Archive of Our Own ^beta

       Archery was something that Dream had never really been all that good at. He preferred fighting with swords or axes hand to hand. It was easier for him to calculate his moves that way. Every hit and attack was a practiced and perfected form that was muscle memory by now. He didn’t have to worry about outside factors such as the wind or the weather that was out. It was all up to him. Nothing could put his life at risk except for himself. Which was the person that he trusted most with his life. 

       Growing up running through forests and small villages with hardly anything to eat didn’t help with fueling his want to use or handle a bow. He never had enough money to buy something like that and at the time had no idea how to craft them. String was also fairly scarce between villagers that wanted nothing to do with him or his friends. Getting his hands on tools that mimicked swords or spears was much easier. It didn’t take much more than a stolen knife and sharpening the end of a sturdy branch. So there was really no point of him learning to use a bow effectively anyways. 

        As he got older, he was much more prone to learning how to arch. It was one of those skills that he thought was fun to show off and use when the situation came to it. Yet, he still never really was so good at it. When he met George, he gave up all hope of trying to learn. George was incredible with a bow, could hit any target he wanted with his eyes shut. Dream was sure that he had practiced every day since he was born. His technique was perfect and the arrow always seemed to bend in whatever that he wanted. 

        When George had joined his and Sapnap little group all those years ago, Dream had just decided to leave the archery to him. If one of the members of their little team could take care of all the problems that involved a bow and arrow? Dream would certainly let them. 

        He still remembers how simple everything was during those times. Running around forests and wetlands with nothing but the clothes on their back and his two friends beside him. They had always shared a singular backpack that was hardly being held together. But it was all so simple. It was all so easy then. All they had to worry about was when they would eat next. Not revolutions.

        Dream was stressed. No. That was an understatement. He was completely riddled with anxiety. Never did he think back then that this is where he would be now. At the head of a war, leading a battalion consisting of four of his friends against a group of degenerates calling him a ‘tyrant.’ Yet here he was, two months into a war and exhausted. He knows that any of his friends would be willing to take the brunt of it all off of his back for even a day if he'd let them, but he wasn’t going to. He had to do this. It was his land. So he fought. Over and over every single day. Between meetings, being on the front lines himself, and just the never ending complaints from everyone around. It was a lot. 

         Meeting with Wilbur was probably his least favorite thing out of them all though. Wilbur had a tendency to spin his words around over and over  until Dream doesn’t even know what he himself is talking about anymore. It was bad enough dealing with the man alone during a private meeting, it was worse when Wilbur did everything he could to make a fool out of him in front of everyone. Using fancy and over the top language on documents so that Dream didn’t know what they meant. Calling him out for speaking quickly or stuttering over what he's saying. Anything to throw him off of his game. To make him feel lesser.

       Dream always leaves those meetings telling his friends it doesn’t matter. That Wilbur was just an idiot and not to worry about what he is saying to him. Dream doesn’t admit that it does hurt. He hates being picked apart. He hates any situation where he's not in complete control of his own insecurities. Wilbur always finds a way to rip those out of him in a way that makes him cringe to think about. 

        Another thing that Wilbur constantly has to bring up was Dream's upbringing. The whole server already knew that he and his friends didn’t come from silver spoon villages with plenty to eat and roofs over their heads. They came from dirty, tossed up towns, sleeping in alleyways and stealing for food. Dream had never been ashamed of his childhood in the past, but the second it started being used against him? He covered as much of it as he could.

        He knew that George and Sapnap frowned at him when he stopped goofing around as much. When they didn’t spend most of their free time hunting, swimming, and wrestling together. He couldn't anymore though. Everything was a weakness. One wrong move and it was being used against him in the next meeting. He couldn’t be anything less than perfect. 

       And perfect he was. Planning and calculating every attack. Every movement. Every trap. When to push forward and fight, when to fall back and lead their enemy straight into traps. He called every shot perfectly. It was just strategy. The one thing that he couldn’t mess up. 

         Convincing Eret to be on their side was probably one of the best decisions he had made the whole war. Dream had never really cared about the title of ‘king.’ It was just a title. A title without anything to back it up was just a word. A figurehead. He didn’t need to be the ‘king’ or whatever Eret wanted to call it to be able to do the things that he wanted. Their betrayal worked better than even he had planned. The revolutionists had no suspension at all that their fellow soldier was a rat for the people they were fighting again, which was naive in Dream's opinion, but who was he to complain. 

         Everything had been going perfect. Wilbur was finally ready to discuss terms of surrender. The fighting was finally about to stop. He could breathe again. He could laugh again. He could exist again. 

       Being challenged to a bow duel was the last thing that he expected after the betrayal. A bratty teenager who had way too much pride trying to be a hero. Dream didn’t want to fight him. He was a kid fighting Wilbur's war. As much as Tommy was a pain to everything that Dream tried to do, he didn’t want to duel him. Tommy had never shown any extravagant bow skills. He had no reason to pick a duel besides a last ditch effort for heroism and approval. 

