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The prisoner was misbehaving, Sam justified.
He deserved this, he deserved everything that came to him. It was what kept Sam running on the days he felt like breaking down, crumbling from the inside out at the pressure his position put him in.
Sam wasn’t dumb, he knew he was falling apart. He knew he was losing his sanity, day by day. Dream was infuriating in that sense, screaming and fighting tooth and nail to remind Sam that he was still painfully human under the uncaring, cruel mask he had put up for himself. Mocking him, shaming him with the guilt of his actions- or rather, inactions thus far.
Maybe that’s why he had stopped visiting often. Out of sight, out of mind they said.
Dream wasn’t the same anymore. He wasn’t the excitable, cheerful boy Sam had remembered inviting him to the server, mask off to the side to let bright green eyes shine with joy as he showed Sam around. That boy died the moment Wilbur joined. When L’manburg was created.
Sam wasn’t dumb. He didn’t particularly care for Wilbur’s little nation. He was fairly surprised that there was a whole war over it, having heard the news secondhand after wandering the lands for who knows how long. He would even say good riddance to the forsaken country, having lived longer than it should’ve ever have.
He saw the toll it had on the server. The new tension, the new nations springing up left and right, emboldened by L’manburg’s apparent success (not that they actually won, but you wouldn’t hear that from Sam). He saw the toll it had on the server members, falling under the weight of their own actions bit by bit, blowing up not once, but twice. Each by seperate men whose power had destroyed them from the inside out.
It happened to them. It was happening to him. The chilling numbness at the acknowledgement scared him more than the truth ever could.
Dream changed, Sam would argue. Dream would argue the exact same back to Sam ten times louder, not that he would ever listen to the prisoner, lest it be a manipulation tactic how is it manipulative to point out the truth-
Dream isn’t used to the cold persona that was the Warden. Wasn’t used to harsh security and severe punishments for his actions. It didn’t matter if Dream didn’t do anything, the Warden had to make it clear that Dream learned his lesson. If he had to be a bit cruel to do so, then so be it. A broken toy was better than one that was shut down.
Dream was exceptionally stubborn the first few weeks, tossing his clock in the lava and screaming whenever he could. He knew Sam would have to come in and give him more resources. He banked on it, even. Sometimes, Sam would catch a glimpse of defiant eyes as he replaced the clock, and his heart would sting with the nostalgia of when those eyes were used in defiance of going to sleep instead of whatever this was.
Where did it all go wrong, he would ask himself.
As if Dream could read his mind, his gaze would turn knowing, accusing of the crimes Sam knew he was committing. Of the promises he was going against when he accepted the role of Warden.
The Warden wasn’t dumb. He knew that Dream was attached. To him, to the clock, to their interactions. He could see it in the desperate gaze Dream would try to hide as he spilled the truths of what happened in exile. The Warden could tell when he exaggerated certain parts, hoping for a reaction out of him. Bitter satisfaction rose when disappointment shone as the Warden left, taking a potato or two out of his rations. Dream always noticed, but never protested it. Unless you count throwing oneself in lava constantly.
He had to get creative.
So in went the automatic dispenser. And the sudden lack of visits by a certain enderman hybrid. It, unfortunately led to more defiance from the prisoner, but the Warden could see how it was wearing the prisoner thin, with his lack of silence and fervent insistence that he would escape to his best friend who wasn’t his best friend.
Ha, as if.
He refused to let Sapnap back in. A simple lie that Dream had been misbehaving was all it took to send Sapnap off, a disappointed look in the nether born's eyes. (Had it always been this easy to lie? Is this how Dream felt?) Sapnap had muted Dream that day, and had missed the various pings that had gone out, as did a majority of the server.
[Dream tried to swim in lava.]
Tommy’s death had shattered whatever leniency he had for the prisoner and whatever hope Sam had in Dream getting better. He had left the prison refusing to drop any food before he did. The prisoner didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything. He deserved death, but he was needed alive. That didn’t mean the Warden couldn’t make his living days hell. It was only fair after all. Look at what he had done to Tommy.
Even when Tommy was revived, he was somehow angry at him as well. Didn’t Tommy understand that he was just trying to do his job? Just another thing the prisoner ruined for him. But Sam was still mixed between mourning and relief, so the anger was shoved down and Sam escorted Tommy out of the prison.
It would be a while before Sam would ever return. He didn’t have to hear the prisoner’s delirious laughs that way. It was peaceful, in a twisted, heartbreaking way.
