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Quackity lost count of how long he’s been going to the prison. He was sure he had only started visiting a few weeks ago, but the way his legs followed the path to the prison like a ghost doomed to walk the same path for eternity, and with how the prison’s dark obsidian walls had started to replace his image of home, the memory of a purple clad brunet and a headband wearing man fading along with it, Quackity had begun to feel like he’d been doing this for years.
Carrying an unimaginable weight on his soul, he waited for Sam to arrive at the prison while being swarmed by quiet vwoomp s and swoosh es from the portal. As the seconds passed by he started to wonder if anyone else had felt the same, like their view of time had been slowed to an unimaginable degree.
When he finally entered the prison, he concluded that he was alone on the server in regards to that feeling, that no one else could ever understand him. Though he was perfectly oblivious to the fact that there was one man who had felt the exact same, save for the fact it had felt like centuries rather than years.
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The first time Dream saw Quackity across the lava bridge, waiting to enter the cell, he was confused as to why Quackity of all people would visit him, though he soon learned what the man wanted from him.
The second time he saw Quackity, Dream tried to stay confident, but started screaming as soon as he saw the shears.
The third time he saw Quackity, he screamed and pleaded for mercy until he could no longer breathe.
The fourth time, he lost his voice but still begged with every bone in his body for it to stop.
The fifth time, his throat was bleeding
The sixth time, he-
The seventh tim-
The eigh-
Th-
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Dream didn’t know how many times Quackity had visited him at this point. As the lava fell, and as he saw Sam’s apathetic face, he stood still, waiting.
Quackity raised the axe, the netherite enchantments shimmering along with it, the old Dream would brace for the attack, he would keep his arms raised or at least try and move out of the way, but this Dream, the one sitting in a husk you can barely call a body, he didn’t even flinch as the axe tore through his body.
Sam watched from afar, taking notice of the green man’s actions. He doubted that Quackity noticed the subtle change, but Sam recognized that the man was hurt in his own way as well, and that he should expect that from him. Though when Quackity walked back on the lava bridge, bloodied axe in hand, Sam wondered if they knew.
If they knew it had only been two weeks since he first came to the prison.