I didn't realise the song I put at the bottom makes it play when you read the chapter, just turn your volume off if you don't want it 😭

Wow enjoy guys lots wanted an update of this oneshot 😍😍😍

Sorry if you can't read the glitched text I'll comment with it what it says in case you can't understand 😭😍

"Ẏ̸̮̤̤̤͛̊̀͊͝o̷̭̣̰̰̫͐͂̔ủ̵̡̧̹͎̐̀̏̽̉ ̶̛͈̫͔͉s̶̛͇̯̖͇͋p̴̨̞̂͜e̶̟̜͙͉͒̍̌̑ǹ̴͓̗̹̹̬̓̊̀͊̚ḑ̵̘̲̹͚̭͌́̀̿͘ ̸͍̂̀̐̕͝t̴͎͖͕͕̆̃̓̔͑̈́͜ỏ̴̧̙̜͈̟̀̅̕ỏ̴̖ ̶̘̍m̸̦̰̣͔̙̊͊̽͗̀͂ú̵̬̖̈̇ć̸̣͊́̈́ḧ̶̯̥̗́̍̍̾̀͝ ̷̨͓̀̉̌̚ẗ̷̼̤́̓̑̈́̿̚ĩ̸͓̿m̴̫͈̙̟̈́͑̾͝é̷̬̊̕͝͝ ̶̺̰͉̺̭̼̄͗͑͛w̶̨̨͖͜͠a̷̡̡͉͚͓̽͜t̶̛͈̭̆͒́́c̸̜̬͆̋̏͊͋͜h̴̢͖̰̒͒͒i̷̠̭̤̊̔͜n̷̩̰̳͇̺̲̅̀͆̒g̷̝͔̜͎̞̠̀͌̌ ̶̢͈͔͍̏h̸̺̗̑į̶͉͗m̴̜͒͜."

"I'm his guardian."

"̶͍͈͒͆̍Y̶̧̿e̵͓͉̻̯̐̑̃̎ţ̷̦̱͍̝͎̥̈́̈́ ̶̢̡̦̭̟̤̯̍́y̸̡̭͛͑o̶͈̮̓̃̇́̔͘͘͝ŭ̶̹̘̈̈́̊̀͘'̸̯̰̈̑̉͛͑v̶̛̖̫͚̪̖̱͇̔̓ę̸̡̛̟̹̙̝̲́́̊̈́̉̀ ̵͇͖͛̈͝b̵̮̒̽͘͝ě̵̞̠͙̑͑c̸̱̹̃o̵̱͒͐̾̀̓́m̷̤̗̳̓̆̀̏̔̕e̴̥̲̪̓̔̀ ̶̬̖͇͖͎̎̓͐̈̚͝͝ͅḩ̶͇̹̔̇̈̿̈́̔̔ḯ̵͖̹͕̞̩̹̉͋͗s̴̱͎̰̦̖̃̃ ̶̝̍͑ͅp̶͈͙̠͈̠̠̥̅̽̀ȩ̴̖̘͔͔̳̝͎́r̸̡̨̯̭͈̰̦̻̂̊̕s̵̰̥͉̬͉̳̔ͅͅơ̶͈̟͓͎̼̦̊̿̋̃n̵̳̱͌ả̷̛͕̯̱͖̤̒͗̈́̈̉̅ͅl̸̪͊͋͋̓́ ̵̘͕͎͙̪̟̯̎͆́̂͊͗̆̕͜s̷̢̮͙̝͇͛̑͐͌̕e̷̢̳͎͇̲͕͕̅͜r̵̹̯̗̬̲̎̈̓v̵̪͎͙̣̼͕̦̔́̈́̚i̸̞̲͓͒̐́c̶̭̗͖̳͔̲̏͑̌̐͌̑͝e̶̬͚̺͎̪͈͒ ̵̢̢̛̦͙̬̼̯̗̚d̴͇̞̭̼́͜o̷̖̥̺͙̠̦͕͒g̶̠̥̜̻̈́͐̿̋̿̔̋."

