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Dream’s ears were ringing as he sat stiffly on the kitchen chair, staring at his half touched plate of mac n cheese. He didn’t know what had happened, what he’d done wrong this time.
“Do you realise you’re ruining this fucking family or not?” His father was yelling again, pacing back and forth in the middle of the dining room. It was such a familiar sight, and Dream truly wished it wouldn't always end up like this.
~
His face was hot as he climbed up the stairs taking them two steps at a time, his pulse pounding in his ears and making him dizzy. He was sick of this, of them, of himself, of everything.
He closed the door of his room behind himself, leaning against it as he tried to breathe through the lump in his throat.
He didn’t even know why he still got upset, why he still bothered arguing with them and hoping for an ounce of respect.
His parents would never like him, they only loved the idea of the person they thought he could be and stubbornly disregarded his opinions, crushed his hopes and dreams in a futile attempt at turning him into something good enough.
They didn’t want his music, his writing, his passion and all the effort he put into chasing his goals because they simply didn’t like them. He hated that they didn’t care about what made him happy.
They don’t want me.
The realization hit him with the force of an eighty pound rock, crushing his ribs and sending a sob straight past his lips. He slapped a hand over his mouth to stay quiet, his cheeks wet under the cold skin of his hand. He didn’t want to be heard, he didn’t want to be talked to. The idea of being seen made his skin crawl.
What was the point of being perceived if nobody really noticed?
He let his hand drop to the floor, a faint ache spreading up his knuckles as they hit the hardwood with a faint thud. His gaze settled on his still full backpack, on the flat and seemingly empty front pocket, and suddenly he knew.
He wasn’t the son his parents wanted him to be, he never would. To hell with it.
He felt a sick sort of satisfaction as he got up from his spot on the floor, reaching to pull the zipper open and grabbing a small plastic bag. What would his parents say if they knew he’d kept drugs hidden in his school backpack for around a month now? It almost made him smile.
He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, he’d never even tried taking a hit of the weed Sapnap liked to smoke every once in a while– And yet here he was.
The 90mg of Ketamine had been an impulsive purchase, handed over to him by the same guy Sapnap got his pot from. Dream had made him swear to secrecy, and he hadn’t been ratted out, at least not yet.
He still didn’t know what had led him to it, he’d never liked the idea of turning to substances to deal with his pain, but as he turned around and saw a glimpse of himself in the mirror he decided that he was desperate enough to try it just this once.
It was fucked up how his way of getting revenge was hurting himself even more that what others had already done to him. It felt satisfying in a way that made him feel ashamed. And yet, right now the rage burning in his chest was enough to muffle everything else, and that was enough to stop him from hesitating.
The breeze outside was chilly, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand up as a faint shiver went up his spine. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and pulled his hoodie over his head, gaze sticking to the pavement under his feet.
This was a nice neighborhood, and he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was watching him from the other side of the street, if they were wondering who the hell was the kid walking around with a faded hoodie at this hour. It almost made him laugh.
He didn’t belong here with the neighbours’ kids who were getting scholarships for a college across state, his poster-tattered room didn't belong in his parents’ beige toned house, this wasn’t his life.
Time and time again he’d found himself wondering what things would be like if he decided to run away, leave everything behind and disappear, build a new life somewhere else, dye his hair and change his name. Maybe he’d finally find solace from the crushing weight of expectations he’d been carrying for years now. But deep down he knew he was too much of a coward to actually do it.
His fingers had gone pretty much numb by the time he reached the neighbourhood’s playground– It was semi-abandoned, in the sense that nobody really went there anymore so weeds had started to grow in between the rubber tiles and the slides had started fading from the sun and nobody really cared to do anything about it.
He came here pretty often when he needed some time alone and away from the house, so climbing up the small playground stairs and sitting on the wooden flooring, hidden from view by colorful plastic panels, were practiced motions.
His hands shook as he reached into his pocket to pull out the little bag of powder, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of it all.
Look at him, sitting on a kids’ playground and pulling up his hoodie sleeve to line up Ketamine on the back of his forearm. Sad and pathetic, that’s what he was– And had someone else been in his position he would’ve probably felt pity, but right now inside his chest he felt nothing but hollow.
He stared at the line he’d made– A little uneven and balancing precariously on top of his skin because there wasn’t a flat surface around him that looked clean enough for it. Truly a masterpiece.
