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Sam firmly clasps the lever that will release enormous waves of heavy lava into the chamber and takes one last look at the man across the chasm before sealing him away forever.
The masked man—his friend—hasn't spoken a single word since being escorted through the nether. Dream didn't resist, or put up a fight, or try to bargain.
He'd be a fool too, really. There's a reason Dream asked Sam to build the prison. There's a reason Dream respected Sam enough to allow him to live so far away the SMP.
There's a reason why Dream didn't run.
It is a well-known secret that Dream was the most powerful man on the server. His server. A good case could probably be made for Technoblade too.
The point is that Sam isn't on most people's list of powerful people. This is intentional.
The second people know of your power, half of it is already gone. Sam knows this. He knows his part, plays his role—that's how you get to be the richest man on the server after all. Putting this aside though, Sam would consider himself a good guy, a good guy who prefers to stay out of the limelight and enjoy the wealth and riches he's worked so hard for.
He stays out of trouble. He cares not for vengeance or the glory of battle, nor does he care for the intricate games and satisfaction of control. Sam is more than content to live his days building, and working, and engineering wonders beyond most people's comprehension; to make acquaintances, not friends, to not dip his toes into conflicts that aren't his, and to earn the trust of many through time.
Trust is what truly makes someone powerful.
Sam knows this.
One other person knows this too.
There's really only one person on the server that'd argue Sam has a place on the list of power—
—and that person stands across a pool of lava, confined in a small black box, posture cold, rigid, and completely still—
—and that person is right.
There's a reason they both wear masks. There's a reason they both hide their expressions and secrets.
And as Sam takes in Dream one last time, hand on the lever that will engulf the room in lava, sealing him away in Pandora's Vault,
he can't help but think one of them hid it just a little bit better.
When Sam opens visiting hours for Dream, he doesn't really expect people to visit as often as they do as Dream is sorta the most hated man on the server. He had expected (and intended) for the rigorous and unpleasant experience (nightmare) of being admitted into Pandora's Vault to deter frequenters, but he ends up curses himself when it clearly doesn't.
Sam has a life—a life that takes place very far away—but he'll comply with it for now. He spent thousands of hours masterminding this creation, he might as well stick around to see the awe in their eyes and their jaws hit the floor.
Needless to say, he takes prison matters very seriously.
After signing some admittedly sketchy liability waivers, all visitors are to be thoroughly inspected, sent through multiple decontamination chambers, splashed with a potion of weakness, and are to under no circumstance bring items into the holding cells unless directly approved of by Sam himself.
Despite the surprising amount of visitors, Sam is still undoubtedly the one who visits Dream the most (it is sort of his job).
Dream is quiet most days—their relationship had always been one of fewer words—but not inherently un-friendly. Sam does his best to be hospitable, but deems it incredibly important to not regard Dream as a friend as long as he is the prison's keeper.
He feels bad of course but Sam knows how Dream operates. He know he can't let the man into his head.
Perhaps what surprises Sam the most about Dream though is how quickly he becomes desperate for interaction. Dream frequently throws his clock, books, and sometimes even himself into the lava just so Sam will come see him. It's sad, distressing, and kinda annoying. Describing Dream as needy would have never crossed his mind before locking him in this prison.
Sam sighs. "I brought your new clock, Dream."
Dream perks up from where he lies sprawled out across the floor, raising his head to regard him. Striding into the cramped cell, Sam removes the clock from the crook of his elbow and offers it out.
"Thank you." Dream replies, taking the it from his hands and lying back down to inspecting it, "It looks very...new."
Slightly nodding, Sam quickly surveys the cell. Everything seems to be in order (its just as suffocating and dreary as he remembered from his last visit an hour ago).
"Do you need anyone potatoes?" He inquires as Dream pushes himself off of the obsidian with a grunt.
Dream ignores him, strolling over to the wall to proudly hang the clock back in its place.
"Uh, no. No, I don't think so." He finally mumbles.
