This is a little happier than the last parts to this oneshot 🥴

❌Trigger Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, no actual attempts this time❌

When Killer woke up Dream was gone. He found himself alone on his living room sofa, face pressed into one of the dusty cushions with a thin blanket dragged over his lower body. His vision swam slightly as he sat up, hands rubbing at his sockets until they ached. Dream must have moved him. The thought made him smile a little.

Shifting the blanket off he stretched, fingers reaching out as if they could scrape the ceiling before they fell back down to hit his lap. It was a deceptively cold day and Killer found himself surprised to see a cloud of his own breath waver out before him, fading before he could wave it off.

Something felt different. Craning his neck back Killer's eyes swept across the room smoothly until they rested on his dining room table where an object sat that hadn't been there before.

A bland looking pot stood at the centre of the oak table, it's copper colour sides smeared with dirt and moisture in an unattractive and earthy way. A dish sat beneath it, equally smeared and crudely decorated. But much of that was looked over, the skeleton's gaze only having room to focus on what grew from that pot. It was a flower, a gorgeous wide-petal open flower with a shocking yellow centre dusted with pollen. The inner petals were light, a soft baby blue that steadily graduated to a rich navy. It was the most beautiful flower he'd ever seen.

Stumbling to his feet Killer stepped over, pupils fixated on the smooth piece of paper placed by the pots side with swirly cursive handwriting spilling across its surface. It read only a few simple words;

Killer
Make it last two weeks
-Ps, look for the yellow beads-
-Dream-

Hands shaking he gave a laugh, looking at the flower and letting one ashy finger brush over a petal. He could make it last two weeks. Attention lingering on the Ps, he looked to the other side of the pot where a small length of elastic tie lay curled, one singular yellow bead sat by its side.

Reaching down he picked up the two items with a frown, carefully threading the yellow bead through the elastic. The note had said beads, meaning plural - had he hidden them around the house like some weird Easter egg hunt?

For now he decided to leave it be, placing the elastic aside as he looked back at the plant once more. He needed to keep it alive - and he knew he could do so for much longer than just two weeks, he'd make Dream proud.

But what did flowers need to live? For a brief moment his mind hit an absolute blank, a solid brick wall that momentarily seemed impenetrable like a dam pushing back millions of gallons of water.

Sunlight. They needed sunlight.

Picking up the pot Killer walked quickly to his bay window tucking the plant firmly under one arm to free the other. He'd have thought that opening the curtains would have been easy, but he paused, breath catching in his throat. He hadn't opened these curtains for months - he could hardly remember what the view out of them looked like. Cursing sharply he shook his head, took a deep breath and pulled.

The sunlight hadn't burned liked he'd expected. In fact, it was rather refreshing to see natural light flood into the open room, seep into every corner and cast away the depressive shadows that loomed after his every move. His eyes stung a little at the change but he found he soon got used to it, a grunt leaving him as he glanced down at the flower. He didn't want it to perch on the windowsill precariously, he wanted it to be the centre of attention.

Hobbling around he grasped onto one of his beaten and chipped coffee tables, casting the stacks of magazines and old cigarettes from it messily to make room. From there he dragged it into the brightest spot before the window, blowing off the dust and brushing it down before he finally let the pot rest there.

It looked even better in the sunlight, all it's rich colours shining through like never before. Prussian blue, ultramarine, colbat, cyan, indigo, teal, sapphire turquoise. He found that he could have stared at it for an hour, simply trying to absorb every fleck in its petals, every subtle detail that the average person might lose if they looked too quick. Killer couldn't bare the thought.

Water.

The word came into his mind as a soothing thrum, sending shivers through his body as he tore his gaze from the flower. Water. Flowers need water.

Turning quickly Killer cursed, feet jumping over the magazines and rubbish he'd thrown on the floor mere moments ago. He'd clear it up later - he really would (that's what he said in his head anyway). Rushing to the kitchen he paused, eyes sweeping over the floor. It was clean. The spaghetti and soy had been cleared up, tossed in the overflowing bin in the corner of the room, no longer displayed as a mind field across his stained floor. Dream had cleared it up for him.

