Kréme / Driller Oneshots

Alone (Irreparable)

5,500 words you say? Okay.

It had started to rain.

Drips of water splashed on his skull, sliding down his neck and dampening the collar of his shirt beneath the hoodie. His breathing was loud, louder than necessary. He did it to make sure the other knew he was still there. He thought it might be less threatening than constant snapping of twigs. Neither of them had spoke for five minutes, waiting in labouring silence.

Killer flinched as a drop of rain hit his knee, and then flinched again when another landed on his hand.

Speaking softly, Dream lowered to a crouch. "It's raining."

The assassin gave a ragged breath, expression twisted and sour. "I-I'm fucking blind- not stupid." But after a bitter moment of silence he spoke again. "Heavy rain?"

Looking up at the sky, he observed the darkening clouds that rolled over them, and a rumble of thunder answered the question for him. "Yeah, there's a storm coming.."

"Right.." Killer's head turned, as if he were taking in his surroundings before he resorted to pulling his knees to his chest and gnawing at his knuckle. He seemed deep in thought, and within moments he was shaking all again.

Dream frowned, hood pushed over his skull as the rain grew from a gentle drizzle to a persistent downpour. He stayed silent, listening to the drone of raindrops hitting against the leaves above them before thudding to the ground. A puddle quickly developed beneath his feet.

"Are you still there-?" The other blurted, surprising him.

"I'm still here, Killer."

"..Good."

The skeleton relaxed slightly, his body sinking into the bark of the tree uncomfortably. He wanted to go home, to curl up in bed and fall asleep. He wanted to sit with Horror and Dust, to play cards with them and act innocent when he cheated. He wanted to spar with Cross, to get beaten to the ground almost every time and pretend he had gone easy. He wanted to stand by Nightmare's side, listen to his low rumbling voice as he told him he'd done well on the most recent mission. His soul stung sharply at the thought and he swallowed the lump in his throat. After Dream's attack had hit him everything had gone black. He had assumed it was from the shock, his face scraped by grit and elbow crushed painfully beneath his body.

The pain had been sharp, but he'd fought through worse before. It was only when he'd actively lifted his head that he realised he couldn't see. His vision had been reduced to a splotchy blurr of red and black with hints of grey. And then after an awful moment even those lax colours had fled from his conscious until he was left with nothing but black.

He'd been trained all his life to remain calm in tense or difficult situations, but something about losing his sight had snapped something in him, and he'd started to scream. When people came to him he hadn't known whether they were friend or foe, thrashing as someone had picked him up. Was it Ink ready to chain him with paint? Was it Blue preparing to stab him with bones? Was it Dream come to finish the job off?

Even when he'd realised it was Cross who'd carried him, his panic had only lessened a little. He still couldn't see- he couldn't see. He'd been bundled onto a sofa and fretted over. A gravelly voice - Dust's - had questioned whether it was Killer's own dark tears that was blocking his vision. They had carefully wiped at the inside of his sockets, gritting their teeth and continuing even when he was screaming - begging for them to stop. It hadn't helped, and he still couldn't see.

For a while Dust had sat with him, muttering all sorts of spells that might help. It dulled the pain, yet sight didn't come back to him. Then Nightmare had come, his cool fingers pressing into the cracks of his shattered elbow until the worst was fixed. The Lord didn't have particularly strong healing skills, and while he made sure his arm could at least move, there was nothing he could do with his eyes.