Fun 🤩😋

❌Trigger warnings for attempted suicide and overwhelming thoughts ❌

"It was bound to break eventually, Killer."

The silence was deafening.

"They're just plastic beads, Killer. I know they mean a lot to you, but they can easily be replaced. In fact - I'll go out to the craft shop later and make another bracelet for you, okay? These ones are stained anyway."

Killer's pupils were dull, knees pressed to his chest as he watched the other, the yellow bead bracelet settled in the palm of his hands. He hadn't meant to break it, truly, he hadn't. He'd been stupid, forgetting that he was supposed to be careful. The elastic had caught, stretched, and snapped. He felt as if the memory of Dream had snapped with it.

From his position on the floor he could see one yellow bead that had bounced across the kitchen tiles, having rolled to a stop under the fridge. He didn't mention it, scared for its safety if he did.

"It wouldn't be the same.." He whispered, throat hoarse and scratchy. "D-Dream made that for me- hhe did it so- so I could be reminded of my growth-" A lump formed in his throat, heavy and overbearing as he scratched at his wrists, picking at old scars until he felt the bone flake. "He's going- he's going to think I- I broke it on purpose- he's going to- h-he's going to be ssso mad- so disappointed-"

"Killer-" Small hands gripped his wrists, carefully pulling them apart. The ruined bracelet was placed aside for a moment, the focus on him now. "Dream isn't mad, he isn't disappointed. He's gone."

Outer's hands were frail. They looked as if they'd hardly done a day of work in his life. Dream's had been strong, solid yet still holding an air of delicacy. His fingertips always had an odd texture to them, forged from the constant use of his bow. Looking at that weapon always brought him to tears. There were too many memories - old and older. Back when they'd fought as enemies, when they'd trained as lovers.

His mouth twisted in a scowl, pupils narrow. "He's not gone. You don't understand- he gave that to me four months ago-"

"He died a year ago, Kills."

"NO-! ShUT UP- shutupshutup- you're wRONG-! You don't know anything-!" His hand lashed out, catching the other's cheek with a sharp slap.  He froze, eyes wide. "I- oh god I didn't- I-I didn't mean to-"

"I'm not angry, Killer. I promise I'm not angry." A hand pressed to his stinging cheek, breath coming out in a hiss. "Listen, I know life has been.. hard without him. And I know I could never replace him, but you need to start moving on.. Or else you'll never be free from him."

His throat felt tight, unable to force enough air down it as he watched the other stand. He felt so small, so pathetic there on the floor. Outer picked up the ruined bracelet once more, free hand clicking the draw that pulled out the waste bin.

In that moment he choked, fingers scraping the tiled floor sharply. "Wwait- O-Outer I'm sorry I- Please don't I- I've- I've let go o-of so much of his stuff- nnot this one- please-" A hiccup left him, soul thrumming rapidly in his chest. He couldn't- he couldn't-

"Killer, please. I'm trying to help you.. I know you think this means a lot to you, but it's plastic. It's a coping mechanism- and it worked; but it's served it's purpose. Hanging onto the past is what we're trying to avoid. We can start again, with new beads, a new bracelet. Maybe if you tell me how they were hidden again, I could do it for you." His voice was soft and slow, laced with a tone that had Killer's soul twist.

Disappointment.

It pulled him apart. He hated disappointing people, it was something that first materialised when he broke his brothers heart, and then was embedded deep into him through Nightmare. He had craved his approval, yearning to be his number one assassin. And then there'd been Dream, and the thought of disappointing him had left a flat and scalding feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now here was Outer, watching the other's expression dip in sorrow. It was a never ending burden, one that he carried from person to person like a curse.

"Letting go is the first step to recovery, Kills.."

He wanted to snap at him, to tell him to address him by his full name. Killer. But he couldn't. If he tried to explain to the other that the nickname was reserved for Dream Outer would begin to lecture him again. And if he lectured him he'd cry, and if he cried Outer would feel guilty, and then he'd feel like shit for making the other feel that way. It was the cyclic structure of his life; inescapable. So he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the bracelet in a silent plea that went unheard.

His hand tipped. The beads rolled. The bracelet fell. The bin thumped.

Just like that, Killer felt a piece of his soul tear in half.

——————

"I didn't mean to.."

His voice echoed into the empty silence of his room, pupils straining up against the blackness of the ceiling. It had long passed midnight, in fact the time was creeping into the early hours of the morning. Killer still hadn't slept. He'd laid there for hours, stone still and blank, as if playing dead. He wished he were dead. Maybe he'd hoped that if he were still enough, if he lay cold and lifeless, dead, Dream may come down to visit. Then he'd be able to apologise, to beg for his forgiveness, to promise he hadn't meant to break the bracelet, to explain that Outer had thrown it away, not him.

