Chapter Text
It was dark. That was the first thing Wilbur noticed. Then he noticed the smell. It was musky and wet, and there was mold everywhere. He felt a stinging pain lighting up his ribs, and a dull throb under his eyes. He closed his eyes, sucking in a small clipped breath, feeling the burn swarm in his lungs.
His stomach lurched and he rolled to his side, gasping in pain as his ribs lit up like firecrackers. He wanted to cough, but he didn't know if that would make anything better. So he held it, feeling his diaphragm spasm as he curled up on the ground. It didn't matter in the end as a wrack of vicious coughs overtook him.
Each cough ripped through him like knives, and each flash of pain made his eyes water till tears were streaming down his face. He could feel snot running from his nose, making it hard to breathe between the coughing and gagging.
He felt cries bubbling up his throat, slipping past his lips and echoing in the musty basement. His ribs ached and his lungs burned, but the tears wouldn't stop, and he couldn't breathe. He wiped his face on the collar of his shirt, trying to make way for air.
It didn't really matter, as whatever was wiped away was replaced in seconds. It was very much like cutting the head off a hydra and having three more take its place.
Sobs filled the room, each one louder than the last as the boy shook. He could feel every bruise along his skin, he could feel every crack in his bones. He could feel the needles in each breath he took. Wilbur didn't know if the burning would ever go away, didn't know if he would be able to lay down and feel comfortable again.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark he noticed that his small 'bed' and been thrown in a corner. It was really just a mattress with a shabby blanket on top. A pitiful whine escaped his lips, and he crawled over to the bed, burying his face into the dirty mattress. There were blood and dirt stains that would never come out, no matter how hard he scrubbed.
He fell onto the mattress with a sob, curling up into a ball, resting his head on his knees.
Everything hurt. And it wasn't going to stop. Not now, probably not ever. Wilbur let one more sob escape his lips before sucking in a deep breath. He held it for as long as he could, feeling his heart slow down as he exhaled slowly, counting to ten. He did it again, this time inhaling for four seconds, and holding for as long as he could.
As his heart slowed down, his eyelids got heavier, his breathing evened out, and sleep curled around him. It was warm and soft, and he never wanted to wake up. It was a warm kind of dark that swept over him, cradling him close. It was the kind of warmth that reminded him of drinking too hot hot chocolate.
Feeling the burn in his belly that always made drinking the hot beverage worth it.
He snuggled into the mattress, exhaling one last time before he wasn't aware of anything. Not the mattress, or the bruises. Not the headache behind his eyes, or his stuffy nose. Just... warmth.
When he awoke, curled up on the dirty mattress, he only had time to notice one thing. The door to the basement was open, letting in a line of harsh white light. He scrambled to his feet, padding over to the stairs. The light was blinding, but it was light . He walked up the steps, making sure to be extra quiet.
Dream never liked when he and Tommy made much noise. He had a feeling it would be ten times worse now. When he reached the first floor, he looked at the kitchen, seeing the dishes were still dirty he made his way over.
The dishes had to be clean. That was one of the many rules he had to follow. He also had to make sure all the rooms were nice and clean, and make (he looked at the clock, seeing it tick right to six) breakfast.
He turned on the sink, looking through the dirty plates and bowls, seeing the forks and spoons as well. There weren't any knives... which meant Dream must have cleaned them, or he didn't use any recently. Wilbur hummed, turning on the sink and watching it fill with water, picking up the liquid soap, he poured some into the water, watching it bubble.
His mind turned blank, the only thought repeating through his head, "clean the dishes, make breakfast, make Dream happy, go to sleep." He got through the dishes with relative ease, drying them with a small towel and putting them away in their cupboards.
It was when he was draining the sink and opening the fridge that he heard rustling upstairs. Dream was awake.
And breakfast wasn't made.
Wilbur sucked in a breath, grabbed the eggs and some bacon, and turned on the stove. He placed two skillets down, hovering his hand over them both, waiting for the air above to warm.
As soon as it felt warm enough he cracked two eggs into a bowl, stirring them together quickly. He added salt and pepper before pouring the eggs into the pan. he heard it sizzle and bubble, and he headed back to the fridge to grab the cheese.