       He took the deal for the sake of his own ego and pride. It was one of his biggest flaws. Pride. He had too much of it to be good for him. It wasn’t that he wanted to fight Tommy. It’s not like he cared about the music discs that much anyway. It was the act of backing down from a challenge. His ego wouldn’t allow it. He couldn't say no. He couldn’t be considered scared, a coward. 

       George had told him to get some sleep that night. The night before the duel that is. Dream typically didn’t like sleeping for long enough to get rest before these kinds of things. He didn’t want to let his guard down for even a moment. His friends had forced him to though. Sapnap had told them both that he would keep watch. That nothing would happen to either of them. George had then laid down beside him, softly bringing his hand through Dream's hair. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep after that, exhaustion had taken over quickly. 

       The morning was gloomy. Clouds painted dark streaks low across the sky. They were standing on top of the prime path. The wood was sodden beneath his boots from a night of rain and a morning of dew. Sapnap, George and Punz were standing beside him at the moment, discussing, before the events of the morning began. Across the length of the path, Dream could see the soldier of L’manburg standing on the opposite side of the pathway. Wilbur was whispering into Tommy's ear as the blonde's eyes stared at the bow in his hand. It was a standard bow. One arrow. The same that George was holding for him to use. 

         Dream ran his fingers over the three barely raised hearts engraved into the skin of his forearm. They were all three still bright. None of them were broken yet. He knew that Tommy had already lost one in the control room. He knew what a lost life looked like. The pink heart that was burned into all of their arms turned black. He didn’t really want to risk his own life today, but standing here now? He had no choice.

        Dream took the bow from George's hand. He could feel the way the other's hand lingered over his. Dream grabbed the bow with his more dominant hand and left his other hand inGeorge's, who slowly intertwined their fingers. 

“I wish you had let me take the shot,” George's voice was a mix of playfulness and concern. Dream knew that George was worried about him. That losing one of their three lives in this world was extremely dangerous. Dream brushed his thumbs over George's knuckles.

“You could have hit it with your eyes closed, where’s the fun in that,” The confidence in his tone was mostly real, he didn’t think about the part of him that was just trying to assure the other man. George didn't seem all that convinced by his words. Dream sighed, running a hand through short brown hair. “I’ll be fine,” He assured, looking away from the shorter man. He didn’t want to see the look of doubt in his eyes any more. 

        His fingers flexed around the bow of his hand as he made his way closer to the people of L’manburg. Tommy was glaring at him from across the pathway. Wilbur's face was grim. He was glaring at Dream like he was the one who called this. Like he was the one that wanted this. 

         The sky was dark. Dream watched as the water surrounding the path slowly washed over the floor as the wind pushed it. He pulled his mask farther over his lips, completely concealing his face from everybody there. 

“Back to back,” Wilbur's voice was stern. Final. Dream took a deep breath as he moved towards the center of the pathway. The sodden wood sunk beneath his boots. He felt Tommy push against his back and he grimaced. The blond was almost as tall as him despite a couple years younger. Dream could see the rest of his friends watching him. They were stiff, nervous. He wasn’t going to take their doubts as an offense, but it certainly was rough that his friends didn’t have much faith in him. 

“One,” Dream took a step forward with the word. 

“Two,” he could feel his heart pounding slightly in his chest. Why was he so nervous? It was just a bowshot.  

“Three,” He could feel George's eyes burning into him. He could feel the worry emitting off of the older man even from here. 

“Four,” His boot sank into a more rotted piece of the pathway. It made his heart jump. He tried to calm himself. 

“Five,” He reached back over his head, drawing an arrow from the quill resting against his back. He quickly hooked it into his bow with a practiced motion. One that he had done a thousand times over now. He shouldn’t be nervous. 

“Six,” he pictured the blond behind his back. Pictured his steps and his movements. Pictured the exact line up he would take as he turned and drew his bow on the final pace. He pictured his arrow glinting through the air faster and connecting with the blond's chest. It would be easy. 

“Seven,” he pictured the blond, dragged into war at an age younger than he was. Dream was only 20 as it was. Hardly stumbling out of his teenage years and he was on the front lines leading a war that he never wanted in the first place. Protecting his friends and land in a place that he was supposed to be safe in. 

“Eight,” But no. Here they were. Fighting a war of twisted value and words for land that never belonged to them to begin with. He looked at Punz, only 21. He looked at Sapnap, only 19. And to George, only 23. None of them were old enough for this. Certainly not the kid on the other side of the bow. 