Sam watches in perplexity as the man practically falls into a trance while gazing upon the clock.
"Well, alright then. I guess I'll be heading out for now." He turns his back, stepping onto the platform that will transport his across the divide.
"Sam." Dream calls. Sam stops and looks back at the man who still doesn't face him.
"When...w-when will you be back?" He asks abashedly.
"Um, probably later this evening." Sam determines.
"Alright."
As Sam is transported out of the cell, Dream remains fixated on the clock, not once glancing away.
He feels guilty sometimes, but in the end Sam knows his role and he plays his part. He created this prison to conceal; to contain; and to isolate.
He succeeds.
Oddly enough, Tommy is Dream's first real visitor. What's even more odd is that he is also one of Dream's most frequent visitors—Tubbo usually following protective and faithful in tow.
By Tommy's request, the netherite barrier always stays up when this is the case and Tubbo comes with him.
Out of everyone who bothers to visit, it's undisputed that Tubbo and Tommy usually have the best time, filling the hollow, confining chambers with colorful language and fits of boisterous, taunting laughter so loud that Sam can hear it from the other side of the lava.
As they impishly heckle Dream, jovial and immature in nature, it occurs to Sam just how young they really are. When the pressure of fighting wars, and carrying rebellions, and leading countries is finally alleviated, they're really just kids.
One particular visit, the laughter suddenly stops.
"Did...everything go alright?" Sam questions after the two boys emerge through the lava. He does his best to disguise the concern in his voice—he has a stoic prison guard persona to maintain after all—but the scene before him is, at best, alarming.
Tubbo grounds Tommy with one hand on his shoulder and the other resting behind the taller boy's neck, lightly pulling him down to meet his gaze. Tubbo is whispering what Sam can only assume to be consoling affirmation based on his expression, drawn tight in worry but firm in resolve. Tommy refuses to look at Tubbo however, instead squeezing his eyes shut and meagerly shaking his head in repetition.
Tubbo weakly turns his attention from Tommy for a moment to address Sam.
"Uh-, yeah..." He swallows. "...y-yeah, he—"
Tommy's chest is heaving and Tubbo abandons his sentence to gently rub his back. "Deep breaths, big man."
Sam decides to keep records of every visit to Pandora's Vault from there on out.
(And while he knows it's already too late, he vows to protect those boys as well as he can.)
(It's also worth noting that he doesn't feel too guilty anymore.)
After this visit with Dream, Sam had expected (hoped) that they wouldn't return, but low and behold they bound back time and time again.
Tommy and his larger than life personality confidently gallivant into Pandora's Vault as if the previous visit hadn't ever happened. Tubbo trails behind him, obviously not thrilled to be there but completely unwilling to let Tommy come alone.
Tubbo always seems slightly wary in the prospect of seeing Dream but his face never fails to glow when seeing the redstone mechanics and intricacies of the prison.
Sam's lips do not curl upward behind his mask when questions and praise flow out of Tubbo's mouth like a waterfall.
What? They don't.
Sam's log, Sam's rule.
They may come back time and time again, but Sam is clever—and now that he has resolves to join them in the cell, he notices some things:
("Wait, why are you coming with us?" Tommy questions skeptically with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Sam straightens his back and doesn't budge.
"There was a change in protocol.")
He sees how Tubbo's shoulders never ease, remaining straight and balanced as if carrying an invisible weight.
He sees how, despite his devilish grin, Tommy never lets Dream get too close.
He sees how Tommy always keeps Tubbo within an arm's reach, often stepping protectively in front of the boy to shield him behind his shoulder.
He sees how the bags under Tubbo's eyes have only grown darker with an entire lifetime's worth of regret.
He sees how Tommy's face creases in pity, and sadness, and empathy when he thinks no one is looking.
Dream doesn't often interact with them when they jeer and mock. Dream likes to sit—criss-cross on the cool floor—and watch his clock, maybe even fiddle with its hands, twisting them in circles with a gloved finger. If he's feeling especially adventurous, he may doodle in his journal, and even proudly show off his pages.