He grabbed a few slices of bacon, throwing them onto the skillet. He heard them pop and then turned back to the eggs. Adding cheese to one side he then folded the omelet, flipping it to the other side to allow it to finish cooking. He grabbed a glass plate, plating the omelet, and setting it on the table.
He grabbed some silver where and then returned to the bacon, making sure it wouldn't burn and would get just the right amount of crispiness. Dream always liked his bacon a little chewier, so when Wilbur deemed it done he grabbed the bacon and put them on some paper towels he snagged from the counter. He waited for it cool, ears listening to the creaking steps as Dream shuffled down.
He added the bacon to the eggs before pulling the chair back and stepping back to the wall. He turned to the stove, making sure he turned it off and sighed in relief when he noticed he did.
Looking at the clock on the wall, he watched as the minute hand hung around six-fifty-three. Dream's thudding feet landed on the first floor and he turned into the kitchen with sharp eyes.
Wilbur didn't have time to sweep, but he made breakfast, so he hoped it would appease him long enough for Wilbur to start sweeping the floors.
"The dishes have been cleaned... food is made..." Dream hummed, eyes catching a deadly glint. "Well done Wilbur, well done." Dream growled, walking to the table and taking a seat. He started to dig in, eating slowly.
Wilbur watched from the corner, watching as he chewed. His eyes were narrowed, and he swallowed loudly. Wilbur stood as still as he could, trying to fight the shaking of his hands as Dream slowly took another bite.
Wilbur flinched when Dream moaned, leaning back in his chair.
"This is delicious, Wilbur ." Dream said, teeth glinting off the light when he grinned. Wilbur watched as Dream dug into his food, moaning after every bite. He waited until he was finished, taking the plate and utensils, walking towards the sink.
He kept his eyes down, grabbing Dream's sponge and moving to clean off the grease. He kept his ears trained on Dream, listening to each slow intake of breath. He glanced up to follow Dream's legs when he stood, following as he walked away from the table down the hall. He turned his head over his shoulder, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"I have something for you, Wilbur. Wait right there." Dream sung, footsteps echoing down the hall and into the mudroom. He heard Dream grunt a little, and he watched with his head cocked as Dream came back into the kitchen with a black trash bag over his shoulder.
He dropped it onto the tile, and Wilbur flinched when it made a wet squelch sound when it hit the floor. He looked up to see Dream's crooked smile and he looked down again, eyes following the lines of the tile.
"These are your clothes from now on." Dream said. "Now, you know the rules, right? No dirty clothes in this house." Dream walked around the bag, squatting down in front of Wilbur, catching his eyes. He fished around in his pocket, grabbing a key and holding it in front of his face.
"This is the key to the laundry room." Dream said, eyes swirling with disgust. "You are not allowed in that room, do you understand ?" He snarled. Wilbur nodded, eyes wide. "I do not care how you clean the rest of your clothes, but I better not see it ," He snapped. "You understand, right?"
"Yes, Sir," Wilbur responded, eyes glancing down to the floor.
"Good!" Dream chirped, standing up and clasping his hands onto Wilbur's shoulders. "Now, you know your chores, so I'll let you get to that. Lunch will need to be served at eleven-forty-one." Wilbur nodded, moving to grab the broom and mop out of the closet by the front door.
He could feel Dream's eyes drilling holes in his back, and he swallowed around his beating heart.
It had been a few hours, and Wilbur had just gotten done serving dinner. He was cleaning up the kitchen, and he grabbed his new bag of clothes and brought them to the sink. He undid the straps tying the top up and grabbed the first few articles of clothing he found.
None of the clothes looked like they fit, and were defiantly hand-me-downs, but what shocked Wilbur was the fact that they were covered in mud, and what smelled like piss. He wrinkled his nose, face flushing as shoved the clothes back into the bag.
He looked around the house, noticing Dream was upstairs and he decided it was best to do this outside, he opened the back door, leaving it open so he could listen for Dream.
He walked into the garden, grabbed the hose pulling it out to the edge of the yard. He then brought the bag of clothes, leaning it against the fence. He turned the water on and kinked the hose, making his way to the end of the hose and bag of disgusting clothes.
The sun was just beginning to go down, casting the yard in a warm golden light. The house was anything but warm. He started with a shirt, then some shorts and underwear, blasting them with the hose as he went.
