back to the pinkette, who puts it back on the bedside table. then he tries to move his arms, biting back a hiss of pain when he glimpses bandages and feels a sting.
"maybe it's best if you don't move your limbs for now, dream," the pinkette tells him, a very obvious note of relief in his voice now that he has gotten some water in his system. "you're probably, uh, confused about where you are, so, uhm, you passed out after the server visited you in prison, and after a long while of convincin' sam let me and philza take you back to the tundra for healin'. your ... former friends are out in the hall, do you want me to call them in or let them wait outside for another bit? they've been worried about you, too."
his former friends? but he doesn't have friends, does he?
the pinkette must have read his expression. "am i wrong in assumin' that you remember george or sapnap?" he prompts.
sapnap. the name rings a bell.
"if you break out of this prison, it's gonna be - it's gonna be me who takes your final life."
"they want to kill me?"
"no! no, no, dream, they just wanna see you..." the pinkette's voice trails off.
"no," he says firmly, ignoring the way the pinkette tenses slightly. "don't let them in, please." a pause. a hesitation. "i don't wanna ... don't wanna manipulate anyone again."
"of course," the man says after a slightly awkward pause. "okay. i won't let them in. but you're ... you're not manipulatin', anyone, okay, dream? you're not a bad person."
you're not a bad person.
and he wishes he can believe it.
"crying obsidian - potentially dangerous. the liquid it secretes is strangely addictive but also very harmful. if one were to come into contact with the liquid, it would show them in vividness one of their happy memories, but after they have relieved it one would not be able to remember said memory any longer. prolonged exposure to crying obsidian tends to dampen one's feelings and emotions in general, prompting them to continue using the liquid to stay happy, and as a result increasing the risk of one losing all their happy memories. if one were to touch the liquid again after all of their happy memories have been forgotten, one would only remember the distressful instances in their lives, forced to replay one of them instead of a happy memory. however, the distressful memories are not stolen, contrary to the happy ones. touching the liquid from crying obsidian has been shown to be highly addictive, especially to an individual with a traumatic background or complex personality. it has been used in cases before to remove a dreamon (see pg. 149-163) from possessing a human body, and some tests have been run on the crying obsidian. if one happens to have a beloved who only has given them happy memories, one would lose everything they know about the beloved in question; if one has someone who has given them a mix of happy and sad memories (as is usually the case) one would only remember the distressing parts of their relationship. the government has ranked it highly dangerous and illegal, giving out severe punishments for those foolish enough to export it as a high-class drug. see exhibit a for the list of punishments, written by hand by one of the anonymous government higher-ups."
techno still remembers, hauntingly, the paragraph phil read out from an old, crumbling book he had found in a stronghold a long time ago. the book's title had been faded away so no one could decipher the gold lettering, but phil said he had been reading it to relieve some of his stress after finally finishing with dream's injuries before catching sight of the paragraph on crying obsidian and rushing to read it to everyone present. techno thinks he can never quite forget the look of horror spread out on everyone's faces after he finished.
"this must be why dream doesn't remember you, techno," phil had told him quietly. techno doesn't know if he should feel minutely happy that he hasn't given the homeless green teletubby any bad memories or sad that dream had had to resort to that kind of action just to keep himself feeling joy.
needless to say, tommy exploded, quackity narrowly avoided a bloody fate that day (so did sam), and everyone else was just hovering in the middle between horrified and guilty.
sapnap had broken down crying. george was - and still is - sitting in a corner of the room, looking shell-shocked. puffy had sobbed about her little duckling (whom she left at such a young age), punz was sitting by himself on a part of the floor, tight-lipped and silent, and ... yeah. no one was doing very good.
then dream woke up.
techno hadn't known what to expect. now as he helped his rival stomach some soup that phil had brought up for him, he saw just how fragile the admin had become. he still fully didn't trust techno yet, but that was to be expected, and he was doing ... okay, considering the circumstances.
it would take days for dream to come out of his shell. maybe months before he trusted techno fully again. certainly years before he could finally look past all the trauma.
but that's okay. it's okay. because for now, just in this moment, dream is okay.