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There are hands clasped over Ponk's wrist.
He thinks. He's not really awake , yet.
There's light pressing against her eyelids, warning that opening them won't do any good. She squirms, raising her legs up to try to find the body she knows is somewhere above her. She bumps a hip with her knee, and another hand grabs her leg, pushing it back down to the mattress.
Three hands.
Fuck .
Even though it's definitely going to burn, they open their bleary eyes, and meet Sam's.
They sit in silence for a moment.
Sam's leaning over him, eyes narrowed. He's not wearing his gas mask, instead holding a flashlight between his teeth. He's opened the side of his cheek to do so. Smoke is oozing out of it. He averts his eyes away from Sam's face, away from the light. Three of four hands are pinning him to his bed, the other helping to hold Sam up. Oh, he's armourless - oh, because Ponk has his armour.
Oh.
She can't help the slow grin that spreads over her face, and Sam practically snarls between his teeth.
"Hey Sammy," they coo, giggling. "Is something wrong?"
Sam rumbles a response, then drops the fucking flashlight on Ponk's chest .
His breath rushes out of him, a wave of dull pain rushing through his chest and crashing against his spine. He bucks against Sam's grip, spitting swear words.
It's different from her arm, somehow, because this was just a dick move . Not that taking her arm wasn't a dick move, but this is a different type of dick move.
(Maybe because this is something Sam would've done before the prison.)
They hope he drops a flashlight on his dick. Preferably before he needs it for something.
"Asshole!" He spits. Sam growls.
"And you're not ?"
"Where's my arm , asshole?"
"Where's my things, a-hole?"
"Those aren't comparable!" Ponk shouts. "You fucking -"
"How?" Sam cuts her off, taking one hand off her wrist to set above her collarbone, fingertips brushing the column of her throat, a silent threat. " How ?"
"How what?" They snap. Sam shifts, throwing one leg over Ponk's waist.
"How did you -" He goes quiet.
Because he can't say it.
Because Ponk - poor, weak, stupid, pitied, silly, silly, silly Ponkie, in diamond armor, killed the Warden . The Warden, who can kill in one hit. Who's in full netherite. Who built the prison, who guards Dream , who automates everything he can and is supposed to be so smart. Who makes Ponk's heart grind to a halt whenever he tries to act like nothing has changed, because everything has.
Killed by Ponkie.
He giggles. And then he keeps giggling, because it's really fucking funny.
"Ponk," Sam growls. His fingers inch up on Ponk's neck. " How. "
"The spiders," she giggles. "I pushed you in and let them out, and I watched."
"You -"
Sam freezes.
And it's beautiful, in a really fucked up way, because Ponk didn't do anything. Sure, they killed him and took his armor, but everyone on this server has done that. Sam's rich - he can replace it all easily. It wasn't even a full death.
But he's afraid. Afraid of Ponk .
And usually he wouldn't like that, because he likes being at least somewhat inviting and he likes not being like - like him , but god, fear looks good on Sam.
Which is fucked up to think. But it does.
(It makes him seem a little more human. A little bit more like Ponk's Sam, before the war and the prison and the Warden. A little bit more like the version of him Ponk fell in love with, a little bit more like the version of him who was worried when Ponk was hurt and who'd help her get cleaned up and healed, who'd press a kiss on top of the bandages, who made her legs and helped her figure out how to walk again.)
They hope it humbles him a bit.
"You watched ?" Sam asks, voice full of horror. Ponk giggles, nodding vigorously.
"You bet your ass I did."
"Are you - what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Lots of things," he says brightly. "Lots and lots of things."
Sam stares. She stares back.
"It was just once," they offer softly. "And it hurt a lot less than lava."
Sam spasms, suddenly, and suddenly his hand has wrapped around his throat, squeezing. His breath hitches. It's light for now, but it won't stay that way.
"You - that was justified ," Sam hisses. "That was fair. I was right. "
She really wishes he'd let go of her neck.
"I was right ," he repeats, grip tightening. They suck in a deep breath, exhale fast, take another. "I was right . That was the right thing to do, I was right . I can't risk anything. I can't- I was right. I'm a good person," he says, but the hand holding down Ponk's wrist, the hand around his neck, the linen gold and green wrap around the remaining flesh of his arm say otherwise.
Deep breath in, quick exhale out. Deep breath in, quick exhale out.
"You shouldn't have killed me," Sam says. He's gone cold again.
Deep breath in, quick exhale out. Deep breath in, quick exhale out.
You shouldn't have killed me, Sam. And we both know it.
"You shouldn't have been afk," she says instead, and Sam barks a dry laugh.
"Sure." His grip tightens, Ponk's inhale abruptly halts. "And you should've known better."
A good person wouldn't do this. A good person wouldn't take two full lives over pranks.
Ponk thinks fear looks good on Sam because it cracks him open. It lets them see the human inside that Sam's always trying to hide.
Ponk's always human. Nobody needs a reminder of that.
Sam -
Maybe, she thinks, vision fuzzing, Sam's face beginning to drown in darkness, maybe part of the reason Sam tries not to be afraid is because he's worried people will see how little of that human is left.