Sam was stuck between crossroads. On one hand, it had been his fault Tommy died. He could’ve moved the teen to a different cell (but the prisoner could’ve escaped). He could’ve kept a closer eye on them, ensuring that the prisoner didn’t do anything to Tommy while they waited. (He could’ve made the cell more accommodating from the beginning, could’ve allowed access to the courtyard-)
Sam wasn’t dumb. He knew he was going against what Dream had initially thought of for the prisoners of Pandora’s Vault. He had been insistent on it, reminding him day after day as if Sam would somehow violate this (Look at him now, ha. What were promises worth anyway? That accusing look was forever burned in the back of his mind. Green eyes often mixed with blue and it made his head hurt). The Warden reasoned that the lack of furniture, the lack of nutritional food, the lack of the outdoors and fresh air were things the prisoner didn’t deserve. Hadn’t the prisoner wanted this for whoever fell victim to this prison anyway..? That was the reason…
Quackity helped him down a crossroad. Sam still wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but he’s long since passed the realm of caring. The prisoner deserved this. It was necessary. (The prisoner had been in near total isolation for 3 months now, that had to be some form of torture at this point-). If the numbness in his chest momentarily gave way to the despair and hurt that came from the panic in…the prisoner’s scream, that was for the Warden to know and the Warden to die with.
The prisoner screamed for him for a week, foolishly thinking that the Warden didn’t know what was going on. (Another part of his heart shriveled at the thought that Dream still trusted him to be a fair warden). After the 8th day, his screams for Sam stopped and the Warden reasoned that Tommy must’ve felt the same way, so therefore it shouldn’t matter to him.
(That part of his heart crumbled that night, and Sam didn’t stay when he let Quackity in.)
The Warden wasn’t dumb. He knew that he and Quackity had broken something in the prisoner. From the dullness in his eyes to the way he barely responded to Quackity’s blade. It frustrated them both, and the Warden had slipped shears into Quackity’s hand one night ( ingore the blood ignore the blood ignore the blood-) and told him to make the prisoner scream.
Quackity did, but the numbness spreading only grew faster.
He knew he was losing time. How he managed to keep going for so long was a shock. He had more at stake now, more to lose, more to suffer for should the truth get out. Maybe that’s why he looked the other way when Quackity slashed at the prisoner’s throat, hissing about the consequences should someone somehow find out what happened in the cell. Quackity had stormed out that night, and the Warden shut off the volume to the prisoner’s choked cries as he curled in the corner of his cell.
It was deserved. It was necessary. But Sam’s fingers curled and itched, and if he brought a regeneration potion to the cell, carefully pouring over less noticeable wounds that Quackity wouldn’t bother to check? Well, that was between Sam and Sam alone. The prisoner was much too delirious to recognize who had helped him anyways only choking out more sobs and mumbling unintelligibly for something or someone. Sometimes it was Sapnap. Sometimes it was the lava. He never recognized Sam. Never in the multiple times Sam had cowardishly returned with cloth and potion in hand.
Sam had checked. The dull grey eyes had held no recognition in them. Sam had been quick to leave those nights and didn’t stay for the torture session the next day. (There was one night in particular. Dream had feebly curled around Sam, holding onto his armor and pleading for him to stay. He had been even more out of it than usual, blood staining his jumpsuit more than usual. Sam should’ve left then and there, he was getting close, getting attached- but he found himself sitting down anyway. Dream drifted off to sleep for once, tense as a bow even in his sleep. Sam had gone home that night and threw up, nearly burning his armors and weapons before coming to his senses and scrubbing everything off. He still had a job to do.)
The Warden wasn’t dumb. Things could never go back to the way they were. Technoblade had thrown a wrench in all their progress, making jokes with the prisoner and treating him kinder than he ever deserved. It infuriated him, and he refused to tell Quackity. His boss was already busy as is, he reasoned. Why burden him with something as unimportant as this.
(He missed Dream’s wheezing, the way tears gathered in his eyes as his cheeks turned red from the strain of smiling too much. Who was he kidding, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle it why him why him why him-)
The Warden wasn’t dumb, but god did it sting when Dream curled into Technoblade’s side, sleeping peacefully for the first time in six months. The stupid red cape was clung between shaking fingers, a protective arm wrapped around the younger as Technoblade kept vigilant watch for any sign of Quackity or- Why wasn’t it him? Why didn’t Dream ever sleep peacefully when Sam came over to see him? Where did his younger friend go, his little brother should feel comfortable with him-
Sam wasn’t dumb, but oftentimes did he wish he were dumb. It would’ve been better than the truth. He was in too deep now, and it would be idiotic to complain about things he himself set in motion.
Sam wasn’t dumb. Sam knew exactly what he did, what he will continue to do and he wouldn’t be getting out of this anytime soon.
But it was deserved. It was necessary.
Right?