But Dream didn't come. He couldn't explain.

Deep down in the back of his mind he knew he was overreacting, that he was acting stupid. Dream would know that he didn't want this to happen. He wouldn't view it as an act of defiance or rejection - it had been an accident. An accident. But his mind acted as a plague, rotten dread bubbling up under his bones until they itched. His fingers scraped old scars, head buzzing. He hated having these thoughts, hated it. Outer suggested therapy once, but neither of them could afford the price. Killer couldn't afford another person thinking he'd gone insane.

Rolling over slowly he looked to his left side, hoping to see a figure lying next to him, the blankets slumped over their form and rising with each slow breath. But the bed was empty, showing only crumpled sheets and an untouched pillow. Dream hadn't slept in there for years, and Killer wasn't strong enough to allow Outer to sleep where the other once had.

They had tried it once, when he'd had a bad episode the other had coaxed him into bed and laid with him. It had been fine at first, but the guilt slowly bubbled and clawed at him, wrapping its icy fingers around his throat and choking him until it became Dream, his expression twisted in rage as he demanded to know why someone else slept where he had before. He'd cried and kicked, had pleaded- begged Outer to get out. They hadn't attempted it again since.

The stary skeleton didn't often stay the night, he had his own home to go to. But on the occasional event - like his episode today - he'd stay in the spare bed. It was close enough for him to run down the corridor and burst into the room within five seconds. For that reason Killer stayed quiet. He didn't want the other to hear his sobs and come running. Because he didn't deserve to be comforted, he didn't deserve for his regret to fade, what he deserved was the fowl manifestation of his own twisted thoughts to boil him alive, tear him apart from the inside. It was working.

"I was being stupid- y-you know that, don't you? I w-would nnnever purposely break it I- you know how much that bracelet means to me-"

He spoke into empty air.

A hissing voice formed in the back of his mind, tone cruel and nothing like the man who he'd nearly married. But it took on his form nevertheless.

"Then why have you let it stay in that bin?"

Killer's soul went cold, fingers digging into the sheets and tugging slowly, mind spiralling. The voice was right - why hadn't he taken it out? Why had he let it stay in there- why hadn't he fought to pull it out- to collect each bead and restring them to make another. Why hadn't he done that-? Why why why had he simply watched?

"If you really still loved me you would have taken it back-"

It was a cruel hiss, one that stabbed at his skull like a searing knife. "No- no no no it's not- it's not like that-" He spoke quickly, head shaking as he sat up, eyes wild. "Nnno Dream I- you don't understand- Outer he'd- he would have-"

"Outer is WEAK."

His vision exploded with stars, fingers clawing into his eye sockets and scraping the muddy tar that filled them. "D-Dream stop-"

"He's pathetic, a small little fool who thinks he can replace me. And you're letting him. You've let him throw me away, buried me in a shallow grave and then moved to take you on. He's acting like he knows you, like he LOVES you. But he doesn't- he can't. Only I can. He's replacing me Kills, you can't let him replace me, you can't, you CAN'T-"

"STOP-!" He only realised he'd shouted when it was too late, hand pressed sharply to his mouth. Dream's cruel voice disappeared, as if hiding. Deep down he knew it was never really there in the first place. A meek whimper left him, eyes trained in the shadowy outline of the door. Outer didn't hear that, he couldn't have. He couldn't afford to have him burst into the room asking what was wrong. He couldn't.

Five minutes past and he dared not breathe, sat like a statue as he listened for the telltale shuffle of feet, the click of a light switch, the creek of a door opening. But the house stayed silent but for the wind outside, no one stirred.

When he finally breathed out a sigh of relief it was louder than he'd intended, but he pushed his thoughts of concern away as his conscience settled. Outer didn't need to know what he was going to do - he could stay oblivious.

Pushing to his feet slowly he padded towards the door, mind buzzing with directions, instructions, arguments, pleas. It melted into a dull drone, like a bee constantly flying past his skull. He ignored it to the best of his degree, reaching for the handle. He was going downstairs, to the kitchen. And he'd retrieve the bracelet.

He wouldn't be allowed to wear it anymore - Outer would know. But he could keep it. Tuck it under his pillow, hide it in his draw, keep it in a pocket. Anything would work, as long as Dream knew he hadn't thrown it away. Because even though he was certain the angel would understand why it happened, the darker, more sinister voice in the back of his mind ignited too much fear to be ignored. He had to go down there. He had to do this.

