Chapter Text
Why?
Why did Spade have to get sick? Why couldn't he just last a little longer?
Chance cradled his baby in his arms as he choked back sobs, petting the bunny's ash colored fur gently. Spade had passed peacefully as Chance slept, thankfully, it was like he didn't want Chance to suffer even more than he already was. Chance was rocking, telling themselves 'This isn't happening' over and over.
Chance carefully stood up, gently placing the bunny on the bed, staring, waiting for a movement. His mind was numb, their last will to live gone. He pulled their hair in front of his face, pulling until it stung, bringing him back to his senses.
"I can't just leave you here bud..." He crouched down, petting the soft ears that no longer twitched from his touch. Chance didn't want to accept that their last friend had left him behind. Spade was all they had. All that was worth fighting his thoughts for.
“He was tired of you. He died because you didn't try hard enough. You are worthless. You will be forgotten as you rot in hell. Spade never liked you.”
Chance's inner thoughts swarmed him, rubbing salt deeper into the wound. He glanced around the room, looking for options: for someone to save them, tell him it would get better, who would clear those thoughts. But there was no one. No one to stop him from drowning in that tub. No one to stop them from gouging a knife through his rapidly beating heart. No one.
Chance stepped outside onto his apartment's front porch, taking in a deep breath, walking past the overdue rent notices that were crammed in that wire door. He unlocked their car door and rummaged through the glove department, finding what he was looking for. A white and red box that read out 'Marlboro', his favorite cigarettes. They grabbed the lighter before throwing the key inside, hitting the leather seat as he shut the door.
Walking back inside, they passed the bedroom, setting foot into the bathroom, and turning the faucet in the tub to their desirable temperature. It wasn't selfish to be comfortable, was it? "Lukewarm should do it..." they mumbled. He trudged back to the room where the bunny lay still, choosing to tuck him in a blanket with his favorite toy. "'m sorry I couldn't take better care of you," his voice wavered, "I hope I see you again."
He didn't even bother to undress. Their clothes soaked up the water like a sponge, pajamas becoming slightly transparent. He couldn't decide on what to do so they just got everything he could. The gun, a knife, some pills, that ..razor blade. Chance, with shaky hands, grabbed the blade, twirling it in his fingers. The silence was deafening.
slice. for Spade's death.
slice. for Chance's stupidity..
slice. for the overdue rent that the poor old lady landlord has been covering for him…
He paused.
Is it fair? Fair she'd have to find him?
Oh, they so hoped it wouldn't be her. She was too sweet. How selfish of him not to think of her.
slice. Another for not thinking.
And then some.
Chance swallowed a sob as he watched the water stain pink, washing away their deeds.
After lighting a cigarette he carefully removed from the box, he took a drag. The smoke filled his lungs and circled around their head, filling the tiled room. Cigarette still in between his lips, they sank further into the water, inhaling another puff, releasing the grey smog into the air, watching as the vent sucked it up before closing his eyes. He threw the cigarette into the water, watching as it floated and spread its ash like a blooming flower.
Chance couldn't take the agonizing pain anymore.
It was going to get better. Wasn't it?
He reached for those pills, that knife.
No.
No, that slow painful death was needed.
The gun, with his luck, probably wouldn't go off.
So, they cranked that pill topper off. The pills were meant for Spade. The pills Spade was never happy with taking.
And downed them.
He took that knife and...
and..?
For once, he was scared of dying.
What if this was a bad idea? Is it what Spade would have wanted?
“Yes. He would enjoy the thought knowing you couldn't be around.”
The knife dug into his chest, the skin billowing under the wet t-shirt, threatening to break and bleed.
With each thought, he pressed harder,
stabbing where his heart was racing.
Their blood stained his shirt, the water, and his mind.
With one final push, the knife was halfway through, a sickening sound echoed throughout those tiled walls.
Chance wept, scared out of his mind.
Were the pills working?
They were.
They struggled to breathe.
Struggled to convince himself he was ready.
Struggled to--
Loud blaring blasted through the Dreamsphere Head Quarters, the squires running into the room frantically checking where it was coming from in the Dreamsphere.
Right there on the big screen was a new dream.
It looked and seemed barren, save for a dead willow tree in the center. Its branches hung low, with no leaves to hide its structure. They all looked around confused, it had been centuries since a new dream popped up. What were they supposed to do?
Mafioso burst through the door. His aura straightening out the squires as they all sidestepped away from the screen. Mafioso calmly walked over and leaned in observing the screen then sighing.
"Has anyone been there yet?" His voice silky as the question lingered.
"N-no, sir."
Mafioso pointed at the speaker and promptly demanded, "Set up a teleport there. Now."
The squire quickly nodded and got to work, frantically flipping switches and pressing buttons.
Mafioso couldn't help but think of the significance of this event or as to why a new dream would appear after so long.
He tilted his fedora to get a better look. Noticing how odd it looked.
Eunoia walked in, chirping. "Mafioso!"
