sugarfrosting (sugarfrosting) wrote in miracle______,

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Fic: Dreams

Title: Dreams
Pairing: Hyukjae/Sungmin/Donghae
Rating: R
Warning: Psychotic!Sungmin

So dark O.O Never expected to write something like this! Used to post under my other user, out_of_words24. Also posted to my writing journal at sugarfrosting

I welcome any comments, and any SuJu/DBSK prompts. Will try my best to work on them, if you have any!

Sungmin thrashes, kicks out wildly, connects with something solid, hears a cry of pain, a stream of profanities. For a moment he almost knows where he is, knows he has to get away, right now, and then there are hands holding him down, gripping his forearms, tighter and tighter and tighter, and he wants to scream, but doesn’t, and then there is a sharp prick, the feel of a needle sliding into flesh, and then–


He wakes to the sound of an anguished cry, head pounding, the lights too bright, the sheets scratchy, the restraints tight, confining, and for a moment can’t even seem to remember his name. He tries to focus on the raised voice –he knows that voice– and he can make out words, just barely–

You can’t do this to Sungmin-ah–

Sungmin, he thinks with an effort. My name, Sungmin, Lee Sungmin, Sungmin–

Sit down, Hyukjae-ah, and it’s Eeteuk, it’s Eeteuk, their leadersshi, their band umma, Eeteuk hyung, hyung–

You have to let him go, right now–, Hyukjae sounds close to tears, and his voice is raw, hoarse, as if he’s spent hours pleading, begging, and the words have a dull, desperate feel to them, as if he’s repeated them over and over and over, again and again and again. Sungmin wants to call out, but his throat is oddly constricted, and he has to struggle to breathe, to gulp in enough air to be heard.

Sit down, Hyukjae-ah, and it’s Kangin this time, Kangin sounding like he means business, and he’s never sounded like that, not even the time when they spit water on him to wake him up, which prompted him to attack them all in a fury, and Sungmin’s heart speeds up, and he fears for Hyukjae, for what Kangin might do, and he tries again, and this time it works, and he gasps, voice cracked and wavering, Hyukjae-ah, Hyukjae–

Sungmin– Let me go, hyung– Sungmin!

Sungmin tests his bonds, attempts to break free, Hyukjae will save him, Hyukjae will let him go, Hyukjae-ah! Hyukjae!, and then they are bursting into the room, men in sterile white coats and instruments, and he thinks he can see Hyukjae for just a moment, Kangin holding him back, Eeteuk’s face too-pale, lips bloodless, eyes wide and terrified, but then the men are on him, pushing up his sleeve, and Hyukjae, Hyukjae, Hyuk–


Sungmin floats and twirls in the darkness and dreams of ice cream, of sunny days in the park, of singing. Sungmin dreams of Hyukjae and the last time they were together, Sungmin’s nails sinking into Hyukjae’s bare back, raking, drawing blood, causing Hyukjae to gasp and falter, until Sungmin bucks upward impatiently, mewling his displeasure until Hyukjae picks up the pace again, until he collapses on Sungmin, spent and panting, breath hot against the side of Sungmin’s neck.

Sungmin leans over to lick at the shallow marks, relishes the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, hums soothingly when Hyukjae hisses and flinches and makes to draw away. Sungmin’s tongue is soothing, skilful, and Hyukjae relaxes after a moment, buries his face in Sungmin’s shoulder. God, Sungmin, he says, still breathless, but slightly reproachful, all the same.

I’m sorry, Sungmin replies, dutifully, not because he really is –the taste of copper still on his tongue, the dark thrill still coursing through his veins, threatening to reawaken his interest– but because he knows it’s what Hyukjae wants to hear. Hyukjae smiles into his skin, presses a kiss, feather-light, to his shoulder, It’s okay, I’m okay.

Not even Hyukjae suspects a thing until two months later, until they drag Sungmin, eyes strangely vacant but still laughing, laughing and laughing and laughing and bleeding from the self-inflicted wounds on his arms, away from the house, away from them, away into a room with white walls and white curtains and fitful, vivid dreams.


He sees Donghae this time and wonders if he’s still dreaming, until Donghae leans down to kiss him on the forehead, on the cheeks, on the mouth, lips cool and soft and real, and Sungmin wants to reach up to draw him closer, pull him in, then remembers that he can’t move his arms, and whines softly against Donghae’s mouth, pleading, insistent, demanding.