The hallway was dark. The only presence of light came from the glowing orange lamppost outside the house, bleeding across the white carpet slowly. It looked muddy in his vision, though he recalled Dream describing the warmth of the colours once one night. Hearing the other attempt to describe the colour orange had been truly funny, and by the end of it he still didn't have a clue what the other had intended to say, but the moment had been endearing. He tried to recall what he'd said now, pausing.

It's warm, a very catching, comforting colour. Not too bold, not too dull. It's like.. the sun on your face, soft rays prickling across your bones.

Fingers stretching to catch the orange light he sighed, breath catching in his throat. Okay t looked like a muddy brown to him, but he could still feel the essence of what Dream was saying. He let the moment last, wanting to remember Dream that way. Remember him through the soft tone of his voice, the humour in his tone as he mocked the other. He didn't want to remember Dream by that hissing voice, that awful snarl in the back of his mind that seemed to grow more aggressive with each day. He wondered if it were Dream trying to contact him, trying to encourage him to attempt to take his life so they could meet. But that wouldn't be right. Dream wouldn't do that. He wouldn't.

"Get the bracelet."

As if he'd summoned it, the voice crept back into his mind like a plague. His hand flinched, retracting from the light to hang limp by his side. He was allowing himself to become distracted, he couldn't forget why he'd left the bedroom in the first place. Turning slowly he gripped the stair banister, first step slow.  He was thankful for the quality of the wood, creaks kept to a minimum. He might have lost his mind with anxiety if the stairs groaned beneath him. Instead they stayed obediently silent.

Once downstairs he paused, pupils flicking around anxiously. He knew exactly where the kitchen was, how many paces it would take to reach the cupboard, where to click to allow the waste bin to slide out. The bracelet should be at the top, they hadn't thrown anything away since. Maybe a few beads would have tumbled further down the rubbish pile, but he'd just fish them out.

The kitchen tiles were cold under his bare bones, toes curling softly with each step until he reached the bin. The light was cruel to his eyes, fingers itching to rub at his sockets. But he didn't, instead reaching to the cupboard. His skull was buzzing, twisting with all sorts of noises and jumbled sentences. It crescendoed in volume as he clicked the little hatch, the bin rolling out.

Looking down, he froze.

It wasn't there.

"No-" His voice came out a strained whisper, eyes wide and pupils pinpricks. "No no no nonononoNO-"

His fingers raked through the buildup of rubbish, tearing aside cardboard boxes, empty plastic tubs, yogurt cups and leftover food. It wasn't there. It wasn't there. The buzzing in his mind became a tumbling roar, blocking out every other noise of the night until it engulfed his body, swallowing it whole.

Trash littered the floor, strewn across the kitchen messily as he scrambled to find it, soul thumping so fast in his chest he felt his ribcage might shatter. It should be there- it should be right there- He'd seen Outer throw it out-  he'd watched as the bracelet fell into the bin. It should be there- it should be there it should-

Unless.

"He threw it away."

A rasping curse, splitting his skull in half. No- Outer couldn't have. He couldn't have thrown it out- not fully he- he wouldn't.

Yet the bin was empty, and the bracelet was gone.

In that moment Killer felt numb, bones tingling heavily. His throat felt clogged, skull heavy. He almost couldn't stand, slumped against the kitchen counter as he stared at the mess he'd made. The bracelet was gone- it was gone. And with it the memory of Dream. He felt as if the last fragment of Dream had been torn from him, his presence erased and burned to ash. Dream had given that bracelet to him. He'd done it to show how much he loved him, how much he believed in him. And he'd let it be thrown away.

He tried to breathe, to tell himself that it was okay. He still had the flower he bought him- he still had his bow and arrows, he still had some of his old hoodies, he still had his wedding ring, he still had- he- what else did he have? It was with a cold, twisting realisation that Killer realised that was it. That was all he had of Dream. He had been the love of his life, his soulmate, the man he was going to marry. And he'd got rid of him, torn the memories of him to pieces and stomped on them. How could Dream ever forgive him-

Dream.

The angel's face burned into his mind, mouth twisted into a cruel snarl. He was angry, so so betrayed by the fact that the other had thrown him away like rotting leftovers. He looked cruel, nothing like the cool demeanour of the man he'd fallen for. He pointed a burning finger at him, voice a growl.

"You're getting rid of me, Killer. You don't love me anymore, you're casting me aside like I never existed. Like WE never existed-"

The voice scratched his skull like nails on a chalkboard, legs buckling as he pleaded the voice to shut up. It was all too much, his senses overloaded as his conscience struggled to win a losing battle.

