Chapter Text
It was a warm September night.
The bright lights flashed overhead, and the crowd around him roared. Dizziness had overtaken Dream’s vision as he stumbled out of the room. He entered a different room and the crowd and blaring music muffled a bit, although the loud thumping of his head created a beat of its own that left little space for relief.
Dream didn’t remember drinking that much. He was responsible enough for a teenager, and only had a cup to take the edge of stress off. He sat down on the floor dropping his head into his hands, as he tried to sort through his thoughts.
He remembers driving to the party after the football match, it was the first football match of the season. He remembers arriving with Techno and Wilbur. He remembers grabbing a cup from a table and splitting a bottle with Spanap, although Sapnap had most of it.
He had only had one cup.
He remembers weaving through the busy crowd. He remembers Bad chasing Sapnap trying to take away whatever bottle he was holding. He remembers seeing Techno and Wilbur standing off to the side, he remembers trying to get to them. He remembers the crowd sweeping him away, swarming the captain who had won them the game.
His cup had never left his possession.
A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and he lurched up leaving in search of a bathroom. He shuffled down the hall, holding onto the wall as he rocked gently from side to side. He hesitated for a second when he found a door that was clearly marked as the bathroom, before throwing open the door and hauling himself inside.
He locked the door behind him, and turned the lights off in an attempt to lessen his headache. Sliding down the wall, he leaned his head back. The cool temperature of the bathroom was a nice change. His head felt heavy and he could feel his limbs slowly falling asleep. He tried to pull himself up, only for his legs to give out and he collapsed onto the floor again.
The door behind him opened and he panicked. Had he not locked the door? He tensed up when he felt the strangers eyes scanning him. Time seemed to stand still for a second before he heard the door close, he sighed in relief and slumped forward.
That relief was ended by the realisation that someone was still in the bathroom with him. Dream tried desperately to move, to force his body to do something, to do anything.
It struck Dream like a bolt of lightning. His cup must have been drugged, it was the only explanation for this. He knew there were negative effects to alcohol but this wasn’t like being drunk. But when had it happened? And how had he have been so stupid as to let it happen?
Dream could hear the scrape of furniture being dragged against the tile flooring and forced his eyes open. His hazey eyes could barely make out the man in front of him. The man was tall and well built but Dream would undoubtedly win in a fight. However the man seemed to be pretty sober and Dream could barely move.
Dreams stomach felt like a bottomless pit, the sense of dread that washed over him made him feel sick. He was completely at this man's mercy. The man crouched down in front of him, and for a second a Dream thought he might be trying to help him.
That spark of hope was quenched instantaneously.
He fought frantically against the man. Hands seemed to touch him everywhere, he could hear someone whimpering a quiet No. Stop. Please stop. With shock horror he realised that it was himself. Why wasn’t the man listening? His mouth was forced open. Black spots entered his vision at the lack of oxygen.
A hand roamed down his body, groping and feeling as it went.
No no no no no.
He didn’t want this. He fought harder.
Unwanted hands removed his clothing and he was crushed by the man who was straddling his waist. His face was pressed down against the tiles, so hard that he could feel his face start to bruise. His ribs were being crushed into the ground and lips were tracing down his neck.
He longed for unconsciousness but if there was a higher power it gave no mercy. He stayed conscious, forced to feel every unwanted touch.
He screamed at the sudden pain in his lower back, fighting and begging for the man to stop. He was disgusted when he heard the man moan. He stopped fighting immediately. He lay there in agony, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
The man soon left and he laid there numbly. His mind wandered. He wanted to die. It wasn’t a new feeling for Dream, he had struggled with his mental health previously. But this was a different type of longing.
He wanted to be as far as physically possible from people. From a particular person.
He wanted to scrub his skin until he bled, until every ghost hand that touched him was drowned by the water, until he felt clean again.
Just as desperately he wanted to go home and curl up between his Moms and cry. He knew that wasn’t possible, they didn’t deserve to have to deal with him.
His mind wandered to the people in his life and what they would think.
He remembers his brothers.
He remembers them chanting his name during his match. He remembers them being the first to cheer after he scored. He remembered them shouting, gloating to all who could hear that that was their brother. He remembers them looking at him like he was their biggest inspiration.
He remembers holding them when they cried. When Tubbo was five and scraped his knee. When Ranboo woke up from nightmares when he was seven.
When one of Tubbo’s friends moved away when he was twelve. When Ranboo experienced his first heartbreak at fifteen.
He remembers whispering to them that they were okay. That he would never let anything happen to them. He was their big brother after all. He knows now that he doesn’t deserve that title anymore. He couldn't even keep himself safe. How could he ever protect them? He would never forgive himself if something happened to either of them.
He remembers dropping Tubbo and Ranboo home to Niki and Puffy after the match, the two boys wanting to ride in the car with him. He remembers his parents inviting Tommy to stay over to give Phil a solid night of rest. He remembers driving Tommy to his place to pack a bag and offering Techno and Wilbur a spin to the party.
He remembers his friends.
He remembers meeting them years ago. He remembers sitting in the library with Techno and strumming the guitar with Wilbur. He remembers trying to set Bad and Skeppy up. He remembers playing video games with Spanap, coding with George.
He remembers earlier this evening. He remembers the small talk he and Techno had exchanged in the car. He remembered Wilbur's voice humming from the back seat. He remembers leaning against a wall with George and Sapnap, laughing at some stupid joke Sapnap made.
Laughing. He remembers laughing.
He remembers feeling happy. He remembers being naive to the world. Pumped so full of adrenalin from winning the match that he felt like he was on top of the world. He remembers being able to feel.
If only he had known that one cup would make all of that crash to a halt.
He remembers his parents.
He remembers seeing them standing in the stand. He remembers them rushing onto the pitch when the match ended and sweeping him into a hug. He remembers them telling him they were proud of him. He remembers feeling safe in their arms.
He remembers waving goodbye to Puffy after he dropped Tommy off. He remembers kissing Niki’s cheek as he passed out the door. He remembers the two of them grinning at him, telling him to have fun. He remembers his promise to them. He remembers promising to stay safe. He had broken his promise.
He remembers when he was younger and they told him to promise to call him if he needed them. He needs them. He needs them. So why couldn’t he call them. He could see his phone out of the corner of his eye, thrown haphazardly across the floor. It beckoned him.
He had broken his promise.
Could they forgive him?
Would they forgive him?
Would they want to forgive him?
Would they want to even see him after this? To touch him? To love him? To make him feel like enough?
He remembers that they had also broken a promise. He remembers when he was little, when they had first adopted him. He remembers them tucking him into bed, promising him to always be there. Promising to never leave him alone, promising to always keep him safe.
They had lied.
He knew that it wasn’t their fault.
He went to the party.
He took the cup.
He knew that always keeping him safe wasn’t a possibility. He knew he wasn’t worth keeping safe. He knew he wasn’t worth it.
The dull thump of the music returned his mind to present time. He could hear the party slowly quieting down. He wondered if his friends would come looking for him. He realised that they wouldn’t. He had a track record for ditching parties early, his friends always found it fascinating how the blond would rather go to bed than to go to a party.
He lay there on the floor. Unable to force himself to move. Unable to force himself to care.
It was a cold September night.