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Droplets of moisture, cold and thick, thudded against his forehead. It felt slimy, fucking disgusting as crying obsidian leaked from above.
"Wake up Dream~ You and I have loads to catch up on!"
His head snapped up, body tense from the mere sound. It couldn't be, no way Quackity stood feet across from him-- Dream could feel his heart sink lower than any of the nine hellbent, outlandish circles sinners were destined for. "Fuck you I'm not saying shit," Shivers clambered up his spine, pooling in his throat.
Three or four screwdrivers clattered in front of his legs (which were chained up, as was his arms). "Say that with full confidence this time Dreamie, hmm? Or are finally coming to your senses sunshine?"
"You won't be getting the damned bo--."
Crimson sprayed from his throat, frothing along ripped lips, staining pale, scarred skin. He was choking, he was..... dying. Laughter, vicious howls of victory, manslaughter drowned Dream's impending doom. His fingernails scrapped (clawed metal impaling muscle, airways from one end to the other) for any motivation towards freedom.
"Rethink your options next time you respawn, bitch."
......
..........
.............
Orange, black, purple-- colors that tore the edges of his vision, swallowing Dream's ability to cry, scream for mercy. It felt hopeless he was going to die all over.
Yet when he opened his eyes again he could feel hands, of a friend? "You were cryin' a lot. Thought it'd be better to get you out of whatever nightmare that was."
Dream flinched at his cellmate's voice (it was easy to forget Technoblade now adorned this four-walled hell with him) - arms curling over his head to shield himself. Tremors of pure, unadulterated fear scorched his skin tearing at the flesh, sawing it from broken bones. He whimpered softly, so terrified of what was to come next.
Sobs came pouring by the minute; he wanted to apologize for being a mess though Dream could not muster the strength. All he felt was constricting metal buried in his Adam's Apple, the tip of the screwdriver scratching vertebrae.
"You want me to tell you a story?" Techno asked, pulling Dream closer to his chest-- warm and caring. "It's one of my favorites, a fable bent around dishonesty; prejudge against three people who lived in a small village."
Fingers clutched woven silk, different fabrics of red alluring in their own manner. Sighing Techno began to play with Dream's hair, "Fog lay a-cast over old, grove trees and buildings of stone sat not too far...,"