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Dream was left in the prison cell, cold, injured, and alone.
He left that room with his eyes shut, his shoulders squared, and legs shaking beneath him.
His eyes were squeezed shut as he stumbled his way out of the cell, pushing away from anyone who tried to help him, every hand grabbing at him feeling like a chain, pulling him back, further and further into that god damn cell, ready to shut the door and lock the key again, to laugh at him as he believed he was finally free.
Dream was out. He made it out alive.
He would not be going back.
Dream wasn’t totally sure who was here, never having opened his eyes once as he walks down the hallway, following the sounds of footsteps as they move, keeping as far away from each person as he can, tripping over his own two feet every couple of meters, his body aching but never stopping, forcing himself to keep moving.
(The cell was so dark and he was so cold and he couldn’t see, why couldn’t he see? Where did the light go?
He was all alone in the corner but was it really the corner? He could feel the walls behind him and the floor beneath him, but everything was just darkness.
Every day Dream woke up, he was never truly sure if his eyes ever opened. Or had they just never shut?
He sat there, for daysweeksmonths all alone.
He sat there until the memories of the outside world, of the colours and objects and lives he used to see every day faded from memory, and all he was left with was the cold, unforgiving void.
The darkness became his world, and there was no turning back.)
Dream wasn’t sure if he would even recognize anyone if he did open his eyes. It had been so long, so many things could change, be reborn.
So many things could be forgotten.
It was terrifying, the first time he thought of his family and couldn’t recall any faces to match the memories.
He sat there, hands gripping his hair, trying to summon any face, any form, anything to remember his friends by. Just something to help him remember them, remember their warmth and their friendship and their-
Why did it matter? Why did he need to remember something he would never have again?
He still cried. Sobs ripped themselves from his throat as he though about the friends he would never see again, as his last connection to the outside world was torn from him, leaving him with nothing but vague memories of their voices echoing constantly in his mind.
Dream mourned for something he could never have, the person he had been dead and gone, something new crawling its way from his ashes.
No one spoke as they made their way out of the prison, ocassionally someone would speak up, try to break the tension that had laid itself over the group, only to be met with silence as their confidence dwindled and they gave up.
Even Tommy was quiet, his usually loud and energetic voice now quiet, his first couple of attempts to break the silence falling flat.
And god it had been so nice to hear a familiar voice, and Dream hated how he wanted to cry at the sound of it, at the relief he felt from hearing it, because he wasn’t weak goddamn it he had been through hell and lived he didn’t need them he didn’t need anyone-
Dream shut his eyes tighter, the blank nothingness calming him slightly, everything was so new and loud and too much and he was confused and scared and overwhelmed.
The darkness was familiar. It was the only thing he knew in all those months, the one constant he’d had. It was comforting in a morbid sense, knowing that he didn’t have to see the world around him, the world he had failed.
(The world he had built with his own two hands, his power, his being, his fucking essence and soul and spirit and heart and blood and sweat and tears all poured into this one world.
His home he made and protected with his life until he was torn from its surface and locked away from everything he had worked so hard to preserve.
He couldn’t bare to look at the world that had been ripped from him. Something he had once been so proud of twisted, even the thought of the sight of it enough to make him sick.
When had he grown to hate the world he built?)
He took his first step out of the prison, the fresh air and sunlight hitting his face, and Dream nearly collapsed.
The feeling of grass beneath his bare feet was enough to make him stop where he stood, moving his feet in the dirt, the texture so different compared to the rough obsidian he had grown accustomed to.
It was soft. The grass pricked his skin, and the dirt was soft beneath him, and it didn’t hurt like he had half expected it to. The breeze ruffled his long matted hair, the strands tickling his face as they moved, and the feeling was so foreign, so uncomfortable, so, so-
so free.
Everyone had paused around him, waiting to see what he would do. He could feel their stares on his back without needing to see them. He could tell they were watching him, all eyes trained on his every move.
Dream just sighed, the air was fresher than it had ever been in the prison, and Dream wasn’t going to waste a second. He breathed deeply, standing beneath the sun, the world quiet around him.
For just a moment, Dream was free. There was no one to condemn him, no eyes glaring daggers at his back, no hands to pull him back, to drag him down further and further below until theres no possible way he could claw his way out.
Dream breathed, and for the first time in months, he smiled.
“Are you good man?” he heard Tommy ask, and despite the sound of at least three people smacking the teen and telling him to give Dream some time, Dream just laughed.
It was small at first, a couple of chuckles, barely noticeable beneath the sound that had broken out.
But soon those chuckles turned into laughter which turned into wheezes, leaving Dream breathless, doubled over and gasping for air.
Unknown to Dream, everyone froze at the sound, their eyes wide, all focused on the admin.
It had been so fucking long since they had heard that laugh, and god it was infectious.
No one had heard Dream laugh in months, even before he was locked away. If they were being honest, they had forgotten he could.
Just then, Dream heard the sound of someone running, and a sob of ”Dream!” was shouted before there were two people crashing into him, two pairs of arms wrapping him into a hug as they crashed to the ground.
Dream couldn’t see who it was, but he knew. He could never forget their embrace, the way they held him so gently, like he deserved to be treated kindly.
He remembered their soft touches late at night as he sobbed, their arms warm, and comforting, and safe-
Dream melted into the hug, tears leaking from closed eyes as he cried into someones shoulder, his shirt damp from where someone had done the same to him.