His fingers trembled as they gripped at his hoodie strings, breathing slow. Dream must get so tired of having to fix up all his mess, righting everything he did wrong.

Don't think about that.

Shaking his head he stepped forwards, reaching up to tug open one of his cabinets. Around ten glasses shone down at him, all dusty but three - one for water and orange juice, one for beer, and the third a small glass for if normal alcohol wasn't enough to numb his pain. Grabbing the tall water glass he grunted and let the door shut before reaching for the tap.

Before he could fill the glass up he paused, a rattling sound perking his interest. Looking downwards he arched a brow, eyes focusing on the little plastic object that lay in the translucent glass base. A canary yellow bead stared up at him, it's sharp colour glowing and reflecting off of the cylindrical surface. A small piece of paper lay folded beneath it.

His hands trembled like a leaf as he tipped the glass, letting the bead and paper fall into his outstretched palm. The yellow plastic rolled to rest against his thumb and Killer quickly placed it on the countertop with the glass, fumbling to open up the paper. It was a note, a short one.

Killer,
Drink some water
-Dream-

He could have laughed if not for the lump in his throat, the note being left on the countertop beside the bead. So he had made an Easter egg hunt for him - a hunt that appeared to have requests or suggestions or him.

Reaching out he held the glass under the tap and turned it on quickly, eyes sharp as he watched the water fill all the way to the brim. It was only then that he realised how parched his throat was.

Tipping his head back he greedily drank the water, gulps of the cool liquid splashing down his throat like a river washing down into his complex skeletal system. He ended up drinking the entire glass worth, gasping down afterwards and staring up at the ceiling hazily. He felt refreshed, head a little clearer from such a simple action, as if he'd swept away one cobweb in the thick maze that plagued his skull.

Muttering under his breath he filled the glass to the brim once more before turning to the living room, making sure to pick up his little yellow bead as he went. He drank as he went, swallowing half the clear liquid once more before stopping himself - he'd have to leave some for the flower after all. Drinking it all would be selfish.

Dragging his couch over with a groan he pulled it to sit right at a right angle to his flower, caught in the sunlight from the window. Yes, that would do nicely. Easing himself down he kept an eye on his water to make sure he didn't spill it anywhere. He had to do this right, he had to let the flower last two whole weeks - that would mean watering it every day, and making sure that it had plenty of sunshine and air. Reaching forwards he had to use both hands to keep steady, carefully pouring the water into the pot for the soil to absorb. It darkened with the moisture, a small indent forming from the pressure of the water it greedily drank up.

He ended up giving it all the water left in the glass, a proud smile flicking across his mouth as he stared at it as if expecting it to thank him.

Water, sunlight, air.

Air.

Glancing over at his windows Killer sighed and pushed himself up to his feet. Dream had opened the windows in the kitchen already, but the little voice in the back of his mind was nagging that wouldn't be enough - it needed more.

The handle to the window was stiff with abandonment, and it took two good tugs before he managed to switch the catch and crack the glass open. The air that streamed in was cool, a light breeze that caused the plant's petals to bow.

Water, sunlight and air. Yes, that's what plants needed, or at least it was the three basics. He found himself staring at the pretty plant for perhaps five minutes before his mind wandered to the yellow bead he'd collected. Turning to the table he stepped over, picking up his new bead and carefully threading it through the elastic where it fell to bump against the original bead tied in. So now he had two. What was Dream's goal? To make a bracelet perhaps? The elastic seemed to be just about the right length to do so.

Thoughtfully twisting the little beads in his fingers he stood in his own mind, not focusing on anything other than their hard texture. It was the sort of thing Dream would have him do, to hunt for things to make him pass the time, to give him a silly little goal to work towards. It was so like him it made his soul ache.

The question then arose; where else would he have hidden the beads?

Mind wandering he thought long and hard. There would most likely be a few more in the kitchen; maybe with a nicely made packed lunch for him. There could be one in his office room, along with a note for him telling him to sort out the bills and stop moping around. Maybe there'd be some in his bedroom? Or the bathroom telling him to clean his teeth.

Clean his teeth. That was a good idea, he couldn't remember when was the last time he'd done so.