Dream's spine prickled, golden pupils sliding over to the Throne that hovered beside him. At least eighteen eyes stared back at him, their blinks out of sync in such a sickening way that he had to look back. "I don't see why you should have an issue with my job. Go do yours."

The Throne turned, it's ephemeral body twisting in a collidoscope of rings and wings. He hated them, they were so judging, as if being in connection with God he'd given them the right to see themselves as above everyone. They were original settlers, crafted by God to aid their duties. They weren't like Dream; once mortal. No, they'd never had to sink so low. And Dream was new here, a lowly guardian angel. No one listened to his type, ever. He had one simple job, and that was to be a guardian over his assigned mortal. Killer.

"Ÿ̸̨͇̩͕̦̺͈̥̓̽͒̑͑͂̄͒͘̕͝͝͝o̵̢̘̮̗̗̪͓͎̩̩̯̦͗͜͜ͅü̴̙̦̙̝̻̜͍͔̱̺͕̱̮̥͕̹͊̇̊̂̓͒͌͠ͅ ̶͉̘̼̞̬̝̟̘̟̘̥̦̓̑̓̿͂́̄͋̾̆̑̒̚̕ͅͅŝ̴͕͉̳͇̙̗̬͓͚̤̹̟̰̅̐̈́̎̾̅͝͝ͅh̶̺̙̝̖͉̃̀̈́̑̉̓̕͠͝ọ̵̧̡̳̹̻͍̖̦͓̄́͗͂̈́̾̐͋̈̎̐u̴̢̨͇͔̘̼͇̺̬͍͕̫̓͗͌́͌͜͜l̷̦͋d̴̢̢̥̭̼̘̖͗̀͒́̀̃͐͗̅̋̇̎͗̕ ̴̢̧̢̛̤̰̩̦̌͛̋̓̉̽͐̓̕l̵̢̙̻̼͍͓̦͊̋̽͐͜ͅe̵̥̪̹̗̬̩͕͕̦̪͖̘̥̳̅̌̈́̑̓̋͛͂̑̓̄͌͝͝t̷̡͈̤͖͇̝̽̽́̕͜ ̸̥͖̯̝̦̬͆̽̋̕ͅͅḩ̷̧͖͍̬̤͍̖̭͉͗͋̏̆̓̑̏͠ĩ̸̡͚͚̯̪̠̕m̷̟̻̀̑̀̿̍̏́͠͠͝ ̵̙̫̠̥̙̫̫̖̑̏̽̒̿ḑ̵̖͔̯̩̺̟͈̤̈́̇͜i̶͚͛̿̅̈̌͒͛̾̓̓̇̈͒̌̒͝ế̴̢̘̳͉̦̲̻̖̜̹́͆̃."

Dream let the words echo into the void of his skull, fingers digging into the palms of his hands. He didn't turn, keeping his gaze fixed on what lay beneath him. Ignoring angels of superiority wasn't advised or clever, but he'd received the same comments for the past month. Blocking it out was getting easier this time.