The boys are often more somber after that.
It's hard to believe that the masked, 'innocent' inmate was the manipulative menace that had left countries and lives desolate. He can tell Tommy and Tubbo feel the same by the way their ardent expressions falter.
He sees how the smiles slip off their faces.
(Because when the weight of the world is alleviated they're just kids.
It's cruel, and so incredibly unfair, that the last shred of innocence, somehow spared to them, will be their undoing.
Sam sees it in how their eyes soften as Dream flips through the pages of his journal, completely deaf and indifferent to their insults, and no matter how they try, they won't be able to see the man who's wronged them; the man who has taken their innocence, and country, and lives. They won't be able to see the man that's given them scars and twisted their minds.
No, rather they'll see a broken, abused prisoner. A man with no friends or family; with no home.
And their hearts will tell them to forgive again; to love again; to trust again.
Trust is powerful.
Sam knows this.
Dream knows this too.)
"Wait, so I can't give Dream his gift?" Disappointment creeps into Bad's voice, face falling as Sam informs him of Pandora's policies.
Bad is Dream's second visitor. He comes as often as he can but since he's often rather busy with...stuff...he usually doesn't make it more than once a week.
"I'm sorry, Bad." Sam informs him sincerely, "The rule may change down the road but as of now I can't let anything in or out of the prison. I hope you can understand."
"Aw, it's alright. Of course I understand." A sad smile forms across Bad's face. "Anything else I need to sign?"
Bad is an interesting case because he might be the only person to treat Dream with the upmost kindness despite still condemning his actions. In return, Sam can't think of anyone Dream is more relaxed and amiable with.
"Hi, Dream!" Bad happily greets. Dream spins away from his lectern almost immediately.
"Bad! You're back!"
"Yeah! I meant to come yesterday but something came up." Walking into the cell without reservation, Bad approach the lectern where Dream kneels with a book and quill.
"It's ok. I'm, uh, glad to see you." Dream says sheepishly, setting down his items.
"Aw, Dream!" Bad jovially hauls the masked man up into his arms, "I'm glad to see you too."
Dream doesn't reciprocate the embrace but he does seem content to allow it.
Sapnap is another frequent, often storming into the prison at sporadic intervals with a fire in his eyes and a restlessness weighing heavily on his back.
His visits are perhaps the most heartbreaking.
He never asks to see Dream, rather he marches right past Sam, signs the waivers with a growl, and less than patiently waits to be granted entrance.
Most of Sapnap's visits go the same— rage surging through his veins the second the pillars of lava fall and his eyes land on Dream. He screams until his face is flushed, only growing more thunderous as he is completely disregarded.
Dream is silent.
This infuriates Sapnap to no end.
Usually Sam will pull him aside or put a hand on his shoulder, suggesting he go home to rest. Sapnap will growl under his breath and sulk out of the vault.
However, sometimes Sapnap's screams grow faint; the fire in his eyes doused, and replaced with billows of smoke. The strong, furious front vanishes, exposing delicate sentiments and broken, desperate inquiry behind it.
He'll plead and implore in tones too quiet for Sam to hear (not that he'd want to intrude anyways), his small voice scraping out of the throat he's howled raw.
It makes no difference, Dream doesn't acknowledge him.
Dream is silent.
("What happened to you, man? What happened to us?" Sapnap whispers, unclenches his fists and raising his head.
Dream sits on the floor with his back turned.
He doesn't respond.
He never does.
"Were we not enough for you? Is that it?" Sapnap desperately breaths, aggression seeping into his low, hushed words.
Dream is silent.
He always is.
"Bad says you talk to him! Why won't you talk to me?" Sapnap lets out a furious growl, punching his fist into the solid obsidian wall. "Answer me! Please just say something!"
Sapnap leans his forehead against the dark, warm stone, running his hand down the wall and sucking in air. His breath hitches as he chokes on a sob.
