Then, there was the strangest sensation Wilbur had ever felt.

He didn’t have to look down to know that there was a pipe sticking clean through his abdomen. He felt the metal as it brushed cold against his insides, pulling away from his organs and out of his body once again as Dream yanked the pipe back into his hand. Warm blood cascaded down his shirt and onto his pants, and Wilbur’s ears were ringing so loudly now, that he had no idea if Dream was trying to speak to him or not.

All at once, the pain hit.

It was blinding. Fire raced up his side from the hole in his gut, and Wilbur let out a strangled yell as he collapsed to the ground. More blood spilt out onto the gravel beneath him, and all he could do was clutch his side as the flames consumed him. His vision was starting to blur, and the ringing began to fade so it sounded instead like he was underwater.

Dream stood above him, staring down with his perpetual smiling mask as it mocked what were possibly the last moments of his life. He was probably saying something, but Wilbur couldn’t see his mouth, and it’s not like he’d be able to hear him right now anyway.

So he didn’t focus on Dream’s face. Instead, he let his gaze drift to the stars, pleading silently for Dream to leave.

Maybe Wilbur should’ve been afraid. It was a little difficult to be afraid though when his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Dream crouched down beside him. His hand reached for Wilbur’s face, and Wilbur weakly tried to turn his head away. If he was going to die, the least the bastard could do would be to let him keep his identity a secret.

Surprisingly, Dream’s hand retreated. Wilbur’s blurred vision flickered back over to him, and he saw Dream looking at his phone, the glow of his screen reflecting off his smooth, white mask. After a few moments, his shoulders dropped, and he stood back up.

He must’ve said something else to Wilbur because he gave a mocking salute before he turned on his heel and walked in the other direction.