"S̸̠̄̈́ͅǫ̶̖͖̠̙̙̦͔̰̬̫͙̹̑̎͛̋̈́̓͒̿̈́̎͛͐̽m̶͈͑e̷̯̥̰͈̩̭͔͛̓̔̄̽ ̶̢̘͊̄͊̍̓́̌̊͝m̶͇͕̼̻̠͕̓̓̋̊͂́̎̆̏̈́͝͝ͅo̷̧̲̺͔̱͍͓̬̜̤̗̦̳̓͂̾͊́̌̈́̕͠͝͠ͅṛ̸̡̡̲͉͕̤̲̣̩̦̮̈́̈́͑̉̌̍͘͠ͅẗ̸̢̢̛̪̻͚̺̫̍̈́̈͑̎̔͛̋͌̓ͅă̶̭̳̳̜̤͈̗͝l̴̨̛̞̘̼͑̓̉͑͐̌̆̇̅̄̚͘s̵̞͉̭̙̀͊̇̀̽̋̊̈́͑̔̍̕̚̚ ̴̠̞̭͙̹͖̎͋͗͋͘͜͝s̴̢̨͚̩̗͔̭̤̠̭͎͎̙̘͂͒̇̃̿̈́͂̓̂͌͘i̵̧̻̘̦̤̟̖̳̝̦͉̣̙̹̿̃̇͛͊̒͆̑̈́̔̕͘̕m̵̛̭̹̼̂͛̌̾̇̏͒̄̋͋͌̓͝p̷̧̳̘͙̱̻̔́l̷͍̗͊̅̃͝͝͠y̵̧̡͔͚̖͚̪̳̟̒̌̉̒͠ ̶̧̡̟̻͇͈̺̠̱̥̥̝̫̑̾̍̈͛̑̍͒̓͗̑̽̆̓p̶̨̺̠̙͓̦̬̦̣̪̝͉̣̭̐̐̄̆̌͛͊̈́̊̃̀̈́̏̅͝a̵̼̺͚̰̥̗̖̿̃̊̒̈́͛̉͝ş̵̤̺̯̙̞̮̜͕̗̱̈̋̾͋̿͒̌͋͆s̶̜̮̭̘̥̟̱̟̓̂̆̒̐͑̇̃̂̃͗́͘͝ ̴̨̡͙̤̜̹́̇̈́̍̉͂͋̔̕͘̚͝͠t̵̡͖̬̱̳̬̞̼̗̺̖̞͎̯͋̔̌̄̐͐́͠ͅh̶̪͓̞̋̍̅͗̀ě̶̡̛̠̰̹̱̗̼͛̈͊̑̓͌͊͐̿̀͊͘i̸͙͓̤̮͍̘̩̠̱̦̳͐̈͊͂̾̆̈́̈́͌̑̔͛̿͠ͅͅṛ̸̢̙̘͎̞̳͓̣̞̭͕̝͌̄̔́̔͠͠͝ ̵̡̧̝͎̙͓̺͍̼̘͔̾̾̽ś̷̡̧̛̼̯̫̥̥̜̗̻͇͖̰̙̉̃͊̌̆͜͝ĕ̵̼̩͈̬̼̬̗̺͚̠̻͙̩͊͊͋̍͆͒́̌̽́l̶̜̝̪̠̱͗̋̏͌̇̍͒̏͌̒̄͆͘ͅl̴̮̬̜͔̣̐͋̏̈́͊̿͆̊͠ ̴̛̼͍̱̹̩̲̭̻̻͈̟͛̂̓̊̄̍͛͝b̷̨̙̀̒̓̕ÿ̷̨̙͖̠̻̫͔́ ̶̢̢̫̱̫̼̟̬̲̍̿̈́͛̇̐̅͝d̸̝̘̮͗̅͘ͅa̷̢̛͓͕͔̜̗̪̞͇̜̻̳̻͕̎̍͗͊͑͗͆̂͘͘͝t̸̛̲͈̦̜́̀͆͒̏͆̅̍̆͌͠e̴̪̮̳͕̐̈́̈̃̐́́̈́͝͝͝ ̷̧̫͚̗̦̖̱̖̠͚͕͎̋̽͌́̍ͅ."

Dream felt his body non-consensually flinch, the back of his skull burning. But he didn't speak back. Challenging a Throne would be the final reasoning for him to be replaced - someone else would become Killer's guardian. He couldn't allow that. Someone else wouldn't be able to treat Killer like he did- they wouldn't know how to calm him down, how to praise him, how to coax out the days between suicides until he healed.

It had been over a month since he'd last seen the mortal. Since he'd last held his hand, gripped him to his chest, since he'd kissed him and told him how well he was doing. Selfishly, he missed him. He knew he should be pleased - Killer was growing in strengths, both physically and mentally. The plant he'd given the other had flourished, and the growth had meant Killer had had to leave the house one day and go to the garden centre to get a new pot. He'd chosen a yellow one, a sweet endearment.