Donghae moves away and the look in his eyes is somehow worse than Hyukjae’s hysterical shouts, worse than the anguish in Hyukjae’s eyes, worse than Kangin having to hold Hyukjae back before he can rush in and free Sungmin.

Hyukjae, he croaks, and Donghae shakes his head, rueful, bitter smile twisting his pretty face oddly.

I’m sorry, hyung. They wouldn’t let him come. He gets…agitated, and then Donghae is laughing, the sound so brittle it hurts.

Donghae-ah? Donghae-ah, it’s time to go, and Sungmin can’t see who it is, but he thinks it’s Eeteuk again, and Donghae bites his lip, blinks back tears, fingertips lingering on his cheek. I’ll come back for you, hyung, I will, his whisper fierce, distraught, and then he is gone, and Sungmin sinks back into sleep gratefully, only to dream of teeth and shadows and maniacal laughter and wakes up screaming an hour later.


They come to see him, in pairs and small groups of three or four, bearing flowers, gifts in pink paper, sometimes just smiles and touches.

Sometimes Sungmin is so drugged up that he can only stare vacantly at the ceiling, white on white on white, barely registering what the others are saying. Other times he spits and struggles and calls them all fucking bastards who just want to keep him locked up here forever, and doesn’t remember any of it until hours later. At times like these Ryeowook cries and Heechul swears back at him, voice escalating in both volume and pitch, until Siwon and Hankyung drag him out bodily by the arms, and even then they can all still hear Heechul out in the corridor, raving and sounding almost like Sungmin. Sungmin lives for the lucid periods, for the days when Donghae comes to visit and kisses him, sweet and lingering, and sometimes it is almost enough for him to hold onto to keep the nightmares at bay. Sometimes, but not always. Yehsung traces the tubes sticking into him, the drips, the monitors, fists clenched, and Sungmin wants to say, don’t look, but knows he won’t be able to stop him anyway. Kyuhyun reads to him, fairy tales and old folklore, and Shindong tells him gags and funny anecdotes in a valiant attempt to make him laugh. Kibum sits by his bedside and talks in English, and Sungmin isn’t sure just what he’s saying –he could be reciting poetry, lyric, or just be talking to himself– but Kibum holds his hand and doesn’t stop until Sungmin feels safe, until Sungmin falls asleep. Eeteuk and Kangin are always there, hovering just outside of the room, like silent sentries, and Sungmin doesn’t see Hyukjae at all. He’s learned to stop asking about Hyukjae, after the fifth time Eeteuk shakes his head, after the seventh time Donghae apologises, after the tenth time Hankyung and Siwon both tell him that Hyukjae is fine, just fine, and that he shouldn’t worry.

Sometimes Sungmin misses Hyukjae so much he could cry; at other times he can barely remember who Hyukjae is, what he looks like, and in the dark of night he can’t decide which one hurts him the most.


It is still dark out when Hyukjae wakes him, then presses a hand over his mouth to muffle his startled cry.

It’s me, it’s me, Hyukjae is saying, and suddenly his arms are free, loose, unbound, and Sungmin holds his hands up in front of his face, slowly, wonderingly, for what feels like the first time in a hundred years.

We’re going, Sungmin-ah, we’re going, and Hyukjae is helping him up, bundling him in a jacket, steadying him when his knees give on the cold, slippery floor. They blunder past an oddly empty counter and down stairs, flights and flights and flights of them, and Sungmin’s head is spinning, and then Donghae is there, Donghae and his smile and his hands, and they are bundling Sungmin into the back of a beaten up old car, strapping him in.

You’ll be fine now, Sungmin-ah, Hyukjae is saying, even as Sungmin lies down and closes his eyes and doesn’t get up until Donghae gently nudges him awake, five hours later.


Sungmin doesn’t keep track of the days, not that he could, even if he wanted to. Donghae and Hyukjae take turns watching him, take turns to drive out to the nearest village, half an hour away, to get food. They leave his hands unbound and make sure he swallows, brightly coloured pill after pill, every morning, and smile when he speaks, when he finally begins to start doing things for himself again.

Sometimes Sungmin wakes up from another nightmare, shivering and whimpering, but then this time he isn’t alone, this time there is Donghae, and Hyukjae, one on each side of him, and Donghae draws him back down, holds him tight, while Hyukjae murmurs soothingly into the back of his neck, and then Donghae is singing, a lullaby Sungmin knows, but hasn’t heard in years, and he falls back asleep, the sound of their voices weaving in between his fragmenting thoughts, a gentle harmony in time with the steady beating of his heart.
Tags: ot3: sungmin/eunhyuk/donghae

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