Chapter Text
Dream learns three things about Freedom.
One, he has the habit of hiding his wings. Understandable, given his history of walking among the mortals of the overworld, but utterly useless here since Dream’s the only other person here, and he can see them regardless. The perks of being a god (or not really, he’s not sure where he currently falls on the spectrum and that scares him to no end). They’ve been here for about a week now, and Freedom has only shown his wings twice, both when he probably thought Dream wasn’t looking. A wingless angel. It's laughable how far Freedom has fallen from the grace and power he had in the very beginning, and Dream sometimes genuinely wonders why he ever considered the god a threat at all. Those thoughts are quickly put down by the second thing he learns, though.
Two, he is fast. Dream has always been proud of his speed, how his mind and body move at the speed of lightning, pure power securely in his grasp as he bends both his intelligence and dexterity to his will and always, always makes it out alive no matter how impossibly dangerous his circumstances are. Freedom, however, takes it to a whole other level. It had taken Dream a bit of time to learn to use his powers correctly, if the first universe is any indication, but Freedom takes to his newfound birthright like a fish to water, twisting the empty space they reside in to his will with unnerving speed, so quick that Dream can barely process it half the time. One moment the cage is barely seven feet tall and Dream nearly hits his head again when he tries to get up, the next it stretches impossibly high and almost seems to take up the whole void itself, and Freedom still sits in the corner with his wings folded behind him, having barely batted an eye. As much as Dream tries to deny the fear that crawls up his throat whenever his fellow god displays a mastery of his power that seems to imply he hadn’t been entirely under Dream’s control back in the overworld, it’s difficult to hide the way he draws back unconsciously whenever Freedom so much as looks in his direction. He hasn’t done anything that would constitute this sort of raw fear yet, but Dream knows that he is one careful jab away from a breakdown. As the days go by, he’s honestly considering whether or not it would be more bearable than the tense dance they seem to be caught in, Freedom always leading and spinning about with dizzying speed, dragging Dream along without a care in the world.
Oh, yes, that’s the third thing.
Freedom is heartless.
Some part of Dream knows that this is very, very hypocritical. That doesn't mean his judgement is unfounded, though. In every world, Freedom is a father, and Dream is the firsthand witness to how the Songbird fails his son (or sons) time and time again. Whether it's leaving them, fighting against them or even outright killing them, not once has the heroic god of freedom truly taken his sons under his wing the way he should have from the very beginning. It's gotten to the point where Dream genuinely pities Wilbur, the king with the soul of a poet, who becomes the human son of a god most often and always ends up Freedom's greatest failure.
Dream's pretty sure he doesn't have a father, or any parents to speak of. Born of the universe to be Freedom's antithesis, he will be the first to gladly admit that he doesn't know how feelings and love really work. (Never mind the fact that he does, actually, but one of the only two people he's ever really loved is six feet under with only an obsidian sword for a grave, and the other is… well.) But even he has a basic understanding of what constitutes heartlessness and what is simply done out of necessity. Freedom's actions were… very far from necessary, in his humble opinion.
He knew all of this ages ago, obviously, but it wasn't until he ended up here that it's really started to sink in. Sure, Freedom is noticeably upset about the whole 'leaving your sons again' bit, but instead of doing anything about it, he’s spent all his time making those damned paper lanterns, hanging them up around the cage, making their prison into a beacon in the dark void. Dream hates the soft yellow lantern light that reminds him of sunlight and fills him with a pathetic parody of the warmth he distantly remembers from far too long ago. Staring up at their false night sky, he clenches his fist, wishing not for the first time that he could summon a dagger or something to hurl at those counterfeit stars and ease the gnawing in his chest.
He feels something materialise in his hand and jolts, looking down at his clenched fist. A quill pen sits in his palm, and a leather book lies next to him, blank with parchment pages begging to be filled. The quills are crafted from black feathers, almost as dark as the ones from Freedom’s wings, and if this isn’t some sort of cosmic joke Dream doesn’t know what is. Of course Freedom gets to keep his wings in the overworld, but here all Dream gets are fucking books and pens? This is just the universe mocking him by reminding him of what it was like to be in control, what it was like to play the storyteller. A mix of red-hot rage and sudden pain blinds him, and before he knows it he’s getting to his feet, quill gripped so tightly he’s certain it’s seconds away from snapping.
He turns his glare to those godforsaken lanterns, those omnipresent reminders of all his mistakes and his doomed destiny written from the very beginning, and he lifts his arm. Weak though he is here, his aim is not divine but honed from centuries of practice, and the quill flies true as a sharp tear sounds through the void and a paper lantern comes plummeting to the floor of the cage, the dark quill embedded in its center. He’s breathing hard, but smug satisfaction settles in his chest as he strides towards the lantern, stomping on the book next to him and kicking it into the void as he goes.
His lifted spirits are quickly tossed back into the abyss when the cage warps and Freedom kneels before the broken lantern, staring at Dream with irritation. Dream snarls, taking a step forward as another quill forms in his hand and he throws it down with ferocity, piercing into the poor lantern yet again. A terrified thrill runs through him when Freedom’s irritation shifts into something slightly more dangerous, and he feels giddy at the thought of defying his warden and perhaps finally, finally forcing his hand.
Freedom grips his wrist when he summons yet another quill and pushes him backward, getting to his feet in a flash and Dream is slammed against the bars, the Songbird looming over him with wings spread wide. His blonde hair floats about him, shadowing his eyes and Dream can’t help the manic grin that spreads across his face.
“Look how far you’ve fallen,” he whispers. “The almighty god of freedom, driven to violence by a simple lantern—”
“Not simple,” Freedom responds, voice harsh and rough. “They’re all I have left of my family.”
“Maybe you’d have more if you just went for the kill and got to go home, hmm? You’ll feel better after asserting your dominance, trust me.”
Freedom releases him, pulling back and Dream braces yet again for a blow. Instead, the Songbird sits down heavily on the floor of the cage, rubbing his temples and letting out a weary sigh.
“Haven’t we already done this bit before?” Dream asks, impatient. “You’ve already pulled back once. What do I have to do for you to finally finish it?”
They stare at each other for a few moments, emerald and forest green caught in a quiet competition, refusing to merge just yet. Finally, Freedom concedes defeat and glances away before speaking.
“I taught Wilbur that communication is vital to establishing long-term relationships,” he starts, and Dream laughs sharply. “Spending time with a person you do not understand will only be detrimental to both parties involved.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“Dream,” Freedom says, speaking his name for the first time, making him startle a bit. The Songbird looks up, eyes the colour of the quiet sea, inviting and yet immeasurably deep. There is no heartlessness there, only genuine interest, and it's so unbelievably different from the image of Freedom Dream's formed in his head that it scares him. “Tell me about yourself.”