Dead by Daylight One Shots

Deathslinger x Reader (fluff)

I found a way to numb the pain. Endless night after endless night, I remained stuck. We all were. I was left running for my life. Constantly looking over my shoulder, always sneaking around. It was enough to drive a man insane. Alas, that often happened. I escaped the killers' wrath and for what? To remain a survivor?

It hurt. It hurt so much.

The killer's weapon slicing into my back. Then hoisting me over their shoulder while bleeding out. The feeling of a rusty meat hook forcing its way into my shoulder. It hurt too much to recall.

But I found a way to numb the pain. It was here: in the lonesome realm of Dead Dawg Saloon. It was often you would find me here in between trials. Every time I had a trial in the old saloon, I'd feel weirdly at home. I'd even collect small objects about the realm in hopes of creating offerings out of them. I would then burn those offerings in the survivor campfire just so I could go visit it. So why did I like this realm so much? What about it 'numbed the pain'?

The alcohol. It was the alcohol.

Being an old western bar, there was plenty beer and grog and whatnot left about. I would often slump down in an worn leather barstool with a big ole glass of beer in hand, chugging down the golden liquid gleefully. It was the only time in the ungodly realm that I felt happy. The only time that I felt at peace and away from the pain. I didn't have to think about the killers or the scary hooks or the other survivors. All I had to do was drink and drink to make it all go away.

Even if it was just temporary, it was still numbing the pain.

I hadn't told my fellow survivors about my little escape from reality yet. Nobody knew at all. So you could've guessed my utter surprise when I found a certain man sitting there in the exact spot I would always drown out my sorrows.

That trial was awful. It was in the old ironworks that was tinged with a royal blue. The miserable smiling killer, the one with the cleaver and the traps. He was merciless. He took Zarina first. I had tried everything to make him let go of her. I could tell that she was angry with me. But I was the only one that was actually trying to help. The other two survivors were off looting chests and working on the generators. I could've sworn that I saw Zarina glare at me from where she hung on the hook.

I was going to help her, but the Trapper beat me to it. Before I could even blink, the metallic feeling of a rusty cleaver sliced deep into my back.

I didn't want to go back to the campfire. I didn't want to face Zarina or any of the other survivors for that matter. All I wanted to do was sit back in my familiar barstool and chug down a finely aged brew. So that was what I went and did.

I dragged my feet tiredly along the ground, making my way up the creaky stairs of Dead Dawg Saloon. I walked around the bar to fetch myself a whiskey glass and a bottle of grog.

I didn't know how long I was there, drinking what I could find before I saw him. It couldn't of been very long, I was merely tipsy at most. I had stood up from the stool and walked around the bar once again. My fingers glided along the glass bottles that stood on the shelves that adorned the wall. I stared intently at each one, reading the labels in hopes to find my next poison to chug down.

Finding the drink I wanted, I plucked the bottle off the shelf. I wrapped my hand around the neck of the bottle and popped the cork off with my thumb. The alcohol swirled down into my glass in a beautiful stream of dark gold. Whiskey. A small smile tugged at my features.

A door swung shut behind me. My smile fell.

I slowly twisted my neck around to look behind me. The bottle and glass still remained in the same position in my hands, droplets of whiskey plopping weakly down into my cup. There stood a familiar tall man. He had a western look to him and a crooked jaw. He was wielding a gun.