Killer's progress was tremendous, truly. He'd watched as the other had met up with Horror a few months ago. They'd sat in the living room and ordered pizzas together, staying up until the early hours in the morning watching movies and eating so much food they felt sick. He'd stared at Killer as he laughed, a joyous cackle he remembered all too fondly. He'd loved that sound so much, frequently tickling the others back when he was alive to hear the sound split the silence of a calm bedroom. Each time he'd end up being pinned and tickled himself, gasping until he couldn't breathe. But they'd never been happier.

Killer had also met up with Dust, the two of them physically going outside, and not in the confines of the garden. Dream didn't know how the other had managed, but Dust had convinced the other to meet at a coffee shop in the nearby village and they'd stayed there for well over an hour talking and catching up on more months of missed conversations. Dust and Horror had a house now, having finally moved out of Nightmare's home to make their own. Since that day they'd made a pact that they'd meet up every Thursday for coffee. And they'd stuck to it. Occasionally Killer had darker days and found going outside too overwhelming, so they'd both stay inside and drink. If anything the company still benefited them both, being amongst others was simply a bonus.

Twice Cross had come over to talk, but those conversations had been stood in the doorway, with neither going in or out. They were mostly short, 20 minutes or 30 on a good day. But Cross often called the other, most Monday evenings after his morning workout. It gave Killer a routine; lunch (a sandwich or soup) on the sofa while chatting away to an old friend. The Mondays and Thursdays combined made for a good way for the week to be 'exciting' for the other; it gave him something to look forward to. It didn't matter that these things were small or seemingly insignificant; if they made Killer's life easier then it was worth it.

Killer had been good at gardening on the weekend too. Since the day when he'd invited everyone over the garden was in a much better shape. The group had had a similar session again two weeks ago, and the result had been positive. The skeleton often busied himself for an hour or two trimming the rose bush or mowing the lawn every weekend, and again it was a positive source of productivity for the other.

It was hard to explain just how proud of the other he was. Watching him build himself from the wreckage of a broken man was so fulfilling; he was so damn proud. With each visit the other came back stronger, lasting longer without him and slowly emerging back into civilisation. His confidence was growing and his depression wasn't so.. severe. He was still on the waiting list for pills, though Dream doubted how much they'd do for him as a skeleton. He hoped to God that even if they were useless Killer might experience some sort of placebo effect. Seeing the other depressed tore him apart from the inside; because he was the reason him to be in that state. He hadn't wanted to die, but if there were paperwork, a reason for this; his death would be the cause of all this suffering. The knowledge of that often had him tearing out the feathers of his wings, especially on days when Killer would spend all day sobbing in bed and gripping knives to his wrists every hour. It made him sick, truly.

Yet days like that were becoming uncommon. In fact, he hadn't seen the other truly distressed in a long time, and that was good. It was what he'd wanted. Seeing Killer progress was rewarding, and he wished with all his being that he could simply be happy for the other. But something gnawed at him, tucked away in the back of his soul and staining it black.

Jealousy.

It was truly awful to feel such a way, but he found he was unable to push it aside. It wasn't that he wanted Killer to be miserable and dependent on him all the time, it was more the fear of being forgotten; replaced.

Killer had made a new.. friend in the last month. He'd met the other at the cafe he and Dust visited. They worked as a waiter, serving them their drinks on most visits until eventually they'd exchanged visits. Dust had encouraged them, claiming that "you need more than just three mates to keep you company". And it was true, but it made Dream's feathers itch.

The man was soft, slightly shy yet passionate. He was young, on his last year of a university course studying space. And he treated Killer well. He cared for him, spoke in tones that wouldn't trigger the other, would comfort him in every mannerism a friend could. Yet the burning pain the back of Dream's skull told him that they were becoming more than that.