"Did you ever even care about us?"
Dream lowers his head.
Sapnap lets out a huff. "This is stupid." He mutters, composing himself and wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. "I'm leaving."
With one last longing glance at Dream, Sapnap's shoulders fall.
"Goodbye, Dream."
Trust is powerful.
Dream knows this.
And Dream knows he has broken that trust.)
Unlike Sapnap, George's visits are periodic and scheduled, occurring twice a week just after sunset. This is greatly appreciated by Sam.
The first time George visits, Sam isn't so sure he'll come back. Sam is actually rather surprised that his rather distant roommate came to visit at all. But low and behold, George casually strolls up to the prison one evening.
"George, good to see you!" Sam greets him outside the structure, "It's been a while."
George surveys the enormous construction before him and pushes his hands in his pockets.
"Suppose it has." He mutters (whether it's meant to be wishful or apathetic, Sam can't really tell), adjusting his goggles ever so slightly.
"I reckon you're here to see Dream?" Sam's already moving to turn on the entrance portal as George nods.
"Follow me."
They drop off George's armour and other commodities in one of the locker-boxes before beginning the tense trek into the heart of the prison. George follows a few steps behind him through winding labyrinth, boots clanking against the polished blackstone. When they approach the massive doors Sam has masterfully engineered, he doesn't gape or ask questions like everyone else.
George is quiet and indifferent—nearly as guarded as the prison itself. Sam isn't one to pry.
It's only when he announces that Dream's cell is right behind the next door that the faintest trace of emotion leaks through George's defense.
"He's...right behind this door?" George stills, hesitating before the entrance.
"That he is."
George faces forward and clenches his jaw.
"Alright."
Sam waits a moment before pulling the final lever.
There really is no way George's visits could be any more different than Sapnap's.
George silently stands with his back to the lava, not yet inviting himself any further in the cell. He watches Dream with passive curiosity as the younger man insistently fidgets with the wall clock—indifferent to George's presence.
"What, are you just going to ignore me?" George inquires, mild annoyance creeping into his voice.
Dream freezes, but after a moment returns to his clock.
Tapping his foot impatiently against the floor, George crosses his arms over his chest.
"I'm still mad at you. Y'know, about the whole king thing."
Dream is silent.
Sam waits for the outburst—for the accusations of betrayal and broken trust—but it never comes.
With a huff, George crosses the room, inspecting the few luxuries Dream has the privilege of still having.
A lectern, an iron basin of water, and chest are all lined up against the obsidian wall.
George approaches the chest, running a hand over its aged lid before flicking it open, revealing probably a dozen journals nestled inside.
"Have you been writing, Dream?" George inquires with a vague interest, casting a glance at the man in question.
Nothing.
Dream doesn't acknowledge him at all. Not a response, or glance, or anything.
An idea pops into George's head. Whether it's a good one has yet to be determined but he really has nothing to lose.
"Here...let me just—" As gently as possible, George grabs a journal and, after making sure it's empty, tears out the last couple pages. This baffles Sam, who considers interfering from the corner of the room but ultimately decides to not step in.
Dream hunches his shoulders when the sounds of ripping paper meets his ears. His grip on the clock tightens and his head dips ever so slightly.
The faint scratching of a quill accompanies the passing time. George works fervently, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth in determination.
After more scribbling, tearing, and folding, George collects up his creation in his arms.
"Oh Dreeeeam." He chimes, sitting behind the man and splaying his work across the ground. "Play this game with me."
The clock in Dream's lap ticks through the silence. George waits, tapping his finger against his knee.
"Typical Dream." George sighs. "I worked so hard on this game for us and you're just going to let it go to waste because you're feeling all angsty—"
Dream moves.
In fact, he doesn't just move but also twists himself around to finally face and acknowledge George.
It seems to take him a moment to identify the creation before him. Dream looks at the scribbly checkered patterns, and the small, individual doodles, and despite the mask hiding his expression (it's been so long since George has seen his face—), George can pinpoint the moment it clicks.
