Chapter Text
Dream watched as the lava fell steadily. It was just another day of waiting. He would have a visitor soon, he thought bitterly, scowling at the wall, but there was nothing he could do about it.
It was too hot in here, the lava being his only "exit" and the obsidian that surrounded him on all other sides didn't give chance for windows or space to breathe. It was coolest at the back of the cell, where he was farthest from the cascading wall of heat, where he didn't feel like he was enduring the full strength of the sun's rays. He spent most of his time back there, sitting against the wall, counting in his head or trying to see if something new had ever shown up in the cell (it never did, because Sam made sure that the only things that ever got in here were the supplies of potatoes to keep him alive, and the visitors who came to talk to him, to look down at him, to see that he was in his bright orange jumpsuit and his hair was matted and unkempt, and to feel better about themselves, because they had put someone who was dangerous, and now they were safe.)
They thought they were so safe, because they put Dream in the prison that he had commissioned, because they could only get to him after going through heavy security measures, because the lava that fell at the front of the cell kept him from getting out. He scorned those who thought that they were safe. Somehow with him being the "terrible villain" they had forgotten that danger could come from other places. And it would. He wanted to see how they reacted when someone else become "evil" and tried to do something to them. Too bad all he heard about the outside world came from his visitors. And he really only got one now, and he couldn't trust him.
He heard the now familiar clanking of levers shifting and straightened his back, sitting up so he looked less defeated. As the lava slowly lowered, he took in his glance of the area that surrounded his cell, the lava and the moving platform that brought his visitor towards him, and Sam, watching as he crossed the lava, and even though Dream couldn't see him that well, the prison warden looked exhausted.
Sam stood there until the visitor had made his way across the lava and the moving platform came back to the main part of the prison. He watched until the lava was falling again, and Dream couldn't see anything but the five walls of his cell and the one of liquid fire that kept him from attempting to escape.
"Hello again Dream." His visitor smiled at him, the scar that looked like it split his eye in two crinkling. "How are you today? Feeling better after our talk yesterday?"
When Dream didn't respond, his grin grew even wider, as he hung his picture frames on the wall of Dream's cell and put his weapons in them.
This was not the man who had spent so much time having fun with his friends. This was the man who was shaped by his ex-fiance, the alcoholic president who screwed up the country and everyone who worked for him. The man who was vice-president, who betrayed his leader. This man had died trying to kill the Blade. This was not the fun loving guy who spent too much time swearing when he had first come to the server, this was a man who had changed because the world forced him too. Sometimes, change is not always a good thing, and for Dream it definitely wasn't.
"I thought you would be." There was nothing happy behind this smile, his eyes looked empty and cold, like piercing glass. Dream looked down. He didn't like the idea that someone could look into his soul, and while he didn't feel that this man had this power, he didn't want to risk this. There was a reason he always wore a mask.
If he didn't respond, if he didn't let his visitor get a rise out of him, maybe today would be better. He ached all over, half healed bruises covered with fresh ones. That probably wasn't true, he would probably leave (leave, what a joke) today feeling sore. Nothing new. Nothing new.
"Oh, you're still trying to stay silent, huh?" He took his sword off of the wall and sharpened it with a stone, sparks jumping off of the blade as he made it as sharp as it could be. The netherite sword shone with the glimmer of enchantments.
Dream had to hold in a groan. He didn't want to deal with this. He was tired of the daily visits, of trying and failing to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't given in yet, and told him how to use the revive book. He couldn't let this power get away from him, it was the one thing he had left (couldn't let it get out onto the server, couldn't let them die and come back because they didn't know how much it took, how he felt like he was dying after he had brought Tommy back). He knew that he would say something to the man who came and talked to him, talked at him, threatened him everyday. He knew that moment would come. But he couldn't give into that weakness just yet.
He knew that his resolve was slipping, each day the words fell from his lips sooner and sooner. He was tired. He could feel it in his bones, that he just wanted to rest. (He had heard that Wilbur had blown up L'Manberg because he wanted peace, he wanted to rest. Dream thinks he understands that now, a weariness, a feeling of being done with the world. What does he have left, really?)
"You're still not talking to me? Well I as a business man have a proposition. Oh captain," he said with a sneer on his face, looking down at the the prisoner, "let's make a deal, where we both say the things that we both really feel. I can go first if you're not one for feelings."
Dream remained quiet, trying to keep the words in. He couldn't let him know anything more about him. He couldn't let people get leverage over him. If he didn't care about anything, if he didn't give out anything about him, it couldn't be used against him. He knew about leverage, knew about using the things people loved. He kept his lips pressed together. Not now.
"Ok, so I guess I am going first." The man grinned again. "I think you should give me that revive book Dream, if you know what's good for you. Just give me the revive book and this will all be over. I won't have to come and visit you every day. And I think we would both enjoy that, yeah?"
Dream kept his eyes trained on his feet in front of him. His shoes were dirty, practically in tatters. He hadn't taken care of them when he had first got them, after first being locked up here. Had paced around in his cell. Practically wore them to shreds within the first two weeks of being here. He would not let this man get a rise out of him. Not today.
"Come on captain," he taunted, a leer spread across his face, "you know you want to tell me how you're feeling."
Don't do it. Don't give in.
But Dream was already rising to his feet, and he was taller than the man in front of him and he felt any semblance of power he had retained slipping away from him, but being taller made him feel intimidating, and it was an old practice and in this moment, he was ok with that.
"Why do you keep calling me captain, Quackity?" He spat the other man's name like a curse. "I have nothing to tell you, nothing to give. I'm not telling you how the revive book works."
"Oh, so this is how it is going to be, again?" Quackity held up his freshly sharpened blade. "I guess we both know what I'm doing today."
--
Dream sat down, wincing, as he watched Quackity leave his prison cell and make his way to where Sam was standing.
"Until tomorrow, Dream!" Quackity called out, and the last thing Dream saw before the lava was back in place was the business man, smiling at him, a cold and empty smile.