He would need to grab the soap, and a bucket later, but for now, he just needed to get the majority of the mud, piss and shit off the clothes. It would be a good start, Wilbur thinks, mind turning into a pleasant blank buzz.
He doesn't have to think about what he's doing, he just has to keep an ear out for Dream. As he goes through different clothes, his mind turns off, ears even tuning in to the constant buzz of his head. He was able to spray all the clothes and he started laying them out where he knew the sun would hit.
He didn't hear Dream walk outside, he only heard the door slam. It caused him to tense, his muscles tightening, and his heart pounding. He felt his ribs ache, along with his lungs, and his stomach dropped into feet.
" What, " Dream growled lowly. "The hell... do you think you're doing ?" Wilbur froze, eyes lighting up in fear as he looked over his shoulder to look at Dream. His face was twisted in a snarl, eyes blazing. His lips were downturned, the veins along his neck bulging.
"I-I was cleaning the clothes, Sir." Wilbur said, voice low and soft, in fear of choking on his tongue. That just seemed to just piss Dream off more, his eyes narrowing and lips pulling up to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth.
"Did I give you permission to go outside, Wilbur?" Dream said, walking a few steps into the yard before stopping. "Did I tell you, you could use the hose?" Wilbur couldn't answer, tongue-tied in knots.
Dream moved the last few steps forward, grabbing Wilbur by his hair. This caused the pup to wince, but he bit back any other sound as he was dragged into the house, the hose still pouring water in the garden.
Dream shoved him into the house, slamming the door to the garden closed. "Did I tell you, you could use the hose?" Dream repeated.
"N-No, Sir." Wilbur stuttered, chest squeezing and stomach sinking.
"Then why did you?" Dream was still pulling him into the house by his hair, his scalp stinging.
"I needed to clean the clothes." Wilbur gasped out. The air in his lungs shaking his words. "Not allowed to wear dirty clothes, needed to clean them." Dream just laughed, eyes glinting with malicious intent.
"That's right, Wilbur." He snarled. Dream shoved his head down when they reached the living room, and Wilbur had half a sense of mind to stay still. Dream walked over to the bookshelves, grabbing a thick phone book.
Wilbur felt his throat bob. He knew what was going to come, he knew it was going to hurt. But he also knew that Tommy wasn't here. Tommy was safe, with Phil and Technoblade. Tommy was safe, miles away from Dream. Tommy was safe.
"You just can't seem to do anything right, can you?" He asked, purred more like it. "Give me your hand." Wilbur did, letting Dream's cold hand clasp around his wrist like a shackle. He pulled forward harshly, making the pup stumble.
He placed Wilbur's fingers on the pages. As Wilbur looked down he could make out a few numbers. 890-9988 and 7623 were staring at him between his pointer and middle. He wondered what those numbers went to, who they would call. He wondered if they were any nicer than Techno and Phil.
He doubted that. He didn't think anyone could be as nice as Techno and Phil.
"You monsters need to start listening." Dream drawled, hands grabbing either side of the book. Wilbur held his hand there, trying his best to keep still. He knew it would break his fingers, it always did.
Dream didn't give him much time to prepare, slamming the book closed as hard as he could. Wilbur could hear the crunch of his bones as they knocked together and were displaced. He could feel his skin bruising, the blood cramped and tight.
Wilbur cried out, yanking his hand back from the closed book so hard it tore the pages. He cradled his broken fingers close to his chest, tears filling his eyes.
Not good enough.
Never good enough.
Disgusting.
He could faintly hear Dream roaring over his thoughts, yelling and screaming about how bad he was, and how he couldn't do anything right. How it was his fault Tommy died .
Died?
Tommy didn't die. But Dream wouldn't know that. Dream couldn't know that.
And that brought something warm to Wilbur's chest as he was dragged by his aching hand to the basement steps. Warmth that flooded his body as he was thrown down the stairs, body crashing against each step before spilling onto the cold floor.
Dream didn't know Tommy was alive. And that was good enough for Wilbur.
Not too far away from the neighborhood, two wolves sat. Their ears pitched forward, eyes sharp. They had heard the cries of their pup. They knew exactly where he was.
The two wolves shook their coats, snapping their jaws once... twice.
Tomorrow day, would not see Dream alive. But the sun would reflect his blood.