“Oh god Dream,” Niki cried, pulling him closer, her hand in his hair, running her fingers through the strands, gently rubbing his head as she held him.
Puffy was on his other side, holding both him and Niki in her arms. Her hair was soft beneath Dream’s fingers, and she clutched the two tightly, as if they would disappear should she let them go.
“I’m so sorry,” she said into his shoulder, her face pressed into his neck, “we should’ve fought more to get you out, we should’ve tried harder, or just-”
“It’s okay mom,” Dream said, pulling her closer and kissing the side of her head as best as he could. He wasn’t really sure where she was exactly, but he thought he got close enough.
“God Dream,” Niki cried, taking his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the last of tears, her expression unseen by the man as she frowned, “we’re gonna help you, yeah? You’re gonna come back to the bakery, and it’s gonna be like when you were little.”
She left no room for argument, and Dream wouldn’t have dreamed of it. He just nodded, sagging in relief at the acceptance, at the hand extended and the home offered. He just nodded and slumped into his mothers’ arms, ready and waiting to catch him.
“We’ve got you kid,” Puffy said as she helped him stand, both of his arms slung over the shoulders of each of the women, relying mostly on their help to keep him standing.
“A-a sash,” Dream said suddenly, unable to see their reactions but feeling them pause, their shoulders tensing slightly, “do you have a sash or a, like a ribbon or something I could borrow?”
Niki made a noise of confusion from his left, but Puffy just nodded, her hair brushing against his cheek as she moved. He felt her shift beside him, before saying, “I’ve got one, what do you need?”
“My eyes,” he said, turning to face her as best as he could, “just, it’s so bright mom, and it hurts and I just can’t, it’s all too much and-”
He was cut off by a piece of cloth being wrapped around his head, fitting comfortably over his eyes, blocking all light out, leaving him in the comforting embrace of the dark.
He felt the sash being tied off behind his head, careful fingers tying a secure knot, not too tight that it would be uncomfortable, but tight enough that it wouldn’t slip.
Once it was finished, and he could open his eyes without fear of seeing anything, did Dream relax.
He leaned deeper onto Niki and Puffy, the two gripping him tighter in response.
Dream wasn’t sure if anyone was still there, or if they had left to give the family some privacy, but no one complained when the trio began to walk, so he didn’t particularly care.
Puffy and Niki filled the silence as they made their way through the town, the wooden paths rough beneath Dream’s feet, but not unpleasant.
They spoke about how the bakery was faring, about the new recipes they wanted to test out, and how much people had enjoyed their last desserts.
Puffy spoke animatedly about her travels, exploring uncharted areas of the smp just because she could, because she wanted to see what this world had to offer, and hadn’t been disappointed once.
(And at least someone enjoyed his work, enjoyed what his world had become, and every detail he had added in hopes it could bring a little bit more life to this world.
Maybe it was lovable, maybe it was worthy of praise, and kind treatment and soft words and gentle touches and maybe it was good enough.
And maybe, Dream was too.)
They eventually stopped, and Niki stepped forward slightly, the sound of a bell chiming sweetly as the door to the bakery was opened, and suddenly, Dream was home.
The smell of fresh bread and pastry dough hit him first, the scent so familiar and so warm he could weep.
The family stepped carefully into the store, the door shutting behind them as they made their way to a booth, the two women setting Dream down carefully in the seat as Puffy ran to get the medkit from the back, Puffy running her hand through Dream’s hair, finishing up one of her stories.
“And I swear to god, there were at least 50 zombies surrounding the pillar I had made. At least! I didn’t know what the fuck to do, so I just started swinging wildly and-”
Niki set down a plate on the table next to Dream as Puffy continued talking, the medkit being placed on the floor at his feet. Even though Dream couldn’t see it, he could picture the way Puffy would swing her arms wildly as she spoke, everyone backing up at least three feet to avoid getting hit by a flailing arm.
Niki began to patch him up, cleaning and bandaging the small scratches that littered his form, wiping the blood away from where it had dried on his skin, before settling into the booth behind him and beginning to pull his hair into a braid, never once mentioning how dirty it had become.
Dream took small bites of the food Niki had brought him, his stomach empty, cramping painfully with each bite. It was the first warm meal he’d had in months though, and it was so much better than he could have ever imagined.
(And he had imagined it. He had imagined sitting down at a table with his family, eating dinner together and laughing like they used to.
He imagined being welcomed home with open arms, smiling faces happy to see him, promises he knew they would keep spilling from their lips as they brought him home.
It wasn’t what he had imagined, what he thought about to keep him from going insane all those months alone, but it was better than he could’ve dreamed.
It was his family, and finally, he was home.)
Niki and Dream laughed as Puffy spoke, offering their own comments here and there. Dream was mostly content to listen to the other two, leaning his head in his hands as he felt exhaustion replace the space the adrenaline had left when it faded.
Dream was barely awake when he felt two pairs of arms lift him from the booth, slowly guiding him to the house set up behind the bakery.
Suddenly there was a bed beneath him, a hand running through his hair and a blanket being pulled over him, making him feel like he was twelve years old again, sick in bed with a fever and being taken care of.
Dream felt a kiss being placed on his forehead, and he drifted to sleep, stomach full and heart warm, his parents’ presence beside him, talking softly to one another, watching over their son.