Slowly placing the elastic and beads back down he headed out of the living room with a yawn. It'd be best if he left them there - then he'd always know where they were if he found any more beads. He didn't trust himself not to lose it.

Fingers curling around the banister he looked up at the looming staircase, his bones prickling. He'd go to the bathroom and that was all, he wouldn't need to look in the bedroom. He tried not to go near it until it was time to sleep, it was the most painful room, the one that held the most memories.

Each step was slow and heavy, a dull thud of slippered feet against old wood. He had a habit of counting stairs as he went up them, and today he counted fourteen, the same amount of stairs as he climbed every day, they never changed. But he'd still count them anyway.

Stood blankly on the landing Killer squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his hands into his pockets. He hadn't shut the bedroom door this morning - a wide chunk of its innards staring sharply at him. He knew he hadn't made the bed or opened the curtains, or taken his crumpled clothes downstairs to he washed. Over and over he'd told himself to do so, but every morning he simply wasn't in the mood.

Reaching out a hand blindly he grasped at the wall, feeling along to the bathroom. He didn't want to look at the bedroom if he could help it - too many times he'd done so expecting to see Dream sat there, reading a book, eating breakfast, cleaning up Killer's mess. But it was always empty.

Once his fingers curled around cold metal his eyes cracked open to burn into the bathroom door, a dry sigh leaving him. Living in fear of his own bedroom wasn't something he revelled in, but he couldn't help how his soul clenched and throat closed up every time he thought of setting foot in that room. More than a few times he'd thought about moving into the spare room to sleep there instead, but then he'd feel overcome with guilt, as if doing so was a betrayal to Dream. It was stupid and he knew it but he was stuck with the same crushing mentality.

Pushing open the door he sighed, eyes flickering over the bathroom. It was one of the only rooms in the house that hadn't gone into complete disrepair. The lotions and soaps were still lined up neatly in the cabinets, and his toothbrush and toothpaste stood in their holder forlornly, abandoned, but clean.

The moment he saw the flash of yellow his mind perked up, a smile at his mouth once more as he saw the bead resting by his toothbrush, as he'd expected one to be. Quickly reaching out he took the folded paper next to it, reading its note quickly.

Killer
Brush your teeth, or they'll start looking like Error's.
-Dream-

He really did laugh at that one, the sound echoing across the tiled walls and floor soundly. Gosh, how long had it been since he'd laughed, properly laughed? Maybe that whole year. And Error - how long had it been since he'd seen that glitchy mess? Maybe even longer. As far as he knew, he was still being pestered by Ink every day, struggling to find ways to block him out of the anti void. He wondered how they were all doing now.

Everyone - Horror, Dust, Cross, Ink, Blue, Lust. He hadn't spoken to them in what felt like forever. Initially after the incident he'd messaged them back when they sent condolences, but after the first month he started ignoring them, until even Horror and Dust's calls and texts went unanswered. They had been his best friends, his partners in crime, and now he didn't even know if they still lived in the same home, or if they'd got partners of their own, or if they'd got a pet. Simple things that every good friend should know.

Maybe he'd try talk to them later - he really should. But he already knew that he would chicken out. What would he say to them anyway? That he'd fucked up cooking spaghetti? That his antidepressants made him more depressed? That he opened his curtains for the first time in months? No. Those weren't something worth talking about, he'd most likely just take up their time and cause them to worry - he couldn't bare the thought of even more people anxious over his wretched state of mind.

Taking his toothbrush he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Socialising could wait till later; much much later. For now he'd focus on keeping that blue flower alive and searching for Dream's yellow beads. Emptying his mind he squeezed a fat blob of toothpaste onto his brush and prayed it hadn't ran out of battery.

Thankfully, it hadn't. The mechanical whirr of the brush proved to be a good white noise for his mind to latch onto, so he did, brushing his teeth in small circles for the full two minutes before he spat the remnants out. His mouth felt clean, the minty after taste making his cheek bones tingle in a fuzzy way. It was nice, actually, a small slither of normality to grasp onto.

After placing the brush back down in its place he lazily glanced around the the rest of the room, subconsciously on the hunt for those little beads. His gaze settled on the bathtub and his mouth twitched lightly, already knowing what he might see if he leant over to check.