For a moment he wondered what would happen if anyone found him like this. Clay Harris, son of a dentist and an architect, sitting out in the cold late in the evening, ready to get high to escape his thoughts even if just for a little while.
Sometimes he hated himself for it, for how much he let their words affect him. If only he was a little less stubborn, if only he tried a little harder maybe he wouldn't end up in a fight with his father at the dinner table every time he opened his mouth, maybe his mother’s eyes wouldn’t fill up with tears every time she looked at him, maybe he wouldn’t have to constantly beg his little sister to not get involved to defend him during arguments.
He’d kept to himself as much as he could, he’d avoided speaking about anything his parents could’ve ended up getting upset over and then he’d started to avoid speaking at all, and yet it wasn’t enough, it never fucking was.
Dream’s heart hammered against his ribcage as he reached up to press his left nostril shut with one shaky finger. He’d never done this, he didn’t know how to do it properly, he didn’t know what would happen to him– Somewhere deep down he knew this was a stupid idea, terribly so, and he was scared out of his fucking mind, but the burning in his chest was stronger than any rational thought.
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he’d fuck up and pass out right there on the floor without anyone knowing where he was, what he’d done. He wondered how much time would pass before his family realised he wasn’t home. How much time they’d spend being angry before worrying.
Maybe a stranger would find him before them and call an ambulance for him. Maybe, and just maybe, then they would care.
Who was he kidding?
The burn was nothing like what he’d been expecting, his eyes filling with tears as he sniffled against the sudden dryness.
He let out a cough, then another, and blinked rapidly. The inside of his nose was on fire, and it somewhat reminded him of choking on sea water while he play-wrestled with his brother on a sunny day at the beach.
His heart hadn’t stopped pounding, and now he could taste blood at the back of his throat.
He wanted to go to the beach again, he wanted to go back to being a kid. He wanted his dad to ruffle his hair and tell him he did good after he learned how to ride his bike, he wanted his mom to hug him again.
Why did they hate him now?
He curled tighter into himself, wrapping his arms around his middle in the mocking resemblance of a hug. His arms were shaking, the sides of his neck heating up and making him shiver as the cold breeze hit him in the face. He knew there was no way the drug had kicked in already, but he still felt wrong all over.
Was he really that hard to love?
A thick lump had settled in his throat, and the sound that pushed itself past Dream’s lips as he tried to swallow it down was nothing short of pathetic.
He wanted a hug, he really, really wanted a hug, and there was nobody he could ask for one. He was so fucking sad, and everything felt so unreal that he almost started laughing.
He’d just gotten high.The actually dangerous, illegal kind of high.
He let himself slump against the panel pressed against his back and hunched forwards, his fingers digging into his ribcage through his hoodie. What the hell had he done?
The realization was slowly settling in, his stomach filling with dread at the thought that soon enough he probably wouldn’t even be aware enough to remember where his fucking house was.
Dumb, that’s what he was. So fucking dumb.
He slowly raised his head and looked around, swallowing thickly as he tried sitting up a little straighter. His phone was in his pocket, he never left the house without it, but who could he call?
A small part of him considered calling his mom, but the mere thought made his heart shoot up to his throat. There was no way he could tell any of his family.
Sure, maybe they wouldn’t leave him out there in the cold, high out of his mind, but who knows what would happen to him after. Where they’d send him at.
He didn’t want to end up in some random mental institution, he wasn’t an addict. He wasn’t crazy, nor was he suicidal. He just wanted some goddamned peace for once in his life.
He exhaled shakily, gathering the strength to pull his phone out of his pocket. The screen came to life, showing a picture he’d taken at rehearsal a couple of weeks before– Ant was leaning over his keyboard in the background, Bad standing right beside him holding his drumsticks. Dream’s own face was barely in frame, his cheek and eye taking up the lower corner of the screen as Sapnap and George made silly faces at the camera, holding their instruments. You couldn’t see it, but with the way his eyes were squinted, shining brightly despite the slight distortion from the lens, you could tell he’d been smiling.
Fuck, he missed his friends, he missed them so much.
Was he crazy for wanting them there? With him?
Logically, he knew it wouldn’t end well if they ever found out about this. He knew that all it would do was make them extremely concerned about his well-being. But deep deep down… The idea of someone being concerned over him, of asking him what was going on, asking him why he’d done this, it made his heart ache with longing.
