agent 03 // dreamnotfound

-twenty-

uncertainty could be sensed in the air; wilbur had always been excellent at reading emotions.

He stood leaned against the balustrade, a glass of scarlet wine delicately held in his hand. "Alright, Clay. What might this proposal of yours be?"

"Your hand in marriage-!" a troublesome teen shouted from inside the room.

"Thomas! Get out! Christ, you satanic child," Wilbur cried out, the red wine rising to spill from his grasp as a lanky boy laughed and raced back down the stairs of the bedroom.

Wilbur pinched his nose bridge. "I am so sorry for that, Clay. He is a nuisance. As I was saying..." he straightened his posture again and took a sip of his wine.

Dream loved this family to death.

He began to speak, but didn't know where to start. "So, before I begin, I need to know that you'll protect me throughout this. It's a big request," Wilbur raised an eyebrow, "but I'm scared, Wilbur. Genuinely scared."

Seeing Dream in such a vulnerable state was unique to Wilbur. He had always come off as such a bold, assertive person. Ever since he was a teenager, living in the very kingdom they were standing in.

"I've said it years ago, I'll say it again, Clay. You're always safe in my presence."

Dream felt the tenseness of his body release somewhat. "I messed something up a long time ago that led up to this. It's something that could get me killed if the information gets into the wrong hands. You could so easily have me killed if you inform anyone, so I need to know I have your complete and undivided trust." This came as a surprise to the king, but he was absolutely willing to help him.

"Clay, of course I'll protect you. Whatever you've dug yourself into, I am here to assist you. I am sure it couldn't have been that bad, could it?"

"Wilbur, did I ever tell you how I got this scar?"

Wilbur froze his words and lightly shook his head. Whenever he had asked, Dream would turn about the topic and completely disregard it. Wilbur recognized it as a sensitive subject and always went along with the topic change.

Turning his gaze to look upon the rolling vineyards of wine grapes, Dream sighed. "When I lived here all those years ago, thirteen or so, I got pulled into something. I'd rather explain it at a later time because I get so fucking mad talking about it, but he made me do gruesome and horrific things to people. I tried to get away one night and he hurt me with my own knife."

The memory was one that haunted him at night. His nightmares revolved around the very incident.

He was only a child. A kid who made a mistake and wanted to fix that mistake. He tried so hard, but in return, got a blade ripped through his face.

Dream could no longer remember to what degree the injury hurt, but he did remember his shaking palms drenched with his own blood, the red that clouded his stinging vision, and the roaring beratement of his agency leader. It was all too much at once. Cowering in a shaking ball on the snowy ground while holding an arm against an eye he didn't know remained or not, all while getting unrelenting, despicable words shot at him. He wanted to genuinely die that night.

The distinct remembrance of looking in a cracked mirror the following night and thanking the heavens that he could still see made him shiver.

"Clay, who did this?" Wilbur demanded, his tone as serious as it could get.

"That's what I'm getting to. I'll explain everything, I promise."

---

The next half an hour was spent standing out in the warm air with Wilbur, explaining everything. Every detail, every name, answering every question, letting everything spill out. Dream had never been able to let the words escape to anyone else; it felt so liberating. The entire time, he had been trying to convince himself that it was all his fault, but Wilbur ensured him that it was not.

"I don't deserve him, he deserves the world and everything in it for what I put him through. He told me... that I'm his world. I fucked that up. I can't turn back now, they'll shoot him square in the face with me right after him no matter where the hell I go or how long I spend trying to run and hide. If I ever make it that far," Dream tried to get himself to stop talking, but everything kept flooding out, "I can't tell you how badly I want to give up."

Wilbur looked at the boy with heavy eyes.

"In conclusion, I want to bring him here until I can convince him to follow through with the plan. He hates me right now, I fucking know it. But his life is at such high risk right now and I don't care if he'll hate me for the rest of his life if it means he gets to see another day," Dream finally ended his rant, his throat sore and scratchy.

The now-empty glass of wine sat idly on the balustrade as Wilbur started to speak. "Clay, I want you to know that I will be here for you throughout all of this. Know that it is not one bit your fault. None of this is. I'm ashamed of your actions, not you. Ashamed of the people that have put you into this position. Bring him here tonight, I'll have a room downstairs prepared. Nobody but direct blood and our guard commander is permitted in there, so he will be safe. I assure you. Niki and I will be waiting."

Dream began to shake Wilbur's hand but ended up embracing him in a hug instead. Wilbur meant more than him than ever for supporting him with something that was going to be so immensely dangerous for everyone involved.