Two shining beads sat in the base of the bathtub, a bubble lotion lying next to it, the lotion a deep red with the label all too familiar. Cherry scented bubble bath. It had been his. Dream and him would often have baths together, but on the odd chance they didn't, they each had different preferred scents. Dream's was vanilla, a basic but fitting scent to his character that Killer fancied he could still often smell lingering in the guardian's old clothes and towels. His own personal scent had been chosen by Dream too; Cherry.

It had started with a simple comment from him towards his ecto one night, saying it was the same colour as cherries. The next day he'd bought the new bath scent and was pestering Killer to use it. He'd ended up liking the smell (or just maybe how Dream would press his face into the crook of his neck and inhale the smell, purring all the while before he'd kiss him all over and call him his 'cherry fairy'. God he hated that nickname almost more than Dream had hated being called 'angel').

Leaning down quickly he picked up the beads and placed them by the one on the sink, letting the three group together before he picked up the folded note in the bath. He found himself excited to read it, despite knowing exactly what it would say. Maybe it was simply the prospect of knowing that it had been Dream to write those notes, that his hands had gripped the paper and scripted that writing.

Killer
I know it's been a while since your last bath, so have a soak and clean yourself up. I thought cherry would be a nice idea, but don't linger on the past too much. I'll see you in two weeks, after all Xx
-Ps. Get in some clean clothes afterwards
-Dream-

It was the longest of the notes so far and it made Killer's soul ache. To think that the angel has slipped away during Killer's last session and wrote all these notes, found these beads and hidden them (albeit not very hidden) and somehow found him a flower to look after. It was all so thoughtful and personal, yet had already lessened the strain in his body that tethered him down to the depths of his mind.

After picking up the cherry lotion he put it to the side, the note joining it. Pushing in the plug he turned the taps, watching as the hot and cold water plunged down into the tub where it rushed to engulf the bottom of the tub and creep slowly up the sides. A bath would do good for him, he knew it.

Yawning softly to himself he started to wriggle his sweater off, slipping his arms out of their hot cases. He hadn't changed out of this sweater for perhaps two weeks now. It was disgusting and he knew it.

Within moments it thudded to the floor, kicked into the corner of the room where it would stay until he would remember it and consider washing it. His gaze swept over his ashy arms and he cringed - he really did need a bath. The bones of his arms were cracked beyond possible change, all of his near death incidents leaving a different scar to haunt him. He only had one scar on his wrist, it had come from the very first days after Dream's death. He'd taken and blade and, well... But when he saw how panicked Dream had been over it he'd felt immensely guilty and reluctantly agreed to promise he'd never make attempts with the same method again. He'd managed to keep that promise. Besides, there were so many easier and less messy ways to try die.

Next came his shirt, and then his shorts and boxers were kicked away until he was left bare boned and waiting for the bath to fill.

A generous squirt of cherry bubble bath and impatient muttering later the bath was ready and he dipped a finger in. It was warm and soft, like a gentle grip on his hand tempting him to slip in. He complied easily.

He found that the water felt a lot like a warm hug, a pair of invisible arms wrapped around him and squeezing him softly in his sorrow. The bubbles pooled around his chest and crept slowly up his sternum, popping and fizzing under his gaze.

Groaning softly Killer closed his eyes as tipped his head back, simply basking in the warm feeling. It was the thing he hadn't realised he'd been craving - to feel clean, warm and refreshed all at the same time, thats what bath was.

Counting in his head he added up how many beads he'd now acquired. One by the flower pot, two in the kitchen with the water, three with his toothbrush, four and five in the bath. He had small wrists, and came to the conclusion that he'd need around 15-20 beads to complete a bracelet.

As he sank into the water, hand lazily reaching for the sponge he smiled, mind already brimming with ideas of where the others could be hidden and what tasks would entail.

He was pleased to say he found himself rather looking forward to it.

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After this chapter I'll have ran out of advanced chapters so If there are no updates for a long time then um 🥴🥴🥴

Anyway my cat is sick so all wish her better please

Anyways, might write some more of one-night-two-night-stand next seeing as you all seem to like it 😍

-Jess-