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It was one of those rare, sought-after, quiet days.
Dream wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He’d joked while on missions with Blue about how he’d kill for a day off. A day to do truly nothing.
Now here he was, genuinely free to do anything, and Dream was frozen.
What was someone like Dream supposed to do in their free time? All the heroes of stories were constantly in action, fighting foes, and vanquishing evil. No one asks what the hero does on Sundays.
Maybe that’s because it’s exactly like this; sitting around doing nothing and hoping for purpose to bite. It’s not exactly the most thrilling chapter.
He supposed the sun here was pleasant at least. The AU he found himself in today was one that had made it to the surface. It must be one of the tamer Fell ‘verses that actually had a shot with the fallen human’s pacifism, the dark black and red outfits were a dead giveaway to its origin. The positivity was healthy and strong here, rolling over Dream in lazy waves, pushing like the easy tide of a gentle river. A sour-looking cat monster walked by the bench he sat at, their darker aura briefly pushing through, but was once again taken over by the ambient joy that prevailed in the park.
It’s nice. A healthy AU of mostly positive emotions, even despite its violent origins. It’s good. Everyone here is relatively safe from harm for the moment.
So why did he feel so gently unsettled? The lack of an immediate purpose pushed him a bit off-kilter, a bowstring pulled dry and a little too taught.
Dream sighed, trying to let the tension escape with the breath, tilting his head back and letting the sun’s rays beat down on his face. He was being ridiculous.
Suddenly, a face obscured the sun making Dream blink against the sudden light change.
“Yo,” said Ink, brows furrowed like he was trying to decipher whatever expression Dream must have on his face through sheer force of will.
“…Hi?” Dream raised his head, turning to look at the paint-stained skeleton head-on. Ink continued to stare, clearly calculating something in his mind. “What’s up, Ink?” He asked.
Ink didn’t answer, just nodded his head, gravely serious and coming to some sort of conclusion. “You’re not doing anything,” He said.
Dream tilted his head, puzzled. “Um… No, I am not. I have the day off for once,” He said, almost a question. “Should I be doing something?” He asked, voice tinged with a glimmer of hope that maybe Ink had something he needed him for.
“Nope, this is perfect.” Ink smiled, coming around to sit beside Dream on the bench. His eyelights flicked between a yellow circle and orange sun as he kicked his feet — too short to reach the ground — in an idle, almost childish way.
“Is it?”
“Yeah!” Ink said, not elaborating any further. The little guardian looked happy, if a little out of place in this AU. Dream made an effort to blend into wherever he was (unless he was actively doing duties) and so his guardian uniform had been exchanged for a sensible yellow cotton tee and khaki pants. No one looked twice at Dream, but Ink never went anywhere without his sash and scarf, and by that point why not wear the whole get-up? It turned a few heads of those walking by, but there was no outright hostility emanating from them, so Dream let it be.
They sat in companionable silence, soaking up the fresh air. Despite how typical this must be for most people, the experience of resting on a bench in a park was quite novel to Dream. He found himself picking up all the little details: the trim of uncut grass the landscaper missed in the corner over there, a gaggle of old ladies speed-walking with impressive tenacity for their age, two young monsters fighting some mock battle in the field. How normal it all was.
…But it wasn’t normal for him, was it?
This had never been Dream’s life, not by a long shot. His existence has been chaotic, always in service of the greater good and always in conflict. He can’t remember the last time, if ever, that he’s just been able to sit down and do nothing.
What a privilege it is to be plain.
“Here,” Ink said, breaking the silence. With the flick of his trusty paintbrush, a box of tissues materialized in his hand.
“What is that for?” Dream said, surprised by his suddenly choked-up voice. Ink only gave him a sympathetic, but pointed look.
Dream reached up and touched his cheek, his hand pulling away wet. “Oh.”
At his hesitation, Ink set the box in Dream’s lap, patted him on the shoulder, and went back to looking at the other park-goers.
“Thanks,” Dream managed to croak out. The tears came out silently and without drama, a few sniffles accompanying them. There would be no way to tell he was crying unless someone had been looking closely. “I-I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he sobbed, barely a whisper.
Ink continued to people-watch. “That’s okay. You don’t have to, but… I think you do know, don’t you?” His words were blunt, though not unkind.
Dream hiccuped on a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
Ink only hummed in response. Some people might be offended by Ink’s nonchalance, but Dream appreciated it more than he could word. The Guardian of Positivity wasn’t supposed to cry because he didn’t have a normal life. He wasn’t supposed to break down at something silly like sitting on a park bench. If he couldn’t be strong here — dependable here — then how could anyone expect him to protect them from Nightmare? Or Error? Or anything for that matter?
He was grateful for Ink’s mild-mannered presence. He was simply there, letting Dream be pathetic, and didn’t offer to help or fix it. Ink simply let things be. Dream never realized how wonderful of a trait that could be.
Plus, it was nice to not have to acknowledge just how pitiful this was. Oh, poor baby Dream, having to wield incredible god-like powers and the gift of spreading joy, what a burden.
Dream was lucky. His life was a privilege that he was always thankful for; there was perhaps no one in the entire multiverse who had seen as many worlds as he. He'd seen the infinitely expansive shining cosmos of Outertale, the bustling prosperity of the Omega Timeline, and even the simple gift of the surface air he currently breathed was one many would never know.
Yet here the guardian sits, crying about how hard their life is.
(He’d never truly seen any of the worlds. He’s only there for his duties, rushing in and fixing everything and running again to fix something else. He’s never sat casually on a park bench before today.)
Dream pulled his knees to his chest and burrowed his head into himself, needing to feel hidden. Just for a moment. Move past it, Dream. Things need to be done eventually and he’s the only one who can do them. He’s no good to anyone if he loses it here. He’s fine. He’s okay.
Eventually, the words start to become true again. His breath evened out, long and deliberately controlled on every exhale. He unfolded his legs, setting them back on the ground and straightening his posture into something more respectable.
Ink tapped the box of tissues between the two of them, reminding Dream of their presence from where they fell when he moved.
The tissues were soft and smooth on his face, drying the bone and leaving behind no trace of the tears. It was as if they had never been there at all.
“Thanks for… Yeah, just… Thanks.” Dream smiled at Ink, a small private thing.
“Anytime,” Ink replies. Dream thinks he really means that too.