End Of Days

36: Beach

CW/TW: mentions of suicide. Please read with care!

Tubbo had been thrown from the cliff, but Tommy had gone willingly.

Dream felt something break inside of him as a shout escaped his lips, raw and desperate and pleading, begging the last person he had not to leave him. "Tommy!"

But Tommy was already gone. Dream was alone at the edge of the world.

From the ground Rex spluttered a laugh, pressing a hand to the side of his neck as blood spewed from the wound Dream's pistol had caused. He would bleed out in a matter of minutes, but he would not go quietly.

Dream left the toddler in the grass and scrambled towards the edge of the cliff, the gun still in his hand and his eyes wide with panic. His fingertips curled around the edge and he stared down at the endless churning blue. His friends were nowhere to be seen.

For the first time since escaping the pit all those months ago, he was alone.

"Remember—" Rex heaved a pained breath, choking on blood as he dragged himself up on one arm, "this f-feeling. You took everything from me. This is–"

Dream whipped around and raised the pistol once more. Rex didn't even have time to react as the teenager pulled the trigger. His body fell once more, and this time he didn't get up, his eyes staring unblinking at the sky, a fresh bullet wound in his forehead.

Dream struggled to his feet, his eyes glassy with tears. Beneath him, the ocean churned on. Endless and infinite, perhaps the only innocence left in the world. The pistol was heavy in his hand as he looked over the body on the ground.

The man who had dragged him from the streets, kicking and screaming, calling out for his brothers. The man who had made him kill kids as young as eleven for his own survival, laughing and shouting and smiling as he watched on. The man who had executed Sam and thrown Tubbo from the very cliff he died upon. He was a monster.

He deserved this. He deserved it.

Dream looked back to the sea and choked back a sob. Tubbo and Tommy were gone and he was alone. He was alone.

Methodically, he raised the pistol and unloaded the rest of it into Rex's chest.

There was no regret as the body jerked and the bullets embedded themselves beneath its flesh, blood pooling beneath the lifeless form. There was no worry for the bullets that were lost, there was no twinge of pain when he ran out of ammunition and the gun clicked uselessly in his hand. All Dream felt was a burning sorrow, consuming his every breath.

He sank to his knees, the gun falling from his hand as a broken sob escaped his lips. What was he supposed to do now?

There was no campground to return home to. Sam was dead. Tommy and Tubbo were dead. The only people he had were lost to the universe once more. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Nearby, the toddler began to cry. Dream wanted to comfort him, to promise that he'd find his parents or get him someplace safe, but he knew it would all be a lie. He was tired of lying– to himself, to his friends, to the world. In the end every promise of safety, every hope he had shared of finding his family, it was all just a lie.

He hovered by the edge of the cliff, and for a moment he debated joining his friends over the edge. Tommy hadn't hesitated to fling himself down into the darkness. Dream wished he had that kind of strength. He wished he had something worth following. It would be easy to step off and let this feeling leave the world as he did.

And then, a flicker of colour amongst the chopping blue waves. Dream's fingers tangled in the overgrown grass and he leaned a little closer to the edge, eyes widening as he saw the figure fighting against the current.