A makeshift, somewhat sloppy, and entirely paper chess board sits between the once close pair. On small cards that have obviously been torn not cut are cartoon depictions of Kings (more specifically George himself), and knights, and towers.
"Well?"
Dream raises his chin from his chest and silently meets George's expectant gaze.
Ranboo's visit was the most troubling; especially since the lanky boy seems to have no recollection of it. The visit had seemed slightly unusual at the time but nothing too crazy. From what Sam had picked up on about Ranboo, the anxious atmosphere surrounding him and the haunted mutterings under his breath were both rather normal. But looking back, Sam can't help but feel guilty for not paying closer attention.
(Sympathy swells in Sam's chest as he watches the half-enderman boy wince when he runs his hand through the water tunnel he's about to have to traverse.
"O-ok...Ok! Here we go..." Ranboo murmurs before taking and deep breath and diving in.
Sam forces himself to ignore how he winces the entire way.)
When thinking back to his only visit, Sam is glad that Ranboo has requested to not be allowed inside Pandora's Vault again.
("What did you do?" Sam frantically interrogates Dream. The half-enderman lays in a heap on the floor, twitching and shivering.
"I told you, I didn't do anything. He just started muttering to himself and, like, twitching and stuff. He passed out right in front of me."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Sam scoffs, kneeling down to the inspect the boy on the floor.
"Sam, please," Dream hopelessly pleads, stepping back, "Trust me."
Sam manages to collect up an unconscious Ranboo, in all his gangly glory, and hoist him up into his arms.
"It's too late for that, Dream. I...I'll be back later."
Sam carries Ranboo out of the prison.)
An unprecedented bump in the road comes in the form of Ghostbur, who exists in some weird state between tangible and translucent.
Sam debates on whether he should even let the ghost in to begin with but eventually decides it to be safe. He's glad the polite ghost asks for permission ever though he probably could've just phased through the walls if he show wished. Ghostbur harbors no ill intent. Sam isn't really sure if Ghostbur could do harm if he wanted too.
At least, that's what he thought.
The two read through some of Dream's books for a while, sharing in their passion for writing, before Ghostbur lets out a humorless chuckle.
"Look at us, what a sorry pair we make." Ghostbur closes shut the book in hand, "Just months ago we were on top of the world." The tone sounds familiar and too cruel to be his own, even Sam finds himself doing a double take.
"What?" Dreams voice is hoarse from un-use and disbelief, recoiling from the sudden shift in mood.
"Do you blame Wilbur, Dream? Do you blame me for being the one to standing up to you? For being the first one to chip away at your power?" Ghostbur's voice all but vanishes, leaving Wilbur to ramble in his wake. The ghost's pale, transparent eyes grow crazed.
Dream straightens, holding up his shoulders and tightening his jaw.
"It was never our story, was it? It was never about us." Ghostbur floats around the cell, gesturing wildly. Then he looks directly at Dream. "We were never in control, Dream. We spent our whole lives chasing after it and then we sacrificed everything we had to try and catch it but we never could." Ghostbur madly whispers, inches away from Dream's face.
"We've always been more similar than I'd like to admit-"
"Wilbur, I think you should go." Sam says, stepping between the two.
"Oh. Ok!" Ghostbur shrugs, backing up. "Bye, Dream!" He merrily waves.
Sam casts one last worried look to an unresponsive Dream before escorting the ghost out of the prison cell.
With much consideration, Sam decides to make a slight amendment to one of the prison rules.
If a gift or item is brought past the first prison vault, it must be completely and thoroughly inspected* to ensure the utmost safety and well-being of both the prisoner and the community. If found to be safe, the object is to be presented to Awesamdude and entrusted completely in his care. Depending on the item and circumstance, the inmate may not get to keep the item past the duration of the visit. This will be determined by Awesamdude and any other prison faculty.