“Nine,” his steps were shaky as he prepared to turn around and shoot. This would be Tommy's second life. He would only have one left. One last chance at living. Dream still had three. He could feel the ache in his arm where they were. His heart was pounding enough for the hearts to start pulsing upon his skin too. Wilbur had told them all that he was a monster. That he was a tyrant. That he was the reason that everything bad had happened to their server. That he was controlling. Was this all a ploy just to prove that? Stealing Tommy's life from him and watching it drain from his eyes while he wallowed in his own victory? Just to make him the monster that he kept doubting that he was? He wasn’t a monster, was he? He could feel his own thoughts rushing in his head. Everything was happening so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. Was he the monster?

“Ten!” His turn was delayed from the beginning. He could feel his feet stumbling as his heart pounded inside his chest. His vision was tunneling and suddenly everything around him felt hot. Tight. He didn’t have the strength to draw back the bow at this moment. It was too much. It was all too much. What was happening to him? He felt like his head had been stuck underwater and he was screaming for air, but nothing was coming out. Across the path he could see Tommy drawing his arrow back. The chances his shot would hit Dream were not all that high considering the blonds track record in archery, yet he still couldn’t find it in himself to draw back his own bow. His thoughts swarmed. 

          Monster. Drawing his bow back and taking yet another life from the boy in front of him. Monster. That's what he is. That's what they have made him. He thinks about George. About Sapnap. They didn’t think he was a monster. Not yet. They didn’t think he was controlling. Not yet. His mind pictured a future without them. Bleak. Barren. Alone. Who was he without his brother? Without George? He was fighting this war for them. For his family. For his home. The only reason he has done any of this, has been for them. 

          If he took this shot would everything he's done for them mean nothing? Would George and Sapnap be the one that ends up looking at him the same way that the people of L’manburg did? He doesn’t want to be their monster. He doesn’t want to be his own monster. He breathes in. He breathes out. His grip on the bow loosens as his eyes focus on the boy in front of him. The bow slips from his hand and clatters to the group as he sees Tommy's grip on the string release. 

         The arrow was almost in slow motion as it hurdled towards him. He knew there wasn't time to change his mind now. His bow was already bouncing against the floor. He could already hear the gasps from everyone around him. It was mocking how slow the projectile moved through the air. He could see its path heading straight for his throat. In just seconds it would rip his first life away. His arm began to burn as it recognized the unavoidable fate he had come to face. It was a good way to tell when you were unknowingly in danger. Your arm would start to burn. Right along the three raise hearts, however many you had left. 

        And he was burning. 

        Everything snapped back to speed in a matter of seconds. Pain overwhelmed him as the arrow ripped through his throat. He could taste the iron in his throat before his hands could even reach his neck. There was screaming around him. He couldn’t tell if it was cheering, shock, or fear. His vision was glazing over too much to be able to see whatever look was in Tommy’s face right now. If the boy was rejoicing or in fear of what he’d just done.

        His knees started to shake beneath his weight. Ugly wet gurgles came from his throat as he tried to breathe through the gash. His legs gave out and he purposely let himself twist as he fell to his knees, so that he was facing away from the enemy. 

         The pain was overwhelming. He didn’t even know how to describe it. Nothing he’s ever been through has compared to this, but maybe that was the cost of losing a life. He gagged harshly and felt saliva thickened blood gush from his mouth. His eyes were blurring. Everything was starting to get dark. 

           His mind searched for Sapnap. For George. For anyone. He couldn’t see them. Why didn’t they come over? Why are they making him die alone? He could feel the heart as his arm boiling. His throat was torn open. Blood was everywhere. Dripping down his torso and soaking into the fabric of his cloak. Hot. Sticky. It coated the inside of his mask.

        He tried to suck in a breath but nothing but a cracked gurgle came out as his body tipped sideways. He spat up more blood. Large cracked pants came from his mouth as he laid against the floor. He could feel the blood pooling down now. Dripping down the side of his neck and puddling beneath him on the floor. His fingers were starting to go limp. He could feel the world around him starting to blur. His eyes were rolling.

        Suddenly he could feel hands on him. On his face. Tapping insistently. There was crying? Or fear. He couldn’t tell anymore. He couldn’t get his body to respond to who was above him. One person or more? The figures his eyes were seeing were too blurred to tell.

       Everything went black.

        Dream sat in the obsidian cell. There was lava boiling and bubbling in front of him. The curtain of heat was one his body still hadn’t gotten completely used to. He sighed. His skin was red and raw from it all. 

       He never wanted to be the monster. Not to them. He had tried so hard. He had tried to do everything right. Keep them safe. Keep them happy. He looked down at the one remaining heart on his arm, the other two black with burnt skin that would never come back. He still remembered the sluggish feeling as his brother had dragged him to the cell so soon after he lost his second life. So different from nursing and worrying after the first. 

          He was destined to be a monster. He had learned that after they left. All he had was them. If they couldn’t stay? Then who would. There was no point in trying to be anything else than what they all saw him as.

       He thought back on it a lot now. 

       He wished he had just shot him. Maybe  things would have gone differently.