His friends cared about him, they worried every time they thought something wasn’t right with him, and yet he’d never told them anything about what was going on at home.
Every time he texted Sapnap to ask if he could come over without any explanation, every time he showed up to rehearsals clearly annoyed, every time he stopped responding to texts for hours and hours on end– They always asked, they always cared, and yet, here he was. Cold, mind getting fuzzy from dissociatives, and alone.
His friends were the only people he felt truly safe to be himself with, the only people that had never judged him for anything, that loved him wholeheartedly even with all his flaws. They were the only people that he might want here with him right now.
Maybe, just maybe, if he was less of a coward he might actually have someone there with him.
Despite the bit of shelter provided by the tiny walls of the playground he still felt it when the breeze picked up. His phone had slipped out of his hands and was now laying face down beside his foot.
He didn’t feel cold, not exactly, but when he tried moving his fingers to curl his hand closed he found it hard to do so.
Was the drug kicking in? How much time had passed?
He looked down at his phone and blinked. Maybe he could check? Did he remember what time it had been when he’d looked at his screen last? Eleven forty-six? He furrowed his eyebrows.
No, that wasn’t right.
Maybe eleven thirty-nine? Fifty-five? He didn’t know.
His vision was getting a little fuzzy at the edges.
He blinked a couple more times, trying to get himself to focus.
Things were starting to feel a little far away, like they were there but out of reach– It felt like lying in bed at night still somewhat aware of your surroundings but tethering on the brink of sleep.
Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that this wasn’t good, that getting high outside without anyone there to help him was dangerous. Now that the anger was numbed, the thought of someone actually finding him passed out and the mess that would follow made him almost a little nauseous.
He didn’t want his family to find out, he didn’t want anyone to find out, but with his thoughts slowing down it wasn’t hard to imagine him getting dizzy and cracking his head open on the sidewalk as he tried to walk home, high out of his mind.
Maybe he could…
Grabbing his phone, turning it on and scrolling through his contacts was way harder than it should’ve been, but every gesture felt like trying to move through invisible sand. As he stared at the small letters on the screen he found himself pausing, something brewing at the back of his mind.
He was hesitating. Why was he hesitating?
He shifted a little, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember what he was supposed to do. The light of the screen was too bright and he couldn't help but squint a little. It was dark out here, way too dark for him to stay, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to make it home right now, and he didn’t really want to, either.
His gaze landed on a black and red icon, and despite the fog slowly gathering around his thoughts there was a spark of recognition.
Bad. He should call Bad.
Bad was always gentle and kind, surely he wouldn’t be mad if Dream called. Maybe his friend could keep him company and they could chat a little, at least until he’d feel coherent enough to go home.
It was such a good idea that he didn’t hesitate before pressing the contact button with a shaky finger, putting the call on speaker as soon as it began ringing because he wasn’t sure he would manage to hold the phone up to his ear for long enough.
Would Bad answer? It wasn’t like Dream called very often, he wasn’t one to spend hours chatting. He didn’t love being on the phone at all and his friends knew that so receiving a call from him would probably be unusual, but surely that didn’t mean–
“Dream, hello! What’s up?”
He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Hi Bad,” he whispered back, and he found that moving his lips to enunciate the words was a little harder than usual, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to hear his friend’s voice.
“What brought the honor of this call at… Gosh, it’s almost one am!”
Huh?
“Oh,” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and looked at his phone, swallowing against his dry throat as he realized that it was indeed half past twelve, “I didn’t realize ‘t was so late, ‘m sorry.”
His vision blurred for a moment, and he had to blink a couple of times to get it to focus again. He couldn’t really feel his legs anymore.
“Don’t apologize, there’s no need to.” Bad’s voice was soft, gentle. He let himself slide further down against the playground wall. “Did you need anything?”
Dream hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling down to the floor as he willed himself to push through the thickening fog inside his brain. “Um…” he whispered, before breathing out. Did he need anything? He wasn’t sure, he hadn’t really thought this far ahead.
“I don’ know.” The back of his throat smelled of iron.
The line was silent for a few moments, and then there was some shifting around. “Dream, are you okay?”
Oh.
…Was he? He’d called the other for a reason, but now he wasn’t all that sure about what he was supposed to say.