*If an object is damaged during this process, awesamdude is NOT to be held accountable or prosecuted in anyway
The first to hear about this rule change is, predictably, BadBoyHalo.
"Are these poisonous, Bad?" Sam inquires, holding the flowers up to his mask and giving them a sniff.
"What? Of course not!" Bad exclaims. "Do you really think that I'd-"
"No, I know, It's just protocol." Sam reassures him.
After locating a book on local botany, Sam deems the the plants acceptable.
("You got me...flowers?"
"Yup! Here you go, Dream!" Bad says, shoving the bokay into Dream's arms.
"I, uh..." Dream stutters, "T-Thank you, Bad. I love them." He finally manages.
He proudly places them in a small bowl with water in the middle of the room. Not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing place, but he was in a small obsidian cube after all.
In the following days, they receive just as much attention as the clock.)
The second visitors to take advantage of the rule change are Tommy and Tubbo, who attempt to drag some discs and an entire juke box in with them.
Sam thinks they are joking at first for multiple reasons. Partly because the idea of hauling it through the entire prison seems a little preposterous, but mainly because, oh yeah, they had just finished fighting a war over discs.
After an eternity of begging and assuring Sam that these were not the actually discs ("How stupid do you think we are, Sam?" Tommy squawks. The irony is not lost on Sam.), Sam agrees to inspect the jukebox and eventually allows them to carry it for them only for the visits duration.
("Suck it, green boy!" Tommy flaunts the discs from behind the netherite barrier.
"Yeah!" Tubbo pipes up, "I'd imagine you're doing some major suckage right now!"
Tommy chokes and then busts out laughing. "Tubbo, wha-" he begins before divulging into a disorderly fit of laughter.)
After the annual gloating and hollering, things go surprisingly peaceful.
Dream shows no malicious or excessive interest in the discs and is surprisingly content to sit and listen to the music in silence.
But Sam watches carefully. Very, very carefully.
"Your move." George says, plopping one of his paper-pieces up a few spaces. They sit as they normally do, criss-crossed on the obsidian floor, hunched over the board. Dream watches him hesitantly, much longer than is socially acceptable. He makes no move to touch any his pieces, instead clearing his throat.
"I'm...sorry, George."
"As you should be." He hums back immediately. George doesn't point out the fact this is the first time Dream has spoken to him in weeks, instead acting like it is the most normal thing in the world (it was once after all).
"...George...I-" Dream whispers.
"Save it for Sapnap." George interrupts, "It's your move."
Dream lowers and shakes his head.
"He hates me."
"I suppose he does." George murmurs, "but...he might still like to hear it, y'know?"
"Maybe." Dream says, staring past Georges shoulder.
"It's, uh, still your move."
It's late one evening when Sam arrives to find the portal into the prison already on. Redstone has been spilled all over the floor, rewiring the portal to open from the outside.
His stomach sinks. Either someone has broken into the prison, or someone has broken out. Neither of these options are favorable. No one else knows how to get into the prison, so needless to say, he is a little surprised (oh, and not to mention incredibly concerned).
He takes a breath, stays "calm", and enters through it.
As Sam frantically sprints, tearing and sliding through the complex tunnels, he nearly misses the long, crimson cape that calmly strolls right by him. He screeches to a complete stop, whipping around in a frenzy to face the intruder.
"Wha-, How'd...Y-You aren't allow to be here without authorization, Technoblade."
The piglin-man stops without turning to address him.
"You didn't see anything." His voice is low and stance is tense.
"I can't just let this slide, Techno! This is serious. According to the rules...I'm supposed to kill you."
Techno finally turns to face him, cape whirling behind him. "Oh. Well, I guess I'll just let you do that. We both know how much of a stickler I am for things like authority, rules, and standard procedure." He deadpans.
"How...How did you even get in?" Sam inquires in complete and utter disbelief.
