Chapter Text
Dream was tired.
There were a million emotions, feelings, and adjectives that could perfectly describe everything that he was experiencing; whether it was physically, emotionally, mentally- everything.
Pain was the main one. Pain, hurt, burn- Dream was constantly in peril. Torture tended to do that, but after nearly five months of it, Dream can't even imagine why he was still alive. His fingers hurt; some of them broken, some of them missing fingernails, and he was even missing his left pinky finger. His body was covered in burns, lava seeping deep and forming unhealable craters in his thin arms and legs. Vile words were carved into his lower stomach and back, wrapping around his body, overlapping in scabs that made them even more legible. His face burned, too, as he hasn't seen anything out of his left eye in months, and Dream's pretty sure it was infected. Marks covered almost the entirety of all his limbs, various weapons leaving no skin untouched, and he couldn't even remember which ones were from which tools that Quackity drove deep through his body and soul. His stomach constantly ached, as he only received one potato a week, and it poisoned him every single time.
Another good word was guilt. It wasn't his fault; Dream knew that much. It wasn't his fault, none of it was. What happened to Tommy was not his fault; the first sword to the boy in the Final Control Room, the second arrow to through his young heart in the duel, his exile from his home and family, and the destruction of L'Manburg, multiple times- none of it was his fault. Leaving his best friends, destroying the attachments of others, he did none of it. Yet, he still felt like it was his fault, because it was his mask, it was his body, it was his home, it was his family (not friends, family). And, even if he tried to fight it, it won, and Dream was the one at fault.
Dream felt dirty, too. His previously blonde hair was much longer than it used to be, which he wasn't mad about, but he hadn't had a proper shower since before he was imprisoned eight months ago, and the thick strands of hair were matted together with his own dried blood. The only water he has to clean himself is muddled with dirt, blood, and vomit, as was the obsidian cell in its entirety. He felt disgusting not just physically, but mentally, as he can't stop the degrading words that constantly fall from the lips of his torturer and the Warden from getting to his mind.
He feels hot, he feels cold, and he feels... dead. The lava causes him to sweat far too often, burning his eyes and making him feel like he's on fire. He's cold, the obsidian in the back of the cell not being close enough to the thick wall of molten rock to heat up any bit, and the freezing cold, rough edges of the stone dig into his back, legs, feet, and any other parts of his body. They tear through his prison jumpsuit and, if he wasn't getting tortured, he would've been complaining about it.
But, a word that encompasses every single thing that he's feeling is 'tired.'
Dream is exhausted from never getting any sleep, not that he could from the constant pain and discomfort that he experiences in the cell. Dream is exhausted from the torment to his mind, not just from the worst words of the two men who are ruining him, but the foreign presence in his mind that has been taking over for over a year now. He's exhausted because he hasn't eaten properly in three-quarters of a year, his body is too weak, and Dream can't even sit up and walk across his cell with being nearly out of breath. He's exhausted of using his energy to protect the Server instead of himself, letting the world heal itself from explosions and storms, spawn mobs to protect its artifacts, monuments, and people, and allow it to continue to thrive. Dream feels himself get more and more tired every day as he wastes himself away to take care of his world his soul was connected to.
But, nonetheless, he knows the Quackity is coming again today, since the Dreamon won't shut up about it, and he forced himself to open his eyes anyway. The Dreamon was in his physical form, the one he would take to taunt Dream, to prove that he could leave if he wanted to, but instead, stayed to torment the blonde and ruin the lives of others.
The Dreamon, Nightmare, gave him a sick smile, and Dream already felt nauseous just from the look of it. "Good morning, Dreamie," he said, "how'd you sleep?"
Dream gave him a strong glance of hatred and rolled his eyes. "I-" Though, even if Dream wanted to respond, he couldn't, because his throat was so incredibly dry that he began to cough over and over again, dry heaving onto the dark purple rock beneath him.
Nightmare sat in the corner, laughing, watching as Dream tried to catch his breath while on his hands and knees. And when he did, Nightmare only got up and kicked Dream square in his already broken ribs. Dream began to hack again, the eyes shut in pain as the Dreamon repeatedly kicked at his ribs.
"You like that, Dream?" He taunted, laughing maniacally as he continued to hurt Dream. He stopped kicking, allowing Dream to collapse to the ground and curl up. Nightmare scoffed at the weakness, pulling him up from under his arms and pressing him against the wall. After punching him in the face once, he wraps his hands around the prisoner's neck and squeezes as tight as he can.
"S-stop," Dream pleaded, clawing at Nightmare's hands around his throat, "p-please. I c-can't-" Dream gasped for air, which he was barely receiving any of anymore.
Grinning, Nightmare shook his head. "I'm leaving, Dream. I'm killing you, leaving your lifeless body here to rot, and I'm going to find Tommy again. What do you think of that?"
Dream shook his head desperately, still trying to kick his legs at the Dreamon trying to kill him. And yet, he fails, and his body slowly stops moving until Nightmare can no longer feel him breathing.
The Dreamon removes his hands and chuckles as Dream falls limp to the floor. "Goodbye, Dream." He muttered. "You were a great toy, but I'll find a new world now." Nightmare left his physical form, allowing himself to sink through the walls of the prison and begin to search for a new world and group of people to torment.
Dream could barely feel himself anymore. The bubbling of lava was muted, and his ears were pounding like drums. Although he desperately needed air, his breaths were shallow as shapes danced in his vision. Hands began to grab at his arms, pulling him to the center of the floor before potions began to douse his body. He tried to escape with all his might, which was little to none, to get away from Quackity and Sam's grasps. He knew how it went; they would just heal him to the point where he wouldn't die and do it all over again. It happens once a week.
"-him down!" Dream barely heard though it didn't sound like either of the men he knew to be here. A few more words managed to register in his mind before a potion was smashed on the ground beside him, and the smell of a weakness potion began to cloud his mind as he fell into a state of unconsciousness.