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They stared at the figure in front of them. His injuries were extensive. Ponk shouldn't have been bothered by it, they were a doctor for primes sake. But as they looked him over it started to make them sick.
The clipped ear. The missing fingers. The scars and the burns. Things that had clearly not healed, injuries that had been allowed to fester. They didn't know what had happened. They didn't want to.
Whoever had done this was cruel.
They understood that he was a prisoner, that he had done some truly horrible things, but this? This seemed excessive.
Even now people were looking for him, Ponk in all good consciousness could not let them find him. Not yet. They had a duty as a doctor, as a person of medicine to help. And the person in front of them required their help.
He`d been brought in by a friend.
Ponk recognized them. Of course, they recognized him.
It was one of Sam's kids. Back before all the war's, the destruction , the pain. When Sam and them were happy. They had been shown albums filled with pictures of children. Sam had been so proud of them. All of them. He regaled Ponk with stories of when they were all small. Innocent to the world.
That Sam was gone.
The Sam that existed now cut off Ponk`s arm. He had allowed whatever hell that happened in that prison to continue under his eyes.
Dream and George both had appeared exhausted. George had collapsed into a chair after ensuring that Ponk would not report them to the party desperately searching for the escaped prisoner.
He was asleep now.
Dreams' face was expressionless. He didn't seem to be fully present. Ponk had seen this expression before. They'd seen it on Tubbo after the festival while tending to the post-resurrection wounds that covered half his face. They'd noticed it on Tommy after he'd returned from exile. After so long, after so much it was a look of defeat. Not quite convinced everything was over. Reliving past horrors over and over again
Ponk could help with the physical injuries, but not with the mental ones. They needed to talk to Puffy. She’d know what to do.
They paused.
It had been so long since she had seen her son. It had been even longer since they had been on good terms. However, she was his mother. What mother could look at their child like this and reject them? Ponk made their decision.
Dream had passed out on the examination table, far too exhausted to move.
Ponk went into another room and dialed Puffy's number on their communicator. She was surprised to hear from them. The two had communicated in the past, being the extent of the health care system they had often consulted about patients. It had been a while though. Things had been tense ,but no major injuries had happened for a very long time.
“Puffy, hi it's me Ponk. I have a favour that I want to ask you. It's about Dream.”
Puffy's voice interrupted them “ Dream? ain`t he in prison? Did somethin happen to him ”
Ponk braced themselves “He escaped and-”
Their voice stuttered for a moment.
“Puffy, it's some of the worst injuries I've ever seen. Whatever happened to him there, he wasn't treated as a human. I can heal his physical injuries, but the look in his eyes. I've seen it before. He needs help that I can't provide.”
There was a deafening silence. Ponk had been holding his breath, far too long, waiting for her response.
“Are you at your office? ”
Ponk made a small noise of confirmation
“I'll be over soon.”
Ponk was still worried that she'd come with an army. They had to trust their gut that it would be okay.
A knock came on the door less than an hour later. It jolted George awake, and he went to the room with Dream quietly.
Ponk pushed open the door, to find a tall sheep-woman on the other side. Her calf-length pirate jacket and mountain of dyed hair gave her a truly commanding silhouette.
They motioned for her to enter.
In the back, there was a commotion. Ponk and Puffy rushed over to investigate and discovered a panicked George attempting to shake a still sleepy Dream.
Ponk moved to try and calm George down but he lashed out. He was furious that Ponk had brought someone else there.
He knew of Puffy, he'd even met her once or twice. Right now he couldn’t trust her. Not after spending the previous day running and hiding from almost everyone while dragging his injured friend along. His nerves were frayed.
It took a lot of convincing to get George to let Puffy get closer to Dream. He was still clearly on edge and hovered nearby.
Throughout it all, dream had been silent. He hadn't responded to anything that was going on around him. He barely noticed his mother in the room slowly tilting his head to stare at her.
He had changed an awful lot since she`d last seen him. He’d been in prison. His hair had turned white and he was supporting a large pair of cracked ram horns. On his right hand, he was missing two fingers. One on his left. Scars, burns, and old wounds covered him from head to toe. He'd lost most of his muscle mass.
He used to be so proud of his body, being able to cross great distances, leaping and bounding over difficult terrain with ease. Now he was skeletal. Malnourished and small in a way he’d never been before.
Aside from the physical differences, he was empty, desolate, nearly emotionless. He'd been there over a year. A majority of that time he`d spent getting tortured. There was almost nothing left of him. His eyes were glazed over.
Puffy almost couldn't believe the sight in front of her. Was this really her son? Was this the child that she had watched grow? With so much energy it seemed like he would never sleep. Who followed her like a duckling always a few feet behind her. He had drifted away like all children do eventually. Sought out his own path. They hadn`t agreed on the path. The last time they had spoken it was not long after the destruction of L`manburg.
She had seen her child relishing in the destruction of a nation and turned her back on him. Seeing the broken form in front of her she couldn't help but wonder. If she had been there for him. If she had made more of an effort. Would he have been okay? Would he have avoided the destructive obsessive path that led to his ruin?
No, there was nothing she could have done. She knew that. Her precious son had always longed for more. He'd always been envious of his siblings, unable to accept the fact that they were born of divinity while he was stuck being mortal. She had long since lost her little duckling. It was only now that she could see what had become of him.
She sighed. She was called here by a friend to help pick up the pieces of the figure in front of her. She could barely call the shell of a person her son anymore. But she had to try. Even if it was only for the sake of fading memories.