Realistically, he should be okay with the possibility of them becoming more. It would be selfish otherwise - he was an angel, in heaven. If Killer died he'd go to hell. They could never be together again, never. Their fleeting conversations between death only caused more unnecessary pain for them both, and Killer was young. He had years left in his lifespan; he wasn't even 30. Dream himself had lived over 500 years, Killer had accounted for nearly 0.3% of those years. For Killer, Dream had been only 5% of his life. Yet they felt that without each other life wasn't worth living.

Seeing Killer smile with someone else, laugh with someone else, enjoy time with someone else. It tore him to pieces. He'd watched as this new man helped Killer clear out more of the guardian's old stuff; box up clothes and clean away books. It was stupid, but he felt he was being erased. With every cardboard box, every house clean, he felt like fragments of his soul were being chipped away, pieces of the best years of his life brushed away like dust into a corner of the room.

But it was showing good results - as much as he hated to admit. Killer seemed happier, less burdened. The bedroom wasn't a prison cell anymore, and the curtains were often open. He still hadn't built the guts to pack away a few things; Dream's bow and arrows, his best clothes, his engagement ring. He kept it on his finger, both of them stacked. They'd gone out to get them what felt like forever ago; deciding to chose contrasting gems. Killer had yellow citrine to represent his connection to the angel, while Dream's ring had a striking ruby in the centre. They were elegant yet simple, each having the engraved title of their most fond nicknames to each other: angel and cherry.

Despite Dream's old body not possessing the ring, he still wore it in heaven, and for that he was glad. Though he had a bad habit of twisting it around his finger until it was raw whenever this new man got too close. He was eternally thankful the other still wore the rings, it showed their connection, their love. Not having lived long enough to marry Killer was his biggest regret.

Staring down through the clouds Dream sighed, fingers twitching across the surface of the pretty ruby. When he held it, he felt he could be feeling the other. He was anxious. Since the last time, he'd challenged Killer to last a month and a half without him. It was the longest they'd ever been separated, yet it was necessary. Except this time was different.

Killer was three days late.

He knew it was so fucking wrong to feel impatient, but he couldn't feel any other way. Usually on the week leading up to his 'due date' the other would be jittery and anxious, exited almost as he plotted the newest creative way to bring himself to the brink of the death. Yet this week he'd made no attempts at planning, spending time outside and with his friends for longer than ever before. Dream's soul had clenched, worry clawing at his gut. What if the other was in the all clear? What if he no longer felt the need to try take his life? It should be incredible, but he couldn't allow it - he still had things to say, so much to tell him, to promise him. Their last time couldn't be their last. It couldn't. As the days dragged on he found himself in a perpetual state of anxiety, to the point where other angels (some guardians, some others) had started questioning. But he'd ignored them; he needed to keep an eye on Killer, analysing every move. Even when he'd picked up the sharp kitchen knife to cut cheese the other hadn't raised it to his wrists even for a moment.

He didn't want Killer to hurt himself again, but at the same time he needed him to.

Pacing back and forth he waited, feet scraping across the ground for hours until he saw the other move, slinking out of the house and down the street. He hadn't taken his phone, he hadn't taken his wallet.

Despite the awful act he knew was upcoming, Dream felt his bones prickle with excitement. He hadn't forgotten him- he hadn't thrown him away.

The small skeleton walked to the busy highway, feet hanging over the edge of the pavement as his hands pushed into his pocket. A large Range Rover was on its way, and the moment before he tipped forwards he looked up to the clouds, their eyes meeting.

Grin wide Dream dove, wings stretching out wide as he watched the object collide. It was sick, bordering on insanity, but he felt his soul twist in happiness.

"I'm coming, Kills."

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Wow it's been so long since I updated this oneshot series huh? Well this song inspired me listen, it sums up Guardian angel PERFECTLY

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

I've listened to this at full blast so many times it's such a beautiful song

ANYWAY. So like., Dream is kinda obsessed I guess. Conflicted. He wants Killer to move on, but can't stand the idea of being erased 😭

Also my angel lore is bad if you saw biblical mistakes then no you didn't 🐛🔫