Chapter Text
Drip,
Drip,
Drip.
The obsidian softly drips on Dream’s forehead, as his eyes flutter open. There’s a slight ringing in his ears as he comes round – a blinding pain shooting across his head as he tries to pull himself up, which he discovers he’s unable to do. He fills pinned down, his body heavy with exhaustion and a numb sensation running down his spine. The feeling doesn’t end as he blinks, trying to get a better look at the world around him.
‘George…’ he slurs out, his breaths short and weak, as he tries to take his mind back. They were here. It was the server’s one year anniversary. They had visited. They had laughed and talked. He couldn’t be here all...
‘Alone?! Oh Dreamie, you utter the dumbest shit in the world,’ a voice snarls as someone starts walking towards him. The sound of an axe scraping against the floor, a smash of a glass.
‘You weren’t as fun today, you know that? Got you a surprise and everything and you just pass out?!!’
Laughter rips through the air, bitter and manic as Quackity drops into his view. The man is squatting in front of him, an axe in one hand, a pair of pliers in the other. He looks pleased with himself as he wipes away the blood of his lips. The blood, Dream assumes, is his own.
The blonde breathes out, a painful sensation as his visitor stares resentfully at him.
‘Look, I’m heading out soon – early rise tomorrow. Las Nevadas is a lot of work,’ Quackity reaches out towards the limp body, as he grabs Dream’s face in his hand lifting it just so the prisoner has no choice but to look him in the eyes. His nails dig deep into his skin, piercing fresh blood to the already blooded surface. It trickles down off his lips, redding the torturer’s hands.
‘You better behave till I see you tomorrow – I spent my holiday off from the Casino with you, okay? I spent it with you, so you need to behave for me. If not Sam…’ Quackity drops his head to the floor, before straightening back up, ‘Well, he’ll know what to do.’
‘SAM! I’M DONE – BRING ME OVER!’
As the bridge carries his only visitor away, Dream’s mind is set to work. He has a lot to think about – and with nothing else to do he’ll have all the time he needs to just lay and think. The feeling in his body hasn’t returned yet as he lays paralysed on the floor, his breathing calming to a more suitable state.
One thing was clear, George and Sapnap weren’t real – they weren’t here. That much was clear. They didn’t care enough.
But Dream weren’t as bothered as much by that now – there was someone else that cared about him now. Someone that cared so much about that he visited him every day; someone that missed all of the celebrations just to keep up with their little routine.
The Blonde may be broken, he may even be beyond repair, but he had the best next thing for survival. He didn’t need no resurrection book again – all he needed was Quackity to keep coming. Cause as long as Q kept torturing him and playing their little game, he would survive.
He would play the role of the winged man’s little toy, long enough so he could become the puppeteer over them all again. It was only a matter of days…
And that was enough to make anyone laugh –
Dream begins to laugh, as he stares out to his great Kingdom.