He turned, lowering his fedora to shadow his eyes, "Boss."
"Explain."
"A new dream has set the off alarms. No one knows why it appeared. Rest assured we will be investigating swiftly."
Eunoia hummed, getting a closer look. She shrugged. "Find the source."
She skipped away, patting Mafioso's shoulder.
He sighed heavily, "Yes, boss."
Chance's head hurt. His body ached. How was that possible? Didn't he die?
He opened his eyes; a barren wasteland stretched far in front of him. He looked down, the scars littering his arms and one on his heart. He pulled down the suit jacket sleeve.
He was back in his usual outfit, the classic sunglasses and fedora adorned on his head. They looked around, glancing up at the willow tree he had woken up from under. Dead like him. If this was his hell, then so be it. It's what they deserved after all.
The sound of wind brushing against the dead branches was loud, dirt kicking up. Chance turned, noticing a dark figure standing in the distance in front of what seemed to be a portal. He squinted, "Is that the Grim Reaper?" The figure approached them, his attire becoming more apparent. Dressed in a black coat with a large fur collar, pinstripe suit with sleek dress shoes. He was fancy, to say the least. It was hard to see his face from under the fedora's shade.
"Is that the fucking mafia- what the fuck." Chance's blood ran cold as he scurried up the dead tree to his best abilities, his limbs feeling heavy. Mafioso walked with a purpose.
"You." Mafioso glared at them as they sat in the tree.
"Who? Me?" Chance pointed at himself, nervously laughing.
"Who else?" Mafioso's sword glinted in the sunlight. "I advise you remove yourself from that decrepit tree, dreamwalker."
"No thanks," he shrugged, "I think I'm quite fine up here thank you very much." He looked down, noticing how high they managed to climb.
Mafioso grew impatient, radioing in his squires. They appeared quickly, running towards the tree and trying to shake down Chance.
Chance lost his balance and down he went, falling and landing on his chest in front of Mafioso's feet. He wheezed, winded from the fall and the impact directly on his diaphragm. Mafioso swiftly lifted him by the collar, the point of the sword slightly poking at Chance's abdomen. "You need to wake up and leave this place."
"I don't even know what this place is!" Chance clawed at the gloved hand holding him hostage in the air.
"Wake up." Mafioso swiftly plunged the blade far into their abdomen, impaling them. Like a fountain, Chance coughed up blood, the metallic twinge making him feel sick. It hurt like hell. "I hate dreamwalkers." Mafioso cleaned his blade with a cloth before turning around and seeing Chance panicking a few feet away from him, alive and well, with no evidence of being impaled at all. Mafioso visibly looked taken aback, glancing at where his body was. Not even a blood stain remained on the dirt below them. Mafioso lunged forward, the freshly cleaned blade dirtied again as it slashed Chance. "Get out of this place!" Mafioso landed a final blow, severing Chance into 2 pieces. He panted, frustrated.
"That really hurts." Chance ended up behind Mafioso again, a sweat drop rolling down his temple as he held his stomach, the burning sensation of being cut lingering. "Why aren't you waking up? All dreamwalkers wake up from being killed."
Chance scratched his jaw, "Maybe I'm not what you think I am."
And then it clicked. Chance couldn't wake up. Of course not. "I'm dead."
"What?" Mafioso's stance loosened, his confusion apparent in his expression.
"I have no way to wake up, I'm dead in my apartment..."
The dream shifted, the sky darkening as Chance made the realization, realizing it worked, and this wasn't just a stupid fever dream. Chance crouched, holding his head, mumbling to himself. "'m actually dead... fuck fuck fuck-, this was not what I wanted..." he chewed his fingernails, his cuticles, anything to soothe him. The atmosphere changed, rain began to pour and the ground shook as Chance sobbed, not believing they actually went through with it.
The dream was reacting. Reacting to his emotions. Mafioso quickly put two and two together. Chance was special, Chance was the event that spawned the dream. But why?
Hyacinths and pink carnations bloomed around Chance, spreading rapidly. The rain turned into a drizzle, light and refreshing. Chance lay there, sobbing into the fresh flowers. The smell of wet dirt and flowers rushed through Mafioso's nose as he watched this almost 6'-man cry. Into a bed of flowers. How odd. How could a dream shift from a desolate wasteland to an overgrown flower field. The willow tree was plentiful of white leaves, swaying in the wind. Just moments ago, it was dead.
A strange event indeed. Thought Mafioso. He'd never think of something like this happening. Mafioso dismissed the squires. They stepped around Chance, not batting an eye at the man on the floor. Mafioso could only watch as the dream swayed. A melody of sounds, from the flowers rustling, the leaves blowing, and the man weeping. How long was he going to cry? He was not about to wait for him to stop.
Mafioso promptly spun on his heel and made his way back to the portal, abandoning the guy he tried to kill but was unsuccessful. Why would a dead person be put in the dreamsphere? It made no sense. Mafioso needed to ask Eunoia some questions.