Tearing free of his haze his eyes snapped to the kitchen draws, lucidity strained to the point of breaking. He stepped forwards, ignoring the crunch of plastic beneath his feet. It stung, but he deserved it. The draw wrenched open under his fingertips, grey pupils glaring down at the cutlery.

Kitchen knives. That what he wanted. They grinned up at him, sharp blades dipping seductively, calling, singing to him. They whispered, goading his fingers to curl around their hilt, coaxing him to hold it with both hands, encouraging him to twist the blade until it rested before his chest, steady and cool. He found his hands didn't shake, not even a tremor. It was if he were entranced, staring to the blade's lustful call. How could he ignore its call?

He let the tip of the blade press to his ribcage, feeling the throb of his soul behind it. He'd make Dream come to him; he'd be forced to come down- and then he could explain, he could tell him everything- that he hadn't meant to break the bracelet, hadn't meant to throw away what little memories of him he had left. He'd apologise, he'd spend an hour or so with him where they'd kiss, hold each other and talk about old memories until he felt that he'd made up for throwing so many away.

His mind spun, switching from the corrupted voice of Dream yelling for him to do it, and the weak grip on reality begging him to stop. Breath cool, he adjusted his grip on the knife, pulled back ready to plunge.

"NO-!"

The blade twisted, fingers clamping around his wrists and tearing the sharp point sidewards. It scraped across his ribcage, slicing bone and tearing his hoodie. Dream's hoodie. He'd wore it to bed that night, wanting comfort. The knife had missed his soul, his efforts reduced to nothing.

Eyes flashing up he flinched, met with the wide and terrified stare of Outer. Not Dream- not Dream Not Dream-

"No- nno-" He choked, wrenching himself from the other's grip and dragging the knife with him. He didn't want Outer, he'd wanted Dream. He needed to apologise, to explain, to reassure him- instead he'd got the man who'd made such a cruel effort to drown every memory of Dream he had left. He lifted the blade again, panic welling up in his soul. If he did this now he'd would have to come, and then outer would see- he'd see the angel, he'd realise that he wasn't insane, he wasn't delusional. Dream was real and he'd be there, he'd save him.

"Killer sTOP-!" Hands grabbed his wrists once more, scrabbling to rip the blade from him. But Killer was faster, desperate. He staggered backwards, the knife swiping in a curve towards his wrist. If he couldn't get his soul, he could at least make a mess of his arms.

The knife never got close enough. Hands closed around it, ripping it from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor and under the fridge.

"KILLER!" 

Hands gripped at his shoulders, forcing him to stand still until the fight fled from him. He heaved in a breath, a hiccupping sob tearing from his throat. Dream hadn't come. He hadn't got to explain. His legs felt weak, buckling until his knees thudded into the floor. Outer sank down beside him slowly, shaking. "Kills.."

"D-dOnt-" He managed, the word choked as he shook. He felt scared, oh so scared. And of whom? Himself? He didn't know anymore. "Y-you ruined i-it- D-Dream was going to come- he'd have saved me! I didn't want you-" It was harsh, but he'd intended it to be so.

"Killer, Dream is-"

"-Don't. Please- just- just don't-" He gasped, feeling his breath fade as the other pulled him to his chest, face buried into his shoulder. "He was coming.. h-he always does- you would- you would have sseen him- h-he'd BE HERE if it weren't for YOU-"

"I couldn't let you kill yourself, Killer." Outer's voice was soft, sliding through the raging sounds in his skull and pacifying him for a moment. "You mean too much to me.. and- and I'm sure that.. Dream wouldn't have wanted you to either." He said the angel's name with some difficulty, swallowing. "Would he?"

Killer couldn't bring himself to answer, shoulders shaking as he sobbed into the other's jumper. He didn't care what he had to say, he just wanted him back. His partner, his soulmate, his fiancé, his guardian angel. Eyes flicking to the fridge he stared, eyes resting on the one yellow bead that had survived the purge. The mere sight of it hurt. He could never get back what he lost.

"You need to accept it, Dream is gone."

————————————————————————

Lovely scrumptious angst. Probably the angstiest so far aren't you lucky

I'll make up for it in the next chapters I swear ahahahaha. Not if this series though. You'll never get fluff again 😘

Anyways I enjoyed writing this despite the heavy angst you guys deserve occasional suffering you know?

Poor poor killer rip.

Anyway if you didn't understand the 'voice of dream' is all in his head is a negative manifestation due to anxiety it's not actually Dream he wouldn't make killer suffer like that

Next update might be an older post? Old writing? Because I have exams and don't have time to write a full new oneshot

It'll be smut though, and hopefully a new update of one night only after that 😍

CHECK zyebana_artdump  latest art posts please it's pretty killer thighs i-

-Jess-