C!Dream

The bubbling pop of the lava, the distant drip of weeping obsidian, and the endless tick of the clock.

These were all sounds that Dream was acutely aware of. Each one was a jagged blade, slicing through his carefully stitched together sanity. It was finally coming apart at the seams.

How long had it been? He tried to keep count, but he lost track somewhere between the first month of starvation and the second month of torture.

He was curled in the centre of the cell, lying on the hard obsidian in a puddle of blood that had long since dried, his knees hugged tightly to his chest. It was a pathetic sight.

He was pathetic.

But that feeling was overtaken by the pain. It was the only constant here. The scars etched across his withered body acted as a reminder. Every time he looked down at himself, it was like reliving the sting of Quackity’s shears and the burn of a branding iron on his thigh.

He was cold. His skin felt numb, his fingers were shaking with a permanent tremor. And yet, the heat emanating from the lava was so suffocating. Like a pair of invisible hands closing around his bruised throat, pulling all the air from his lungs, choking him to the point of tears.

When did he start crying?

The wall of lava parted, and Dream barely even registered it. He slowly unfurled and pushed himself into a hunched position on the ground, his head dipped, his long hair falling around his face in tangled, greasy strands.

Through the curtain of dirty blond, his red-rimmed eyes peeked at whoever entered this shithole, the emerald of his irises glowing faintly.

Who was it…?

He dreaded the answer. But at the same time, he held his breath. Anticipating… hoping.

Please.