"I really wouldn't worry about it." Techno reassure, "I promise you no one other than me would've been able to get in here. You've actually done a pretty good job. It was way harder than that horse maze thi-"
"I'll make you a deal, Technoblade. If you sign my waivers, tell me why you're here, and show me how you managed to bypassed all my security, I'll forget this ever happened, ok?"
Technoblade regards Sam and seems to consider this for a moment. "Sam, aside from you stealin' my horse, I think we've always had an...understanding between us. I respect that. I won't be signing your waivers, that's for sure." He says, "but I can assure you I didn't smuggle anything in or out and I'm willing to show you how I got in if we call it even." Techno levels his gaze and patiently waits for a response.
Sam's always been a good fighter, but never a single-handedly-take-on-like-20-other-dudes kinda fighter. He's outmatched in his own prison. Even if he did manage to beat Techno, the problem still remains that he was able to break in.
So, with a huff, Sam agrees.
For the next week, in order to check and fix any and all ways security breaches, Sam shuts down the prison.
He didn't think the loneliness in Dream's voice when he informed him of this would hurt him as much as it does. He isn't supposed to be his friend after all.
("I told you, he just wanted to talk to me! Why can't you just believe me, Sam?"
"Look Dream, you know why I have to be careful. I'm sorry that you won't be able to see anyone for a week but you really should have thought about that before manipulating everyone on this entire server!" Sam responds while rifling through Dream's chest to make sure Techno hadn't left anything.
"I...ok." Dream falters, grabbing the flowers Bad had given him and setting them in his lap.
Sam tries to fight it. He knows how Dream works but he can't help but pity him.
"I'm sorry, Dream." He says, shutting the chest lid and moving to make his exit.
"No, you're right. I deserve it. It's ok." He says, defensive holding the flowers to his chest.
"I'll...see you later, yeah?" Sam says as he steps onto the exit platform.
"Yeah."
Dream gives him a small wave as he departs and Sam clenches his jaw.
Sam knows his part and plays his role. That's how you get to be the richest man on the server.
And right now, Sam's role is to keep Dream in prison, and keep those around him safe.
Dream trusted him to build this prison and now the entire server trusted him to keep Dream confined.
Trust is powerful and Sam guards his with his life.
(But sometimes, no matter how hard he tries, he can't help but see the broken, lonely man he has been entrusted to destroy. It couldn't hurt to be his friend too, could it?)
Sam stands in the small entrance-portal room outside Pandora's vault and inspects the piece of machinery with a pout. Technoblade's "surprise" visit had done quite the number on his work.
Crimson dust was scattered around the scene from where Techno had clearly improvised an entrance, lighting the portal himself. It seemed like Techno had at least tried to be neat but it would still be a nuisance to rewire and Sam was tired and frustrated.
Crouching down, Sam locates the exact spot where Techno had severed the connection. With some digging around in his pouch, Sam finds some spare redstone. His tongue juts out of the corner of his mouth in focus as he sprinkles the redstone dust with great precision. Too much could result in a power surge while too little could result in not enough power. Luckily, Sam has a little bit of experience.
Sam's diligent attention is stolen from the redstone upon noticing the shadow that cast itself into the room.
"Tommy, back to see Dream again so soon?" Sam looks up from the mechanics to acknowledge the tall boy in the doorway.
"Uh...yeah. Actually, I uh—" Tommy let out a sharp, nervous laugh. "I came to visit you, uh, if that's alright." The boy diverts his eyes and raises a hand to rub the back of his neck.
Sam stops, standing up and stretching. "Yeah, of course, man. Any particular reason?"
"Y-Yeah, yeah. Tubbo was doing some things and Snowchester and I...didn't want to be a bother. But hey! It, Uh, looks like you're doing well so I should probably just be goi-" Tommy skittishly rambles, already making a move out the door.
"Wait, Tommy!" Sam calls, causing the boy to halt.
"A good friend of mine told me you were building a hotel?"
A toothy grin spreads across the boys face.
(Because trust is powerful.
And Sam refuses to break that trust.)