“I, um,” He clenched his jaw and swallowed again. It was getting harder to pick the right words. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m serious Dream, what’s going on? I’m getting worried.” The growing urgency in Bad’s voice made him curl into himself a little, and faintly he wondered if he should be growing worried too, but he found it hard to. Everything felt fuzzy.
Still, he pushed himself to answer. He didn’t want to leave his friend hanging. “Everythin’s good, jus’ wanted to talk to someone.” And it was the truth, wasn’t it?
He heard Bad breath in slowly, and the other suddenly sounded way calmer than before. “Are you safe right now?”
Dream just hummed to show he was still there, but he was starting to feel a little lightheaded. “One sec’, I’m gettin’ dizzy,” he whispered honestly, and all he got in response was some more shuffling.
“Where are you? Are you at home?” Bad’s voice sounded further away now, and somewhere in Dream’s mind it registered that he could hear faint footsteps, too.
He let out a faint scoff– Funny question, it almost made him smile. “‘Course not.” The inside of his nose felt uncomfortable, but the burning had stopped. Nothing really hurt anymore, not even his heart.
“I’m, um…” He huffed softly and let his head loll to the side, his eyelids slowly slipping shut.
“I’m at th’playground.” Was all he could manage to push out.
“The playground..?” Bad muttered a few more things and Dream really tried his best to decipher them, but the world had started spinning around him and he couldn’t manage to.
“Dream, are you drunk?”
He couldn’t help but let out a faint laugh, and thought that maybe, just maybe, it would've been better if he'd chosen to drink some vodka instead.
“Nope, not drunk.”
The line was silent for a few moments and it was enough for Dream's eyelids to grow heavy, his vision blurring at the edges.
“Stay where you are, alright? I’ll be there soon, don't hang up.”
He just let out a faint hum, his eyes slipping shut, and it was easier to give into the hazy fog that was slowly consuming his thoughts than it was to fight it.
~
“Dream.”
There was a hand on his cheek, tapping it slightly. His eyes were still closed, but everything around him kept spinning anyways.
“Dream, you need to wake up.”
Somewhere at the back of his mind he recognized that voice, and it was familiar enough to get him to try and lift his head from where he'd lolled over to the side.
His eyelashes felt like they'd been glued shut.
“You muffinhead…” Something brushed over his upper lip, making him furrow his eyebrows as it wiped away the liquid slowly dripping from his nose. He could taste metal on his tongue. “What did you do?”
It was then that he finally managed to get his heavy eyes to open, and he was greeted with the sight of his friend’s face.
“Bad,” He whispered in recognition, blinking slowly as the other heaved a huge sigh of relief.
“Jesus Christ, you were starting to scare me–” A huffed laugh, hands gently resting on his shoulders.
“Come on, let's get you out of the cold first. You think you can stand?”
Out of the cold? To where?
Dream furrowed his eyebrows as his friend wrapped his own arms around him, and suddenly he was standing and everything around him was spinning. A low grunt made it out of him before he could stop it, his numb legs struggling to keep themselves steady.
His fingers clenched around the fabric of Bad’s hoodie as he leaned into his soft shoulder, an arm steady against his back and holding up most of his weight.
“Wh’re..?” His voice came out small, barely louder than a whisper, and his throat was dry as he swallowed.
He didn't want to go back home, he couldn't.
“Just to my car, don't worry, it's not far.” A hand gently rubbed between his shoulder blades.
“And then we’ll try to figure out if we need to take you anywhere– I still don't know what it was that you took.”
It took a moment for the words to register as Dream's brain lagged behind, and he didn't say anything in response for a few seconds.
“It was, um…” He breathed, in and out. “Ket’mine.”
The soothing motions against his back stilled. He felt Bad's chest shrink as he exhaled.
“‘ts okay, wasn't much.”
A gentle him. “Alright, thank you for telling me.”
For a moment, everything was quiet.
“Wait–!” Dream tried pulling back, but before he could move much the arms around him tightened their hold.
“Don’t– Bad don’ take me home.” He pleaded softly, and buried his face in his friend’s warm shoulder.
He didn't want to go back to his parents’ house, he couldn't go back, especially not like this–
“I know, don't worry, I know.” Bad's voice was soft, kind, as his fingers gently smoothed out the hair at the back of Dream's head.
He let himself breathe.
In, and out.
“We can take care of everything else tomorrow– For now you're coming back with me. You’re going to be okay.”
That, he believed.